#i was there since the beginning for maybe a few months

[oceaneyesinla]

This idea appeared in my brain in the shower and I think it's ADORABLE. Shoto just brings out the cuteness aggression in me

Shoto x gn!Reader

A knock at your dorm room door distracts you from your book, but when you open it, you're met with beige walls and blue carpet, neither of which are known for their ability to knock on wood. This has happened a fair few times in the last month , and that knowledge prompts you to look down.

You can't help your pleased little smile when your hunch is proven correct. Sitting neatly in the doorway is a bunch of pretty flowers wrapped up in blue plastic. They're your favourite, just like always, and they've arrived just in time - like clockwork, just as the old ones are beginning to wilt, a new bouquet appears. There's differences every time, but whatever extras have been added, your favourite flower is always there.

There's a distinctive amateur feel to the way the bouquet is wrapped up, and it endears you to your secret gifter even more. It's clear how much time and effort is going into this gesture, in more ways than one. Someone listened to you, when you rambled about the flower patch in your childhood garden, the one you tended alone while your brother trained with your parents to become a hero. Someone remembered you fondly reminisce about pretty leaves and bright petals, and decided to make you smile.

You crouch down to pick up the flowers, and there's a note tucked amongst the blooms, just like every other time. It's never signed, and it's always so blunt and honest that it circles right back round to being charming. Whether it's complementing your sunshine smile or praising you for your latest training success, it never fails to make your cheeks heat up. You keep them all, tucked away in the drawer underneath where you display your flowers.

Your admirer is making a valiant effort to keep their identity hidden, and you find it adorable - mostly because you figured it out as soon as you saw that first note. He forgot that you know him as well as he knows you. The way he writes his characters is ever so slightly clumsy; he spent a lot of time teaching himself to write - Endeavour more interested in teaching him to fight than to live - and there's a couple of little details that make his handwriting distinctive. Plus, you're shared a class with him for three years; you've seen his writing more times than you can count.

There's a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, and you press your lips together to hold back a giggle. He may be a nearly graduated Hero course student, but he's not very sneaky. He doesn't usually stick around to see your reaction to his creation, instead listening intently from his desk as you gush about them to Momo.

Your eyes widen as your eyes scan over familiar script, and now you know why he's loitering - Todoroki Shoto is asking you on a date. You read the words three times, and pinch yourself for good measure. Part of you is surprised - he knows all your darkest moments and he's choosing you anyway? - but a bigger part of you knows this was inevitable. You've been gravitating towards each other since first year, and honestly, you've been driving your classmates mad.

An almost painful grin stretches across your face as you straighten up, "Sho? Come here."

He obeys almost immediately, emerging from around the corner to stand in front of you. The cautious hope glittering in his eyes makes you want to squish his cheeks and boop his nose and you feel giddy when you remember that yes, you'll be able to do just that. No more hiding the urge to hold his hand or kiss his cheek when he remembers your favourite snack or brings an extra hoodie to movie night just in case you get cold.

Maybe you're getting ahead of yourself. You still haven't actually given him an answer, and he's starting to worry, his bottom lip pushing out into a little pout. You can't take his sad face any longer - you reach out and grab his hand, infinitely entertained by the immediate red flush that spreads across his cheeks.

"Of course I'll go on a date with you. How about this weekend?"

"Okay." His smile is reflecting yours like the moon reflects the sun, and oh, he might be the prettiest person you've ever met.

He lifts your hand and shyly drops a kiss to your knuckles, looking up at you through unfairly long lashes. Now you're blushing as well, heat pooling in your cheeks as he lets your hands fall back between you. Neither of you let go, and you make an impulsive decision - after all, Shoto was brave enough to take the first step; the least you can do is meet him where he is.

"Actually, I'm free right now. We could go and get dinner?"

Your bravery is instantly rewarded with another devastatingly beautiful smile, "Yeah, I'd like that."

[emotionalsupport-ljh]

Whelmed 🩷

Even Jihoon needs to be taken care of sometimes.

Fluff - woozi x gn!reader

Maybe I'm projecting jussssst a lil bit. Anyway, Happy Birth Month, my precious, precious boy!!

AO3 link

Word Count: 2.5k

CW: crying, meltdown, a lil hurt/comfort, jihoon is stressed and needs maximum comfort

₊˚⊹ 🩷🩷🩷꒰.^₃^꒱☆⋆｡

You walk into the Universe Factory and the first thing you see is Jihoon laying face down on the couch. It’s silent in the room, which is incredibly rare, except for the sounds of heavy breathing and sniffles. You walk slowly toward the couch and plop down on the edge of it. Jihoon makes some room for you without lifting his face. Your hand finds his back to start rubbing it comfortingly.

“Want to talk about it?” you ask, your voice softly above a whisper.

“I got really overwhelmed.” Jihoon’s small voice is muffled by the cushions of the seat. He finally turns around to face you, now laying on his back. His nose and eyes are tinged red, and his face is slightly shining from a few tears left there. He’s been done crying for a while. He looks and feels small, however, and moves your hand to pat his tummy, still craving your touch.

“That’s okay. Want to go to my place to get whelmed?” you offer.

Jihoon lets out a laugh, a smile finally appearing on his face. “Is that even a word?”

“I don’t know, but my offer still stands.” You lift an eyebrow to him and return the smile.

He takes a deep breath and exhales an “Okay.” 

You begin to stand up and take a moment to look out of the window. The sun just went down. It’s still early in the night, however, since Jihoon usually ends his work past midnight. Only special circumstances like dinner plans or events get him to call it quits early, and even then, he just ends up back in the studio, producing away. Tonight is an extremely rare circumstance. One in which work stops because it absolutely has to or it will destroy the boy’s mind. It’s only ever happened one other time since you two started dating. You’re ready for it much better this time, knowing all he wants is to be taken care of and to not have to think about anything.

You wait for Jihoon to stand up and follow your lead, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, he puffs out his cheeks and reaches up for you, wanting you to lift him to his feet. He looks insanely adorable, even if there are still the dying embers of a meltdown still glowing on his face. You grab his hands and pull him up to a seated position then finally up to his feet. You are determined to make him feel better tonight, any way you can. 

“Carry me,” he pouts. 

You giggle at the suggestion, knowing exactly how he feels. “I would if I could.” You continue to keep the mood really light and joking as you leave the building and walk to your apartment building. You carry Jihoon’s bag for him, and he pays for some snacks at a convenience store. 

Once you make it into your apartment, you both immediately change into your fluffiest, comfiest clothes. Jihoon sits comfortably on the couch, picking something to watch while you make popcorn and pour your drinks into cute mason jars. You each picked out some candy to share and an ice cream treat to store in the freezer for later, as well. You come to the living room and set down the popcorn bowl and drinks and find Jihoon with his eyebrows furrowed as he scrolls through every streaming platform there is, trying to find something suitable.

“This is impossible,” he huffs.

“What are you looking for?” you plop next to him and throw a piece of popcorn into your mouth.

“I don’t know. Something good.” His response isn’t very elaborate.

“A K-Drama?” you ask.

“No, I want something I don’t have to think too hard about.”

“Then what about a kids’ cartoon? Like Bluey,” you suggest.

“No, no. I’m not in the mood for something for kids.” He sticks out his tongue while he scrolls. His cuteness is going to send you into an overload. Usually, he takes charge of things and lets you be the cute one. When he gets like this, it’s such a special sight for you to take in all the softness he locks away behind his more serious personality.

You are just happy to be next to him, watching him go through each genre until something strikes him. You kind of zone out merrily, until you hear slight groaning next to you. Jihoon’s face is twisted up in frustration. He’s getting overwhelmed again and fusses over the TV remote.

“I can’t choose,” he says, voice choking up a little bit.

You take the initiative to place your hand on his and gently set the remote down on the coffee table. You place your other hand on his cheek and turn him to face you. You smile and kiss his nose while softly assuring, “It’s okay. They give way too many options, right? If you want, I can pick, okay?”

Jihoon’s hand intertwines with yours, grabbing at your fingers and rubbing your palms. He nods and breathes, calming down more and more. You turn your attention to the TV and select a shojo anime you both have seen about a million times and restart it from the first episode. The tension you both were once holding onto in your shoulders finally relaxes as you both sit back and watch the opening credits. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” you say as you jolt up from your seat and walk toward your bedroom. “Be right back.” 

Jihoon follows you with eyes wide until you disappear into your room. He’s curious why you’ve run off and how long your errand will take. Not long, apparently, as you reappear within a minute holding velvet soft plushies for you both to cuddle. You return to your seat and settle into the back cushion of the couch placing a cat plushie in Jihoon’s arms. You place a bear plushie on the opposite side of you and let Jihoon settle into your outstretched arm, laying his head on your chest. It’s a position you usually take when you watch TV together, and you are glad he finds your chest as comfortable and secure as you find his.

The popcorn disappears about a quarter of the way into the second episode. You didn’t realize how hungry you were. You sit idly watching the cute female protagonist miss all the cues that the people around her are instantly infatuated with her. You try to focus on the cute little plot, but you are interrupted by a small growling sound.

You look at Jihoon then to his stomach then back to his face. His eyes are wide, and his face is red. You laugh quietly, “Ready for candy?”

“Actually, can we make ramen? I’m hungry for more than snacks.” 

“Of course, coming right up!” you say as you get up to move to the kitchen. It’s a little surprising when footsteps follow. “You want to help?” you question your sudden shadow.

Jihoon nods his head silently. For what it’s worth, he does fill a pot with water while you find a few packs of ramen. While the water boils, however, his version of helping beyond that is just to stand behind you with his arms around your waist, laying his head on your back. This kind of white noise is your favorite. Nothing but low TV chatter from the characters in a sweet shojo, the sound of water boiling, and soft breathing. You’re relaxed and hope that Jihoon feels the same way. You want him to decompress and let go of all the stress of the day. You know that eventually, he will have to talk about it to process it though. For now, you stir the pot with long chopsticks making sure the noodles are not too hard and not too soft.

You bring the pot and two pairs of chopsticks to the coffee table, making sure to put it on a heat resistant mat. Jihoon’s arms remain around you as he shuffles along with you every step of the way. With a huff, he finally lets you go as he sits back on the couch, but he does wait for you with open arms.

“Do you want me to feed you, too?” you laugh as you settle in next to him. He’s a little clingy, but it’s rare to see him so dependent on anyone else. In these small moments, you indulge him and genuinely do wish you could do everything for him so that he doesn’t have to think, or overthink, about it.

“No! I can eat by myself,” he responds, flustered. He grabs the chopsticks and takes mouthfuls of ramen. You let him fill up a bit first and swoop in for your share when he’s had his fill. The ramen disappears, and so do all of the treats while the anime plays comfortingly in the background. Jihoon is snuggled up with his head leaning against you, and you notice his eyes drooping heavier and heavier.

Before he completely knocks out, you get his attention, “Hey,” you start softly, “want to start getting ready for bed?”

Jihoon slowly lifts his head and nods while rubbing his eyes. Sometimes he reminds you of a sweet little kitten with the way he pouts with his pink lips. You kiss him before standing up and bringing him to stand with you. He grabs both of the fluffy companions from the couch, then he follows you like a little duck to the bedroom. You both breeze through your nightly routine. Jihoon is in bed with his arms out, again, waiting for you to join him.

“Wait here, I’m going to clean up the living room a little bit,” you say and turn for the door.

He pouts, “But I want you here.”

“I know, and I will be. Just let me take care of the dishes really fast.”

“I’ll help.” He begins to move the blanket covering him, disrupting the position of his new friend, the cat plushie.

“No, stay there. I got it. Just wait a bit, okay?” You smile at him reassuringly. He huffs and finally relents. You take care of the small mess left behind and muse on the way Jihoon has been acting. His clinginess getting the best of him was a sign. He was much more bothered than you originally thought. It is very cute and refreshing to see him get all needy. It reminds you that he needs you just like how you need him. He doesn’t say it all that often, but when you can feel it, feel that he needs you, it just solidifies your feelings for him even more.

But there is still something else. Something he’s not asking for, distracting himself with hugs and kisses so he’ll feel better without confronting what’s really going on. You hope it isn’t something he’s had to endure for a long time. He’s prone to do that, to endure alone and not let anyone help him. He thinks he can handle it himself without bothering anyone. He doesn’t understand that it’s not a bother. You resolve to talk about it with him no matter what. No matter how cute and sweet he’ll act when you get back to him.

With everything cleaned and your mind made up, you enter the bedroom again and are met with those same open arms. You settle into your spot, getting all comfortable. You turn in on Jihoon, and he rotates without hesitation until his back is against your chest. You enjoy the smell of his shampoo and lay a soft kiss to the back of his head. You wrap your arms around him tight and he holds on to them for dear life. It almost makes you feel bad that you have to make him a little uncomfortable, but it will help him sleep at night. You just lay there, breathing in sync, then you take a deep breath which disrupts the rhythm you have going with Jihoon.

“Hey,” you ease into the difficult conversation, “I know today was hard for you. I was just wondering… what happened?”

Jihoon buries his face in his pillow, “I don’t want to think about it.”

“I know, I know.” You stroke his hand, hoping to bring some comfort to his stressed out mind. “Talking about it will help you get through it, though. Can’t avoid it forever. It’ll come back to bite you.” You emphasize your words by pinching his arm in a playful attack. It lightens the mood a little and provokes a giggle to rise out of Jihoon.

“It’s just…” Jihoon begins cautiously, “my job can be stressful. It’s already hard enough to meet everyone else’s standards. When I can’t even meet my own, I feel… useless.”

You rub gentle circles on Jihoon’s arms and hands as he talks. You listen and understand how he’s feeling. He’s always been a type-A perfectionist since you’ve known him. It’s kind of stupid, but sometimes you let yourself think that his talent means that nothing is hard for him; he just does so well all the time and then acts as if it’s not a big deal. Of course, it sometimes is a big deal. He always burns so hot and bright for a long time, but even stars burn out eventually. This is the burnout; an increasingly frustrating time that leads to being so overwhelmed he cries alone in the Universe Factory. It’s a good thing that he’s not alone right now, though.

“You’re not useless; you just need some help. I know you’ll figure it out because you are a musical genius,” you respond. Your breath tickles his ear as you speak.

“You know I hate that word. ‘Genius’. A genius should be able to do it without help.” His voice starts cracking, and your heart breaks a little hearing it.

“No, no. It’s not easy being so smart. You’re the one that has to make the smart decisions. Being stupid is easy because the easy decision is to give up. It’s hard to keep going. Once you figure it out, that is what makes you a genius. I know you are smart enough to keep going and to figure it out. You can start by making the smart decision to reach out for some help on this.” You feel Jihoon relax in your arms, tension melting away from his shoulders. Your words reached him.

“I’ve never thought of it like that.” His voice is even again. You can’t see the look on his face, but you can tell he’s having a revelation. “I think I’m whelmed, now. Thank you,” he says simply. He moves to reveal his face. The tears that were once welling in his heart have disappeared. They don’t get to fall tonight.

“I’m glad,” you tilt his face toward you and capture his lips in a kiss. You settle once again into the spoon, somehow more comfortable than before. Jihoon falls asleep with a blissful slight smile on his face.

[skeletboi]

Intridimensional AU part 20! (So many parts 🤔)

First /// Previous /// Next

Also part 19.5 (silly extra sketch) here!

______________________________________

Ford took off his sweater vest and laid it carefully over Stan's sleeping form before returning to Fiddleford's side. They had spent the last hour speaking with the other creatures hiding out in the cave and had come up with somewhat of a plan of action, but had decided to stay here for a few hours and rest. 

Stan had easily fallen asleep, turns out being used to napping wherever and whenever you could came in handy when you accidently fall through a portal. Ford and Fiddleford on the other hand, could not so easily shut their brains off. 

“Do you need help?” Ford asked as he watched Fiddleford attempt to organize the pile of gadgets the other refugees had given them with only one hand. 

“Definitely. But not with this.” Fiddleford replied. 

“Right.” Ford said, looking away. 

Fiddleford stayed silent as he continued to mess with the gadgets, and Ford accepted the silence for all of 30 seconds before speaking up again. 

“Fiddleford, I'm so sorry.” He said quietly. 

Fiddleford put down the gadget he was holding and looked up at the rocky wall across from him. 

“I know. Ya said that already, Stanford.” He said.

“I know I did. I just need you to know that. I never meant for any of this to happen. I had no idea what Bill was really like. I still haven't wrapped my head around it.” 

“Well maybe ya shoulda told me ‘bout him sooner.” Fiddleford sighed. “But then again, ya wouldn't a listened ta me then, either.”

“Or maybe you would have erased that memory.” Ford replied, immediately regretting it as Fiddleford finally turned towards him. 

Ford expected to see anger on his face, and wouldn't have blamed him if he did, but all that he saw was sadness. 

“That's prolly true.” Fiddleford said quietly. “I don't know how to deal with any a this, and honestly I'd like to erase it all right now and never turn back, but I have a son, Stanford. A son that will die with the rest of our dimension if we don’ do somethin’.” 

“Your son…” Ford replied quietly. “I was so caught up in all of this I forgot all about him.” 

“Yeah, well I didn't. I never did. Even when I left him behind to help you.” Fiddleford said with a humorless huff of laughter. “I ain't innocent in all this, Ford.”

“Maybe not innocent, but I'm the one who believed Bill and caused this.” Ford noted

“And I coulda said no from the beginning, but I couldn't bring myself ta do it… I left my son behind second ya called me.”

“You planned on going back in barely a month, Fidds. You can't blame yourself for that.”

Fiddleford looked back at the wall across from him before replying. “I didn't come to Gravity Falls to be part a history or whatever yer always sayin’. I came to Gravity Falls because ya asked me to, Stanford.”

Ford frowned at him in question and Fiddleford glanced back over at him.

“Fer bein’ so smart, ya sure are dumb.” Fiddleford said, huffing out a laugh. “I came when ya called ‘cuz I love you, Ford. I've loved you since ya burst into our dorm room talkin’ bout math. I tried to move on and started a family ‘cus I thought I'd never hear from you again.”

Ford floundered for a second before answering. “Fidds, I'm so sorry. You must know how I lov-”

“No.” Fiddleford said, cutting him off. “Don't go sayin’ that ta me jus’ ta make me feel better. Even in college I knew yer work would always be more important to ya than me. Maybe if I had focused on my own work instead a you we wouldn't be here.” 

“You know how much I care about you, Fiddleford. Can't I love you and my research? You love me and you love your wife! Why can't a man love two things?” 

“That ain't the same. I love my wife, but not in the way I love you. The way I love you is destructive, Stanford.” 

“It doesn't have to be!” Ford practically yelled, then caught himself and lowered his voice. “Maybe destructive is what we need. I know we wouldn't be here if I had listened to you in the first place. Maybe you don't want to hear it right now, but I do love you, Fiddleford, and I'm finally ready to listen. I need you. You keep me grounded.”

Fiddleford looked at him in silence for a moment before responding. “Maybe destructive is what we need. Jus’ promise me ya ain't gonna keep more secrets from me, and I'll do the same.”

“I promise.” Ford said, then leaned in and kissed him.

“Fucking finally!” Stan said, making Ford and Fiddleford tore away from each other and look over at him. 

“I was about to knock your heads together if you didn't get over yourselves.” Stan continued, ignoring their obvious embarrassment. “Watching you two pine over each other was more painful than getting my leg cut off.”

“Stanley! I thought you were asleep!” Ford said.

“And miss all that drama? Fuck no. I'm a light sleeper. Nerd arguments wake me up.”

“I don’ know if I'd call that a ‘nerd argument’.” Fiddleford noted. 

“Well it was!” Stanley responded. “We get it. We all fucked up. We're two amputees and the stupidest genius in the galaxy hiding from god-like geometric shape in a rock floating in space! But believe me, as someone who is close personal friends with rock bottom, it could definitely be worse. At least we all fell into the portal! Imagine if it was just you two! I wouldn't have a damn clue how to bring you back. The only way to beat a three-sided triangle is by being a functioning trio. That's math!”

“That was surprisingly inspiring.” Ford responded. 

“I'm inspiring as fuck!” Stanley said defensively. “The point is I'm happy you two nerd-idiots finally got your shit together. Now I can focus on interdimensional babes instead of trying to steal Fiddleford from under you, Ford!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in response.

“Prolly for the best, it was startin’ to work on me.” Fiddleford said thoughtfully. 

“It what?!” Ford asked, nonplussed. 

“I told ya he was charmin’, didn't I? Yer lucky I've loved you so much longer, Stanford.” Fiddleford said with a laugh as Ford glared at Stan. “Speakin’ of you bein’ charmin’, take this.” Fiddleford continued, handing Stan a watch-like gadget. “It's a translator. I'm thinkin’ you'll be the best at talkin’ to different people until I can get the supplies, and an arm, ta make two more.”

“Well it ain't a Rolex, but it'll have to do.” Stan said, putting it on his wrist. “But you two should actually get some sleep. We don't know when we'll be able to next. Just no fucking where I can hear it.” 

“Goddammit, Stanley. Maybe you shouldn't be the one with the translator.” Ford said as Stan laughed. 

“I think that's ‘xactly why he needs it. Quick thinkin’ to come up with those terrible jokes.” Fiddleford laughed. “But he's also right, we should be gettin' some sleep. We got a long journey ahead.”

________________________

I try to make Fiddleford's accent more dramatic when he's stressed, but I'm not sure if that translates well? Whatever.

Next will be a comic, which may take me a bit of time to finish because I started my new job and it's like an hour and a half commute one way. So I spend 3 hours of my day driving, and 8.5 hours at work. Which means I am home not often. 🤷🏻

[wooziorgans]

mental health talk warning

um. hi again. ive been gone for the better part of nearly two months. at least I haven’t posted a fic since the beginning of October.

I wanted to give a little update on how im doing. and when I’ll be back (roughly) for good? maybe?

im definitely a lot more stable now. uh. it’s been an interesting few weeks. I think i was super deep in burn out n it made it a lot harder to focus on writing when i was almost forcing myself to post or be active. while id rather keep the details of how im doing or what was going on im definitely feeling more stable.

ive been spending a lot more time w friends and ive just been taking some time to do nothing outside of work so its been nice. laundry has been piling up tho so ill have to get to that soon lol.

as for my unofficial official return. soon. hopefully. i need to crack out smn for uji day n i have a rough plan for that but nothing solid.

ive been writing just to write and i think it’s been soooo good for me. to go back to that instead of having to worry about posting things. ive made such good progress on the band fic. and im thinking about posting the full warnings list (bcs this thing is so fucking long n im not even half way done part one) soon so people know what to expect. im hoping to post that in the new year.

titmh part three has been on the back burner. it’s taking a much more positive turn in the story line, especially readers internal shit is getting figured out. but i had to put it on hold bcs it was, funnily enough, almost too positive for me to write. the band fic has been a good way to vent out things and im very very excited to post it.

anyways. see y’all soon ig :)

[brooklyncircus]

"Until you..." part. 10.

Hiromi Higuruma x reader.

Until you arrived, Hiromi Higuruma had never felt so proud of himself. He had never seen with his own eyes how he was beginning to evolve a little more each time, gradually losing his fear. He felt as if everything was perfectly aligning, yet something was missing.

You.

And although he was a logical person, he had not idealised you at any point. In fact, he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a pang of disappointment every time he boarded the train and exchanged glances with eyes that weren’t yours.

He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he always used to feel a slight twinge of disappointment, which, over the days, became lighter.

Over the weeks, he had started focusing so intently on himself and his new routine that he wanted to see you only to make sure you were still alive. He had accepted by then that you probably had someone else or were focused on your own life.

Perhaps life had brought you into his life as motivation to change and improve.

To do it for himself. And no one else.

But let’s say that, at the same time, he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see you. He did. As respectful as he was, he wanted to and even sometimes fantasised about future things he could say to you or talk about with you if you ever met again.

But he had also accepted that maybe you wouldn’t, and he supposed that would be all right too.

(Although not completely what he wanted).

A month and a half had passed since he had last seen you and said goodbye to you outside the city’s grand library. In that time, he had set about organising his life in a functional, healthy, and positive way.

A month and a half…

He sighed, scratching his cheek as he gazed absentmindedly out of the taxi window. “I hope Forger’s there…” he thought, frowning a little. “If he’s late, I’ll strangle him with his stupid tie.”

Hiromi was on his way to a courthouse to meet Forger, as the day of the meeting had arrived. Adjusting his tie, uncomfortable with the way it seemed to choke him, he paid the driver, opened the door, and stepped out, not forgetting his briefcase and adjusting his suit slightly.

“Hiro!” Forger called out cheerfully from behind him. Hiromi turned to see the prosecutor waving at him, stepping out of his own car.

“Forger,” Hiromi replied, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

As the man approached, they began to walk together towards the courthouse in complete silence. But it seemed like Forger wanted to say something, perhaps make a comment, but Hiromi’s usual cold and indifferent facade prevented him... for now.

That was until they entered the building and began walking towards the court where the young lawyers would present their cases.

“The secretaries told me you’ve been making a few changes in your office. They mentioned hearing you moving things and carrying others out in boxes, like two plants…” the blond man commented, a half-smile on his face and his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“I didn’t know my personal matters had already become gossip for the ladies and, apparently, gentlemen of the tenement,” Hiromi replied dryly.

Forger chuckled, accustomed to his friend’s comments. “I suppose you’re doing the same in your flat, right? What’s with all the change?”

Hiromi responded this time with honesty... and his usual grumpy morning mood, triggered recently by none other than Forger. “I wanted to change things up a bit. I didn’t realise I needed your permission, Mr Prosecutor.”

Forger raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Mhm... I see. Could it be because of a woman?” Hiromi sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. This prompted Forger to press further, clearly hurt that his friend hadn’t told him anything. “Oh, is it because of a woman!? Since when!? Oh! And you didn’t tell me!”

“Shut up, we’re in a bloody courthouse. Do you want my personal life to be part of the city’s legal gossip? God.” Hiromi grabbed Forger’s arm, pulling him closer as they walked down the rows of seats, choosing ones far away from everyone else. “No. It’s not because of a woman. All right?”

They sat down, and Forger made a small sad pout. “I thought you’d finally found someone.”

Hiromi rolled his eyes again, adjusting his suit jacket as more people filled the room. He placed his briefcase between his legs. “I will never understand your obsession with prying into my personal affairs.” Pause. “No. I haven’t met anyone—…”

But Hiromi cut himself off when his eyes landed on a particular figure. A very familiar figure.

He felt his heart skip a beat, and for a moment, he stopped breathing. He forgot entirely about Forger beside him, about everyone else in the room, about why he was there, and who he was.

When his eyes landed on you, nothing could tear them away.

He felt as though a wrecking ball had struck him hard, leaving him dazed for several minutes. He blinked repeatedly, as if trying to confirm you weren’t about to disappear. That you were real.

You were.

And you were there, just as beautiful as he remembered. Perhaps a bit taller; it must have been the heels you were wearing. You looked more elegant, and he guessed it was because you were dressed in a woman’s suit. Your hair was tied up in a style that highlighted your angelic features, and he felt his head start to spin.

And when your eyes found his...

Oh, for the love of God.

It was as if an eternity had passed since he had last seen you.

Forger nudged him to stand, and Hiromi was forced to break out of his trance, to breathe and remember he was still alive. You approached them with another woman and a man, but Hiromi looked only at you.

After your companions introduced themselves, Forger spoke up. “I’m Prosecutor Forger, and he is…”

Hiromi interrupted, extending his hand to you to greet you formally, properly. To meet you. “Hiromi Higuruma, solicitor. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”

You accepted his hand, giving him a small, warm squeeze that sent a shiver through his body. “Shimizu Y/N, future solicitor. The pleasure is mine.”

And until you arrived, Hiromi Higuruma had never felt so proud of himself. He had never seen with his own eyes how he was beginning to evolve a little more each time, gradually losing his fear. He felt as if everything was perfectly aligning, yet something was missing.

You.

[mollywog]

Read Part 2 on Ao3

He’s just stepped outside for his morning break when he sees it: A dandelion growing up through a crack in the sidewalk behind the bakery; a burst of color among the drab winter grays. Spring is coming. He checks the date on his phone: March 20th - no, spring is here.

He’s been dragging himself around since January. Since he’s apparently missed their date two years in the future and Katniss had called off their correspondence.

But the dandelion has reawakened him.

Part 2 now on Ao3

Her letters had always been vague on personal details; he didn’t know things like where she worked or bought groceries so that he might try to meet her naturally now. But today, staring at the yellow flower, he remembers one particular he’d previously overlooked…

He races home and straight to the attic where he’d tucked away all their letters he’d saved: too painful to keep out, but too precious to dispose of. He rifles through the papers, scanning each one till he finds it; an off handed mention of how she’d begun taking her lunch in the hospital courtyard when the spring had arrived early this year…

She could be there now! What if he could meet her before even their first letter. Before it had all gone wrong.

Pages flutter to the floor as he stands; grabbing his jacket, he races out the door. Throwing the truck in reverse, he looks over his shoulder when a flash of red catches his eye.

The mailbox flag is up.

The metal box is purely decorative; Here before he moved in, despite the mail carrier not delivering up this far. It’s only ever been used to communicate with Katniss.

He puts the truck into park, staring at the small red flag as he slowly approaches in disbelief. She’d been firm in her final letter, never retrieving any of the others he'd placed in the box, lowering the flag each time, his pleas left inside unread.

What’s changed now?

There’s a single scrap of paper, unevenly torn from a notebook, the scrawl frantic, ink intermittently dying out mid letter - yet he can read every word;

Peeta, I know why you didn’t show up that night in January. Please don’t try to find me today. It will end badly - It can only end badly unless you wait. If you still care for me in two years, I’ll be here: at the lake house, and if not, I can be glad that you’re simply alive, but don’t look for me, don’t try to find me yet. Please wait. Please! I lo…

He stands frozen, the note clutched in his hand, reading and rereading. How could she have known he would look for her? What would happen if he went anyway? And did she really mean to tell him she loves him before she’d run out of room on the page? It feels too much to hope for, but it seems there’s only one way to find out.

~~~~~

It takes all his willpower, but he doesn’t try to find her that day, nor the days immediately after. Instead he throws himself into the house: caulking and painting, replacing smoke alarms and light bulbs, and when it’s finally warm enough, planting wildflowers in front of the bay window facing the lake. Readying the place for the next occupant: for Katniss.

A few months later he puts the house on the market.

His brothers think he’s mad after all he’s poured into it, and maybe he is, but he doesn’t know how this works and he won’t risk screwing up the timeline. Besides, it had always been more like a project than a home and based on her letters, Katniss had needed this place more than him.

Despite his convictions, he can barely believe it when he sees the familiar signature on the offer.

He moves into a modest apartment close to the bakery.

His pretty neighbor stops by often to flirt. She’s sweet and kind and he thinks under different circumstances he’d flirt back and see where things led, but now he’s not even tempted: He’s waiting for Katniss.

So he gently rebuffs her advances until she begins looking for cups of sugar and small talk elsewhere.

He starts painting again. He hasn’t picked up a brush since his accident in high school when he’d lost his leg, but he remembers Katniss writing about singing for the first time after her father’s death and he wants to be brave like that.

Time continues to pass, both by inches and miles.

Another spring comes and his brother’s wife gives birth. The first time he holds his niece he weeps.

He knows his family thinks he’s moorless, letting his life pass him by, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind. He could be dead if not for Katniss’s warning and have never known this joy.

His paintings are featured in a local gallery with a piece right in the front window. He wonders if Katniss has ever walked past it. If she’s stopped to admire, or even notice at all.

He doesn’t look for her exactly, but he’s always vigilant of his surroundings. Wondering if they’ve crossed paths unaware. Maybe she had sat at this park bench mere minutes before or passed him in the produce aisle as he considered the pears.

The fateful January 2nd comes: The one they’d agreed to meet on.

He still doesn’t understand how any of this works, but he’s certain he can’t show up this time around either: the whole house of cards could come tumbling down. In one of his moments of firmer resolve he takes a dose of sleep syrup so he can’t change his mind.

He wakes the next morning in misery. But after rereading all her letters, he’s more determined than ever to make up for lost time if only she’ll allow it.

So he waits for the spring until it finally arrives.

The day begins like any other: He gets up at the usual time and goes through the familiar routine: showering, dressing, brushing his teeth. But instead of heading to work he leaves a message at the bakery that he won’t be in today. He feels a little guilty for the cake consultation he’ll miss, but he’d been too superstitious to take the day off in advance.

His anticipation grows as he paces the apartment, eventually finding himself appraising his reflection in front of the bathroom mirror. He was never more himself than when he wrote to her, but will she be disappointed if he’s not the tall, handsome stranger she might have imagined?

He can’t bear to speculate so he grabs his keys and heads for a diner outside of town, just a short drive from the lake house. He orders tea and doodles on the placemat to keep his eyes from flitting to the clock behind the register as the final minutes seem to pass slower than the years he’s already waited thus far. He has a conviction that he can’t see her before her last letter was sent and only after the second hand passes twelve on his predetermined time does he stand from the booth.

He heads to the truck when he’s stopped in his tracks by a dandelion growing inches from his front tire. Had he pulled up any closer, it would have been crushed. And yet, by luck, or maybe by fate, it survived. His nerves bubble over into laughter at the sight. He plucks up the flower, twirling it between his finger and thumb and a strange calmness washes over him.

In no time at all he’s turning off 74th onto the familiar gravel road of Mockingjay Lane and when the house comes into view, a woman turns from the mailbox where the flag still stands erect.

Katniss.

There are tears in her eyes and a disbelieving smile on her face as she wraps herself in his arms and he finally, finally feels like he’s home.

My THG Comment Feast Fic - Inspired by an 18 month old prompt of ‘postcard’ and the 2006 movie ‘The Lake House’

Read on AO3

The bell above the door dings as they enter the bakery and the broad shouldered man behind the counter looks up from his phone, fixing a smile as he welcomes them in.

Prim returns the smile, leading them towards the counter, arms linked. Katniss pays little mind to the introductions and chatter of the man and her sister, staring disinterestedly at the display case of pastries until Prim’s voice close to her ear brings her back to the present, “He’s cute!” Katniss looks up to catch the back of the baker’s unnaturally blond head as he slips out through a swinging door behind the counter, “and I didn’t see a ring.”

“Yeah well I do,” she says, grasping her sister’s hand from under her arm, playfully waving it in front of them. “We’re here to talk wedding cakes, remember?”

Prim rolls her eyes, “don’t be obtuse: I obviously meant for you. Come on Katniss, how long has it been since you’ve been on a date?”

She shrugs, turning away. She hadn't told her sister about her last romance and recent split… if you could even call it that. Prim wouldn't understand - hell, Katniss barely understands. Nevertheless, she knows her low spirits haven’t gone unnoticed. Prim’s worried about her when she should be focused on the happiest day of her life.

Katniss smiles weakly. She’s trying. She really is trying. She’s here isn’t she?

The man re-emerges with another who can only reasonably be his brother, taking his place at the register while the first man ushers them back to an office off the kitchen.

“I’ve always loved your cakes,” Prim starts in.” When we were little I’d drag Katniss to your window to stare at them on our way home from school. God, but that was ages ago, before we moved. Work brought me back to the area and when I got engaged, I just knew I needed one of your cakes for my wedding.”

She takes to watching the man as he and her sister converse. He is handsome, she supposes, but it’s more than her sister’s comment that has her focused on him. There’s something familiar about him, but she can’t put her finger on it.

“My brother would have been doing the cakes back then; I swear he was always more artist than baker. I do the decorating now. I’ve got some samples of my work if you're interested; Make sure it still fits your vision? Actually-” He’s rifling through a stack of binders on his desk, when he pauses, pulling out his phone, “I’ll just show you here.” The screen glows to life and he toggles to his photos, but not before she catches a glimpse. He extends the phone towards Prim, but Katniss’s hand shoots out to intercept.

She clicks the button on the side twice until the lock screen background appears, revealing a full view of what she already suspected was there. All the air is knocked from her lungs, but somehow she’s able to force the words out, “What is this?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, but he quickly conceals his surprise, “The lake house? It’s up at the end of 74th, off Mockingjay lane. It was my brother's passion project. You’d never believe what it looked like when he bought it based on that. He fixed it up himself.”

“Katniss! Oh my god, that's your house? What are the odds?” Prim looks up from peering over her shoulder.

Katniss’s thumb sweeps over the screen caressing the glowing image, but it’s not the house she cares about. In the forefront are three men standing together, arms connected in a shoulder embrace. The first is recognizable as the one in front of her now, the third, the brother who replaced him at the register, but it’s the man in the middle she can’t tear her eyes from: “Peeta,” she doesn’t realize she’s said it aloud.

“Yeah, did you know him?”

How can she explain that she does know Peeta? That he’s the only man she’s certain she’s ever loved even though they’d never met. That they’d been exchanging letters through the lake house mailbox for months… oh, and that said mailbox had been transporting her letters two years to the day into the past and his two years forward to the present ever since she moved in… no one would believe her. She barely believes it herself, but here it is in front of her. Proof of Peeta’s existence.

But it still didn’t explain why he’d stood her up when they’d attempted to meet three months ago. He had even been the one to suggest it, making a reservation under his name for January 2nd, two years and one day in the future from when they’d decided for him, but only the next day for her.

But he’d never shown up and as she sat at the table heartbroken and alone, avoiding the waitstaff’s pitying stares, the cold light of reality had crept back in. Of course he hadn’t waited for her. Who was she to even hope for such a thing?

But something is wrong, Peeta’s brother looks suddenly downcast and it dawns on her: ‘Did you know him’

Did not do. Dread pools in her stomach, “what happened?”

“Peeta died. Couple years ago…” He looks at the calendar, “two years ago today actually: the first day of spring. Hit by a bus right in front of the hospital.”

She’s transported back to that day two years prior:

She’d just started at the hospital earlier that month, a receptionist job at Prim’s practice she’d found for her so they could live closer. No sooner had she stepped outside for her lunch break had there been a horrible accident right in front of her eyes.

She’d been the first to reach the man, crouching down by his side to offer what little aid she could until the paramedics from inside could be alerted and arrive. She’d cooed soothing words as she tended to him and bid him to stay with her.

Then his hand had touched her wrist and she’d looked up to find his blue eyes trained on hers and he’d smiled. Actually smiled and replied ‘always’ before closing his eyes and slipping away.

She hadn’t known him then, but the response and those eyes had been haunting her ever since. So much so that she’d quit her job at the hospital, a few months later finding the secluded house by the lake for sale.

… of course Peeta hadn’t made it to their date two months ago, He’d died in her arms years before they’d ever exchanged their first letter…

Her eye flit to tie time displayed on the screen: 9:48, almost three hours before the accident in Peeta’s timeline.

Katniss stands abruptly. “I have to go.” Even as she speaks her plan is still forming, “Prim. I need to take the car. Can you get home alright? I need to… I have to go.”

She has the presence of mind to rip a slip of paper from her sister’s wedding planning journal and grab a pen from the jar on the baker's desk before dashing out the door. She only hopes she makes it with enough time. That he’ll see her note. That he’ll heed her warning…

[ninthwonderoftheworld]

But fr this is one of the longest running fandoms I've been in

[brucequeensteen]

character wrapped 2023 💥

tagged by @davidtennantpussytulpa ^-^ i didn't know how many to do so i copied tara and did top 10. i know the severance guys are Four Of Them but i can't separate them theyre all equally important to me

will graham (hannibal), em haywood (nope), aziraphale (good omens), mark & dylan & helly & irving (severance), hawkeye pierce (mash), martha jones (doctor who), ivan karamazov (the brothers karamazov), kim kitsuragi (disco elysium), stewy hosseini (succession), ruescott melshi (andor/rogue one)

i will tag... @fagician @britomart @libraryfag @roadwhores @majorbaby @globuspolski @hadleyfraserfaggot @tenderscience if u want to ^-^

[opossumonashelf]

I hate to say this but I'm going on another hiatus, same reason for the last one. I just haven't been in the best place of mind this whole year and I just need more time is all. I just hope you will understand. It's been stressful those damn thoughts just love repeating in my brain.

[bingus35]

My 2 favs beefing with each other :D

Confirmation that my boy is really fucking dead D:

[stillfruit]

i love not knowing if i'll ever be healthy again i love all of the time i've used to move my body become nothing i love spending my adulthood wasting away year after year for various reasons baby!

[wundrousarts]

I recently finished my reread of the first Nevermoor book, which is being adapted, so let’s have some discussions on how it might turn out:

1. What scenes do you think are certain to stay and which scenes do you think could be cut? What about scenes that might be combined or changed?

2.What scenes or moments do you think will have songs and what do you think the songs might be like? Like their tone, style, etc.

3. Any characters that you think will be cut, and any that you think will be combined/serve the purpose of multiple characters?

Feel free to add your own questions or general thoughts beyond these! I love talking about media adaptation <3

[magentagalaxies]

going to a comedy open mic tomorrow mostly to watch my friends (it's at a cool venue that my improv troupe performs at once a month and a few improv troupe friends are doing standup there) but when these friends were asking if i'd be interested in coming they were like "btw there's usually a ton of open spots on show days if YOU want to do something... and they're not strict about it only being standup either, people have done character pieces and sketches etc like they embrace the weirdness... and they're not strict about time limits you could probably do anything between three and eight minutes... sometimes if there's not enough people signed up they'll even let you go twice..." and i'm like god damn it i thought i was gonna take a break from aubrey but this setup is like tailor made for an aubrey appearance lmao

[winterf4iryy]

i hate feeling so guilty every fathers day

[liebelesbe]

ok i have to think about this rationally & stop panicking so I can finally sleep. gonna talk to myself in the tags for a bit.

[kate-apologist]

.