#i wish i could get myself to write something legible at least

[pyriteplates]

Let's all pretend I was able to draw today. Here's the only panel I could get myself to churn out (that I probably won't even use)

[callipraxia]

Things I Learned This Morning:

1) Using print instead of script, which would be faster but less tidy, I may hand-write not far under 1300 words per hour when things are going well. (The exact number was 1267 words)

2) My brain harbors an irrational hatred for the number 4 apparently? (I kept almost skipping it and having to go back and erase the little number above fourth words because I wrote 4 as 5, for instance, going straight from 223 to 225 before I caught myself.)

3) Taking a pencil and individually numbering every word you wrote takes a really long time.

4) Apparently my brain also cannot handle writing a series of numbers that consistently go above two digits. I transpose digits, forget the first digit, write 8 instead of 3, write 5 instead of 8, write 2 instead of 9….I made it through the first 1000 but counted the remainder in blocks of 1-100 in the interests of staying tolerably sane.

5) My print is indeed much more legible than my script, but also, oww, my elbow feels like it’s about to crack right now and my hand feels all twisted up inside, ow ow ow.

(Backstory: I’ve been stuck in a rut for a while, so I decided to say “what the heck” and try to force myself to write a rough draft of one of my fanfic ideas for NaNoWriMo. I’m printing because I am currently Resolved to write a complete rough draft and then revise it, all before posting anything. Then, in theory, I’ll post it by chapter on an actual *posting schedule*. However, since I have never managed to muster the kind of discipline needed to keep working on a project nobody has seen and praised some part of for that long in my entire life…we’ll see. Plus, it might be easy enough to make it to the word count minimum today, but I only just finished the setup phase of the first scene, getting Pacifica from “the alarm clock rang” and through “Pacifica reflects on what mornings in Northwest Manor were like compared to her new life” to the point of “Pacifica has gotten out of bed.” That kind of writing is super-easy for me, but the kinds where things actually happen can be…much slower going. Which means I’ll have to apply even *more* discipline to make quotas on some days. So basically I, a deeply scattered and undisciplined person, am basically attempting to overhaul my personality for at least a month, lol. Wish me luck, folks….

For my GF peeps, I hope that you’ll enjoy the results if this project does amount to anything, even though it is a bit of a departure from my ‘usual’ material. You see, I have a lifelong, deep-seated love for books set in schools/based around school years, and I have decided to combine that with my desire to write some post-canon material. We’re picking up very shortly after the finale, with the first day of school in Gravity Falls - the Pineses should have some involvement, here and there, but mostly via phone and Internet. I’m sufficiently addicted to the “greater scope” that I don’t think I‘ll end up with something that is purely YA or a “girls’ book,” but it will involve focusing on more girls and therefore “girl stuff” than canon/anything I have written previously - Pacifica, Wendy, and Candy are all projected to be narrators, with Grenda also at least being an important character and possibly a fourth narrator. Compare to FWJB, where the narrators consisted of ten dudes, Bill, and Mabel…and although I put him in his own category, Bill does seem to use he/him pronouns when interacting with English-speaking mortals, and so one could very reasonably argue that the narrators consisted of eleven dudes plus Mabel. Soos may well get some narrator time, but this one also seems on course to primarily focus on the kid characters. Gulp. We’ll see how it goes….)

[tainted-by-skeletons]

Bully Reader X Sans (Part One)

(SFW And there's a little Sans X Grillby in this chapter.)

Getting drunk with your friends is always a good idea when it's just your friends. But when the guy you keep picking on is asleep on a bar stool and someone has a marker handy… do the nice thing, and not the thing you want to do. Okay?

“Hey Y/N! Look, Sans is sleeping!”

“Heheheh~ nooo waaayy~”

“You should go mess with him. We do it all the time. It's okay.”

“Aheheh. Okay. Doonnn tell em.”

“Haha we won't. Go on!”

It's a lot harder to resist when you're drunk and a bunch of dog monsters are telling you that you should totally do it and everything will be okay. The good thing is, I wasn't as mean as I could have been. I was handed a marker by a large monster whose face was mostly made up of teeth. (Nice guy by the way) I took it without any hesitation and made a beeline to the small skeleton. The joyful crowd behind me and complete lack of restaurant staff gave me more than enough courage. But even then, I did still have one problem.

“Wait! What the hell do I draw on him?”

“Anything! Come on! He's not a light sleeper. Just draw something funny!”

“Or cuuute!~ hehehe~” Brandy giggled.

Brandy was a perpetually drunk bunny monster who spent all her time at Grillby's and had a crush on Sans. I'm really not sure why. Yet, her suggestion actually gave me an idea. It was something that would probably look funny on him, and I couldn't mess it up either.

I won't have anyone knowing I can't draw. So I'm gonna give him freckles and little cheek hearts.

I giggled to myself as I spotted the skeleton’s strangely soft white cheeks with black permanent marker. Thankfully, he was sleeping with his chin on the bar on top of his arms. That way I could easily draw what I needed.

“Okay lemme see! Heheh. What did you- oh really? Laaame.”

“Whattt?! Whaddya meeean?”

“Why didn't you write something on his forehead?”

It wouldn't be legible.

“Aww man. I gueeess I should have.”

“Here. Give it to me. I'll do it.”

Doggo, the mostly blind member of the royal guard, took my marker. He was one of my first couple of friends.

“What are yooou gonna do?” I asked him.

“Nothing. Both of you are banned from my restaurant.” An ethereal, but somehow also gruff and stern voice told us.

It was Grillby. The owner of the restaurant. And also one of Sans' closest friends.

“Oh fuck!”

That's exactly what I meant earlier. I really wish I didn't draw on Sans’ face. I felt awful about it the next day. I knew his brother Papyrus would find out, and I really liked him. Papyrus was another close friend of mine in the underground. He made terrible spaghetti and tried to kill me with some puzzles but after all that we became fast friends. I think that's actually when Sans decided that I was his least favorite person. He was basically obsessed with his brother and I think he thought I'd steal him away or something. Which I would never do. Papyrus is really not my type.

“Come on Paps! Throw like a man dammit! Hahaha!”

I was having a snowball fight with Papyrus and a few guard dog monsters when Sans came up to us.

“Hey. Y/N. Come over here a sec.” Sans said calmly after he somehow appeared behind us.

“Woah! How'd you?- whatever.” I wondered as I stepped away from the game.

“I don't think you should be hanging out with my brother so much.”

“Pft. What is he? 6? Who the hell are you to say that?”

I hate people telling me what to do. So hearing that set me off and I said something rude before I could stop myself.

“I'm his older brother. And he shouldn't have to deal with people that insult him, cuss around him and I don't like you casually stealing my nickname for him either.”

“Uh. Obsessed much? One. He's a grown up. He can handle it. And two? Being protective of nicknames is kinda creepy if it's your younger brother.”

“Wh-Creepy!? What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Before Sans could start lecturing me, one of the big monsters came up to us.

“You guys can talk later! Come on! We don't wanna wait forever!”

It was a dog guard in ginormous armor and his tail was wagging wildly. Anxious to get away from the humiliating conversation, I ignored everything Sans said and started walking back to my game.

“Just like. Chill. Okay? No pun intended.”

Sans' Pov

Puns were my thing. Alright? And I don't have a lot of things to begin with. Other than Papyrus' nickname that bitch stole too. Using a pun against me was the last straw. As ridiculous as that sounds. So that was the start of our intense hatred for each other. I wasn't really the type of person to start arguments but she sure was. We both got tossed out of practically every building we were in together for causing a scene. Getting drunk and falling asleep at Grillby's was a usual occurrence for me, but I had no idea my new enemy would come in and torment me that day.

“Mnnn. Grillby…” I muttered after waking up on a barstool again.

Apparently I slept until everyone left. At least, that's what I thought. Apparently Grillby cleared the place out early after I got graffitied.

“Sans. You need to get up.”

“Uggh. I know. I'll go home in a sec.”

“Not that.”

“Whaat?”

“Y/N drew on your face. I'm gonna take you to my place so we can wash it off. Alright?”

“What?! What the hell did she do?!”

I bolted up. Nearly falling out of my chair.

“Not as much as I thought actually. It's not bad.”

“What? How could it not be bad?”

After I had steadied myself, I finally looked up at Grillby's face. He had a strange smile that unsettled me.

“Don't think about it too much. Put up your hood and walk with me to my place.” He commanded.

“Uh- huh?” I squeaked.

Some people say that Grillby is bossy and a buzz kill. But I don't mind at all. He never usually bosses me around. But when he does… I can't say I dislike it. I immediately hopped off the chair and flipped up my hood. Very suddenly, Grillby took my hand and walked me out the door. Opening it for me.

“Ah… Jeez Grillbz. I'm not a kid anymore.”

“Oh. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be coddling you.”

He let go of my hand and I realized my mistake.

“Er… I mean. I'll take it as a compliment I guess. You seem pissed off that she was fuckin’ with me.”

“I am. I'm not sure I like having a human down here. She may get along with everyone, but I feel like all my customers have been a lot more rowdy and even the whole town has become a bit more… a bit… ugh. I'm just not sure I have the right word.”

“She reminds me a lot of Catty. Or Bratty.”

Funny enough, I used to get bullied a lot by them too. When I was a kid that is.

“Haha! I'm sure she does. Hmmm. I wonder then…”

Without warning, Grillby took hold of my hood and pulled it back to look at my face more closely. I turned and looked up at him with a slightly shocked expression.

“Hmm~”

Grillby's eyes softened and he stood staring at me for a couple seconds.

“You do seem to attract a type. Don't you Sans?”

“What? What's that supposed to mean?”

“I never told you. Because I didn't like how they treated you. But Catty and Bratty came by one day. I talked to them for a while and they revealed that they picked on you because they both had a crush on you.”

“What?! No. You're kidding me!”

“I wonder if that human girl is similar.”

“I don't believe a word you said.”

“You might when you see what she drew on you.”

“What?!”

“Shh!”

It was late at night and I shouldn't have been shouting. So Grillby put a finger to my lips. All the embarrassment and physical contact started to make my knees weak. I tripped a little.

“Ohhahaha. You're still quite tired aren't you?” Grillby laughed at me as he took my hand again.

“Shut up.” I muttered quietly. “I'll be fine.”

But… I couldn't stop myself from squeezing his hand so he wouldn't let go of mine.

“Oh? So you don't want me to carry you?”

“N-no! Don't do that!”

“Hmhm~ Alright.”

Grillby has always teased me. He usually says something about how I make it so easy. I'm not sure what that means though. I don't find it easy to tease anyone.

“Aahh… there we go.” Grillby muttered to himself as he unlocked his front door, letting go of my hand.

He let me in first, but I didn't go straight to his bathroom. I remembered where it was but I felt awkward showing how well I already knew his place.

“Still need help?”

“Er! Uh! I just. Um… don't remember which door is your bathroom.”

“Oh right. Sorry. I guess it feels like I invite you over more than I actually do. It's the first door on the right.”

I nodded and made my way there. Grillby picked up his pace in order to catch up with me. I could guess he wanted to see my reaction when I saw myself. Looking in the mirror, I found little black dots along my cheeks, and small, badly drawn hearts below my eyes.

“Ehaaahhh! W-why- why! Why did she do that?!”

“Hahahaha! I'm really not sure Sans. I think that girl likes you.”

“No! I- Aghhh!”

I tried desperately to rub off the black dots. Even black smears would be better. But they didn't budge at all.

“Fuck! Y/N didn't use a permanent marker did she?”

“Oh no… I really hope not.”

Grillby seemed to know that my “skin” held permanent markers really well. He opened up a cabinet and grabbed a brand new bar of soap and a small towel.

“I guess we'll find out.” I sighed.

“Alright Sans. Stay still.”

“What? No come on. Just let me do it.”

Grillby turned on the faucet, making sure the water was warm.

“I wasn't watching you when I should have been. I should help you.” He decided.

“That's just an excuse for you to put your hands all over my face.”

“Oh please let me~ I love your soft face.” Grillby teased as he pinched my cheeks and rubbed them around. I squeaked a little in surprise and it only made Grillby more determined.

“No! Just! Rrrr…” I growled.

He finally left my face alone so he could wet the small towel with hot water. After opening up the new bar of soap and rubbing it on the soaking towel, Grillby once again told me to,

“Stay still.”

I kinda liked being taken care of and fussed over, so I finally let him have his fun.

“Ugh. Fuck… that kinda hurts.”

“Oh you're such a baby.”

“No I'm not.”

Grillby put a hand up to his face to attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Hey!”

“Hahaha! I'm sorry. You're just so cute I can't help it.”

“I'm not- ah I'm not even gonna say it.”

“Hmhmhm~”

“Ya know. Maybe I should do it myself.”

To my surprise, Grillby gave me the towel. When I looked in the mirror I saw no change to the marks.

“Nooooo no no nooooo!”

I scrubbed my cheeks until they felt inflamed and raw.

“Awww. Poor thing. Don't hurt yourself.”

I threw the towel at Grillby. It sizzled when it struck his neck.

“Ugh. Now my shirt is all wet.”

Before I could stop him, Grillby slid off his vest and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Wh- what are you doing?!”

“What? Suddenly you have a problem with me undressing?”

“Yeah!”

“Awww. If it makes you feel better I'll let you take yours off too.”

“That would not make me feel better!”

“Haha. Then get out of the bathroom.”

“Where am I supposed to go now?!”

“Do you want to stay the night?”

“Are you… gonna be shirtless?”

“If you'd like~”

“Aahhh!”

I should have taken the chance, but I got scared and fled to my own place.

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 1/?

Word Count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your Name, A/N - Any name (your best friend’s name.)

This is just something I’ve been cooking up in my head during my maladaptive daydreaming. Not really having a plan for this one. ALSO: First post ever on Tumblr! I hope you enjoy it!

I forgot to include the Part 1 when I first posted this lmao F

Warnings: Curse Words, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

As a criminal psychology major, Jason Todd was an intelligent young man waiting to inherit a lot of Wayne Enterprises’ company. Not because Bruce was dying, but because that was Bruce’s promise to him, Graduate, he said, and you can work alongside me, boss and boss. The idea excited Jason entirely. To finally be seen as a colleague to his father was something he always needed from him, but he was too scared to say “Hey dad, am I more than just a sidekick now?” and he knew it.

She, too, was a criminal psychology major. An equally intelligent young woman fighting her way to the top of her class, Jason’s class. And of course, dating isn’t out of the question. Especially when she sees her peers, specifically the one with the white streak in his hair. There was something about him that made her insides twirl in many different ways, butterflies soaring throughout her as if he was destined to meet her. Luckily for her, he sat beside her. Before she could speak to him though, the Professor boomed at the class:

“Good morning class! I am your professor, Thomas Hangre, and welcome to Criminal Psych 101!”

And then began the quick and messy note-taking. She noticed the man beside her didn’t take notes. But, it’s his grade, not mine, she thought.

Little did she know.

When the professor finished, she went to pack up her notes, when the man tapped on her shoulder and outstretched his hand:

“Hey, I don’t think we got a chance to meet before Prof Hangre started spewing at us,” he laughed, “The name’s Jason, you?”

“Oh! My name’s Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, strange man from my criminal psych class, Jason.” she retorted and shook his hand.

“Well well, I can assure you if I was a criminal, Batman would have cracked down on me already, darling.” he stated, almost matter-of-fact-ly.

“You say that like you know Batman.”

“You don’t know if I don’t.”

She laughed at him, there was something about the way he delivered words and sentences that drew her in. This is the start of something good, she thought.

He nudged her slightly in a playful tap, “You want to get something to eat later? We can get to know each other better, and maybe rewrite those very, very sloppy notes of yours, Y/N?” he asked, he seemed shy about it.

“I would love to, Jason.”

They exchanged numbers and packed up her stuff. She figured he still had classes, but she didn’t. So she went back home to her roommate, A/N.

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

“Girl, you do not know the hunk of a man I met today, when I say carved by the Greek Gods and deliver words like a Wayne, I mean it!” she giggled with A/N, they were her best friend.

“C’mon, tell me that guy asked you out, at least to a book club if he’s that hot.” she asked.

“He did! We’re meeting up later at the library to rewrite my notes and chat. Do you think this outfit is cute? I want to make him swoon.”

A/N laughed, “Oh yeah? Girl you’re killing it and you know it. C’mon, red mini skirt, get that man. And maybe see if he has a brother.”

She roared out laughing, “A brother? He is the brother, no man comes from a family where there’s multiple nice ones, you know the saying.”

“Well still, roomies stick out for each other.”

“I know, I know.” she laughed. “Oh and have you seen the latest Bat news, apparently he’s gotten injured.”

“Serves him right for being a bat!”

“Be nice! The man protects us and you know it.” Just then, she looked at the clock, she had 30 minutes to meet up with Jason, so she started panicking.

“I gotta go now, wish me luck.”

“Go, get him.”

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

She pulled up to the library with her bag of hastily written notes and car keys on her lanyard. She was nervous. This was someone who was really cute, and so far, he seemed really sweet to her too. She gulped, getting out of her car. The thing was beaten up to hell and back, so she hoped Jason didn’t see her in it. But he did.

“Hey Y/N.” Jason whispered and she jumped. He laughed.

“Nice beat up car, Y/N. Really living out the broke college kid lifestyle, gotta respect it.” he joked.

“Oh yeah, this is, uh, just aesthetics. I’m secretly very, very rich. Millions of dollars. All my money too.” they both laughed and he lead her inside the library and they both sat down at a desk with two chairs and a computer. This was more luxury than she even had back with A/N.

 Jason grinned and took one of her notebooks and started trying to transcribe what she wrote onto a word document. She laughed, because even though she knew her handwriting was barely legible, he seemed to be managing, and she admired his efforts.

“You know, Jason, I can always transcribe it myself,” she said.

“No, no, it’s okay. If I write it then I can print it for both of us, so you don’t have to pay the printing fee.”

“There’s a printing fee?”

“Yeah, one of my brothers used to go here, my dad says if we all go here he’ll pay the fees since it’s worth it for this college.” he said.

“You have brothers?” she asked, shocked he opened up this quickly.

“Oh yeah I do. 4 to be exact. 3 sisters too. What about you?”

“A twin sister. She’s quite lovely, goes to a different college like a nerd though.” she joked.

He let out a booming laugh, “I think we’re the nerds, Ms. Criminal Psych Major.”

“You have got me there, Jason, you got me there.”

“I know I do, Y/N. So, what high school did you come from, or are you an out-of-city kid?”

“Not from this city, I’m actually from Metropolis. It’s huge and annoying there. Too many people. This is such a smaller city compared to Metropolis. I’m guessing you were a Gotham Academy kid?” she asked.

“Yeah, repping the Gotham Academy to death and back, I met a lot of good people there and I would have to agree, my uncle lives in Metropolis, it’s massive.” he said.

“Your uncle is probably a people-person then, I’m sure as hell not.” she retorted.

“Neither am I, but there was something about you that seemed inviting if I’m honest. I don’t regret asking you this, what is this? A date?” he asked.

“If you want to call it a date, we can call it a date, Jason.” you assured him.

“It’s been a date then.”

“Well I’m glad you thought I was inviting and worth your time, Jason. Really, this is lovely.” you once again assured him.

“Did I tell you that you look nice? Red’s a lovely colour. It’s even my favourite colour. It’s like you can read my mind and dress for the occasion.”

“Man, if I could read your mind, I’m sure it would be a joyride. Maybe I’ll know why you went into Criminal Psych over everything else.”

“That’s a story for another time, Y/N.” he said as he somehow finished typing out the last page of the notes, “I guess this will conclude our date, shame really.”

“Well, that just means there’s room for a second date, Jason.”

“I’ll make sure to tell my brothers about you, then.”

“Is the second date worthy of the Mighty-Jason’s brothers knowing about me?” you are inclined for the answer.

“Well, the first was the minor mention of your name, the second is saying ‘We had fun, I have hopes.’ You know?” he said.

“I know.”

And he printed the document.

[lovclyboncs]

Everything I Wanted 2/2 (F!Reader x Todoroki)

soulmate Au! Where your soulmate tattoo appears on your wrist after you touch your soulmate for the first time.

F!reader x Todoroki

F!Reader x Bakugou (brotp)

Plot: the reader is Todoroki’s soulmate. Todoroki rejected reader because he thought he was in love with Momo and didn’t want to let fate dictate his life. Now the two of them have a conversation that was long over due.

Part one

Before getting on with the story I want to give a huge thanks to everyone who reblogged and liked part one, it means the world to me that there is people out there who enjoyed my writing, and a big thank you to @dillybuggg and to @power-house-fan12 for encouraging me to write another part sending so much love to you guys!!! 💗💗💗

“Someday?”

“Someday.”

"Todoroki-san, I met my soulmate."

"oh."

" I think we should come clean to our classmates, i really want to see where this goes"

Todoroki couldn’t blame her. They were foolish to think their puppy love could stand strong against fate.

Todoroki and Momo had been walking on eggshells around each other during their first year at UA. They were attracted to each other even though they weren’t each other’s destined partner. Trust them they checked, they had been so hopeful only for it to crumble when their left wrists were still void of black Ink even after they had their first kiss.

They had been laying low with their blossoming relationship until the fateful day Shoto and (y/n) first touched.

Shoto didn’t know what to think of (l/n). She didn’t stand out as a person or a hero in training, so when they were paired up on a project there seemed to be a never ending silence between them, with his lack of social skills and her lack of- well everything they didn’t even know where to begin. After a couple of awkward questions about what they wanted to do, they were able to get started, and he thought then that (l/n) wasn’t so bad, but when he dropped his pencil and they both reached for it, that’s when it all went south. He remembers the stinging feeling he felt on his wrist and couldn’t help flinching at the uncomfortable sensation.

He didn’t need to look at his wrists to know what had happened and he didn’t need to think twice before grabbing his things and giving a quiet excuse for his sudden need to be very far away from (l/n).

It wasn’t until he was locked away safely in his room that he dared look at his wrist, and there it was in bold black ink, in a surprisingly illegible yet legible font, how does someone achieve that? ‘(Y/n) (l/n)’.

He’s not quite sure how long he stared at it, but he knows that by the time he was able to organize his thoughts there were birds chirping out side welcoming the new day.

He had rejected her.

She had been okay with it.

He didn’t tell Momo who his soulmate was, but he did tell her that he didn’t want to continue hiding their relationship. What was stopping them from sharing their happiness with the rest of the class? Momo believed they would be looked down on for not waiting on their soulmates. It wasn’t common for people to date anyone who wasn’t their soulmate, it was even more uncommon to reject a soulmate, but look at him, he did it and he was perfectly fine- they were perfectly fine.

Momo was the one who came up with the idea to draw on their soulmate tattoos, unaware of the fact that there already was a name on Todoroki’s wrist, unaware of the pain she was causing to that other half.

Coming clean to their classmates had gone surprisingly well, and Todoroki wasn’t sure how he felt about that, about that fact that (y/n) didn’t yell or question him on the why.

Why had he lied?

Why had he covered her up like she was something not worth looking at?

Why did he rub his relationship in her face?

Why not give them a chance if he was gonna chase something temporary?

Instead she had looked him in the eyes and gifted him a soft smile.

After everyone had scattered around the common area after their announcement, Todoroki decided to sit outside and take a breather.

He couldn’t help but sigh.

Thinking back to the day he and (y/n) first touched, he wished he hadn’t been such a coward.

He wished he had given her a chance to speak, because looking back now he realized that he did all the talking, he called all the shots not giving her a say in the matter.

She followed his wishes and yet he can’t help but want to be selfish and take it all back.

He had been wrong to think she had been lacking anything because she was everything. She was perfect to him, for him.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

Fate had told him she was his, a gift from the universe to cherish and like a spoiled brat he threw it away, ruined it. ‘Seems to run in the family’, he thought bitterly.

(Y/n) (L/n) was everything he wanted and he didn’t deserve her.

The worst part was that the person who helped him realize that was the hotheaded blonde of 1-A (now 2-A).

He was the one who brought out the best in (y/n) or maybe the only one who had bothered to listen, who had bothered to truly see her.

Todoroki couldn’t help but resent him for it yet he was grateful, because without Bakugou pushing her to open up, he would have never realized that he had shut the door on something beautiful without opening it.

“Why are you out here? Curfew is in 20 minutes” he heard her soft voice.

He didn’t reply and he felt her sit beside him on the stairs.

And there was silence.

What could he possibly say now?

Im sorry? That seemed too shallow

“It’s okay you know?” She began.

He finally listened.

“I’ll be honest, it had hurt- you had hurt me when you shut me out without giving me a chance to prove myself worthy of being on your wrist. I questioned if it had been something I did, something I didn’t do, or if it had been my appearance that had caused you to utter those words. Bakugou told me that it shouldn’t be something I beat myself over, that if it had been me that you would have told me, but you didn’t. You just told me that your heart belonged to another”

She stopped and finally looked at him, and he at her.

“ Im sorry things between you two didn’t work out how you wanted them to-” she had began, but he didn’t let her finish.

“Don’t. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I thought I knew what I wanted and if I’m being honest I think I just wanted to be able to choose at least one thing for myself.” He said without thinking, it was time he stopped hiding from the truth, the selfish truth he hid under his not so pure love for Momo.

“Ever since I was born I have been nothing but a tool for my father. The just right child with the just right quirk. I wasn’t allowed to spend time with my siblings, I wasn’t allowed to play, I wasn’t allowed to make my own decision. It was always my father, and then I found out I wasn’t able to choose who I wanted to be with because apparently fate did that, so I would question what it is that I got to decide for myself

because if fate and my father made the decisions then what was I left with? What part of my life was actually mines for the taking?” He looked at the ground unable to continue meeting her eyes.

“So even if it’s not enough I do apologize, (y/n), for thinking so selfishly that I didn’t take into consideration the fact that you didn’t choose me either and that I didn’t try to make it easier for the both of us” he said clenching his fist to keep some sort of anchor on his mess of emotions.

Todoroki felt a small hand (or at least smaller that his own) lay on top of his own.

“Maybe we’ve both been going about this the wrong way? So what if we have each other’s name on our wrist? that doesn’t mean we should get married next week” (y/n) said in an attempt to lighten his load, to let him know that he didn’t need to beat himself over it just like she didn’t need to.

“ let’s just start as friends and see how things go and then maybe someday who knows” she shrugged her shoulders casually and flashed him a smile.

Todoroki looked at her and she at him.

He relaxed his hand that was underneath her and let himself hold her hand.

“Someday?” He asked

“Someday” she grinned.

(Y/n) cleared her throat and held her hand out for a handshake making him raise an eyebrow

“Hi my name is (y/n) (l/n) let’s be friends”

“I’m Shoto Todoroki, and I would like that very much”

“ I’m Aizawa, the teacher and you two need to get to bed”

“Yes sir!”

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 4

I.IV

Masterlist

Content warning: lots of smut ahead, degradation

Your eyes stick to every person that walks down the hall past you. You feel wildly out of place. You reach down fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. It’s the only daytime appropriate skirt you own and it’s extremely uncomfortable.

You’re not sure why you agreed to wear the damn thing. It’s not like not wearing a skirt would have any impact on your grade or Hotch’s opinion of you. It’s clear he doesn’t like you… well, he definitely likes you. He just doesn’t respect you. Well… he respects your work ethic and your intelligence. But physical attraction is different from genuinely enjoying your presence and liking your personality. He might want to fuck you but that doesn’t mean he wants to spend time with you. You settle on: He tolerates you enough to agree to tutor you.

You look down at the notebook he gifted you a few days ago. You place a hand on the soft leather cover before opening it up. You’ve read it every single day since he gave it to you and you can tell the man is a genius. You have a million questions, a million things you want to discuss. Normally, you’d mark the pages up with highlights, little notes in the margins, and post-its sticking out of the sides. So you had to settle for your own notebook of questions, nearly as thick as the original work. At least your handwriting is more legible than Hotch’s chicken scratch.

Even if Aaron Hotchner doesn’t actually like you personally, you’re growing more and more captivated with him every day.

The office door opens behind you and you turn, coming face to face with Hotch’s chest, forgetting just how tall he is compared to you. You look up at him and he gives a small smile, placing his hand on your back, guiding you into his office. His large hand is warm on your back and your heart rate immediately picks up in his presence.

"Did you fill that whole notebook with notes?" His eyes dart down to your arms. He reaches forward to take the book from your clutches. You nod, struggling to calm your mind down enough to sort through the thoughts racing through it. He moves around you to lean against the edge of the desk, the book open in one hand, the other hand fingering through the pages.

You stand awkwardly in the center of the office, rubbing your fingers together at your sides, feeling oddly exposed now that you’re not clutching the books tightly against your chest. "I’m sorry I just had so many questions and once I started writing them down, I couldn’t just stop."

Hotch glances up from your notebook and you see a smile on his face. It’s not that pretentious, shit-eating grin that spreads across his face when he embarrasses a student in class or outsmarts you. It’s this beautiful, toothy grin. His eyes crinkle at the sides and as fast as his eyes are on you, they go back down to the notebook in his hands, "This is… amazing." He smiles wider, "Come on, sit down," He points towards the chair in front of his desk.

You hesitate slightly before moving to sit in front of him in the chair. You tug at the bottom of your skirt again, hoping for some more coverage.

"So you enjoyed the notes?" He doesn’t look up from the book but reaches behind him for a pen and starts jotting things down alongside your handwriting.

"What I could read, yes," You tease him playfully, attempting to loosen up. He’s intimidating and scary, but you desperately want to impress him.

"Something wrong with my handwriting, Miss Y/L/N?" He quirks up an eyebrow at you and this time, you’re giving him the snarky grin he always gives you.

"Oh it’s utterly atrocious," You lean forward resting your chin in the palm of your hand.

From the way Hotch laughs and looks over you, you could be entirely convinced he’s genuinely enjoying your presence. "You wore a skirt," He nods a little, putting the book down at his side on the desk. He places both hands against the edge of the desk, gripping the lip of the wood.

"I’m not an idiot." You roll your eyes and shake your head. "I do know how to follow simple directions."

"I know you can," He grins before shaking his head, "I should’ve guessed," Hotch pushes his sleeves up his arms, exposing the tanned, veiny forearms that immediately draw your attention.

"Guessed what?" You furrow your brows at him. He smirks and gestures towards you and you stand up, putting your books down on the chair and moving close to him. With this orientation, your face is almost at eye level with his as he leans against his desk. He still looms over you. He places his hands on your hips and yanks you closer. You let out a soft gasp in response and his smirk grows.

You search his eyes, waiting for a response to your question. He runs his eyes over your entire body before lifting a hand to your cheek. He runs his hand over the skin before tangling his fingers in your hair at the nape of your neck, yanking your head back, giving him full access to the base of your neck. He cranes his head down placing a few soft kisses on the skin. "I should’ve guessed you’d be a brat." He mumbles against your throat and the vibrations of his deep voice send tingles up into your face and jaw.

"Am I really a br—" He nips your skin and you lose the ability to speak, letting out a small moan in response.

He smirks against your skin, "You seem to have a smart mouth," He groans, "How about we put it to good use?"

You nod. "I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you," Your breathing rate picks up as Hotch continues to nip at your neck down to the tops of your breasts. His lips ghost over your cleavage peeking out of the top of your shirt.

"I can tell," Hotch’s grip in your hair loosens but he tilts your head back down to lock his lips onto yours. Your head is already spinning with pleasure and he’s barely touched you. With his open mouth on yours, all you can do is submit to him and give yourself over to his passion.

His hands move all over your body. His actions are motivated and urgent but he’s not frantic. His touches are deliberate. He yanks you as close as possible so that you’re standing fully between his legs. First, his hands are trailing up your bare thighs, his fingertips just barely ghosting up under your skirt.

"I thought about you," You breathe out, and your eyes flutter closed, taking in the feeling of your professor's hands on your body. You suck in a small breath as his hands continue to travel up your body before taking your warm pliable breasts into his hands. You throw your head back, "All last night… alone. Touching myself, wishing it was you, professor." You whine.

You need more. Every touch of his hands sends sparks across your body. You’ve never felt this attracted to someone, this alight with pleasure, this sensitive. At your words, he stands up from the desk placing his arms on your shoulders harshly, "I distinctly remember you mentioning something about getting on your knees for me." He pushes you down to the ground and you let out a small yelp as your knees hit the carpet and you swear you feel the seams in your skirt snap.

You sit up a little on your knees and reach forward for his belt, seeing the bulge in his pants growing. He places one hand over yours, stopping you. He reaches down with the other hand, tilting your face up to look at him. "This what you pictured? Getting on your knees? Begging for my cock?"

You bite your bottom lip and nod at him. He slaps your face gently before gripping your chin tight in his hands, pulling your attention back to him, "Words, my pretty girl. Use your words."

"I want to please you… sir." You pout up at him. He lets you unbuckle his belt and you push down his jeans and boxers. He leans against the desk again and you take his cock into your hand, pumping him slowly. A small groan escapes his mouth and you smile in response.

You place your mouth around the tip, swirling your tongue slowly before taking as much of him into your mouth as possible. He bucks his hips slightly in response, forcing him deeper into your mouth. He brings a hand down, tangling his fingers in your roots.

You bob your head faster, running your tongue up his entire length, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit in your mouth. He grips your hair tighter, tugging at the roots and forcing himself deeper into your mouth, thrusting harder, "Relax your throat pretty girl, you’re going to take all of me." He groans even louder and you feel tears prick at your eyes, gagging as he continues to fuck your mouth.

Your lungs burn for air and you suck in through your nose but continue to pick up the pace, pulling almost entirely off of his cock before taking the whole length back into your mouth. Hotch’s hand remains tangled in your hair as he lets out loud groans, muttering praise with each thrust.

You’re thoroughly enjoying this and it’s evident from the way you’ve got your thighs clenched together. His breathing is staggered, strangled grunts and moans escaping his throat. Plus the praise he gives you— Good girl. Just like that. Keep going. Don’t stop, pretty girl—is turning you on more and more.

Just as he begins to buck his hips more erratically and you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, he pulls away, leaving a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. Your cheeks are running with tears, no doubt entirely smudging your mascara. You look up at him, upset that he stopped you just before you could make him cum. He’s panting heavily attempting to catch his breath and glances down at you.

You smirk cheekily and he grips your face, "Look at what a mess I’ve made of that pretty face." He uses the pad of his thumb to attempt to wipe one of your cheeks. "Stand up." He orders sternly.

He pulls you to your feet, unable to keep his hands from running over your skin. He moves his hands up under your skirt again. This time, he hikes the hem all the way up to your hips. His hands clutch at your bare ass as he presses his lips against yours forcefully. You feel weak and soft under his touch. "You’ve done that a lot before," He groans against your mouth, his tone a little disapproving. You smirk against his lips.

"Did I make you feel good, professor?" You moan out. At that, Hotch flips you around, pushing you forward over the desk. You bend at the waist and catch yourself on your hands. Without warning, he presses his hard cock against your ass. You crane your head around to look at him, a small cocky smile growing on your lips. You’re very quickly learning exactly what kind of man Professor Hotchner is. What he likes, what he doesn’t like, and what you should do and say to get a rise out of him.

He pushes your face down against the wood of the desk, keeping your head pinned down. He bends down to your ear, "You think you can talk to me like that?"

"Sorry sir," You breathe out. He’s being rough but it’s because he knows you want it. He can sense that you’re egging him on, trying to get a reaction. So he reacts just the way you want him to. He delivers a hard smack to your ass, sending jolts of pain and pleasure throughout your entire body.

He trails his fingers up your legs, teasing your wet, heated skin. He slips two fingers into you, eliciting a small gasp that dissolves into a moan. "Already tightening around me and I’ve barely done anything." He chuckles under his breath and he slowly thrusts his fingers, your moans becoming loud and uncontrollable. Just the simple insertion of his fingers already has your head feeling fuzzy and your heart races. You’ve been waiting so long for him to touch you again. The past few days have been torture.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way his tongue explored every inch of you. The way his hands feel on your body. The way his mouth feels on yours. He’s rough with you, but never in a way that scares you, it excites you. He knows you can take it. You barely know the professor but it feels as if he knows your body intimately well and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. That’s what excites you.

The grip on your head has loosened so you’re able to try to turn and look at him and his hooded eyes run over your body slowly. As his fingers move in and out of you agonizingly slowly you can’t help but gasp at the pleasure and Hotch groans, feeling proud and lustful at the way your cheeks flush. He can feel your skin heating up with every thrust. He can see your eyes growing glassy and bright with lust. He sees your mouth fall open, soft gasps and whines escaping your mouth. He can’t wait any longer and neither can you.

"Please," Your voice is a breathy whisper.

Hotch removes his fingers and guides himself against you. He barely presses his skin against you and you’re already moaning louder than ever. Your legs feel like jelly as he presses into you. He groans with your reaction and thrusts deeper into you. Your body is already shaking with pleasure by the time he ruts into you fully.

That seems to spur Hotch on and he thrusts deep, not taking it slow, too impatient and needy to take his time with you. Strangled groans escape from him, meshing with your heavy panting. You collapse against the desk, unable to continue holding yourself up. Hotch reaches down, yanking you up by your hair to press your body closer against his. Your back arches against his chest and you decide to allow him to fully take charge. "Is this how you pictured it? In all those dirty fantasies of yours?"

You can barely muster a response but you know he wants to hear your words so you let out a strangled, ‘Yes, sir’ between your moans.

He’s going at you with a sense of desperation. And god that makes you a million times more flustered. The idea that he wants you so bad, he needs you so bad. That he’s so desperate to feel your skin. He’s so desperate to fuck you. He’s desperate. And you love it. You love that he wants you so bad.

The built-up anticipation of this exact moment with your professor means you don’t last terribly long, and neither does he. His hands are gripping at your hips tightly, fingers digging into the skin. He thrusts into you wildly a few more times. He reaches down, rubbing your clit in slow circles as he throws his head back, moaning loudly, his movements growing erratic.

You feel the euphoria overwhelming you, the tension building in your body, your legs trembling. You fumble around the desk for something, anything, to grab onto. The stars coat your vision and your body shakes wildly with pleasure as his fingers rub your clit in faster circles.

It feels as if your orgasm lasts forever, your head feeling light and it buzzes with pleasure. You both just remain there for a long moment. Each of you is trying to catch your breath. He releases your head, being much more gentle, and you rest your face on the wood for a second, the cool surface a nice contrast to your sweaty skin. "Such a pretty mess I’ve made of you," He mumbles against your skin as he places a soft kiss on your spine.

Hotch steps a bit away from you and the warmth of his body close to yours disappearing, but the air in his office is hot and humid from your body heat. Another long, silent moment passes and you can’t help but feel disappointed because you can tell he’s about to kick you out. Just as you turn to face him, he’s already pulled himself together. He’s pulled his pants back up, adjusted his shirt, and is smoothing out his hair.

You hurry to pull the hem of your skirt back down and retrieve your cardigan from the floor. Hotch moves away from you, walking around to the other side of his desk. He reaches into his drawer and hands you a paper, "I want you to rework this memorandum for next week. Your writing skills need to be improved further." You’re not surprised at how he switches from explicit to professional so quickly, but it is admittedly, quite jarring. You reach a shaky hand forward for the paper and take it, stacking it on top of your belongings.

His eyes linger on you and your eyes linger on him. You want to say something. You feel like you should, but just as you open your mouth, his office phone cuts you off.

He reaches down and picks it up, "Hotchner."

You grab your books, holding them close to your chest, standing awkwardly in front of Hotch’s desk. He settles into his desk chair and finally glances back up at you. He pulls the phone away from his ear and nods towards the door, "You’re free to go."

You’d be lying if that didn’t sting a little, but you knew what you were getting into by sleeping with your professor. You hesitate for a split second as Hotch turns back to the phone conversation, searching around for a pen and pad to jot some notes down.

You walk to the door and open it, giving Hotch one last glance. You give him a warm smile before you walk out and you swear that you see the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly in response.

Chapter 5: I.V →

[joontopia]

Underneath the Ginkgo Tree | KNJ - Teaser

pairings: namjoon x female reader

rating: nsfw, 18+

genre: slight time travel!au, soulmate(if you squint)!au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, influenced by the movie The Lake House

series warnings: angst, fluff, pining, language, mentions of death, major character death, talks of mental health, description of hospital scenes, description of car accidents (more warnings will come with each chapter)

teaser warnings: a couple of dashes of angst, slight pining, language? (did i write curse words in this? probably idk) mention of a break up, talks of feeling lost

teaser word count: 2.9k

series release: 1st qtr 2021

a/n: thank you to my twin and soulmate, @escapingreality4now​ for reading over this and fixing my mistakes. thank you for always being so enthusiastic about all of the random ideas that I have and start to work on (even when it brings me away from the one WIP you’ve been waiting on an update for hehehe). I love you!

The lone ginkgo tree stood out among the others that were outlining the small clearing. It looks absolutely beautiful the way the golden leaves contrast to the dark green around them. It seemed almost magical and you silently scold yourself for leaving your camera back at the studio. You walk across the grass clearing towards the ginkgo tree, examining it along the way. As you get closer, you notice carvings in the wide base of the tree in the shape of a small door, looking to be about a foot tall and half a foot wide.

“How cute,” you mutter to yourself, crouching down to examine the door further. Placing your backpack up against the tree, you notice a small hoop attached to the door, the opening of the ring just big enough for you to hook two fingers. You pull on the hoop, letting out a small gasp of excitement as the door gives way, revealing a hollow opening in the tree. You peak through the doorway, seeing nothing but dried leaves and small sticks. A slight breeze blows past you as you start to close the door, moving around the contents inside the hollowed out trunk. The door was almost half way closed when something caught your eye.

You peak back into the small room, noticing something long and light blue under the rearranged foliage. You look around the hollowed trunk, making sure there’s no hidden creature that could jump out and bite you. “Oh God, please don’t let there be a snake,” you think to yourself as you reach in to retrieve the mystery item. Snatching your arm back, you let out a small breath and chuckle at yourself for the small overreaction.

“An envelope?” you say out loud, looking at the newly retrieved item in your hand. You flip it over while observing it, noticing that it's sealed with nothing written on the front.

“I wonder if anything’s in it,” you mumble to yourself. You reposition yourself with your back up against the trunk of the tree, opening the envelope as you get settled. The paper tears easily and you guess that it must be old. Finally getting the envelope wide enough, you pull out a piece of paper, unfolding it carefully to make sure not to tear it. You were happy to see the writing was still legible with only some minor smudges and dirt marks spread across the page. Noticing a small date at the top, you squint as you bring the paper closer to read, only able to make out a faint 2018 as the rest of the date was ruined by the dirt.

“Two years ago… Wow.” You pull the paper back, taking a quick look around the small meadow before you start to read.

Dear future me,

I hope when you open this letter, it finds you well. Maybe you finally asked out that cute girl in your Art History class. Or maybe, at the very least, grew a pair to introduce yourself to her properly. Anyways, I’m not writing this to give you a hard time. We’re dealing with enough of that as it is. I’m just hoping that writing this will be something to help me gain some motivation. Give me a sense of purpose. Things just feel stagnant lately. I’m in the middle of my Senior year of university and have no idea what I’m going to do once I graduate. Everyone around me seems to have everything planned out and I’m just… here. I’m hoping when you finally read this again, you’ll have found your path. I promise to try my best on my end to get you there.

Starting with Art History girl. Hopefully she likes nature walks or hikes. I would love to take her to this old ginkgo tree for a picnic. So let’s work on step #1. Figure out how to simply walk up to her without falling flat on your face.

This is hopeless. Sending you luck and well wishes from the past. - Joon

You flip the page around to see if there was anything only to be met with a blank back.

“I wonder if he ever came back to read this,” you think out loud. Taking a look around the base of the tree, it seems like this place has been unbothered for quite some time. You assume so, anyways, especially with how covered the letter was when you found it. You continue to sit there against the tree, looking out into the small clearing. “Maybe I should write a letter back.”

You feel a slight gust of wind, closing your eyes as you appreciate the soft chill kiss your face and the beautiful sound of the rustling leaves of the ginkgo tree. “I’m guessing I should take that as a yes,” you say with a giggle. The tiny laugh is cut short as you let out a small scoff and shake your head.

“Great. I don’t know what's worse; me talking to myself or to the wind,” you grumble as you reach into your backpack, pulling out a notebook and pen, flipping to a blank page. “Okay, well here goes nothing.”

You sat at the base of the ginkgo tree writing out your letter back to this Joon. Constantly erasing and rewriting half of it, feeling like you were getting too deep and personal with your reply. It wasn’t until the third revision that you finally told yourself that it didn’t matter. No one was going to find it and read it anyways. Once complete, you reach back into your bag, pulling out a yellow envelope meant for holding photos. You check to make sure it’s empty before stuffing your letter inside and sealing it. You place the envelope inside the hollow base of the tree and close the door.

Standing up, you brush the leaves and dirt off your knees, backside, and hands. Not quite ready to leave your newly found secret hideaway, you look around the area, eyeing many rocks of different shapes and sizes. Most of them being just the right size for making a rock tower. You check your watch for the time, mentally calculating just how much time you have before you need to be back at the studio. “5 minutes until noon. Just one tower, one wish, and then I’ll head back to the real world. Sound good?” you said out loud, looking up at the ginkgo tree. A small breeze picks back up as you start to search for the perfect rocks. The wind softly blows through the leaves as if it were trying to give you a response.

The sun sits high in the sky as Namjoon treks down the now familiar path as the wind blows softly around him. The trees and bushes make the most comforting sounds as their branches and leaves rub together through the breeze. He looks down at the blue envelope in his hand before checking the time on his watch. 5 minutes until noon. He’s out here earlier than usual. A bittersweet surprise due to his class being canceled. The very class where he was finally going to talk to the pretty girl who sat by the window. Or at the very least, sit right next to her awkwardly while not saying anything at all. He hadn’t planned on writing another letter, but with the surge of motivation the last one had left him, he felt like it wouldn’t hurt to do it again.

Namjoon readjusts the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder as he enters the small hidden meadow. His eyes and lips turn up into a small smile as he looks at the lone ginkgo tree. “Hello, old friend,” he says as he approaches the base of the tree. The branches and leaves sway in the wind as if giving their own greeting back. Namjoon looks around at the empty meadow before placing his bag on the ground and kneeling before the small wooden door.

“I’m not here for long, friend,” he says as he looks up at the tree. “Just dropping off another.” Namjoon reaches for the small loop to open the door. Blue envelope in hand, he reaches in to place the letter inside, pausing when he sees something he didn't expect. There in the middle of the hollow trunk sat a clean, yellow envelope, seemingly untouched by the nature around it.

“I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place,” Namjoon mumbles to himself. He grabs the envelope from the opening, eyes going wide in a small moment of panic as he realizes his previous letter is no longer there. He lets out a low groan. “Oh no, someone read my letter.”

He hits his head with his palm, looking at the stranger’s envelope in his hand “Should I read it? They wouldn’t respond with their own letter just to laugh at me, right?” he thinks to himself. Namjoon looks around before adjusting himself to lean against the wide tree trunk. He opens the envelope, pulling out the letter. The faint scent of a female’s perfume follows, hitting Namjoon’s senses as he breathes it in. Appreciating the lovely scent while also finding it oddly familiar, but he just can’t place it. He takes a look at the letter and shrugs his shoulders. “Well I guess fair’s fair,” he mumbles to himself again as he begins to read the mystery letter.

Dear Joon,

I hope you don’t mind that I read your letter. It seemed to have been left untouched for sometime. I felt the least I could do is write back, even if you don’t ever return to this place. I would like to apologize in advance for using your letter as my own little outlet to vent. I’m sure there’s more interesting things you would like to know about the future if you were to ever find this. Not much has changed in the two years since your letter. The world is still a big mystery where people still feel lost. Myself included. I hope that’s not too discouraging. It’s normal to experience a sense of mispurpose and self doubt in college. Everyone feels lost at least once in their lives. Even if they felt like they had everything planned and figured out. The universe doesn’t make exceptions in that affair.

If you did figure a way out of your stump, let a girl know. I could use some words of wisdom myself. My boyfriend of almost two years broke up with me not too long ago. On White Day, if you can believe it. We started dating my senior year of university and I thought we were on the same page as far as our future together was concerned. But there I was, sitting on a bench in Yongsan Park, thinking I was about to be proposed to and end up getting dumped instead. He always talked about marriage, but I guess people tend to just change their minds.

But here’s the real kicker… my feeling of being lost isn’t from the heartbreak. I wish it were that simple. I'm feeling lost because when he broke up with me and ended almost two years of us, I didn’t feel sad. I felt relieved. Who in their right mind feels relief when the person they thought they were going to spend their life with breaks up with them? I don't know. Maybe love just isn't for me.

Anyways, that was a long drawn out way of saying, don’t place your sense of purpose on a relationship, let alone another person. People will only let you down. That being said, if Art History Girl doesn’t enjoy nature walks or picnics, she’s not the one. It sounds like the perfect date. - Y/N 2♥2♥

Namjoon reads the last couple of lines over again, smirking as he traces the small hearts you drew in place of the zeros of the year by your name. “Cute,” he mumbles to himself as he places your letter on the ground next to him, digging into his bag for his notebook and a pen. He quickly scribbles out a response, grabbing the blue envelope he brought and discarding his unread letter from it. Replacing it with the new one he just wrote. Namjoon sticks the now sealed envelope and letter into the holy trunk, closing the door before checking his watch again. Almost 12:35 PM.

“I guess I have time to eat lunch here.” Namjoon reaches back into his bag, pulling out the carefully wrapped sandwich his roommate made him this morning. After finishing his meal, he leans back against the tree, closing his eyes, enjoying the occasional breeze as the time passes. Deciding he spent enough time hiding from the real world, Namjoon stands from his spot against the tree, grabbing his bag in the process. He takes a quick glance at the small door, eyebrows furrowing as he does a double take, noticing the door is slightly ajar. “Didn’t I close this?” he thought to himself as he kneels back down in front of the door, opening it wider to see if anything was keeping it from closing all the way.

“What the hell?!” Namjoon exclaims as his eyes widen at the sight of another yellow envelope lying in the middle of the hollow trunk. His blue envelope, once again, nowhere to be seen.

You take a step back from your newly built structure, admiring your handiwork. You decided to build the little rock tower at the base of the tree, right in front of the little door. You tell yourself it’s to discourage any newcomers from opening the door, but you know it's just to discourage yourself from retrieving your letter.

“Okay, Y/N, now make a wish.” You close your eyes and bow your head by the rock tower. Searching your mind for the perfect wish, you finally land on the right words. Please let me be wrong about love. Please let it find me in this lifetime. You let out a deep breath as you open your eyes. Grabbing your bag off the ground, you take one more look up at the ginkgo tree before starting back towards the walking trail.

“I hope I’m able to find this place again,” you whisper to yourself as you take a few steps away from the tree. You’re only halfway across the small meadow when the sound of a snapping twig stops you in your track, causing you to turn around, looking for the source of the noise.

“Hello?” You call out as you look around the seemingly empty meadow. Finding nothing, you turn back around towards the walking trail. “The woods make noises, Y/N. Nothing to freak out about,” you mumble to yourself.

You barely take another step when you hear the sound of rocks falling behind you. You quickly turn around, hoping to catch whatever person or woodland creature that could be causing these disturbances only to find that you’re still alone in the meadow. You take a quick scan of the area before your eyes move straight to your rock tower at the base of the ginkgo tree. Or at least what used to be your rock tower. What resides there now is just a pile of rocks. The sight of your fallen tower alone isn’t enough to put you on edge. Rocks fall. You just didn’t expect to see the previously closed door at the base of the tree to now be wide open.

You take slow steps back towards the tree, scanning the surroundings again for anyone or anything hiding in the tree line. Telling yourself that it was just the wind as you make it back to the tree, you kneel down to close back the little door. Your movements halt when you sneak a peek inside the hollow trunk, your eyes landing on what should have been the yellow envelope you just left inside. Instead, in its place, you find another blue envelope. You snatch the envelope from the hollow trunk, tearing it open with so much force that you wouldn’t be surprised if you ripped the letter inside. You pulled the letter from the envelope and began to read.

Dear Y/N,

Thank you for writing me back. I’m going to be honest, I'm a little surprised to have found your letter. I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place, considering it's off a hidden path that's found off another hidden path. But I’m happy someone else gets to enjoy the beauty of this hidden gem of a meadow. Thank you for your kind words. It’s nice to know there are people out there who care enough to try and comfort a stranger. I’m sorry to read about your breakup. Those are never easy, regardless of the tenure of the relationship. I hope you don’t feel too troubled by your feelings around it. It could just be a blessing in disguise. Sometimes you have to close one door for another to open. I believe there is someone for everyone and they will find you when you least expect it. So if you return here to find this letter, don’t give up. Love will find you. I promise. - Joon

P.S. Thanks for the little 2020 joke. Got quite a chuckle out of that one. Maybe we’ll see each other at this ol’ ginkgo tree some day. You know, in the current year of 2018.

© joontopia 2020 all rights reserved - Do not copy, Do not translate, Do not repost

[haikyupid]

Frequently used emojis:

👍🤡🎂✅👌😃😚😘😊😆😩🤠😀😱😭😔🧙‍♂️😫😉😡🙁🤔🙃😗❤🥰😎😤 I hope these suffice I’m submitting over mobile because I dont know how to emoji other wise.

Why follow:

First and foremost I saw you write cute prompts with cute guys and I thought the request system was pretty neat. And correct me if I’m wrong because it wasn’t explicitly stated in the order but you don’t seem to mind making a fic Gender neutral or even doing a fic for male!characterxmale!reader which is something I really appreciate.

Reasons to start and stay:

I can’t for the life of my remember where I first saw Haikyuu I know I heard of it before watching it. It was probably as simple as earnest sport boys are hot so watch this anime. Still reeling on a single reason I stayed since so many of the guys are just so pretty or hot or both.

Why them:

Full disclosure I had no one in mind when I started writing this submission so most of my brain power is thinking of my favorite character right now. There is so many to choose from but upon further consideration it is Bokuto koutarou (as I typed his last name his first came up in the suggestion bar lol) he is so energetic and screenshots from the manga make him BEEFY he has my heart in his hands. I’m trying really hard to put to words what else is great about my sweet owl boyfriend something about his hair probably.

Letter to you:

You run a very cute blog and I respect your positive attitude even when you’re a user of this hell site. Hopefully it’s not presumptuous that you male x male reader inserts although it would be a lie if I said I don’t care if you do. I hate to seem rude but I hope I actually qualify for this lol I’d feel silly if I didn’t hop on this train soon enough.

I hope this is both sufficient and legible ‘cuz right now I want to thirst a bit over the runner ups for the KING of my heart. To gush a bit more on Bokuto I love art when his shorts ride up and the knee guards have some uncovered skin showing as I have a weakness for thighs TBH. I love the fukurodani boys Akashi and Bokuto are both beautiful, Nekoma has Kuroo the smug sexy noodle boy and Yaku who was this close to catching my heart. I’ll put an end to this here and I hope and pray this all makes sense English is my first and only language but I am not a smart man if I am to be honest.

NOW PLAYING ◃◃   ❙ ❙ ▹▹ CHANGE MY MIND

for bokuto — when his heart long for yours. when your laughter and words evoke a feeling so foreign, yet he welcomes it as the flutter in his stomach continues to intensify. when thoughts of you cloud his mind, leaving him staring blankly at the ceiling of his bedroom wondering if you’re doing the same. when he screams into his pillow at 2 in the early mornings, as the feelings overflow and threaten to burst at any given moment.

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.

Perhaps it’s the glow of the sunset that makes your features stand out with a tint of gold that makes it hard for me to look away from you. Maybe it’s because of my tendency to want to be surrounded by loud noises that I end up intently listening to you speak, as the two of us walk along the quiet neighborhood with only the muffled sounds of sputtering engines accompanying your voice. It could be that your smile is contagious, and I find myself laughing along with you every time.

But there has to be a reason why I always find myself wanting to be near you- no, to be with you. But what is it? Why am I always longing for your presence?

“Bokuto.”

My eyes go wide from your sudden call of my name. I gulp, and I hope you don’t notice the nervous lump on my throat. “Yeah?” I curse myself as the word comes out in a tremble.

You tilt your head. That’s all you do, but my heart feels as though it’s intoxicated by you, and it suddenly hurts. My heart thumps louder than ever before.

“This is me.” You gesture at the familiar front of your house.

I find myself paralyzed. I can’t move — I refuse to move. I need to hear the words I’ve been longing for you to say to me; for you to say the word ‘stay’ with your lips no longer curved into a smile of farewell, but one that invites me in.

I feel my fingers twitch in an attempt to grab a hold of you and beg you to explain the feelings that continue to beautifully haunt my every waking moment. You should know, you’re the cause of it.

Please, tell me to stay. Then tell me that you crave my presence like I do with yours. That your soul feels lost when you’re not with me. That you want me to hold you in arms while I confess the foreign feelings that I have for you.

“Stay,” I say all of sudden. Shit, shit, shit! Please don’t think I’m weird. Damn this mouth of mine that never shuts.

Silence dawns upon us. It’s awkward, at least for me it is. I can’t bare to meet your eyes — I don’t know if I’ll be star-struck like before, or become too flustered and run far away from where we stand.

You finally break the silence with a: “so, are you going to say something?” You end the sentence with a lighthearted chuckle. You always knew how to lighten the mood, to lessen the awkwardness that I seem to always bring between us. Maybe it’s one of the reasons why you draw me in, like a tidal wave that leads you to a sea of happiness— and I wish for nothing but to be pulled in.

It’s now or never.

I huff in, my chest puffing out as it would in confidence, except I’m doing my best to feint mine. “Please, ask me to stay!” I don’t mean to scream, but the feelings that bubble up inside continue to intensify. I’m afraid that I can only speak ‘shouts’ at this point.

Please, please, please say the word. I need to know if you feel the same. I don’t think I can handle this foreign feelings any longer — I’d burst. So please, say it. Say that you want me to be with you a little while longer. Ask me to stay with you, and tell me… that you love me.

I search for a sign that blatantly tells me that my thoughts are wrong; but as you smile at me differently — one no longer meant for farewells — I find the gears that connects through my heart and mind finally working, and I now know— I now realize that these ‘foreign’ feelings are derived from the love that I feel only for you.

“Stay, Koutarou.” My heart finally bursts.

NOW PLAYING ◃◃   ❙ ❙ ▹▹ NEVER ENOUGH

for bokuto — when his lips linger on yours just for a split second longer than usual, and his mind is suddenly clouded by you and you only, disregarding everything else that was, and comes to mind. when his arms wrap around your waist like a man starved of your presence, but gentle enough as though he wants to protect and cherish you being in his grasp for as long as life allows him; and when his expression perfectly conveys the pure love and adoration that he feels for you, because to him, words are simply not enough to describe it.

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.

“Koutarou…”

Your voice puts me in a hypnotic haze, one that I want nothing more but to be surrounded by, every second of the day. It doesn’t matter if it leads me to danger, if the true meaning behind your words hide behind a sweet facade, you could coax me to do just about anything with those words and tone of yours.

“You need to leave now.”

Everything except that.

I feel the strings of my heart tug harshly from one direction to another. How is it that your voice, so sweet and alluring like pure honey, is able to produce words that elicits nothing but hurt from within me?

My heart agonizingly aches, yet your smile — that damned smile of yours that I’ve loved and yearned for years — shows nothing but amusement. How?

Do you not love me enough? Am I not worth your time? Do you want me to leave that badly? Have I done something wrong to make you say those—

“Kou,” your hands find itself on each side of my cheeks, cupping it in the most gentle caress only you can convey, “if you don’t leave now, you’ll be late. Akaashi and the team will start worrying, and they’ll end up spamming my messages.”

Oh.

The cooling relief that rushes through my racing heart and mind greatly contrasts the rising heat that climbs from my neck to my flushed cheeks. Can you see the effect you have on me?

Could you possibly blame me for reacting this way? I love you too much. I wouldn’t mind having my heart ache like this if it means that you’re the cause. I won’t have it any other way.

“I’m sorry.” My eyes close, and I instinctively kiss your lips. I hope that through it, you’ll feel the love that overpowers every other emotion that I’m meant to feel. Every responsibility other than deeply loving you being disregarded in mere seconds.

For once, I let my lips linger longer on yours. You don’t pull back, and I hope you never do. If only time will allow it — could we stay like this forever?

My lips are close enough to feel the small tug on the corners of you lips, indicating a small smile is forming. This is familiar, as it’s often followed by a gentle push by your hands that rest on my chest and a “go, you’re going to be late” — but no; this time, you close the gap in a rushed and delicate kiss.

It doesn’t even last a second before you pull away. I long for more. “Please,” I beg you once more.

“No,” you chuckle and suddenly, everything in my vision becomes much brighter and colourful, “you’re going to be late for practice. Just go, and I’ll give you more when you come back.”

“You promise?” I know you always uphold each one, but hearing you say it makes it that much more meaningful to me. A reassurance that I’m the only person to make these kinds of promises with you.

The sides of your eyes crinkle as you grin at me. “I promise,” you say with a honey-like tone. It evokes a different feeling from earlier, this time, it’s warmth.

A breath of relief, one I didn’t know that I’ve been holding in, leaves my body. And as my chest heaves down, I feel the grin only you can make appear decorate my face, and suddenly, I feel like everything’s going how I want it to; as if the world’s on my side.

I love you. I promise to, for as long as the universe lets me. I’ll never get enough of you, in this life and in another.

0 : 00 ──────────♡─ E : ND

bwahahahhaha, i can tell that you most definitely write better than i do even if i haven’t seen an example — but, hopefully you still liked this one. i’m not good at writing at all and i’m not used creating them, but hopefully this was at the very least decent enough for you. forgive me if it’s not…

you’re so nice 🥺👉👈 also, ik we haven’t talked much like at all, but your personality, i love it! the ‘oh, howdy’ had me wanting to talk to you more 🤣 i haven’t been greeted like that in so, so long, i missed it so much. and you do not seem rude at all! ik i haven’t explicitly said that i’m open to writing for every gender, only bcause i thought it was supposed to be common sense? clearly i was being quite ignorant, so i’m really and deeply sorry about that. but yes, i try to cater my content for all genders, unless the requester explicitly asks for their gender/pronouns to be used.

THIGHS FOR LIFE, HECK YEAH! i loooove that akaashi scene where it’s angled from under him and we get a view of his toned thighs and i’m just like 🤤💛💛 yeah, so now i simp for kuroo and akaashi bcause i’ve seen their beautiful thighs; but when i tell you that i’m willing to do anything to get a peak of bokuto’s bare thighs from under those knee guards, i mean it ahahahaha!

[meta-squash]

i’ve been so fucking restless all day, nowt to do with xmas since i really haven’t celebrated it or any other holiday really in years it probably has more to do with quarantine and generally pnw induced depression and also my adhd and stuff and i don’t know. but i’ve been super restless and i’ve already rambled about it in my notebook but my brain won’t shut up and i type faster than i write (or at least when i type fast it’s still legible and the same cannot be said for my shite handwriting). i took a walk today for an hour and a half and when i got home after i’d sat around for like an hour i just wanted to be out walking but like in the summer before i got top surgery i would walk the same 2.5 mile walk every day and now i just can’t it’s so boring but i don’t really know where to go. i’ve just been wandering but i’m sick of staring at my bedroom walls and getting no inspiration. i don’t know i’m so restless and it’s so annoying because basically i get this thing that’s like the desire to create, the desire to make things but no ideas or inspirations for what to actually do. it’s been like this for years. every so often i get flashes of solid inspiration but mostly it’s like a “i want to create” feeling but then i sit there in front of the paper or the collage stuff or the canvas or whatever and nothing comes. i don’t know if it’s a block due to my own i don’t know like need for control or whatever or if it’s a depression and/or adhd based plastered up wall. maybe it’s both. i don’t know. but just get this scribble in my stomach and this scratching like in my muscles or something i don’t know but it’s like this weird restlessness but there’s nothing to put out there. and i don’t know maybe if it wasn’t the middle of winter i could like drive down to oregon and sleep in my car and then drive back just for a change of scenery but it’s literally the middle of winter and also there’s a fucking pandemic and i’m trying to quarantine as best as possible because i’m paranoid as fuck. but i don’t know it’s just frustrating. first of all it’s bizarre because i found a notebook of mine from 6 years ago and i was having the same fucking blank-brain-can’t-think problems then as i’m having now. so yeah it’s probably unmedicated adhd but like ugh. but also it’s frustrating because all my favorite things, all my hyperfixations and points of inspiration are so intellectual and creative. like the les mis fandom or the manics or libertines bands themselves and fandoms as well and things like that and it’s frustrating to have so much inspiring shit right in front of me and desiring to make as well but nothing comes out because of whatever this stupid block is. and yeah i think a big part of it is adhd but also i just wonder if part of it is my brain desperately wanting control or something i don’t know. but i’m just so restless and i just want to create but i don’t have any ideas and i don’t know i should probably do some doodles or something. i used have this doodle system my friend and i came up with where you close your eyes and make marks on paper with a pencil and then you connect them with cross-hatch marks into whatever rough weird images you might see and it was always really interesting i should do that again. but even more than that i wish i could write. i don’t know i think the most truly creative and original thing i’ve written in a long time is (amusingly, ironically) a fucking manics fanfiction thing because the ending of that stupid richard book pissed me off so much. and that was like 3 years ago or something. 4 years i just checked. i don’t know, i miss writing creatively in ways that aren’t tv show/book fanfiction because yes that’s fun but that’s different. but my brain won’t cooperate even when i want to write. i mean i wrote a poem last night for the first time in like 2 years but then i look at it and it’s terrible. and i know it’s probably because i’m rusty and i need to get the hell over myself but idk. it’s like i want to express myself in my head in one way but then it never comes out that way on paper. collage is easier, less thought or at least less intense thought more aesthetic thought but i miss intellectual thought and i miss making words do cool things. but it’s this fucking adhd brain fog this inability to get my brain to have more than half a second of sharp focus even if i want to do something. and again getting properly into the libertines is pulling this out and hell even getting back into the les mis fandom is as well. with the les mis fandom it’s more about my rusty critical thinking and analysis skills because i haven’t been in university for like 5 years and i feel like everyone has much better observational skills and analytical writing skills than me. and then with the libs and manics fandom it’s more about the creative writing and creating in general because it’s like my room is covered in inspiration i’ve got pictures and things on all the walls and i have materials for pretty much any type of artistic creation so i could very easily be incredibly prolific and make a lot and have lots of ideas but there’s just nothing there. the urge is there but not the content. and it’s a problem i’ve had for so long. and it’s goddamn frustrating. i don’t know maybe if i was medicated i could make stuff better? but even then i have no idea. i have no idea. it’s so funny like i’m so fucking restless it’s 5 am and i have so much thrumming in my stomach and i could get up and go for a walk even though it’s like 33 degrees outside and i want to make stuff my skin wants to make stuff but like that shit’s not translating into actually making anything because nothing fucking comes forward. urge without content is empty and stupid and mute.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Continuation to this, as my mind chewed it over a couple of days ago.

Katla stared glumly into the steaming waters of Circhester’s hot springs. It had been a week since her argument with Kabu in Hammerlocke, and it was still weighing on her mind and heart.

She’d managed to push thoughts of the gym leader aside during her training for Gordie’s challenge, but Kabu always returned to her mind in the quiet moments, like now. She’d not left his company pleasantly - she’d not even said goodbye, with how bitter and angry she’d been at his words and assumptions.

The bitterness had boiled down into guilt as she’d considered his words, playing them over and over in her mind. Kabu had only been trying to help, trying not to let her potential slip through her fingers. That he admired and regarded her enough to tell her that was...a lot, honestly. Yet she’d pushed him away, and with little option for recourse. She wanted to apologise to him, but she wasn’t even sure he’d want to see her again - that, she had no other way to contact him. The thought that he might not even watch her upcoming match due to this hurt enough to prick tears in her eyes.

In truth, it was more than just that.

She was so absorbed in her internal dialogue that she didn’t notice the figure that came to stand beside her. It was only when they spoke did she snap back to reality:

“Katla?”

The trainer blinked widely, turning quickly to see Kabu, bundled up in a large black bench coat, with a strange segmented scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Whilst his expression was a careful neutral, his silver eyes were not - they were anxious, strangely fragile, like glass.

“K...Kabu?” Katla croaked out, her voice thick from lack of use.

“I apologise for disturbing you.” Kabu spoke softly, yet quickly. “I’m aware you probably don’t wish to see me again, but please, at least do me one favour.”

He handed her an envelope, her name written in his scrawly handwriting. “Read this letter.” He paused for a moment, and forced a sad smile across his lips. “Best of luck for your upcoming Challenge, Katla.”

With that, he began to walk away. Katla opened her mouth to call for him to wait, but his name got caught in her throat, and she could only watch him melt into a crowd of people.

She glanced down at the envelope in her hands, turning it over in her hands before she decided there were better places to read it.

---

Sequestered in her much warmer hotel room, Katla broke the weak glue seal and pulled out the letter. It was neatly folded, and though Kabu’s handwriting reminded her of a doctor’s, it was much more legible. And pristine, without a crossing-out to be seen - she wondered how many drafts preceded this one.

Katla,

I do not know if you will read this letter after our disagreement in Hammerlocke, but I write in the hope you will.

I’m sorry for insinuating that the reason why you’d not attained Championship status in the other Leagues was because you were deliberately holding yourself back. It was incredibly thoughtless of me, especially since you had confessed that you had given up your title due to the stresses it had imposed upon you. I have never known these stresses, and though I can extrapolate from the duties Leon undertakes, I can never truly know. Thus to assume I know what you felt is at best foolish, and at worst, offensive. I ask for your forgiveness.

I do not know the challenges of other regional Leagues - any knowledge I had of Hoenn’s League is woefully out of date now - and thus to assume that you lost to them because you sabotaged your own match is not only an an insult to you, but an insult to your opponents too. I ask forgiveness for this transgression too.

Yet my views on your potential are unchanged. I truly believe you could defeat Leon. I am certain that you will make it to the Finals. I can see the spark in your eyes, the fire that burns when you’re in the midst of a battle. I was honoured to experience it first-hand. Your love for your Pokemon binds you together and makes you strong.

Katla, it is difficult for me to articulate my feelings regarding you, but I feel I must try. I was curious about you from the very moment you appeared on the roster. All the gym leaders were - it is rare indeed that Leon endorses anyone, especially two challengers at once. My curiosity deepened over the course of your Gym Challenge, and deepened into admiration after our own battle. Whilst I am thankful that they are all recorded for posterity, I will not forget the experience for a long, long time.

I have found myself caring for you. I want only for you to succeed, and for you to get up from the falls you will no doubt experience. I said my foolish words not out of a place of unkindness. That does not excuse their pain and hurtfulness, but I want to assure you that my deeper feelings are unchanged.

No matter what you may think of me now, and how justified you will be for thinking it, I will continue to support you. It will hurt to know that I have caused this rift between us through my own fault, but that is my burden to bear. I only hope it has not burdened you as well.

I wish you all the best in your future endeavours, and I look forward to seeing your future gym matches. I will leave my number at the bottom of this letter in case you need to contact me for any reason. No matter what has happened between us, I will help you in any way I can.

Kind regards,

Kabu

Katla read his letter several times, making sure she didn’t miss a single word. The guilt curled tighter around her heart - he’d made a good point with his hypothesis. She’d been ruminating on it for a while and wondering whether it was true. She’d only been eleven when the mantle of Champion had fallen heavy on her shoulders, and Katla couldn’t completely dismiss that the bad experience still cast a long shadow. But she was twenty six now; older, and hopefully wiser. Wasn’t it worth trying again? She cast her mind back to the Elite 4 challenges she’d failed at - she’d bailed out straight afterwards, and she wondered if she would have dug her heels in and kept going, if not afraid of the thought of actually succeeding.

Yet Kabu was apologising, thinking it was him who had caused the hurt, when it was her, lashing out in pain and guilt and shame as he exposed the festering wound to daylight. Just as effortlessly as he had done in the Wild Area, asking her when she was going to tell Hop her secret. And she’d prickled much the same way, only this time she’d driven off one of the kindest men she knew. And it hurt more seeing that he still cared for her, still wished the best for her, was still going to watch her matches and put himself at the end of the line in case she needed anything.

A part of her wished he’d just slammed the door in her face - that would have been kinder than this.

Tears burned at her eyes, but she held back her sob. She wanted to find Kabu and make it right, somehow. The numerals stood out starkly on the paper, an imposing invitation that Katla felt too nervous to use. In honesty, she felt so emotionally tied up, she had no idea what to do.

At that moment, her phone buzzed, and she took a look. It was Hop, asking how she was doing, as he was having to get used to the snowy conditions his Pokemon now found themselves in.

Katla: I've been better. Hey Hop, I dunno if this is the right time, but do you have time to talk?

It only took a couple of seconds passed after her message before a video call request came through. Hop's cheeks were reddened against the cold, his bright gold eyes full of concern.

“Katla, mate. What’s up?” He said, brows furrowing when he got sight of her.

Katla sighed, pulling a smile and not hiding the tears blurring her vision.

“A couple of things. You know me and Kabu had a fight in Hammerlocke, yeah?”

“What’s happened?” Hop asked, an edge to his voice that she’d never heard before.

“Nothing, nothing bad. He gave me a letter, a-and I just wondered if I could talk things through with you.”

“Nah, I’m gonna do better than that.” Hop shook his head. “What room are you staying in, 448? I’ll be right there, don’t go anywhere.”

She could barely take in a breath to protest before the call ended, and she sighed. Not what I had in mind, but I’ll take it.

It wasn’t long before he knocked on the door, and would have bounded in if he wasn’t holding two cups with steaming hot liquid.

“I got you a pick-me-up.” Hop grinned. “You might not be freezing, but I think you’d appreciate a cuppa.”

“Shit Hop, you didn’t need to.” Katla took the proffered cup carefully, cradling its heat in her hands. “How much do I owe you for this?”

“You owe me an explanation of what the hell’s going on with you, mate.” Hop replied, taking a chair and sitting on it backwards next to her. “Where’s that letter Kabu gave you?”

Katla took a deep breath, her heart beginning to pound. Here we go.

“It’s here, but I need to give you context for it to all make sense,” she began. “That means I’ve got to tell you some things...some things I probably should have told you earlier.”

And so Katla spilled the beans, revealing her past experiences as a Pokemon trainer, as well as the fact she’d become Hoenn’s Champion for a brief period of time, stepping down when the stress became too much for her. She elaborated on the argument she’d had with Kabu, the whats and whys and how they’d parted company unhappily.

She paused, letting Hop take this all in, and waited nervously for his response, trying to resist the urge to fiddle with the cup of boiling liquid in her hands.

“That...That makes so much more sense now.” Hop said, leaning back. “Why Lee endorsed you, why I just can’t seem to beat you. Why you always get so mad when I say I’m gonna be the next Champion.” He frowned. “Hey, wait a minute. I’ve never seen it mentioned anywhere that you were Hoenn’s Champion.”

“It’s not something I like to advertise.” Katla explained. “Also news of my ‘ascension’ was kinda pushed aside by the legendary Pokemon shit that was going on at the same time. Kyogre awakening and attempting to flood the entire world was a much bigger deal than an eleven year old becoming Champion. Even if I was involved in that too.”

“I dunno, it seems a pretty big deal to me.” He trained his eyes on her. “So you don’t tell anyone about it?”

“No-one. Put it this way, Hop; you and Kabu are the only people outside my family in Galar that know I was once Champion, and I wanna keep it that way.“

“Were you...ever gonna tell me?”

Katla cringed, hanging her head.

“If I could have helped it? No.” She admitted. “You’re a good kid, Hop. I didn’t want to crush your spirit - you want your rival to be on the same level, not to learn that they were a Champion once.” She sighed. “I was going to tell you after you came back that battle you had with Bede in the Wild Area...” She didn’t need to look at the younger trainer to know he was shifting uncomfortably. “But you looked and acted so broken I...I couldn’t.” She shook her head, and a snarl curled her lips. “I could have ripped that sucker a new one, treating you like that. He got his comeuppance in the end, but still...”

Katla risked a glance at Hop, and saw he was still looking at her, his face earnest and listening intently.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, Hop. I’m sorry to have led you on. If you wanna stop being my friend and just walk out of here, then that’s perfectly fine. I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest.”

Hop folded his arms over the back of the chair, resting his chin on them.

“Whilst it’d been nice to know my rival was a Champ in another region, I don’t blame you for keeping it secret. The media would never leave you alone if they found out. Speaking of which,” he stuck out a hand, dropping it on Katla’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving you, mate. You asked me here for help, and I’m not gonna leave until I’ve helped you.”

Katla managed a smile, even as her heart swelled and eyes burned.

“Shit. Thanks, Hop. You’re a good friend, more than I deserve.”

“Aw, don’t say that.” He playfully punched her arm. “We’re buddies. That’s all that matters. Now, gimme that letter.”

He all but snatched it off her, yet he took his time reading it, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Kabu uses a lot of big words, doesn’t he?” Hop commented. “Bet he’s good at essays.”

Katla arched her eyebrow at him, but said nothing, giving the younger trainer time to formulate his opinion.

”Wow...” Hop finally said. “He’s got it bad for you, hasn’t he?”

The older trainer felt her face begin to burn up.

“You...you think so?”

Hop gave her a look that was halfway between disbelieving and annoyed.

“Seriously? You read this and didn’t pick up on the fact he might be into you?”

“Well, I can tell he cares about me, that’s clear enough!” Katla retorted. “But more than that?” She glanced away. “I...I didn’t think it’d be a thing. I mean, he’s a Gym leader, I’m just a Challenger. Not to mention he’s like...fifty odd.”

“Sure.” Hop nodded. “But you like him back, don’t you? I mean, you’ve been crushing on him since we saw him in in Galar Mine Two.”

“I do.” Katla stared pensively at her drink. “He looks so cold and closed off, but he’s not. He’s warm and gentle and kind, and...I feel awful that I hurt him with our fight. And he’s blaming himself for everything, when he’s got nothing to be sorry for!”

Hop glanced back to the letter and then back at her.

“Wait. When you say he’s got nothing to be sorry for, does that mean...” He spoke slowly. “Does that mean you were throwing those matches...?”

“No!” Katla snapped, then cringed, shaking her head. “No, I...I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t deliberately sabotage myself, but never tried again after I lost; I just walked away and never came back. Maybe I was shying away from it. I dunno.” She sighed. “I can’t be certain I was at my peak in those fights, or that I was doing my all to win, if I’m honest. So, yeah, it was possible the thought of becoming Champion again was scaring me off. Kabu’s been the first person to really challenge me on it, and as you can tell,” she gestured to the letter, “I took it badly. It looks like he’s backpedalling, when he might actually be right about it.”

“Then I think you should tell him that.” Hop said. Katla’s heart forgot its next beat.

“W...What?”

“You should tell Kabu that he doesn’t need to apologise.” Hop said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “He sent you this letter as a way to smooth things over with you, right? Well, now you gotta smooth things over with him. And the only way to do that is to talk to him. It shouldn’t be too hard - you got his number!” He thrust the letter at her. “Text him or give him a call, and talk it out. You’ll both feel so much better afterwards.” He smiled brightly at her. “Then you can stop worrying about Kabu, and go back to focusing on beating Gordie!”

She couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You make it sound so simple when you put it that way, Hop.”

“It looks simple to me!” He replied, before he leaned over, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Kat, listen. From what I know about you, and what I’ve seen in that letter, I think you’ll be fine. I think you both feel the same towards each other, actually. If you go talk to him, I bet my badges only good things’ll come from it.”

“Bet your badges, eh?” Katla arched an eyebrow. “Those are some confident words, there.”

“‘Cos I am.” Hop grinned toothily. “Honestly, mate, you’ll be fine. You’ll feel tons better talking it through with him anyway.”

He pulled away, and his face then became serious.

“Kat...you’re gonna give your all in the Semifinals, right?” He asked. “It won’t be right if you’re not at your best. If I win, I want it to be because I was better, not ‘cos you don’t want to face Lee just in case you win.”

“Yes.” Katla made sure he could see the sincerity in her blue eyes. “I’m going to give you the match you deserve, Hop. I’ve never held back in any of my matches against you, and I won’t start to. I promise.”

“Good.” He nodded, looking content.

“You are assuming that I’ll actually get to the Semifinals, though. There’s three Gym Leaders to get through before then, and any of them could halt me in my tracks.” She pointed out.

“That’s what you said about Kabu, and look what happened there.” Hop grinned. “Speaking of which, you should clear the air with him before you go face Gordie, or you’re gonna be too distracted to beat him. And I don’t want my rival falling too far behind!”

“Oh come off it!” She swatted at him. “I’ll...I’ll think about it. About texting him, I mean. I just...”

“Hey,” Hop leaned over again, putting an arm around her this time. “He wouldn’t have given you his number if he didn’t want you to use it. Just...be you. You’ll be fine.”

“I guess.” Katla smiled. “Thanks, Hop. I really mean it - you’ve been...more than I deserve, honestly.”

“Aw come on, we’re friends!” He grinned, a slight blush on his cheeks. “It’s what friends do. I know you’d do the same for me. Right?”

“Yeah, of course.” She nodded. “But I might beat up the person who upset you too.”

Hop barked out a laugh.

“What, really?”

“I’m serious! The only thing that saved Bede from an ass-whooping was witnesses.” Katla grinned. “Still might punch him in the face when I see him again.”

Hop chuckled bashfully, his blush slightly brighter.

“Hehe, thanks Kat.”

“You’re welcome, Hop. Least I can do.”

---

Katla: Hey Kabu, it’s Katla. Do you have some time to talk?

Kabu: Yes. I have as much time as you need.

Katla: I was thinking maybe we could meet up to talk, if you’re still in Circhester?

Kabu: I am. There is cafe on the east side of the city, towards Route Nine, that is known for being discreet. We will be able to meet there in privacy.

Katla: That sounds perfect. What time? I have nothing going on so any time today is good for me.

Kabu: Fortunately I have that luxury too. If I send you the location, we could meet in a couple of minutes. Is this okay?

Katla: Yeah, that’s fine, thanks.

[reneejuliet]

If These Walls Could Talk

Welcome back.

I’ve wanted to make another post for well over the last week, but unfortunately that desire came while I was working 7 straight days in a row, 12 hours each day. So to say I was a little more than exhausted by the time I got home each day is an understatement. In addition, I’m once again switching to my night shift schedule, so my mind and body are all out of whack. HOWEVER. As I try to go back to sleep this beautiful rainy morning before returning to work tonight, I can’t. Because my mind is alive with everything I haven’t been able to share with anyone this past week, and it needs said.

It’s still a little strange for me to turn to my blog in these moments, and not my journal. As you can imagine, since I was never a very good blogger, I certainly am not a great journalist, either. But it was an outlet - is an outlet, still. Only, with carpal tunnel in my right wrist/hand, it’s become increasingly harder to hash out all the thoughts I want to on paper. Plus, my fingers have always kept better pace with my mind when keys are involved versus a pen; not to mention the legibility this affords me upon later reflection, as sometimes I’ll write so goshdarn fast and messy that even I, myself, can’t decipher what the hell I was trying to say. 

So, sleepy and shivering, I welcome you back into the pit of thoughts.

I am going to be addressing some slight depression issues, “broken home”/family issues, self-harm, and anxiety issues in this post. Still not sure how exactly this whole thing works, so I hope this is enough of a warning for anyone sensitive to those.

Without unraveling the entire rat’s nest that is my childhood, let me just say that I’ve never really known a “peaceful” home. Brief summary: my mother was absent a lot due to her own depression, my father has quite a temper, and they both fought like it was their jobs. This is why I came to love Peter Pan - whenever the yelling came pounding through my walls, I curled up underneath my window with my suitcase packed and wished for nothing else than for Peter to come take me away to Neverland. Obviously, this never came to fruition, but it helped some part of my tiny brain cope. If you’ve ever read Peter Pan, you know each child’s Neverland is their own making - I cannot tell you how upset it makes me that every. single. version of Peter Pan never includes Wendy’s pet wolf. All the same, whenever I imagined my own, it was fantastic. Full of wonder and joy and happiness, just like in the story. Only, very unlike the story, I always came home. Here, however, my home was happiness. My parents didn’t fight, my sister didn’t hate me (of course, she didn’t really hate me, but I was the pesky younger sibling that she just couldn’t be bothered with), and no one was ever angry with me. This, I realize, is probably where my anxiety began to stem from - always wanting to please everyone, at any cost. It made for a very self-inflicted traumatic childhood on my end, because I quickly learned to silence a lot of who I was just to satiate what everyone wished of me.

And for a long time, I remained this person. It wasn’t until I was about 10 years old that the depression hit, though we hardly knew that’s what it was at the time. See, I had finally made friends with a group of girls that I could be myself with, and I was happy. But, we were considered weird. Or, at least, they were - they were still more free with themselves than I was, comfortable with making strange noises and doing strange things just because they wanted to. And while I indulged in those moments shared with them, I still kept fairly quiet and reserved when on my own. This led to bullying from my classmates, because of who my friends were. It wasn’t so much aimed at me personally, but at my choice of friends. And these girls meant the world to me - they still do, 2 decades later as our friendship remains as strong as those early days. I couldn’t grasp why someone would make fun of me, tease me, because of something that finally made me happy. There just had to be more that my little preteen brain wasn’t understanding.

There had to be something wrong with me, right?

I promise, this has a point.

My non-diagnosed anxiety (I didn’t even know what anxiety was, back then) only worsened as I began struggling with finding some reason for why these kids were picking on me. None of my friends seemed to care - why did I? Because I was a people-pleaser. It ate away at me to know that someone didn’t like me, regardless of the reason for it. I tried so hard. I let people say what they wanted to about me, I gave people second and third and fourth chances all because I was afraid of what would happen if I stood up for myself. I changed how I acted, how I dressed (a whole other can of worms we will probably never address, haha), how I lived, just to try and fit in with everyone. It was exhausting, and it wore me down quick.

It also didn’t help that by this point, my older sister had hit high school. She was pretty, she was popular, and she was damn good at sports. I’m pretty sure her track record at high school is still intact, and she graduated 16 years ago. This only served to create my inferiority complex.

Why couldn’t I be as great as my sister?

Going back to the family issues - my dad was my everything growing up. He did so much for our family, made sacrifices I never knew how to appreciate until I got older. All I ever wanted was to make him proud of me, to prove to him that everything he did for us wasn’t in vain. I could see that pride in his eyes when he watched my sister excel at sports. Field hockey, basketball, track and field. She had his love in a way I coveted. I played those sports too, while in middle school, but never nearly as well. Never well enough to see that shameless pride gleaming back at me from my father’s eyes. And that killed. Because no matter how I tried, I wasn’t her.

I was more like my mother. Interested in arts (though not art itself, I can’t draw to save my damn life), music, theatre. When I finally made it to high school, I was too damn scared of failure, of being compared to her, to really try anything I had once enjoyed. It distanced me from my father. You would think, then, that this would have brought my mother and me closer; it did not. That chasm carved between us by the lack of her involvement as I grew up was too wide to bridge entirely. I grew to feel isolated in my own family, unwanted and certainly unneeded. What did I possibly bring to the table?

When I turned 16, I told my mom I needed to talk to someone. Depression still wasn’t something anyone really talked about. A taboo in society, frowned heavily upon. Full of labels and judgments I wasn’t able to bear just yet. My mom understood, even if my dad didn’t. He never used to believe in depression. He was one that agreed it was all attention-seeking, an excuse. And here I was, drowning hard and fast in it, afraid to confide in him lest he think less of me as well. So I got good at hiding it. So damn good. Because how do you tell the man you idolize that you’ve started cutting when he’s made the statement of, “if you’re going to start it, you should just finish the job”?

It wasn’t until I was much older that I was able to tell my father much of any of what I suffered through back then. Now, he tries to understand. But he’s getting older, and more ornery, and sometimes that patience wears so thin it could snap in a light breeze. More so now, because I finally stand up for myself. And while he encourages that, he certainly never anticipated I would have to do it against him.

There’s still so much screaming inside these walls. Some of it is mine, now. I hate it just as much, hate how involved with it I’ve become. But I simply cannot shoulder the weight of the world anymore.

Atlas, I am not.

My father and I never used to have such blow-out arguments. I never used to have to scream until my throat burned, my lungs ached, and my chest collapsed. Not with him. Yet I’ll do it a thousand - a million - times over if it means remaining who I’ve become. This version of me may not be perfect, and I’m certainly not happy with her just yet, but it is so much better from who I used to be. Because the girl I once was would have been dead by now. She already very nearly was.

ANYWAY. 

This particular fight started over something incredibly stupid - a statement. A belief I have that doesn’t necessarily align with my father’s. I have no political affiliation. He’s a strong Republican. I made the mistake of voicing a belief that apparently leans more liberal, and he just... lost it. Got super nasty with me, made hurtful comments, refused to hear me out. And I know it’s only because he’s getting older, and like his father before him, losing his temper more often because of it. My mom constantly insists I be the bigger person, that I understand the true reasons behind his behavior and brush it off. “You know he doesn’t mean it. You know he’s in pain, how that makes him lash out.”

Yes, I do know. That doesn’t make it okay.

All my life I’ve been the punching bag for this family. The therapist listening to every member complain about each other. All my life, I’ve tried and given everything to fix it. To somehow fit this family into the mould I had imagined for us. All my life, I have sacrificed more and more of me just to make things right.

When is enough, enough?

I called my boyfriend that night, shaking and crying. Trying to understand how a parent can talk to their child that way, wondering when my family became... well, this. He listened oh so patiently, let me just cry in silence until my body was spent. He will never know just how much I loved him in that moment. Because though Peter Pan never came to steal me away, I know exactly where my Neverland is. And it’s in my boyfriend’s arms.

My father still hasn’t apologized for how he spoke to me, let alone what he said. He’s not the type to. I love him with everything I’ve got, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without him, but. I am done. I am done suffering for his - or anyone’s - sake. Sometimes, it has to be about me. As hard as that is for me to do.

If you have made it this far - if you have read any of this at all - know that you are worth so much more than you think. It isn’t always obvious, and it certainly isn’t easy, but there is meaning in your existence. I still have yet to find what mine is, but I know it’s there. Somewhere. Yours is too.

If these walls could talk I’m afraid of what they’d say The shouting they would echo The image they’d portray But I’m not afraid to hear it because I don’t know what was said No, I heard it all the first time It still rattles in my head

So give me all the silence All the quiet that you’ve got Enough to end the crying And drown out my own thoughts

[elareine]

A fool to believe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, mention of war and injury Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Daemons, though they barely feature here tbh, Getting Back Together, Misunderstandings, mention of serious injury, but no details given, Fluff, the lightest of angst, Epistolary Series: Part 3 of foolish, perhabs AO3: /18771535

When Jason Todd is tired, frustrated, angry, happy - in short, when he feels any emotion at all -, he writes a letter. Here are six letters he never sent.

 A letter that was torn up by the writer in disgust at himself:

Dearest Dear Tim,

I know what I’ve done will be a shock to you. I know you will be angry. So am I. As I write this, I am in London, waiting to be shipped out to France, maybe Spain.

However, what could you expect if your father tells me that your family will never accept me us and that we’re over? Of course you choose them. Why wouldn’t you? I understand. But you could’ve at least told me yourself, not through your father! He’s always looked down on me. I could tell he was utterly convinced he was saving you.

I expected better from you. I thought you would at least tell me yourself. Why didn’t you? I don’t understand.

Do you even remember what you told me? How it didn’t matter that I don’t have a family anymore, because we would make our own? Ha.

Was I just a diversion? An amusement because you were bored? Do you not love me?

 Why? I just don’t understand

 Damn it

A letter that was replaced by a terse note of acknowledgement:

Tim,

I see that I have my answer then. I was wondering - hoping, even - if it hadn’t just been a misunderstanding, your father testing me, perhaps, that somehow, you still loved wanted me. But no.

“It is obvious that our visions for the future do not match.”

What vision was that, then? A vision where I am somehow highborn, with rank and income enough to impress your family? Because it can’t be the future we have been talking about, with us together, come what may, for better or worse, in sickness and health, or you wouldn’t have had your father deliver the notice and only write me yourself weeks later.

Could you at least explain yourself? Tell me what made you change your mind? Was it really just the pressure of potentially losing your family? What did I do wrong? I love loved you so much; why wasn’t that enough?

 A letter that Roy found and threw away because it wasn’t legible:

How is it that I still find myself talking to you in my mind? I want to tell you about the people I met here. About General Prince, who is the most amazing fighter I have ever seen and the best person, too.

It wasn’t her fault. Sometimes, the enemy is just too strong.

I made friends, you know. I talk to them. I’m not alone but for you anymore. One of them carried me out of that hell.

And still, I keep thinking I hear your laugh. Or, more likely here, your sarcastic comments. You would have had that coward cowing at his knees…

I’m not making any sense, I know. They fixed me up, we thought, but fever is setting in. My hands are shaking. I just wanted to say…  I miss you very much.

Maybe your father was right. You would have been a widower within a year.

 A letter that was thrown into the fire, unnoticed by cheering sailors:

Dear Mister Drake Wayne,

I would hereby like to inform you that I have just received my commission as an officer. I am navy, now. The General saw how I fought and gave me an opportunity to transfer and buy my commission. I must confess to being very pleased. Not only does this mean a much better income and chance to advance, but I have also always longed to see more of the world than an infantry soldier could.

My new rank also means that I was informed about your and your family’s activities for the Crown, by the way. I cannot escape you, it seems. So there is no need to keep that a secret anymore.

I suppose you wonder why I am writing to you, three years after we’ve broken our engagement. I must admit that there is some curiosity still lingering after that event, that I would hereby seek to satisfy.

Back then, you spoke of different visions for the future. My lower social status, in particular, was objectionable, as you insinuated. What do you think now? Would I fulfil your standards? Or would my birth still speak against me? Am I good enough now?

I am glad to inform you that others do not find me as repulsive. Now, if only I could stop comparing everyone to you and find them wanting. Hopefully, I will find myself married soon enough, so that we both may be spared any embarrassment when I return to Gotham eventually, as I am sure you have found another long ago. Is it the oldest Kent boy? Some wealthy stranger, perhaps, sweeping you off your feet, giving you everything I never could

A letter that would have arrived in Gotham after the writer did, anyway:

Dear Tim,

How are you? I’m doing well, thank you for never asking. It’s “Captain” now. Captured two ships, made money, made the General proud. I was even able to pay her back.

So now it’s back to England for us. I will not leave the navy - where would I go? - but we have accumulated many days of leave, and Roy Harper wants to go to his best friend’s wedding. That’s Sir Roy Harper, now, in case you are wondering, and that best friend is your brother. Small world, huh? He wants me to come along, and I have no excuse to give.

I suppose I should have known that I couldn’t avoid Gotham forever that this day would come.

You told me about Dick and Barbara Gordon. I remember the exasperation in your voice when you spoke of his puppy love and their inability to see how true it ran. There will be no way to avoid seeing each other at this wedding.

I don’t know how I feel about that. I miss you - I can admit that now - but I don’t want to see you. What if you are still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen? What if six years did nothing but make me love you more?

What am I saying? We both know that my pride and temper will prevail once I see you.

Hopefully, our meeting will show me that I have been holding on to a phantom all this time. My idea of you, that idealized memory tainted by nostalgia for peacetime, cannot possibly compare to reality.

 A letter that the writer left on his writing desk, but that Tisiphone and Lachesis hid under Tim’s pillow for him to find upon waking:

Dearest Tim,

Do you know how many times over the last seven years I have found myself in this exact position? Sitting at my desk, thinking of you, writing a letter that you will never read… Yet today I write with the hope that it will be the last time, for tomorrow, I will stand in front of God and vow to be with you for the rest of our lives.

I do not kid myself that we will never be apart. You have your work, and I have mine. We are both quite stubborn about it, too, which I think we have adequately proved in this lifetime. But I swear to you that I will not let words go unspoken anymore. Everything I write here, I have told you or will tell you, if need be, again and again. I will not see us hurt for lack of communication again.

When I returned to Gotham, I was so angry to see you behaving as if nothing had happened. You introduced me to eligible bachelors - it seems so ridiculous now. What in God’s name ever possessed us to do such a thing?

Still, I knew you better than we both remembered, and I couldn’t understand how you could look so sad even as you were smiling and surrounded by your family. Yet something in me recognized that feeling and echoed it. It’s a loneliness that’s not borne out of a lack of friends or family, but out of want for a heart that calls to your own.

There is, simply put, no one else I could ever imagine spending my life with.

I know what marriage means. I know it means more than just declarations of love and long walks together; that there will be hard times. I swear to love you even when you are in a foul mood or withdrawn; when we fight again and again over the small and big things; when one of us has to leave for long periods of time, and we don’t know when we will see each other again; when one of us wishes the other would just go away for need of some quiet. I will even endure weekly dinners with your family. Yes, even Damian. There, that is a proper declaration of love, is it not?

I started writing this as a way to prepare for my vows tomorrow. Now that I think about it, though, I am reconsidering my strategy. As much as you’ve always secretly appreciated my letters (and you needn’t lie about that - Lachesis told me), public displays of affection still make you blush.

Well. With the notable exception of the day I proposed a second time, of course. You always know just what I need.  

Still. Perhaps you would not appreciate it if I poured out my heart in front of everyone. I think I will keep my vows to the most crucial point, the one thing you need to know:

I love you.

Yours,

Jason

[eldritchsurveys]

516.

Who is that last person who harassed and annoyed you? >> I’m not sure. That rarely happens. Who is the last person who made you feel hurt? >> The two people who didn’t even bother to inform me that they weren’t coming to my wedding. I had to find out the day before and the day of because no one thought to inform me, in fact. What was the last thing you were worried about? >> Just random shit related to the wedding. Are you worried about anyone now? >> No. Is your house/room a mess? >> I’m not home right now and we cleaned before we left, so there’s no way it could be a mess unless a tornado went through it, lol.

What was the last magazine you read and enjoyed? >> GameInformer. What time of day feels the most magical to you? >> I never really thought about it. Early morning has a particular quality to it sometimes. Who are you jealous of? >> --- What is the last physical ailment you took medication for? >> I don’t remember. Oh, probably a headache. Do you get motion sickness? >> No. If you are a youtuber, are you behind on posting videos? >> --- Who is a great youtuber you have recently discovered? >> I haven’t recently discovered any youtubers. What color is your bathrobe? >> I have a blue and black Ravenclaw one, but I rarely use it. Do you hate taking showers? >> Yes. I consider it a necessary evil. :p Do you still have your Easter decorations up? >> --- Does your head hurt right now? >> Nope. What is a great pain reliever? >> I just use naproxen sodium, it usually works fine for my purposes. Are you keeping a secret from anyone? >> No. Do you have feelings for anyone who doesn’t reciprocate them? >> No. Is your hair wet right now? >> No. What year do you miss? >> I have varying feelings of nostalgia for some years, but I don’t actually want to go back to any of them, lmao. The nostalgia is misplaced. Would you rather be a contortionist or cartoonist? >> A cartoonist sounds fun. I mean, they both sound fun, but I know I like drawing. Don’t know if I’d like contorting myself. Do you prefer singing or dancing? >> That’s tough, I really enjoy both. At the same time, even (until I run out of breath, anyway). Is your handwriting neat? >> It’s highly legible, at least. What Olympic sport do you wish you could participate in? >> --- Have you ever dreamt of being a famous athlete? >> No. Do you have a rich friend that you’re jealous of? >> No. Are you interested in a guy who has a girlfriend? >> --- Do most of the guys who like you annoy you? >> --- Name one guy who has a crush on you right now. >> --- Who was your first celebrity crush? >> I guess it was Matt Damon, for whatever reason. What musical do you think you could play the lead in? >> I don’t think I could play the lead in any musical, considering I don’t act or sing professionally... Do you live in a mansion? >> No. What medical conditions do you have? >> None. How many phones have you had? >> Oof, at least 10. Do you wear leggings often? >> No, they tend to make my legs itchy for some reason. :V Do you think Lularoe is a scam? >> Well, it’s an MLM, so yeah. Do you own any Lularoe products? >> No. Sparrow has a pair of leggings but that’s because her sister used to sell for them and their mother bought stuff from it as Christmas presents. Do you sell any products? If so, what do you sell? >> No. Do you believe “It Works” is a scam? >> Yeah. Are you waiting on a package to arrive? >> No. Well, there will probably be at least one package waiting for us when we get back. What was the last thing you ordered online? >> I don’t remember. Are you responsible with money? >> Sure. Are you responsible in general? >> Sure. Would you consider yourself mature? >> I don’t have any considerations about my “maturity level” either way. It’s not a useful concept for me. Do you have any sunspots? >> No. What color was your locker in high school? >> Damned if I remember. Can you reach your ceiling? >> No. Do you have a reading nook? >> No. Always thought those were cute as hell, though. Do you like to build blanket forts? >> I’ve never built one. Who is the cutest baby you know? >> I only know one actual baby right now, and he’s pretty cute. Which celebrity have you been told you look like? >> Grace Jones and Harold Perrineau. Do you use a nightlight? >> No. Do you feel alone? >> Sometimes. Not right now. If you’re in school, do you feel safe there? >> --- Do you ever cry in public or do you hold it in until you get home? >> I’ve cried in public before, because I really couldn’t help it, but it’s so awful and repellant to me that I try to avoid it as much as possible. What makes you nauseous? >> Drinking too much booze without eating/drinking water, having my sleep schedule drastically disrupted, uh... that’s all I can remember. I don’t get nauseous easily or often. What’s your favorite piece of playground equipment? >> The swings. What was your favorite elementary school recess game? >> I didn’t play at recess. Do you have a fairy godmother? >> No. Do you enjoy sleeping outside? >> Sure, in the right conditions. Have you ever thrown a rock at a window? >> No. Has anyone ever thrown a rock at your window? >> No. What color was the house you grew up in? >> I don’t remember. Brown or beige or something, probably. Are you wishing someone would make time for you and value you more? >> I have a habit of immediately writing off people who I feel don’t value or respect me enough, lmao, so it’s not really a problem. What color is your wristwatch? >> --- Do you wear a watch every day? >> No. Do you collect anything? If so, what? >> No. Does your hair react well to dye, or does it damage it? >> I don’t know how it’d react now, I haven’t dyed it in years and years. My hair is a bit fragile in general now, though. Do you enjoy public speaking? >> I don’t know, I’ve never really done it. Do you get a thrill from performing in front of a crowd? >> Sure. What kind of pet do you wish you had? >> --- 

[islareeveswriting]

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Harry sighed and picked up the pen.

“Can’t hurt,” He whispered to himself, remembering Molly’s words as he sat at his kitchen worktop and stared at the scrap of paper he’d managed to find, probably out of Molly’s notebook from where she’d been working there before. The kitchen was dark, only the spotlights of the extractor hood to light up the space, and it stunk of the brand new candle he had lit, musky and unassuming, barely noticeable if he didn’t think about it too much. He had a glass of red wine on the go, he could taste his last mouthful still on his tongue, but he took another sip nonetheless before he started, licking his lips of the residue.

Mum,

His hand was scratchy, barely legible. He hadn’t written properly in years, he had no need to. Little notes here and there, a scrawl in his diary at work so he knew who to invoice at the end of the week, but other than that nothing, and it showed. For a second he thought about letting it put him off the idea. If no one would be able to read it anyway, what was the point. But he knew the point wasn’t for anyone to necessarily read it, just for him to write it. So he continued.

It’s been ten years

Harry scribbled that out, she knew how long it had been, so did he, he mapped his life out by it. Ten years since his mum had left him at his nans without so much as a goodbye, eight since he’d broken Liam’s collar bone, five since he was stabbed in the leg, two since he got Ellie pregnant. It was nearly eleven now really. Lola was nearly three. A three year old grandchild his mother would never know about.

You broke me, did you mean to? Is it payback for Ida, making sure I feel this way? Nan says you just couldn’t cope after Ida, and I get that, but you didn’t have to say the things you said to me, and you didn’t have to lean on me like you did. I was so young. You were selfish. I was the one who found her like that, at least you didn’t have to see that, at least the last time you saw her face it wasn’t covered in blood so you could barely even see her skin.

It was pouring out of him then, words he didn’t know he had inside him, the anger flowing through the pen out of him. It felt addictively good. He had no idea he had so many thoughts and feelings about any of it. He thought he was just angry. It was far more than that.

I’m angry all the time, I’d like to blame it on you, but I don’t want to give you even that much credit. I don’t want you to be that important to me. It’s shit that you are that important, that even after all this time you still have that much effect on me. I can barely remember Ida’s eyes sometimes, struggle to hear her voice, but your eyes I see just fine, your voice is loud and clear. Why is that? It’s cruel. You never even asked me how I was after, you never asked how I was doing, if I was ok, if I wanted to talk to you or anyone, you told the school I’d be fine. I wasn’t fine, far from fine, I don’t know if I’ll ever be fine. I thought I’d come to terms with that but I’m not so sure.

Just OK had always been enough for Harry, he didn’t crave fantastic, or marvellous, or perfect, just ok was fine for him. If he wasn’t striving for it to be better, he wasn’t disappointed. Now he wanted it better, he wanted it perfect, he’d had a taste and he liked it. It looked like a girl that accepted his flaws, that helped him accept them too. It looked like a tribe of friends that held him higher than he held himself, and a little girl he could teach things he’d never been taught. To be who she was, and be happy with that, and love herself as fiercely and wildly as she loved anyone else.

For a long time I wanted you to come back, you just needed a break you’d say in my head when I imagined it happening. Now I don’t want you back. I don’t want you to walk back in and poison what I’ve got. You’ve done enough of that just living in my head. I know it’s not all your fault, I chose to do the things I did and say the things I said, you didn’t take my free will from me. But I suppose when the only person in the world who is meant to love you unconditionally regardless, tells you you’re a waste of space, hates you for breathing, for something you didn’t do, you start to despise yourself enough to not care about how damaging what you’re doing is. I never hated myself, I was just indifferent to myself, I didn’t matter. I don’t matter so who cares if someone wants to beat me half to death, who cares if people hate me, who cares if I say something that makes someone want to knock me out. Doesn’t matter.

It had taken twenty five years for Harry to realise life could mend him just as easily as it could break him, if he let it. If he let himself heal, instead of letting the wounds fester, things could be good, not just one or two nice things, everything could be good. There’d always been good in his life, but he’d kept the bad alive too, letting it simmer in the background of everything, a constant reminder everything was always a flame away from boiling over. And he always let it.

I don’t want to tell you her name, because I don’t want you in that part of my life, but since I’m not letting you have that control anymore, I want to tell you all about her, and how wonderful she is. Part of me wishes you could meet her, know the woman who taught me to love myself a little more, and open up a little more, and not be ashamed. I don’t know how she did it in six months or whatever it’s been, it feels like forever and five minutes all at the same time, it’s magic I swear it. Is this turning into a love letter? Who cares? Better that than a long list of all the ways you managed to fuck me up. I’m not perfect, I’ll never be perfect, I’ve still got so much work to do on myself, but I swear I think Molly, my Lolly, might be perfect, and she somehow, god knows how she does it, make me feel pretty close too.

There was a lot of Harry to dislike. There were so many parts of himself he hated, too many to even list. But he loved that he had Molly, and he loved that he knew he’d do anything to keep her happy and keep her with him, for her to always be his. He wasn’t ready to ask her for it yet, he needed a little longer to figure out the right words, and he wanted her to be sure she’d made the right choice in choosing him again. All he wanted to do was prove to her that she meant more to him than any of the other stuff, that she was all that mattered, that she was the most important thing to him. Of course he had Lola, but that was different. With Lola it was built into him, to care for her and love her, it came as natural as breathing to want to fight for her. He thought it was the same with Molly, but the past week or so had shown him how crafted it was, how much work it was to love and be loved, and that was what made it so special and so worth fighting for.

She makes me nervous in the best way, but I trust her with everything. I never want to let her down. I only want her to be happy. I want to make her happy too, and help her find all the things that make her happy. I always thought it was wrong to feel the things I felt, she showed me it was natural. I could really gush about her and part of me wants to, but I won’t. I just want you to know I’m finally happy, or at least working on my happiness, feeding that rather than the anger inside me. It feels better. I can feel myself changing and I like it. People will say I shouldn't give her so much credit, she’d say it too, it was when she came along that I went back to that place fully, but it was also when she came along that I realised how much I needed to do something about it. I never regretted it before, I thought it made me powerful, but since Molly whenever I went there I felt weak and I always felt sick about it.

It made him feel awful that even after the promise he’d made to Ellie he’d had thoughts about going back, whenever he gave Lola back actually, and she outstretched her arms for Shane and called him Daddy. It made it sound like Lola wasn’t enough. But that wasn’t the case. Having Lola in his life was enough, but when she wasn’t there it hurt enough to make him want to cry, and so often when he wanted to cry, it turned to anger. It was a vicious circle.

I could go on about her forever, but I won’t. Nothing hurts more than being hurt by the person you thought would never hurt you. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to make your mistakes, it’s taken time, and I’ve done it the hard way, but I’ve learned to never let it get that far again. I don’t want to play it safe, I don’t want to find it hard to trust those I love, I don’t want to feel afraid. So I’m not going to. I hope you’re happy with the choices you made mum, I suppose you are otherwise you’d have come back.

Harry swallowed then on nothing, and stared at the paper for a few seconds, clearing his throat of nothing but the lump that had formed.

I’m going to take my turn to be happy now, and I don’t need to ask your permission for that. I haven’t done anything to be as angry as I am at life, you just made me think I had. I was doing ok until you made me feel like I’d murdered my own sister. I’m moving on from you, you don’t get this power over me anymore, I don’t want your voice or your eyes in my head so I’m letting you go. I hope you’ve had a nice life, but that’s it from me.

Harry.

The breath Harry had been holding as he scrawled frantically through the last lines of his letter, came out shaky and uneven. He folded it over, not wanting to read over what he’d written. It was honest and truthful, he didn’t need to edit his for feelings for anyone's convenience.

“You ok?” Harry turned on the stool to Molly, hair wrapped up in a  fluffy white towel, her lips and cheeks puffy from the heat of her bath and her skin glowing from her moisturiser. She was wearing his dressing gown. It was too big, and even though it was tied tightly at her waist, the fabric continued to slip off her shoulder exposing the milky, freckled skin underneath. Harry just nodded, a little taken back for a few seconds.

“How was your bath?” He asked at last, as she padded closer. He could smell his lavender bath salts clinging to her skin, and the coconut body lotion that was making her legs glisten a little where they poked out under his dressing gown.

“Perfect,” She smiled widely, finally getting to him and wrapping herself around him, leaning her chin on his shoulder. Harry’s arm lifted instinctively around her waist, hand in the dip of her middle. “What have you been doing?” She asked, glancing to the glass of wine and the piece of paper where the pen was resting. She reached for the wine, her fingers circling around the stem. For a second Harry thought she was going for the paper, and it was strange that his heart didn’t race at the prospect of someone reading his innermost feelings. He just felt calm though, and watched as Molly took a sip of the deep red wine he’d poured himself with a glitter in her eye that always made him weak.

“Just writing a letter,” Harry told her and Molly nodded slowly, her lips folding together, her tongue just peeking out through them as she swiped away the wine. Neither of them said anything, but Molly lowered her face a little and caught Harry’s lips with hers. She tasted of the red wine, and she smelt of lotion and freshly washed towels. Harry’s heart fluttered, his free hand, the one not holding her waist, moving to her head, holding her in place as he got to his feet and pulled her body into his. He’d never wanted all of someone in quite the way he wanted all of Molly. But more than that, he’d never wanted to give all of himself to someone in quite the way he wanted to give all of himself to Molly. He wanted her to have all of him, every darkest part of his mind as well as the rest of it, every scar on his body, and every little thought and dream that crept into him.

Maybe it was that Molly was the first woman he'd trusted. Maybe she was just the first person he'd let in enough to be able to trust fully. Either way it was poignant. Either way it said something about the kind of orbital gravity she was having on his life. Either way he was falling, had fallen, through time and space, to be with her, to be in love with her, like that was his only purpose.

This is potentially one of my favourite things I’ve ever written so I really hope you like it and I can’t wait for you guys to come chat to me about this one. I hope you do eek!

You’ve all been so kind and lovely about this fic and I’ll love you all endlessly for it.

All the love x 

[starswornoaths]

📔

I wrote these a bit lengthy, so I’m sticking a cut here bc spoilers for 4.5 but I was an indecisive bean and there’s an entry for Serella, Uthengentle, and just because I write him enough that I might as well, one for Aymeric as well! Thank you for the ask! \o/

(edit: OR IT JUST WON’T LET ME ADD A CUT WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT TUMBLR I’M ON THE DESKTOP SITE SO FAIR WARNING SPOILERS FOR 4.5 AFTER THIS EDIT OKAY THANK YOU I’M SO SORRY WTFFFFFF)

Serella:

My name is Serella Arcbane. (her name is underlined)

Not so long ago I would have found it ridiculous that I needed to remind myself what my name is. Given that I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been referred to by my name instead of a title, however, I think I’m allowed. Now that I have another one, however temporary...it seemed a good time to remind myself.

Antecedent...the title carries with it too much pain. Too much loss. The remaining Scions approved of my accepting the title for lack of anyone else with any seniority willing or able to take it. I remind myself that it’s temporary, that the second even one of my companions wakes up, I get to just be the Warrior of Light again.

Just, I say. As if it were an inconsequential thing in itself.

At least then, when I was naught more than the Warrior of Light, I was able to still be Serella. I wasn’t made to isolate myself from everyone I know and love. It hurts, knowing that I had finally found family amongst so many people, so many I hold dear, who now can’t see me, either because they are unable to make the journey or because it would be improper of them to do so.

Ma came to visit me today. Her visit...I don’t know. When she called me by my name...I didn’t even respond to it at first. It was as if I had just...forgotten it. Perhaps I did. Perhaps I will again. She suggested I write it down. Said it’s how she remembers the little things about Da. I don’t know if it’ll help. I wish he was here, too. Of all the things I’ve forgotten, that I can’t remember what he looked like hurts me the most.

I’ve forgotten so many things I took for granted. So many little things about those I love. In writing, I hope I can remember at least a few- or at least, be reminded of them.

Raubahn has this deep belly laugh when I crack jokes with him- and really, he is the one constant patron of my puns, readily exchanging more with me for as long as we both have jokes to spare. Says it’s from years of being a father. I can’t remember how his laugh sounds.

Merlwyb would refuse to admit it- and if she ever catches wind of documentation of it, she’ll throw me to the Sahagin, of that I have no doubt- but I miss her singing. Low and rumbling as thunder, textured like velvet but fills the room like smoke. I’ve forgotten how the tune goes, which is ridiculous. I’ve heard her hum it a thousand times.

Aymeric...gods, for how he haunts my dreams you would think I would remember his smile. I should. I remember the things that made him smile. When I would bring sweets from that one chocolatier in town, or sweets from somewhere I had recently traveled. When I would move his bangs to kiss his forehead. Or sometimes...just when he looked at me. 

What shade of blue were his eyes? Were they a deeper shade like the night sky over the Steppe? Or was that the blue of his coat that I’m remembering? 

Why am I forgetting everything so quickly?! I have object permanence! It’s only been some moon and a sennight since I last saw everyone! I’m not some geriatric invalid rapidly losing who I am! I’m not some tempered thrall of a primal, adrift in want to serve my master and bereft of all concept of self! I am not-

(The following lines are writ with words made illegible with scribblings of ink and lines frustratedly crossed through them with enough force to nearly tear a hole in the paper. At the bottom, as if in triumph, there are only two more legible sentence:)

I am Serella Arcbane, and no one can take that from me. Not even a god.

Uthengentle:

Visited Ma over coffee this morning. I went fully intending to just say goodbye then and there. Made sense, I figured. We were leaving tomorrow.

I couldn’t say goodbye. I tried, Rhalgr knows I did. 

Had written a letter ahead of everything just in case. Only makes sense, given our line of work. Left that instead. Didn’t even have the stomach to say goodbye at the door. I left while she went to make another cup for me. I’ll have to apologize to her later. If we make it back.

...When. When we make it back. No sense in the doom and gloom; we’ve been through such shite before. Doubt this would be the end of it, either, but I can hope.

Ellie’s been having worse episodes with that voice, nearly passing out a time or two from what F’lhaminne told me. I hate I can’t be more help. I wish I could at least understand what she’s going through. All I get is headaches, sometimes a flash of an image, but it never bothers me. Krile suspects that has to do with Serella being more sensitive to aether and the Echo than I am. 

I just hope they stop once we leave. They should, right? If we’re going where we’re being called, they have no reason to keep callin’, I’d assume. Or their arseholes, and will do it anyway. Won’t matter. Let ‘em. We’ve got our family to save.

...Well. Some of ‘em. Still feels wrong to abandon everyone on the front lines. We should be there. The closer we get to leaving, the more ill I feel about it. From what Ellie said, she’s not faring much better in that regard. Said Aymeric told her to let them handle this fight, but he’s gotta know without us it could go either way. The man’s not stupid- none of ‘em are. Raubahn promised he’d defend the camp with his last breath...but I don’t want it to come to that.

Riol’s been scouting in Thancred’s place- from what he’s been able to gather, the Garleans are holding their cards to their chest. They have something big planned, and they’re just waiting for the right time to use it. Is that time when we’re out of the picture?

I hate that I don’t know, and I can’t find out before we leave.

I hate even more that we have to leave at all, but it’s clearly not something we have a choice in. Either we go to them, or we’re pulled to them. Better we still have our bodies and our senses and just bite the bullet. 

Warned Hilda to up the Watch with the Templars out of Ishgard. Not that she needs that warning; woman’s an unstoppable force already. It could be her and her alone standing at the gate if the Imperials march on Ishgard, and the safe money would still be on Hilda, far as I’m concerned.

I know my friends are capable without me around. I know they don’t need the Warriors of Light to keep them going. Doesn’t mean I don’t just want to be there to protect them- or failing that, die with them- and just fuck off to some far flung wherever.

We’ll be back before we know it. I’ll see to it myself if I have to.

Aymeric:

The battle continues into its fifth week, now. Though we have not lost an ilm to the Imperials, nor have they lost ground to us. Losses on both sides are mounting. We are hitting a breaking point, everyone can sense it. That there is a turning point fast approaching is not in question, but to which side the tide shall turn. 

O Halone shield your children from the encroaching dark, I beseech thee. 

The Warriors of Light make to leave in search of the Scions. The Alliance had to all but force them into leaving this battle to us, a turning point that came with the fear that (there is a name crossed out) the acting Antecedent had fallen to the same affliction that had claimed the rest. With her restored, however, they yet have hope to find those whose souls have been set adrift from this star. I only hope their path leads to victory, and then to home.

(the remainder of the entry is written in a different ink, presumably at a later point in time. The letters are splotched in places with drops of water.)

I nearly lost her. When Estinien laid her lifeless body in front of me, I feared the worst. We bore her to Ishgard with the full expectation that she would not wake. By the Fury, but when she did...

We are...no longer courting. I remind myself of this every time I am made to respond to one of her missives. That we are only separated by temporary obligation is beside the point: whatever relief I might have felt, whatever ache I carry in my chest will have to stay there, so long as she holds the title of Antecedent. 

Only for now. Another reminder to myself.

She yet shields me, even now, so far from the battlefield as she is made to be. Her promise still sits upon my hand. It shall do so unto death, and longer yet. I have already requested she not be allowed to take the ring from my finger. I have no need to be freed from it in Halone’s halls; regardless of her own heart, if I am the first to fall, then I will wait. I had long since decided thus, even before we were betrothed. 

I only wish I had not been so reserved with her for so long. I should have made more time for her. I swore to her I would never take her for granted and yet to dwell on our courtship, I always took her return as given. Now...now I only pray, and continue to fight that I might live to see her return.

(there are entire swaths of sentences scratched out, only some words such as, “promise,” “love,” and, “forgive,” are barely legible)

She must return. I know not what to do without her otherwise.

O Halone guide my beloved home in victory. 

[angelsfalling16]

20 First Kisses

                                       #6: Secret Writings

[#1]   [#2]   [#3]   [#4]   [#5]   [#7]   [#8]   [#9]   [#10]   [#11]   [#12]

Read it on ao3

Thank you @great-merlins-beard for reading through this and for all of your notes!

Pairing: Snowbaz

Words: 6486

Summary: Baz is writing constantly, and Simon thinks he’s plotting.

Simon

“Pen. Pen. Penny. Penny. Penelope!” I nearly shout at her. She’s sitting across from me, reading a book and pretending like she can’t hear me.

“Yes, Simon?” she asks, finally raising her eyes to look at me.

“Look at him,” I say, absentmindedly tearing at the scone on the plate in front of me.

“Who?” she asks, closing her book with a sigh.

“Baz,” I whisper, pushing the remains of my scone aside. Penny turns slightly in her seat to look at the table where Baz and his friends are sitting.

I look, too. Baz is scribbling rabidly in a notebook, ignoring whatever Dev is saying beside him. A stray strand of dark hair falls into his face, and he shoves it away with the hand that isn’t holding the pen. (Knowing Baz, it’s probably a very expensive brand of pen.)

“What about him? Penny asks. I tear my eyes away from Baz and turn them on Penny’s exasperated face.

“He hasn’t stopped writing since he sat down.” Penny’s eyebrows raise slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. “I think he’s plotting something.”

Penny sighs, again, and rolls her eyes. “What makes you think he’s plotting something? He could be doing homework.”

I glance at Baz again, and he still has his head down. It looks like he has given up on his hair because more of it has fallen into his face out of its usually slicked-back state. It looks nice, and I wish for a moment that I was close enough to run my fingers through it. Shaking that thought out of my head, I turn back towards Penny. She’s watching me with her tea poised in front of her mouth.

“He doesn’t have any textbooks with him,” I point out. “He’s probably plotting my demise while we just sit here and watch. I’m going to find out what he’s up to.”

“Fine, but I’m not helping you this time.” I barely hear her because Baz has just closed his notebook and is standing up.

I watch as he rakes his pale hand through the contrasting strands of dark hair, trying to get it back under control. He says something to Dev and Niall before walking out of the dining hall.

I feel a sharp pain in my knee and turn and look sharply at Penny. “What did you kick me for?” I ask.

“No reason,” she says innocently. “But you should probably hurry and finish eating before you end up late to class.”

I just barely keep from rolling my eyes at her. I’m more worried about whatever Baz is plotting than I am about missing class.

***

I sit behind Baz in most of our classes together, so I have a pretty good view of whatever it is that he’s doing. He somehow manages to both take notes and write in that other notebook. I’m too far away to see what it is that he’s writing, though. I’m not sure how he manages to do both when I can barely manage to make it appear like I’m taking notes while also keeping an eye on him.

He’s so absorbed in his notebook all day that he doesn’t sneer – or even look – at me once. It feels strange to not be the recipient of one of his snide comments. Whatever he’s plotting must be really bad if it takes up this much of his concentration because he never misses an opportunity to taunt me. I need to find out what he’s up to quickly.

After dinner, I beat Baz back to our room. I don’t have to wait long for him to arrive, though. I’m seated at my desk with a textbook open in front of me when he walks in. I don’t look up, and he doesn’t say anything. This isn’t unusual for us since we usually try to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he kicks off his shoes and hangs his blazer and tie neatly in his wardrobe. He stretches his arms above his head, and I turn my gaze back to the book in front of me before he turns around and catches me watching him.

After a few minutes of staring at the words on the page but not really taking any of it in, I look back over at Baz. He’s lounging on his bed with one leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent with the notebook propped on it. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as he adds more elegant script to the page.

I watch as his hand moves back and forth across the page. He stops every once in a while and just stares at the page in front of him, like he’s trying to figure out what the next step of his plan will be. Whatever his plan is, at least it will look beautiful on paper. His handwriting always looks so nice, and I envy him as I turn back to my own notebook of barely legible notes.

This goes on for almost an hour. I pretend to be studying while watching Baz out of the corner of my eye as he fills several pages with his secret plan. Finally, I hear a rustle of pages as he closes the notebook and listen as he walks to the bathroom. As soon as I hear the door close, I turn in my seat to look at his side of the room.

The notebook isn’t on the bed where I expect it to be, nor on his desk. I frantically search with my eyes for the notebook but don’t see it. All of Baz’ things are always neatly put away, so the notebook would be easy to spot if it was there. For a moment, I consider getting up to search under his bed or in his desk drawer, but he could return from the bathroom at any moment.

I turn back to face my desk just in time. I force myself not to look at him again until I know for sure that he’s back on his bed. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t have his notebook out this time. Now, he’s sitting with both legs bent and is reading a book. I can’t see the cover from where I’m sitting.

I tear my eyes away from him once more. I try to actually read the words in front of me, but I can’t focus. I need to find out what he’s plotting. Frustrated, I close the textbook with a little too much force and stand up, nearly knocking over my chair.

I grab some clothes from my wardrobe and go into the bathroom, just barely managing not to slam the door. Maybe a hot shower will help me focus.

Baz

It isn’t hard to notice that Snow is watching me as we sit quietly in our room. He isn’t doing a very good job of pretending to study. We’ve been sitting here for an hour, and he hasn’t turned the page of his book once. I’m not even sure he’s picked up his pencil yet either.

It was getting increasingly more difficult to focus on what I was writing with Snow’s intense gaze trained on me, so I gave up after a while. This seemed to upset him. As soon as he saw the book in my hand, I could feel waves of frustrated and uncontained magic rolling off him.

When he abruptly stands up, I think that he’s going to go off. Instead, he just stomps into the bathroom and turns on the shower. I smile to myself with the knowledge that I can get under Snow’s skin so easily without even trying. (I ignore the fact that he got under my skin first by just watching me. That’s beside the point.)

I close my book and make sure that my notebook is safely tucked away in my bag before changing into pajamas and crawling into bed. I’ve had enough of Snow’s lingering gaze for one day. Now, I need to rest so that I can fight off whatever he attempts to do tomorrow. It won’t be long before he tries to get ahold of my notebook.

(Maybe I’ll just burn it before he can see what’s inside.)

Simon

Baz was asleep when I got out of the shower last night, and he’s already gone when I wake up. I dress quickly and go down to the dining hall to meet Penny for breakfast. Agatha doesn’t sit with us anymore. (Not since she broke up with me.)

I don’t blame her, though. I wasn’t the best boyfriend, and she wanted more than I could give her. I was upset at first. Of course, I was. We had been together for a long time, but I think I’m over it now.

“Morning,” Penny says as I sit down across from her. I nod in response.

I search the room for Baz, but Dev and Niall are sitting alone today. “I think he’s avoiding me,” I murmur to myself. Penny shakes her head.

“If you want to talk to him then do it.” I stare at her with wide eyes.

“What? Why would I want to talk to him?”

Penny sighs and sips her tea before answering. “I’m just saying, ask him what he’s writing in that notebook. It would definitely save us all a lot of time.” She mumbles the last bit into her tea.

“But why would Baz tell me what he’s plotting? It would ruin his plan.”

“Do you honestly believe that that notebook is full of an evil plan to take you down, Simon?”

“What else would he be writing?”

“I don’t know, but he has been writing a lot. That is too much for a plan. No one thinks that hard about something. Not even Baz.”

“Aha! So, you’ve noticed all the writing, too!” I exclaim, feeling triumphant.

“Only because you pointed it out. And you completely missed my point.”

“It could be a really elaborate plan, Penny.” She doesn’t respond, and we finish eating our breakfast in silence.

Baz never shows up.

Baz

I don’t go to breakfast so that I can avoid Snow. I do not need to start off my day with his blue eyes watching my every movement. I go down to the catacombs to catch rats instead because I didn’t feed last night since I went to bed so early.

In the classes Snow and I don’t have together, I can breathe just fine. I take excellent notes while also writing in the other notebook. The one where the cover is the exact same shade of blue as Snow’s eyes. It isn’t a very exciting shade of blue. There’s nothing special about it. Except there is because the fact that the color belongs to the person that I’ve fallen head over heels for is what made my heart race when I saw the notebook.

There was only one with this color at the store, and I knew instantly that I had to buy it. The contents of the notebook are almost as meaningful as the color. No one know what I’m writing, not even my two closest friends. (And hopefully, no one ever will.)

It probably wouldn’t attract so much attention if I could stop carrying it everywhere and writing in it every chance I get, but I can’t seem to stop. (I don’t really want to either.)

The other classes, the ones I do share with Snow, are a bit more difficult. I can feel him watching me, which makes it hard to focus on what the teachers are saying. During our second class together, I completely give up on trying to take notes and throw all of my concentration into what I’m writing in the blue notebook. This allows me to get a lot of writing done, but it also means that I don’t hear anything the teachers are saying. Luckily (or maybe un luckily) Snow is the only one who seems to be interested in the fact that I’m not taking notes.

Not even Bunce, Snow’s best friend, seems particularly invested. In fact, I’m pretty sure I heard her tell Snow to knock it off earlier.

***

The next several days pass by in a similar fashion. Snow glares at the notebook that I continue to carry everywhere, and I spend most classes struggling to take notes and trying to ignore Snow’s heated gaze. With every passing day, I find it increasingly difficult to focus on anything except the notebook and Snow’s eyes on me.

During lunch on Thursday, I head down to the catacombs with my notebook, and I’m able to relax without Snow’s piercing gaze distracting me and keeping me from being able to focus on anything. I am able to write a decent portion of the story I’ve been working on before I have to head back to class.

Bright blue eyes caught my gaze several times throughout the day. His eyes, the same shade as the sky on a clear day pierce into me. It felt like he could see my every thought and desire when he looked at me like that. It made me feel like I was the only person in the world, like it was just me and him in that moment.

Every time he looked at me, I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of him. He waved at me as he walked past my table during lunch, and I was so surprised that I didn’t have time to react before it was too late.

“Just talk to him,” my friend said to me. I told him at the beginning of the year about my feelings for my roommate and ever since, he has tried to get me to tell him.

“I can’t,” I said. “He doesn’t feel the same.”

“You won’t know unless you talk to him.”

“I do know actually. He has a girlfriend, remember?”

“Oh, but didn’t you hear?” he whispered conspiratorially. “They broke up last week.”

“What?” I whispered loudly. My friend looked at me with an amused grin before asking if I wanted to know why they broke up. I hesitated, unsure of whether it’s really any of my business. Before I could make up my mind, the bell rang signaling the end of lunch.

“Just talk to him,” my friend said before standing up and walking away.

***

The afternoon classes are difficult to say the least. I’m unprepared for most of them because I’ve barely taken any notes all week, and I spend most evenings in our room writing or down in the catacombs trying to catch a break from Snow. He’s constantly watching me but never says anything. Not even when I sneer at him with a snide remark.

It’s too dark down in the catacombs to study, so I am completely unprepared when two of our teachers call on me to answer a question that they have asked, and I have to admit that I don’t know the answer. I can see the shock and disappointment in their eyes when they see that one of the best students at this school has lost focus. I know that my mother would be even more disappointed if she were here. Education was always important to her.

On Friday, I decide to leave the notebook in our room so that I can refocus on my classes. (And hopefully get Snow to stop watching me for a while.)

I have no such luck with Snow, though. In fact, this seems to make him even more suspicious of me. Waves of magic roll off him all day as he glares at the back my head. I do my best to ignore him, but it’s hard not to turn around and sneer at him to stop staring.

After classes, I consider skipping dinner, but I haven’t eaten since yesterday at breakfast, so I know I should at least get something that I can take back to the room or down to the catacombs. As soon as I step through the doors, I can feel Snow’s eyes on me. (It feels like the heat of a summer sun.) I turn and sneer at him before making my way over to where Dev and Niall sit.

I can still feel Snow’s gaze as he tracks my movement across the dining hall. Apparently, the sneers I’ve thrown his way all week have done nothing to dissuade him. I sigh, wondering what it will take to get Snow to stop watching me like that.

When I finally look at Dev and Niall, they’re both giving me strange looks. “What?” I snap at them.

“Is the aspiring writer done…writing?” Niall asks with a smirk.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, covering my surprise with a sneer. There is no way that he knows that the notebook is filled with a story I’ve been working on.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you without that notebook in days. Are you finally done with whatever you were working on?”

I still haven’t told either of them about it. They wouldn’t understand. They would also probably stop wanting to associate with me if they knew the truth.

I shake my head at them. “Just taking a small break.”

“Well, your roomie doesn’t seem to be very happy about that,” Dev chimes in smirking and nodding in Snow’s direction when I give him a questioning look.

My eyes find Snow’s easily. Dev is right. The curious gleam of the past few days is gone from his eyes and has been replaced by anger. If looks could kill, I’d be dead where I sit. He’s staring daggers at me. (Brilliantly blue daggers but daggers all the same.)

I can feel his magic all the way over here. It feels hot, like he’s about to go off. I know that I could easily tip him over the edge, but I don’t. Instead, I say goodbye to Dev and Niall before heading back towards Mummers House. I expect Snow to follow, but I don’t feel his magic anymore as I exit the dining hall and head back to our room.

A large part of me is disappointed by this, and I feel a pang in my chest. I push the feeling away and throw myself down on my bed, notebook and pen in hand. So many words are floating around in my head, and I just need to get them down on paper.

The boy with the intense gaze looked up at me, and I froze. I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t stop. The heat from his gaze warmed me up. His eyes were so bright they could light up any room. The corners of his eyes crinkle as one side of his mouth lifts slightly. I wanted to walk over to him and run my hands through his soft bronze curls. The girl beside him said something, and he looked away. I shivered, suddenly feeling cold all over.

Simon

I try to stand and follow Baz out of the dining hall, but Penny puts a hand on my arm to stop me. I try to pull away, but she tightens her grip.

“Simon what are you doing?” I glance at the doors.

“Following Baz.”

She stares at me for a moment, apparently not expecting me to say it so bluntly “You need to cool off or you’re going to go off,” she says calmly. “Don’t you think it’s time to give this a rest? It’s been days.” I sigh and sit back down in my seat. She releases her hold on my arm.

I rake a hand through my hair and say, “I just want to talk to him.”

“You can talk to him later. You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“Neither has he,” I murmur, glancing at the door once more. Penny frowns at me but doesn’t say anything.

Once Penny decides that I’ve eaten enough, she lets me leave with a warning to “play nice.”

I walk as quickly as I can to the room without actually running to get there. I have to find out what his plan is before he decides to actually put it into action. I have to find the notebook and figure out a way to stop him.

Baz is stretched out on his bed again, reading a book. The notebook is sitting on the bed beside him. It could be any notebook, but I have a feeling that it’s the notebook, the one he’s been writing in nonstop.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and I can’t help but notice how his dark, tight pants cling to his legs. He has one arm bent under his head while the other holds the book up above his face. This position causes his black shirt to ride up and reveal a small strip of skin. It looks like it would be smooth to the touch, and I wonder what it would feel like if I rubbed his stomach there. I lick my suddenly dry lips and force myself to look away.

I realize that I’m still standing by the door, so I sit down at my desk. I don’t even bother getting any books out and let my head fall into my hands, with my elbows resting on the desk. The notebook is right there, but I can’t just grab it. I have to figure out a way to get ahold of it. I suppose I could just ask to see it, like Penny said the other day. But that would be weird. And he would be more likely to punch me than actually hand it over. I have to figure something out, though.

Baz

Snow walks into our room and just stands there staring at me. I resist the urge to sneer at him, and instead continue looking at the book, unable to focus on the words now that he’s here.

I left the notebook in plain view, so I could see what he would do. I can’t help but want to try to get a reaction out of him. It’s just so easy, and it’s the only kind of thing I can get from him. He doesn’t react at all, though. There isn’t even a wave of magic to clue me into what he’s feeling. He simply sits at his desk without a word. Is he really giving up already? Impossible. He’s the bloody Chosen One. He never gives up on trying to get what he wants. There is no way he’s suddenly not interested anymore.

“Snow,” I say quietly. I wait until he has turned around to look at me before saying anything else. The unexpected intensity of his gaze renders me speechless. I struggle to keep up my composure. I take a deep breath, and with forced nonchalance, I say, “you can read it if you want.”

I don’t completely know why I do it. Maybe I’m a masochist. Maybe I think he’ll leave me alone if I just let him see it. (Like when I finally let him catch up to me in the catacombs 5th year.) Maybe I want to see his reaction. Maybe I think he won’t actually read it. (Maybe I want him to read it.)

“What?” he asks.

I pick up the notebook and toss it onto his bed. I don’t say anything else. I turn back to my book and watch him out of the corner of my eye to see what he’ll do. He hesitates for a long moment as he stares at it like it might bite him when he touches it. Finally, he stands up and moves to sit on the edge of his bed, facing me. He still doesn’t pick it up.

“Why?” he asks.

I shrug but don’t look up. “It just seemed like you wanted to see what was in it.”

“I did. I mean, I do. But why are you just handing it over?”

I stare silently at my book for a moment. I hadn’t expected him to ask questions. I thought he would just read it and then make fun of me for it. (Or whatever he’ll do when he realizes what it is.) I fight the urge to shrug again. That’s something Snow does a lot, and it drives me crazy.

I sigh and speak the truth. “I’m tired of fighting. If you don’t want to read it, fine. I’ll take it back.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I look up. He looks surprised. And confused. He chews on his lip while he thinks through what I just said.

He nods once before picking it up. “Are you sure you want me to read this?” he asks softly.

“Yes, Snow,” I say, just as gently. “I wouldn’t have given it to you if I didn’t want you to read it.” It’s true, I realize. I can’t be sure of his reaction, but I trust him, even if we’ve never gotten the chance to learn how to trust each other. I know he won’t do anything too horrible in response. He isn’t that kind of guy.

“Okay,” he almost whispers. He opens the notebook, and I turn back to my book again, not wanting to see his reaction.

Simon

I flip quickly through the pages of the notebook, afraid that he’s going to change his mind and take it back. It’s almost completely filled with Baz’s elegant handwriting. He has spent a lot of time on this – whatever this is. It definitely isn’t a plot to kill me. But that’s pretty much all I know. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but it definitely does not seem evil in anyway. I open it to a random page and start reading:

The boy with bronze curls and round blue eyes smiled at me like I was his world, like he only had eyes for me. It made my heart stop for a moment. I fought to normalize my breathing. I couldn’t believe he was looking at me like that. He always smiles like that, but it has never been directed at me before. I give him a small smile before he turns and walks away.

I’m not sure what I’m reading exactly. I skip forward to another page that’s closer to the end and start reading again.

We were sitting on the floor laughing, and he looked up at me with those dazzling blue eyes. Without thinking about it, I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to me. His eyes widened with surprised as lips parted slightly. He didn’t try to pull away, though, so I lean forward and press my lips to his. It’s soft and gentle at first, but then

I close the notebook without reading any further. I feel like I just read something very personal, something I probably should have just left alone. Did I just read Baz’s diary? If so, who is the boy that he kissed. Is Baz gay? I want to find out the answers to all of these questions, but I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. He did just hand it over though.

“Baz…” I say quietly. He’s staring at the book in his hands, not looking at me.

“What, Snow?” he asks, with not quite a sneer. He sounds almost…tired, like he’s carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders and wants to be done with it.

“What is this?” I ask gesturing at the notebook. I know it’s a stupid question, but it’s all I can manage to get out.

“What do you think it is?” he says with a slight tinge of anger in his voice. He still isn’t looking at me though, so I can’t see his expression.

“Uhh… I’m not sure,” I say, voice low. “I thought you were plotting something. But I know that’s not true now.” My voice grows quieter with every word, and I stare down at the notebook so that I don’t have to see the look on his face.

“Seriously, Snow? That’s why you wanted to see what I was writing?” I don’t respond. I just keep staring at the notebook. We’re both silent for a moment before he gently says, “I wasn’t plotting your death in that notebook.”

“I know that now,” I murmur. “I’m still not exactly sure what exactly it is, though.”

Baz sighs deeply, and says, “It’s just a story.”

“What?” I finally look up at him, surprised. He’s staring hard at the wall, his book completely abandoned now. “A story?” I repeat because I never would have guessed that Baz Pitch was a writer.

“Yes, Snow. You do know what a story is, don’t you?” He turns and scowls at me.

“Yeah, but – I mean –.” I take a breath and try to find the words I want to say. “I didn’t know you wrote stories.”

“No one does,” he says gravely.

“Why not?”

He sneers at me. “Why would anyone want to read that?”

I shrug. “It seems interesting.” He just stares at me, sneer still in place. “I didn’t read much, but I liked what I did read.” I shrug again, incapable of explaining what I mean very well.

“What part did you read?” he asks softly, sneer slipping.

“Just a couple of sentences here and there.” I pause for a moment. “Why don’t the characters have names?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine, and there’s an unreadable expression there before he quickly slides back into another sneer. “They have names,” he says simply, not elaborating.

“What are they?”

“Why do you care?”

I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. Why is he being so difficult now? “I was just curious. You’ve written this really long story about them, but you don’t seem to ever mention their names.”

“How would you know?” he asks harshly. “You said yourself that you didn’t read very much of it.”

I glare at him. “Whatever, Baz.” I toss the notebook to him and storm out of the room. I don’t understand why he has to be like that. Why can’t he just talk to me like a normal person? And why am I so upset by all of this?

Baz

I just stare at the door dumbfounded after he storms off. I don’t understand why he got so mad. I have said much worse things, and what I said was true. He didn’t read much of it. If he had read the last page of what I’ve written in the notebook, he would have seen his name there. I finished the story last night, and there was even a nice little epilogue where the last words are his name.

It feels like I sit there for a long time after he leaves before I run after him, but it’s only a few minutes, and I manage to catch up to him just outside of Mummers House. He has his back to me, but he isn’t moving.

“Snow,” I say quietly, not wanting to scare him off. He doesn’t turn around. I watch him for a moment, and his shoulders seem to be shaking. Is he…crying? I take a step closer, reaching a hand out to gently grasp his shoulder. “Simon?” I whisper.

He freezes for half a second before his shoulders start to shake harder. He isn’t making any noise, and I’m starting to get worried. I spin him around to face me. There are no tears on his face though. He’s laughing, and I’m speechless for once.

Simon

I’ll admit that I was furious with Baz when I left the room. But the walk down all of those stairs really helped clear my head. By the time I step outside into fresh air, I understand why I’m so upset. I’m not angry that he wouldn’t tell me the names of the characters. I’m jealous.

I’m jealous of whoever inspired him to write a love story. I’m jealous of whoever stole his heart. I don’t know why I’m so jealous, though. It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything. He’s my enemy. He always has been.

Or maybe, deep down, I’ve always loved him and have always found him attractive. Maybe I’ve always felt something more. But I’ve never been able to admit it, not even to myself, because we’ve been enemies practically since we met.

I take in a deep breath of the cool evening air and let it out with a laugh. I try to stop the laughter, but I can’t. This is all just so ridiculous. I’m jealous of someone I’ve never met, all because of a story Baz wrote. And on top of that, I’ve fallen in love with Baz of all people, the one person I was destined to hate.

And now that I’ve finally come to terms with my feelings, it’s because he’s in love with someone else. Someone he cares so much about that they were the inspiration for a story he wrote.

I continue laughing because this is all just so absurd. I hear someone exit the building behind me, but I don’t turn, not even when the person, Baz, says my name. I can’t stop laughing, and he’ll probably think I’m insane. He places a firm hand on shoulder and says my name again. I freeze because he says ‘Simon’ this time, but then, I laugh harder because he sounds concerned, and it feels like my world has been turned upside down. Because Baz is worried about me, and I’m in love with him.

He spins me around to face him, and I keep laughing because I can’t seem to stop. He frowns and looks at me like I’ve completely lost it, and maybe I have. Maybe I’ve finally gone crazy.

“Are you okay?” he asks me. I nod, still laughing. “What’s so funny?”

My stomach hurts from laughing, and I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “I’m in love with you, but you’re in love with someone else.” Saying these things out loud should probably frighten me, but they cause me to laugh even harder (if that’s even possible) because hearing the words spoken out loud makes it sound that much more absurd.

“What are you talking about Snow?” he asks, sounding exasperated.

“The notebook,” I choke out between laughs. “Whoever you were writing about. Jealous of them.” I laugh so hard tears start falling. Or maybe I’m crying now. I can’t be sure.

“Snow—” he begins but I interrupt him.

“Simon.”

“What?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

“You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t.” I just shake my head, trying to breathe. “Whatever. That story was about you….Simon,” he adds, dropping his gaze to the ground for a moment before staring directly into my eyes.

Finally, I stop laughing, shocked into silence. “It….what?” I stare at him, the wind drying the tears on my face.

“If you had actually read the story, you would know it was about you. I wrote your name. At the end.” I just stare at him for a moment.

He must be lying. He can’t be in love with me. But, then again, just a few minutes ago, I would have said I wasn’t in love with him. I look for any trace of mocking in his dark grey eyes, but there’s none. He’s being completely serious. I try to come up with something to say, but then I think that actions speak louder than words.

I close the distance between us and place my hands on his face. I watch as shock registers on his face before pulling his face to mine and kissing him softly. His hands find my waist and rest there. The kiss is gentle, and his lips are so soft. It doesn’t last long before Baz pulls away.

“Maybe we should go inside,” he suggests. I nod in agreement, and he takes my hand, leading me upstairs back to our room.

Once the door has closed behind us, I wonder how to pick back up from where we left off. I consider pushing him up against the wall and kissing him again. But I also think we should talk first. Luckily, Baz makes the decision for me.

Still holding my hand, he turns to me and says, “wait, you thought that story was about some other guy?” I look down at my feet in response, feeling my cheeks heat up. “Oh, Snow.” He places a finger under my chin and raises my face up to look at him. He’s smiling at me, something I’ve never seen him do. “You are just so oblivious, my darling Snow.”

I look at him confused. Oblivious? How am I oblivious?

“I described your hair and eyes in great detail in that story. Did you really not read any of that?”

Oh, I think. “I did. But… I never dreamed that you would like me.”

“I don’t like you,” he says simply. At his words, I try to pull away. He shakes his head, chuckling softly. “I’m in love with you, you dolt.”

“Oh,” I smile brightly at him. “I’m in love with you, too, Basil.”

His eyes widen for a fraction of second before his grin widens. I take this opportunity to spin us around and push him up against the door.

He runs his fingers through my hair. “You are utterly ridiculous, Simon Snow.” He looks down at me, with a smile that makes my heart stop. “You thought I was in love with someone else, so your response is to run off and… laugh?” He quirks an eyebrow, relaxing against the door. My hands are resting on his chest.

I shake my head, remembering how I must have looked out there. “It just seemed so absurd that it took me thinking you were in love with someone else to make me finally admit to myself how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt about you.”

He looks surprised at this and pulls me closer to him. He presses our foreheads together, and I can see the different shades of grey in his eyes. They are the color of storm clouds preparing to unleash a drizzling rain with specks of a lighter shade throughout.  “I thought you’d always hate me,” he whispers. I shake my head.

“I could never hate you.”

With that, our lips meet. The kiss is more desperate this time. Eight years of repressed feelings on both sides are trying to express themselves through this one action. This is how we spend the rest of the night until we fall asleep on Baz’ bed, clinging on to each other, both afraid that the other will be gone in the morning.