#maybe the deadlines and stuff can actually nudges me to finish it

[persephoneflouwers]

So mh…

[husbandograveyard]

Henlo all! This is my extremely-close-to-the-deadline-submission for @some-piece​’s AU event. I got these 5 characters to chose from: Rebecca - Hachi - Hawkins - Zoro - Paulie. And after contemplating for a long while I decided to put Zoro in an animal shelter AU which automatically became modern AU setting as well as slight!college AU but the main focus will be on the shelter.

2nd person. Genderneutral reader. slight mentions of animal abuse, nothing too bad. 99% fluff!

“Can I help you?” 

A young man about your age had walked into the shelter where you worked. He had opened the door quite harshly, making the bell at the top ring, and making you put down the cat you had been brushing for a bit and put it back in its cage. You walked up to the little desk area at the front, where he was standing with his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face that only seemed to relax a bit when he heard you speak up. 

“Yeah I sent an e-mail, I needed to be here for the volunteer program?” 

You thought for a second, suddenly remembering that you had posted an ad at local universities and colleges to come volunteer at the shelter. Most of those students didn’t have the time to come volunteer, but you had gotten a handful of mails. Most of the students never showed up and the only one that had made an appointment for today had made the appointment for two hours earlier so you had just assumed it was going to be another no-show. 

“Oh… you’re…” “-Late I know, I got lost.” You furrowed your brow wondering how someone could get lost for two hours coming from a campus that was only a fifteen minute walk away, but didn’t pry any further, just happy to have some possible assistance.

“Okay! Well, I’ll go get the stuff in order then, you can wait out here for a bit.”

After you got the papers he handed you some form from the school as well and explained that he had to fill in a couple of hours a week with other things than his sports curriculum to get his degree to be complete, and he had jokingly added ‘how hard can it possibly be to look after a bunch of critters’. The statement in itself did not seem to be meant to discredit your work or the animals, but you already saw that he was vastly underestimating just how much effort went into your work. So as soon as all the papers were signed and in order, you could prove him wrong. 

“You’re in luck, all the cleaning is already done. It’s feeding time now, and I was doing a round of brushing today, so maybe you could help with that and if we still have time left we can take some dogs out for a walk.” 

The grin on his face was confident, and you were taking a little pleasure in knowing it would be wiped off his face in an instant. Your main focus was to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally harm the animals, and to make sure they were properly taken care of. But if it meant this overconfident jock got his ass handed to him, you’d take it. 

The day had proceeded as you had expected. Zoro, as he had introduced himself once you got over the formalities, had not been really good with the animals. He was strong, and a hard worker you had to give him that. But the animals… seemed to not really like him, even if he did do his best? Cats hissed, dogs barked, the one abandoned parrot you were temporarily housing had pecked him so hard his finger started bleeding. Luckily for you, he didn’t physically lash out at the animals, but you had heard a whole new array of curse words and insults that you previously didn’t even know existed. 

You had spent most of the day explaining all the things to him and helping him out whenever he was really struggling but most of the time you had actually been occupied with trying not to laugh too hard at his failing ministrations. 

“You have to be kind, try not to come across as so intimidating. You’re a big bad man that they are scared off, and they’re all just trying to defend themselves,”  you said as you petted a big fluffball of a cat while Zoro put fresh water and new food in its cage. The cat was now happily purring and nudging your hand with his head while a few minutes ago it had been aggressively hissing at your volunteer. 

Zoro just angrily grumbled in response, finishing up his task so you could put the cat back. You eyed the clock, noticing it was already time for him to leave for the day. “I’ll release you from your suffering then. See you next week?” “Wait but you still have all these cages to do?” “I’m used to doing this all by myself, no worries” He frowned, and he seemed to be deep in thought for a second. “I’ll stay until it is done.” You raised one brow: “are you sure? These hours won’t count towards your total and it is getting quite late.”

He only shrugged in response: “My roommate is gone and I don’t have much better to do. I am volunteering time anyway, what is one extra hour going to do?” 

You smiled widely. “Let’s get to it then!” 

Even though the animals didn’t seem to like him very much, you couldn’t help but admire this green-haired man and his incredible work ethic. He showed up late often, because even after a few weeks he still managed to get lost regularly. You had just started to say that he needed to be there an hour earlier than he actually had to be there, so with his geographical skills he’d be there on time or even a little early. 

Most of the animals still were not that much of a fan of him, but you’d worked out a nice system that ensured fast and efficient work, and as little scratches and bites as possible. You got work done faster, had more time for social media and such, and thus animals got adopted out faster. It was a win-win, and you noticed yourself always looking forward to the days he’d come to help. 

Zoro wasn’t really talkative, but would listen to your endless ramblings as you talked about the shelter, all the animals, but eventually also things about your life, your family, your home… he was an excellent listener, and his very blunt character made that he usually came up with very honest opinions and helpful solutions, even when he didn’t necessarily intend them like that. And sometimes, when you stumbled over your words cause you were too focused, or said something that didn’t make sense he would laugh. It was a deep and loud laugh, making his whole upper body shake, and lately whenever he laughed, it made your heart flutter a little. Another reason to look forward to his help, which had already exceeded the number of hours he had to do for his extra credit. 

But the semester was coming to an end and you very well knew that even though he seemed to be enjoying his time way more than he initially did, that he would not do extra time. He had his sport’s practices to focus on and his group of friends that frequently went on weekend trips and such, and he had been missing out on a lot of that because of the volunteering he did. You felt a little sad, but had made peace with it. Still, a little voice in the back of your head was nagging more and more often to ask him to meet outside of the shelter. But you didn’t want to seem weird or creepy. Besides. He was obviously a popular college student, finishing up his degree, with a big group of friends that obviously adored him, and model-grade gorgeous. You were just a high school dropout that managed to get a job in a local shelter of which the owner died only a little after you got settled. You were struggling to make ends meet, had little social life besides the animals. You kept telling yourself that the only reason you were feeling so strange whenever Zoro came out to help, was because he was the only one who had made you feel like your life and stories mattered even a little. But you could get used to being all alone in here again with the occasional customer or 1-day volunteer. It was what you were used to. You had already taken far too much advantage of this gorgeous man’s free time.

And then the last day of the semester came. You were finishing up the chores of the day with a heavy heart. You would have to say goodbye, and you would have to keep it professional, since you never worked up the courage to really deepen the connection the two of you had besides working together. Zoro seemed a little uneasy as well, but neither of you was going to bring up the tense atmosphere. Tense was still better than awkward so you rolled with it. 

“Well then”, you started as you put your broom away, “you’ve been an amazing help this semester.” You walked over to the front desk and handed him all the papers he’d need to get his credit in order. 

“You more than deserved these, too bad I can’t give you a grade.” He chuckled in response. “I wish I could say I would miss it a lot, but I think my arms are better off scratch-free” You laughed a little as well, but felt yourself dying on the inside. Of course he wouldn’t miss this place. Or you. 

He put the papers away in his bag, and you were staring at the desk, desperately making up sentences in your mind, of which you could utter maybe one, just one, to say what you were feeling and what you really wanted. But anything you came up with seemed so lame, so stupid, so hopeless, so desperate, and even though you felt like all of these things, that was not how you wanted to portray yourself in front of him for all people. 

He softly touched your arm, his hand warm, and you jumped at the sudden contact. He stepped back in surprise at your reaction. “Sorry”, he mumbled, “I just wanted to say that I didn’t mind my time here. You really helped me out well”. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, clearly not too used to being soft in someone’s presence, and he smiled an adorable smile as he said those words, a mix of embarrassment and sincerity on his face. You felt like melting, and had to suppress the urge to just wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. With those broad shoulders and strong arms, you were quite sure that the hug he’d give back would be heavenly. But you didn’t, because again, that would be so strange with no indications beforehand that that was what you wanted. 

You nodded, a soft smile on your face as well. “You’re welcome. If you ever have some spare time and get bored, you know the way… or well, you don’t but you’ll find it.” He frowned a little at your remark, but the glint in his eyes betrayed that he found it quite amusing too. He picked up his bag, and opened the door. “Bye then?” “Goodbye Zoro”

A box of kittens. You had nearly tripped over them when you left the shelter to go home for the day. The box was in front of the door and weak, tiny mewls already betrayed its content as you did your utmost best to regain your balance. You kneeled down next to it, carefully opened up the top. Four little kittens, way too young to be away from the mother yet. Already emotional from the happenings of the day you felt tears well up in your eyes. You picked up the box and placed it inside, immediately grabbing whatever supplies you could find to keep the kittens warm, furiously wiping at your eyes in order to clear the tears before they could stream down your cheeks. Things like this could make you so furious. And oh, if only Zoro was still here to calm you down and help out a little. 

You had to take a few deep breaths and gather your thoughts. You had to get out, running for some kitten milk. These babies needed their nutrients and you’d probably spend the night in the shelter making sure they were fed whenever they needed it, keeping an eye on them. So you’d have to go get an overnight bag. But that would mean you would be away from them for a considerable time. You decided that the food was the most important part and literally sprinted to the most nearby pet store, mentally reminding yourself to book an appointment at the vet asap when you were back. 

Sunken deep in thoughts, you weren’t seeing where you were walking, running straight into someone, stumbling and falling on your back in the process. Great. That was what you needed. Some public humiliation while you were already at the verge of a little breakdown. You started to mumble a string of incoherent apologies when you looked up at a surprisingly familiar figure. “y/n?” “Zoro? What are you doing here?” “The apartment I live in is right here. What are you doing here?” He pointed upward at an apartment building and offered you his hand to get up. You grabbed it, and for a split second you wondered how he could possibly take up to two hours to get to the shelter from his apartment that was even closer to the shelter than his college campus was. But then you were back on your feet and you remembered the kittens. Your mind immediately regained some focus again. “Kittens” “What?” “Someone dropped a box of newborn kittens at the door. They will die without supervision, milk and warmth. So I'm getting some food for them and I’ll be staying the night with them to keep an eye on them” You managed to get all things out in one breath, almost turning to start walking again. No matter how much more time you actually wanted to spend in his presence, you knew it was a race against the clock to help the little babies, and those were your top priority right now. 

Zoro’s eyes grew wide. No matter how much he didn’t always connect with some of your furry friends that he had to take care of, he too was filled with rage when he had heard tales of people mishandling them and the reason why some were so scared and defensive when he was too loud or too brisk. You apologized again, explaining that you really had to go, that time was of the essence, and started walking. You were surprised to notice Zoro walking with you. 

“I’ll come with you.”  “What?”  “I’ll come with you. You need food too. And probably some blankets or something for the night right? You need some rest if you are going to take care of everything we usually do and then the new kittens on top of that. I’ll help” 

It was not a question, not even an offer. More a matter-of-a-fact-statement and even though every polite fiber in your being was telling you to follow etiquette and politely tell him that that was absolutely not necessary, you couldn’t push away the overwhelming relief and admiration you felt for this man in that moment and you accepted his help immediately.

You were back at the shelter in a matter of minutes, basic supplies for the kittens in hand, and the vet already on the phone as you followed their instructions on how to take care of them overnight, so you could bring them in for checkup and more detailed advice first thing in the morning. Knowing that Zoro would come and help you out, had done wonders for your mood, your resolve and your nerves. You felt more steady, like you could actually pull this off without neglecting either the kittens or any of the other animals that also needed your attention. 

Zoro had promised to go get some things to make the night at the shelter a little more comfortable and something for you to eat, because he figured you probably were starving at that point. And while you had not eaten yet, the adrenaline made you not feel the hunger. Now that things were calming down and the adrenaline was wearing off, you could feel your stomach grumble and you were mentally thanking your green-haired hero for his considerate streak. He had literally no obligation to help you out in any way. He was no longer officially volunteering. He had nothing to gain. He was probably on his ways to get a couple of beers and blissfully pass out after an evening of fun with his roommates. But he had seen you in distress and decided to help, and it had warmed your heart and given you renewed energy. 

The kittens were left to sleep a little after you had given all the first help that you could under the phone-guidance of the local vet clinic, and now you were nervously waiting on the couch for Zoro to return. You were nervous cause of the kittens, but you also caught yourself being a little nervous about the fact that he’d be keeping you company for the night. Not that you were seeing this as a date of any kind, but just the mere idea gave you the shivers in a nervous kind of way. 

He arrived only a little after you sat down, bag with a big blanket and some drinks in one hand, and another one holding a steaming bag of takeaway food. “I’m sorry it took me so long, I got -” “lost” you chuckled, “no worries, I got the first things taken care off” 

You patted the spot next to you on the couch. “Sit down, thank you for getting food. And thank you for helping out… I… I think I might have had a little breakdown if it wasn’t for your presence” He shrugged off the praise. “I am already used to helping out here, and besides, I kind of liked spending time with you, so a little extra won’t hurt”. 

He said those words so easily, you wanted to smack him for how casual he was about it,  and how bluntly and honestly he expressed his feelings, while you shared the same feelings but didn’t dare utter a single word. You grabbed the food instead and the blanket, sitting down so you could both sit down comfortably, keep an eye on the kittens and eat without too many problems. He got the hint, and made himself more comfortable on the couch as well.

The evening flew by. You had food, checked up on the kittens regularly per the vet’s instructions, and since there were no other chores to do, you could actually have some proper talks with Zoro. He was still not really as talkative, but he answered your questions, told you some more details about his life that he had not mentioned before. You could almost physically feel yourself growing more and more attracted to him, and nearly felt guilty about it. 

Despite all the adrenaline wearing you off and making you tired, you stayed up a remarkably long time, Zoro’s company and the kittens keeping you awake for longer than you had expected to stay up. But now it was nearing 4am and you were feeling your eyelids grow heavy. You were telling Zoro something about why you dropped out of high school, but you kept losing track of your own sentences. You had to think long and hard before repeating the few words you had already said. The playful smirk that was present on his face as you were struggling to find cohesion in your story didn’t help either. He thought it incredibly endearing, and when your eyes finally shut without opening again, and a soft snore could be heard, he very carefully moved you a bit so you would lay more comfortably. He crossed his arms and legs and leaned back in order to get some shuteye as well. 

You woke up to your alarm, that you had set up to go off every few hours, just so you could check up on the kittens and go through all the steps again. Your eyes and whole body felt heavy and it was harder to get up than expected. Not only because you were incredibly tired still, but also because a muscled arm was snugly resting around your midsection. You were sure you had fallen asleep on one end of the couch, but for some reason, you were leaning on Zoro, and he had wrapped an arm around you to secure you and make sure you didn’t slip off the couch. 

Your heart skipped a beat and you got up rather briskly. Of course, the sudden movement made Zoro wake up as well, and he seemed just as embarrassed as you were about the slightly compromising positions you had been napping in. You quickly cleared your throat, muttering ‘kittens’ before standing up, checking up on the babies and going through the motions. Without having to say anything, Zoro got up and started the morning chores already. It was way too early for those, but before you could protest he said that he’d get them started as long as you were working on the kittens, so you both could have a little more rest before your planned vet visit. You gave him a grateful smile. 

When the work was done, you called Zoro back, and you both sat down on the couch again. He seemed incredibly relaxed, almost as if he had forgotten that you were practically cuddling a little while ago, the mere thought of the sensation of his strong arm holding you making your heart race again. You shifted positions seven times in the span of three minutes and you could feel him staring at you, one brow raised in confusion at your almost yoga-like contortions you were trying in order to get comfortable. 

“Are you okay y/n?” 

“Yeah...I...I just… I don’t know how I could ever thank you properly” “Well… I already got my credit. But your head resting on my chest was kind of nice. Maybe a goodnight kiss before we go to sleep again for a little while?” He sounded casual, but he was avoiding eye-contact, regretting the words as they left his mouth. Your eyes grew so big they were about to pop up out of your sockets. “I mean, if you don’t mind if not… I…” Now it was his turn to get flustered, the little bit of smooth talk he had had earlier completely gone as the inner panic set in of maybe misunderstanding your previous actions, glances, words, and ministrations. 

You gathered up all your courage, and gave him a soft peck on the lips, seeing his eyes widen in surprise and the tips of his ears turn red before you rested your head on his broad chest. “You know for that payment, I’m willing to hire you as a full time worker here.” you hummed contently. He let out a few confused grunts, surprised by your bout of confidence, not seeing that you were trying to hide the insane embarrassment on your face. Face red, he managed to utter just one response before you drifted off into sleep again. “I’m gonna need a little more payment than just that. But well, I’ll consider it” 

fin. 

[probably-writing-x]

Cursed.

Valerio x Reader

Request from anon: Hey can you write something about being Lu’s best friend and falling in love with Valerio! Thank youuuu

Gif is not my own

My requests are open❤️

“Lu that looks just like the dress you bought last week,” You laugh, watching as she twirls in the fitting rooms of the next designer shop.

“No it’s not!” She defends proudly, “This is a different brand.”

“What’s all of this retail therapy anyway?” You frown, “More stuff going on with Guzmán?”

She glares at you, “Shopping does not always have to mean something bad has happened.”

“Yes it does,” You smirk, “It’s either you didn’t do as well as Nadia in the test, Guzmán has pissed you off...”

“Okay, I get the picture,” She rolls her eyes, turning around in the dress once again, “Valerio is coming back today.”

“Valerio? As in your brother Valerio?”

“Half brother.”

“So I’ll finally get to meet the infamous man,” You ponder, “What’s so bad about that?”

“You don’t know Valerio,” She sighs, “Screw it, I’m getting the dress.”

- - - - - -

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t need to prove anything to Guzmán!” You exclaim, stumbling once again with the bags of clothes that Lu had bought home with her.

It always went this way, she’d buy loads and end up returning at least half.

As you stumble through the door, an unfamiliar presence is already occupying the lounge. They have a distinctive mop of dark curls flailing across to top their tall, slim figure. And you know only one name that could match such appearance:

“Valerio.”

He spins around to reveal a chiseled, sharp face and a wide grin, “Lu! It’s been too long!”

Within a second, he’s over to sweep her from her feet, grin never faltering.

“Put me down!” Lu elbows his ribs and he drops her to the floor once again.

His smile only drops a little when he glances in your direction. You watch as he looks you up and down like he’s analysing every piece. He seemed intriguing already even though you hated yourself for admitting it. He was handsome but in a rugged way, not as clean cut as a parent-approved boy should be.

“Who’s your friend?” Valerio asks, side-glancing toward you.

“This is (Y/n), don’t get any ideas,” Lu scoffs, “And don’t mess up the house too much.”

With that, she’s walking off upstairs and you know that she expects you to follow. Instead, you find yourself returning to the uncertain smirk that Valerio was shooting your way.

“Shouldn’t you follow her?” He cocks a brow, tilting his head a little like he’d investigating you even more.

You smirk and go towards the stairs to go up to Lu’s bedroom.

“(Y/n),” Valerio repeats, though you know he’s not saying it to call for you, “I don’t think a name could ever be good enough for an appearance like that.”

And just like that, he makes that appearance severely blush.

- - - - - -

“Look, sir, I know I’m late but only by a few hours,” You defend, setting down your work onto the table in front of the professor.

You’d had an assignment due and had been, what seemed like, the only one in the class who didn’t get it in before the deadline.

“It was due two days ago, (Y/n),” Your teacher points out, lifting up the paper and flicking through.

“Technicalities,” You roll your eyes, “I still did the damn work, and it doesn’t count for anything anywa-“

“It counts towards the reference I give you, and maybe this attitude will count too,” Your teacher states coldly, “You’re the worst in the class (Y/n) and if that doesn’t improve, there will be consequences.”

You sigh and pick up your things to walk out, stopping abruptly when you see Valerio leaning back against the wall just beside the open door to the classroom.

“What are you doing?” You question, probably slightly too harsh but only because you already felt stressed enough. Given what Lu had told you, the last thing that anybody needed when they were stressed was Valerio.

In his hand, he overturns an encased paper, titled adequately with the assignment that you’d just handed in. He smirks a little before beginning to reply to you, “Just making sure you’re not the worst in the class.”

With that, the paper is tossed into the bin beside him and he pushes off from the wall, winking in your direction before continuing on his path down the empty corridor. You look between the bin and his disappearing figure, wanting nothing more than to follow after him.

- - - - - -

You start seeing Valerio more and more, being Lu’s best friend meant that you spent a lot of time at her house - especially when she was in the midst of trouble with Guzmán. Every time, you’d see Valerio and make slight eye contact with him from across the room. One very memorable time, he came passing through the kitchen after finishing a shower. His hair was holding tight onto the dripping water and his body managed to glimmer just slightly as he strolled past. You kept your head down and prayed that Lu didn’t notice your reaction.

Tonight, everyone was heading to the club and you found yourself nervous at the prospect of seeing Valerio outside of your normal settings. Was this really happening? Were you really starting to have a crush on your best friends (half) brother?

“(Y/n)!” It’s Guzmán that calls you as he makes his way over to the bar, “Have you seen Lu?”

You shake your head ‘no’, “She’ll be here soon. But I thought you two were over, anyway.”

He scoffs, “You only ever hear her side of things.”

“Normally because you’re not around for long enough to tell me your side.”

He smirks a little, “Touché.”

The two of you, despite how stressful his relsrionship with Lu was, could actually be good friends. You’d known him for years and, deep down, you knew they weren’t meant for each other. That didn’t make him a bad person.

“I’ve heard Valerio’s been asking about you,” Guzmán comments, leaning against the bar beside you, “Are you really going there?”

You roll your eyes, “Can you stay out of my business for just like a minute, please? Nothings happening with me and Valerio.”

Guzmán chuckles a little, “(Y/n)... just be careful. Not even because of him. But because of-“

“Lu. I know.”

He nudges your arm, “Glad to know we’re on the same page - trying to keep out of Lu’s bad books.”

“Oh, honey, you were in them a long time ago,” With that, you hop up out of your chair and make your way across the club to greet her as she walks in.

Valerio follows behind her, dressed in a low hanging white vest and a bold print open shirt. You found yourself trailing the lines of the chains around his neck, all the way up to where they met behind his jaw.

“Hello darling,” Lu beams, “Sorry we’re a bit late.”

She glares at Valerio and rolls her eyes, met by him shooting her a bright smile.

“It’s not my fault,” He shrugs, “My clock must’ve been wrong.”

“I need a drink!” Lu exclaims, grabbing your hand as she pulls you toward the bar.

You find yourself stumbling to catch up, eyes locked on her brother who was yet to take his eyes away from you.

- - - - - -

It’s later into the night when you dismiss yourself to head to the bathroom to freshen up. Lu and Guzmán were currently bickering about something so you’d taken the opportunity to leave them distracted for a little while. It’s not long before you’re interrupted.

“You know...” The voice is recognisable as you glance up to see Valerio now stood in the doorway, “You really shouldn’t have worn that tonight.”

“And why is that, Valerio?” You smirk a little, eying him through the reflection of the mirror.

He has one arm rested high on the wall beside him as he goes to respond, “Because you know Lu would kill me for going anywhere near you.”

You set your purse down onto the countertop and turn around to him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“And who says the option is there?”

He laughs gently, stepping forward and closing the door behind him, “You’re not the best at hiding things, darling.”

You roll your eyes as he steps closer to you, carrying with him all of the confidence that he’d made you weak enough to lose.

“Who says Lu needs to know, hmm?” He’s close to you now, hands trailing up your sides from the hem of your dress to the waist, “Would it be so bad?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “Probably worse.”

He smiles lightly as his nose bumps against yours, “All the more reason to do it.”

And just like that, everyone else is forgotten. Instead, Valerio’s lips are on yours and his hands are everywhere and you find yourself melting into every single part of him.

- - - - - -

After that night, you’d assumed the worst from Valerio. You’d guessed that he’d get his high and then move on to the next. But it didn’t seem that way. Definitely not. He’d text you from class and drag you down the corridor until the two of you were away from prying eyes. He’d invite you round late when Lu was out with Guzmán so that he’d have just a few hours with you before she came home. It was secretive, mysterious, exciting. And you found yourself feeling more than just the temporary high of it all. You’d be laying in bed with his arm wrapped around you and it genuinely felt like you could feel something more than just attraction. Beyond all of his wild, carefree exterior? Valerio had a heart, and a heart that was easy to fall in love with. And that’s where you found yourself slipping onto the verge of doing.

You were at Lu’s trying to help her revise for an upcoming test that she needed the highest marks in when you first saw him. He had that glimmer in his eye of mischief as he started texting you from across the room. You and Lu were sat in the dining room and he was just in your line of sight - sprawled across one of the couches in the lounge.

Your phone started buzzing every thirty seconds until you finally apologised to Lu and told her that it was your Mum on the phone, quickly getting up and hurrying out of the room whilst she was neck deep in revision.

Valerio grins as he sees you, pulling himself up from the couch and following quickly behind your retreating figure.

“Who knew you could be so sly?” He smirks, lips hot against your ear as he leans down behind you.

It all feels far too open, she was literally in the room right across from you.

You turn quickly and grab the front of his shirt, pulling him in with you as you lock the door behind - you’d managed to find your way to the guest room.

“It’s impossible,” Valerio mutters between kissing you, “You’re sat right there and I have to pretend like I don’t know you... like I don’t know every inch of you.”

You scoff at him and stop his hands at your waist, “Not too low, mister, I need to be back out there in a few minutes.”

“Then I’ll take a few minutes,” He smirks, lips moving to kiss just below your ear and down to your jawline.

“Valerio, seriously,” You have to fight with yourself when you decide to push him away, “She’ll kill me if she finds out we’ve been doing this.”

He sighs and gives up on his attempt, “Maybe it’s time that she does know.”

“Do you know her at all?”

“Yeah, but I know you too,” His hands fall low on your hips once again, “And I know that this is getting to be more than it was at that night at the club.”

You knew you’d been feeling the same but hearing him say it just put a whole new meaning to that feeling.

“She has to be understanding of that, right?” Valerio shrugs, “And if not, it’s been good knowing you darling.”

“Don’t say that,” You roll your eyes, “But she’s my best friend, I can’t lie to her anymore.”

“Okay, then, we’ll tell her,” Valerio nods, dipping his head to bury in your neck once again.

“You’re impossible,” You laugh, pushing against him until his head lifts up to meet his lips with yours once again.

- - - - - -

When you step outside, your heart sinks at the sight you’d been dreading. Lu is stood on the opposite side of the lounge, arms folded and a deadly stare across her eyes.

“Next time you want to fuck my best friend,” She begins, focused only on Valerio, “Make sure you don’t leave evidence behind.”

She lifts up her hand that is grasping his phone, waving it in his direction.

“Lu, I can explain...” You begin, hopeful that she’d at least be understanding.

“Is that all this is? Just you two fucking?”

It’s Valerio that interjects, “No, it’s not like that.” He settles an arm around your waist and you silently wish for him to not make anything worse, “It’s definitely not that, not anymore.”

She looks between the two of you, once, twice, three times before speaking again.

“Don’t break her heart, Valerio.”

With that, she throws the phone in his direction and shoots you a gentle smile before walking back through to the dining room.

“Now didn’t I tell you it would be easy?” Valerio grins, sauntering in front of you with open arms.

“You heard her,” You shrug proudly, “Dont break my heart, love.”

With that, you press a kiss to his cheek and follow in the direction that she’d just gone - hoping you wouldn’t be met with a worse reaction now that he wasn’t there.

“I would never,” Valerio mutters under his breath, saying the words only to himself as he flops back down onto the couch - unmoving grin plastered across his lips.

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi guys! I I'm an ENXP and I was looking for some advice about knowing myself better. I saw the mods are ENPs and maybe you guys could help me. I recently noticed a pattern regarding my own actions that is basically ruining my life. I seem to rely too much on my Ne, specially about my future and my career. I'm ruled by a need of pursuing anything that catches my attention in a determined moment. I obsess over it for a while and then move on. I've changed my major 4 times now. Every activity I do is temporary. And if I don't find something I can obsess over I get depressed and bored. Anyways, I think this has led me to not trust myself anymore, since I can't commit to anything because I lose interest in everything and I'm always looking for new possibilities. I have reached a point where I can't allow myself to pursue everything I want and I have to make decisions and commit. But I'm too scared to become trapped and take responsibility for my own decisions. I think this would be easier if I knew myself better, but I don't think I know who I am besides my own random interests, which is weird I guess. How can I develop my own Fi? Or Ti? How do you guys deal with your dominant Ne? How do you commit to things? I'm 23 by the way. Shouldn't I have developed some Fi or Ti or something by now? I turned to mbti because I wanted to gain a better understanding of myself but holy shit this is hard. I could only recognize my dominant Ne. All this self analysis seems useless if I don't really know myself, I realized I'm not self aware at all. So anyways, as fellows Ne doms how did you guys developed your auxiliary functions? Any advice will be amazing! Thank you guys for everything you do here!

The first thing you need to do is recognize is you are an Enneagram 7 and all of this is ‘normal’ for them in lower health levels. To overcome this, you have to ‘grow up’ as a 7 and stop allowing fear of commitment or quick loss of focus from dominating your life. You have control over yourself, you are not utterly helpless to your whims (said the Fi user who has a moral tone of ‘you make your own choices and messes and you have to get out of them’ ;).

7s have to learn to be open to the scary idea of commitment to reap the dividends of hard work.

Read the 7 profile and see how allowing yourself to ‘run away’ from commitment (which includes not finishing or devoting yourself to any project) can hinder your life. Once you recognize WHAT you are doing, and WHY you are doing it, you can develop the power to STOP YOURSELF from doing it, or from allowing ‘excuses’ or fear to run you away from good things.

ENTP Mod. : Charity is right. Here is also where the judging functions come into play. With Fi, you can eventually weed out that which you aren't personally passionate about/ those goals which don't align with your personal values. With Ti, you can see a chain reaction of the patterns in your life, and determine the most effective path to help yourself using logic to streamline your processes, make it more elegant.

Slow the hell down. Force yourself to stop running toward the future and live right now. Repeat the mantra of ‘right now is all that matters today’ a 100 times an hour if you have to. Be present. Be invested. Bring yourself into ‘now.’

My co-mod is a 7w6 ENTP who suffers from a lot of the same issues; I will nudge her to offer her two cents to this post, in regards as to what she is currently doing about it. Basically, she had to talk herself into getting a permanent job rather than talking herself out of it. Once she got into it, she realized it didn’t suck as much as she feared. Her brain is her own worst enemy.

I had to talk myself into this job. I gave myself lots of reasons why I would love it. It might sound a little unrealistic going in with pre set expectations but at least you will not go in blind. Making a pros cons list is always a good idea. It helps to sift through your multiple ideas, and narrow down the ones which can really work. Test out the feasibility of your ideas, opportunities before hand. Talk to people, do your research. Just remember that things will never be as bad or boring as you think them to be. This is a cliche but something which helps me in the mornings when I know I have boring work to do is "Get up, dress up, show up. Never give up." Also it helps to live from day to day. Don't worry too far into the future, you never know what variables might upset your plans.

Work-wise, a 7 needs to travel, get the ‘high’ of meeting new people, and not to be involved in sheer detail-driven grunt work. They need challenges to work toward and obstacles to overcome. Pick a career that offers you all of that. If you do not, you will have a string of 6 months at ___ jobs that do not look good on your resume. Find a career in something that you feel passionate about, that offers some kind of mental stimulation.

ENTP 7 co-mod is an attorney who loves to find ways to ‘get around things’ in the law.

ENTP Mod. note: Always try to remember the root of your passion when you feel like defecting from one option to another. If you must leave, leverage what you have learned in one place and how you can dress that up to make your hopping about look good. That's what I did, and it worked for me. Some of the reasons I love my job are the constant intellectual stimulation, creative aspects of it, my love for criminology pays off, meeting interesting people. Sure there are sucky days when you have to deal with the bureaucratic demons. But that won't be every day. Unless your role requires you to do something like it. In which case I would suggest that you avoid picking up detail heavy, low Si or adherence related work which will make you feel miserable and frustrated. Try to pick something that plays to your strengths, improve your weaknesses. Compete with nobody but yourself. Every day you are better than you were, yesterday. Even with a little effort. It is important to not give up. It is so hard for 7s but we have the gift of rationalizing. So instead of using it as a mechanism to justify dropping things, use it to tell yourself why you should stick around. You as a 7 can make most things fun. So find little tricks and ways to make the work day fun. Whether it is achieving small, impactful targets or making games out of small, low stakes things. Also, having money and being able to live nicely is fun. Nobody is gonna pay you if they think that their money will be wasted on training you if your pattern is just leaving jobs. It took me a long time to develop this perspective but I am glad I did.

I (ENFP 6w5 sp/so) chose a career in magazine editing, because it gives me time to do what I actually love, which is write novels. I’m afraid I can’t give you advice from my own life that would work for you, because a 6w5 sp/so is far more focused and driven to finish their projects than a 7w6, which means I push through ‘the boring, tedious bits’ of projects regardless of how ‘excited’ I am. It’s not fun to edit a book 7 times, but I still do it. I force myself to show up to work, to sit there for 3 or 4 hours, and commit to X amount of words, pages, etc.

Do you think it’s “fun” for me always to keep this queue stocked, or to type up characters at the end of a long day because the queue is low? Or go back and update old profiles and move them from this blog onto wordpress? No. I hate it sometimes. It’s boring as hell. But I committed to it, I will see it through, even though looking into my “to update” folder makes me want to scream. I tackle huge projects one step at a time. I’m disciplined but I can procrastinate at work, rather than doing whatever needs doing.

Which really is the bottom line. You want to finish things? Just do them. Force yourself to show up and do the work, even if it’s “boring.” Most of life isn’t fun. Paying the bills isn’t fun. You do boring stuff to make a living, so you can have the money to do fun things. If you do not learn to do it, whether or not it is fun, you will wind up ‘stuck at home this month, because I have no money.’

That frustrates a 7 even more than being bored at work.

Accept that your fear of commitment is a fear-driven lie.

You are not going to get trapped by committing to something or someone. Head types massively over-think things and allow fear – in the 7’s case of “missing out” on better things – to dominate their life. Admit it’s fear. Admit that allowing fear to ruin your entire life is stupid. Then do something against the fear. Do the thing fear tells you not to: commit and work at it. Fight the urge every day to leave. Stick it out, and prove you ‘can’ to yourself.

Middle functions. You’re in college so you should be seeing either some Ti analyzing or Te “buckle down and set goals and get this schoolwork finished by the deadline” kicking in. Are you more inclined to self-doubt and beat yourself up like a young FiTe user after ‘failing’ to organize your time efficiently or to make excuses and blame external circumstances like a young TiFe user?

My Fi has always been strongly evident, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. Things that set off a NOPE response in me vs. the ‘rest of everything, which I don’t care about.’ The intense sensitivity as a child. The compassion for other people and especially for small animals. The understanding of emotional dynamics and how people ‘feel.’ The constant angst between caring too much about people’s feelings and being low Te blunt or rude when I’m having an off day. The ‘going away from everyone’ to deal with my feelings in private. I have always fiercely, Fi-ishly known what I like and do not like, and have no ability to ‘tolerate’ things that I do not like. Once, I didn’t like half the people seated at my table at a public event, so I shut down completely and did not say a word to anyone at the table for two hours. My Fe friend also hated them, but smiled and charmed them all. Lucky girl. She can fake her feelings. I can’t.

- ENFP Mod

[ilu-writes]

Happy Halloween!

A Solangelo One-shot

AO3 | FF.net

A long-ish one shot about Will and Nico’s first Halloween as a couple. Also, yeah, I’m barely getting this in, but really, what’s spookier than nearly missing a deadline?

“Happy Halloween!”

Will frowned down at the notes he was writing for a second, before putting the pen down and turning to look at his boyfriend.

“It’s… September. First.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“It’s not Halloween. It’s barely fall.” Will shifted around slightly so he was actually facing Nico, leaning back against the desk as he assessed him. “Why are you bugging me about Halloween now?”

Nico’s expression shifted into one of mock pain, and he folded his arms. “September is basically Halloween-“

“It’s really not-“

“Wow.” He tilted his head up as though he’d been offended. “Fine. I get it. You hate me and you hate Halloween-“

“Woah, hey, I don’t hate Halloween,” Will injected quickly, holding up his hands, trying to keep a smile from stretching across his face. “Halloween’s great! When it’s not in September.”

“Just me, then,” huffed Nico, before flopping down dramatically onto the chair next to Will. “I can’t believe this. I came all the way over here for this.”

Will hummed and let the smile win, nudging at his boyfriends leg with his foot. “Why did you come over here? Just to unseasonably wish me a happy Halloween?”

“It’s not unseasonal,” countered Nico, scowling still, but Will could tell by his eyes he didn’t mean it. “I was being a good boyfriend.”

“Hm.” Will moved his foot so it was fully resting against Nico’s leg. The contact felt more grounding than it probably should’ve – he missed his boyfriend a lot when they both had their own activities to deal with. “Finished early for the day, huh?”

Nico shrugged dismissively, but the glint in his eye and slight twitch of his mouth told Will he’d hit the nail on the head. “Pegasi don’t like me. I think Chiron’s given up trying to force them to- he just let me off early. Not that that has anything to do with me coming here.”

Will grinned. “No, of course not,” he agreed. “But since you’re here, I’m hoping you won’t mind keeping me company? I still need to finish this.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at his notes.

“I suppose. If you don’t mind me bugging you, that is.”

Will snorted softly and leaned forward to press a quick cheek against the other boy’s cheek. “I think I’ll live,” he said as he moved away, trying not to focus on Nico’s slightly-pink cheeks. “Especially if you explain why you’re so eager to celebrate Halloween.”

Nico tilted his chin towards his chest. Since they’d been more open with their relationship, Nico had started appreciating PDA more, but he still sometimes got a little flustered by it when he wasn’t expecting it.

Nico was way too cute for his own good.

“Halloween is fun,” he mumbled, and it took Will a second to realise he was answering his question. Focus, he reminded himself. “It’s a whole holiday dedicated to ghosts and candy. It’s great.”

“It’s dedicated to other stuff, too,” pointed out Will. “Witches. Vampire. W... other general monsters,” he amended, quickly. Nico had expressed a vehement dislike for werewolves since his encounter with Lycaon – not that Will could blame him – but the other boy either didn’t pick up on his slip up or didn’t care.

“Sure, but ghosts are the best part. And-“ Nico held up his hand and wiggled his fingers, “they’re the only part that really matters to me. Along side the candy.”

“Sure, that’s fair.” Will smiled as he turned back to his notes. “Doesn’t justify celebrating in September, though-“

“I-“

“Do you even like pumpkin?”

Nico paused for a second, seeming to consider. “I don’t think I’ve ever had pumpkin,” he noted, sounding surprised by the fact. “But I’m sure I will.”

“Don’t be,” said Will, dryly. “Pumpkin sucks. It tastes like sweet potato.”

“I have no idea what a sweet potato tastes like either, but I thought everyone loved pumpkin? Isn’t that why you get so many festive drinks around this time?”

“Around October, maybe-“ Will ignored Nico’s eyeroll here- “but that’s not pumpkin, it’s pumpkin spice. It’s got nothing to do with pumpkin. And also, that does taste good – it’s like an amalgamation of lot’s of spices. Also, how can you not know what a sweet potato tastes like?”

“Why is it called pumpkin spice if there’s no pumpkin?”

“I don’t know, to make it seasonal? Because no one likes actual pumpkin?” Will shrugged. “It’s just one of those things. Also, you didn’t answer my question-“

“It’s an incredibly dumb thing-“

“Nico, seriously-“ Will put his pen back down – he’d only written about three more lines so far – and turned to give him an incredulous look. “How can you not know what a sweet potato tastes like?”

Nico blinked. “I guess they aren’t that popular?” He offered. “I’ve never had one.”

“There’s no way you’ve never eaten a sweet potato,” said Will, giving the smallest shake of his head. “You’re telling me you’ve never had sweet potato pie? Sweet potato anything?”

“Nope.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Will stared at him, dumbfounded for a second, then leaned forward.

His work ended up getting done much later that day, but the Sweet Potato Debate would end up being a notable moment in their relationship for years to come, so it evened out.

*

Normally, Nico wouldn’t care about spending the day on his own – a few years ago, he would’ve preferred it. Sometimes he still did.

But other days… he blamed Will. The blonde’s need to be around people was starting to rub off on him. Or at least, the need to be around one specific person.

When Nico was feeling more stubborn, he’d insist that his frequent visits to Will were more for the other boy’s sake than his, and that he just wanted his boyfriend not to be alone, even to himself. He never believed it, but he never needed to.

He lasted until mid-afternoon before the boredom became too much to bear, and he hurled himself out of his bed. Will would still be at the infirmary, but it was October, they didn’t have a lot of campers around, so he should be free. Free enough for Nico to bug him, anyway, and that was all he needed.

The infirmary was almost completely empty bar one person, almost completely hidden as they crouched behind a cabinet door, only their mop of familiar golden hair visible over the top. Nico slowed his walk as he entered, trying to look suave, and moved so he could see the other boy.

“Happy Halloween,” he said as brightly as possible, echoing his statement from earlier that month.

Wil jumped slightly but then whipped around, a grin already forming on his face. “It’s still September,” he pointed out immediately, straightening up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” echoed Nico, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying to supress his smile as he walked forward. “Still hate Halloween, huh?”

“We’ve been through this. It’s not Halloween I hate.” Will dropped the box of band aids he was holding onto the side in favour of tugging Nico towards him. He was unnaturally warm for late September. Nico hated it.

“Right, I forgot. It’s just me,” he huffed lightly, relaxing into the other boy and letting the heat seep into him.

Will snorted gently, tucking his arms around the other boy. Nico didn’t often seek out physical contact, but he was okay with it sometimes, and Will’s constant attempts to respect his boundaries had done wonders for making him more comfortable with it. Still, he’d sooner die than have anyone else see him like this.

He was so distracted he almost missed what Will was saying.

“-the unseasonal-ness of it all that gets me, I said that.”

“A good boyfriend wouldn’t care about that. Also, it’s not unseasonable. Halloween is literally around the corner.”

“It’s over a month away-“

“My point stands.”

Will pressed his cheek against Nico’s head and let out a soft laugh, sending a thrill of pleasure through the other boy. “Look, I get the ghost thing-“

“And the candy thing,” Nico reminded him, swallowing hard. He didn’t have to see Will to know he was rolling his eyes.

“And the candy thing, but- it’s not even October yet. It’s too early for this.”

“It’s nearly October,” huffed Nico. “That counts-“

“The Halloween candy hasn’t even gone on sale yet. No where is selling costumes. I haven’t seen a single pumpkin or fake cobweb in any shop I’ve been to-“

“Okay, but how many shops is that anyway?” Countered Nico, immediately. “You’re in camp most of the time. So, what, you’re using two or three shops as a basis for the entire country-“

“I know for a fact shops don’t start selling Halloween stuff until October-“

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” decided Nico, changing tact. “I don’t judge time by capitalist movements-“

“Oh, gods-“ Will laughed again, his breath hot on Nico’s neck, and the other boy tried not to blush. “First of all, you’ve been spending too much time with Lou Ellen. Second, what, you don’t need to funnel your stubbornness into staying alive anymore so you’re using it to try and annoy me?”

“I’m not being stubborn,” muttered Nico, his voice quiet. “And it’s not my fault you find facts annoying-“

“Oh-“ Will dragged out the sound into a moan, burying his face fully in Nico’s shoulder. Nico swallowed again. “I don’t have time to debate this with you,” he said, his voice muffled but tinged with amusement. “I’m a busy person. I’m a doctor.”

“I get it, too busy for me,” said Nico airily, trying to keep his voice even. “What’s a doctor without patients, anyway?”

“Is that your way of asking what I’m doing?” Will straightened up and kissed his cheek before letting his arms drop. Nico tried not to shiver at the sudden cold. “I’m doing inventory for the month.”

“Anything I can help with?” Asked Nico instinctively, turning to face the other (very close) boy.

Will looked thoughtful. “I guess you could write the numbers down as I count them?” He phrased it like a question, like he expected Nico to say no.

“Sounds fun,” said Nico immediately, and Will snorted in response.

“Yeah, it’s a hoot,” he agreed, grinning. “But it’s necessary.”

And it’s both of us, Nico wanted to add, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to.

*

Will turned towards the infirmary door instinctively as he heard footsteps coming towards it, even though he didn’t have to. He knew who it was immediately – Nico had taken a short trip to Camp Jupiter over the start of October, and he’d promised he’d stop by as soon as he got back.

Which was today.

Besides, no one else ever came to the infirmary after dark – on the off chance something did happen, they went to Chiron first, and he had a distinct and unmistakable gait.

Will positioned himself directly in front of the door and grinned as it swung open.

“Happy Halloween!” He said brightly, a laugh bubbling up in his chest as he took in his boyfriend for the first time in almost a week. He only just saw Nico’s expression go from startled to mock-offended before he hurled himself at the other boy, eliciting a soft oof. “I missed you,” Will mumbled, wrapping him in a hug.

“I cannot believe you stole my line,” said Nico, returning the gesture, not seeming too caught off guard.

“I figured I can’t use the ‘it’s September’ line now that it’s actually October, so this was all I had left.”

“And you yanked it out of my unexpecting hands,” said Nico, as if he was surprised and disappointed, but then he tucked his face into the crook of Will’s neck. “I missed you, too.”

“Your nose is cold,” Will mumbled in response, and Nico let out a breathy laugh.

“You’re just warm-“

“It’s cause you’re cold blooded.” Will pulled back a little. “Come inside properly. It’s freezing.”

“I repeat, you’re just warm,” countered Nico, but he came in anyway, grinning. “Since you’re now admitting it’s Halloween-“

“It’s not Halloween, it’s just seasonal-“ Will corrected him, but Nico rolled his eyes.

“Since you’ve decided to stop being a spoil sport- does that mean we can start celebrating?”

“Well, actually-“ Will tried not to focus to much on how Nico’s eyes lit up when he was excited- “I was going to mention that- the Hermes cabin is going to throw a Halloween party this year, with permission from Chiron and everything- well, I think the permission came mostly from Mr D, but y’know- they’re throwing a party,” he finished kind of lamely. Nico blinked, seeming to take a second to process it.

Will was about to add that Nico didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to, but the other boy spoke just as the words reached his tongue. “A party sounds… good,” he said, a little uncertainly, and Will couldn’t help but feel a flair of happiness. He knew Nico wasn’t great with crowds, or people in general, but he also knew he was trying, which was really the best Will could hope for.

He’d settle for Nico just becoming okay with it while still avoiding it. He just hated the fact Nico got anxious. He wanted him to be comfortable all the time, however unrealistic that was.

“You don’t have to stay long,” he hurried to add, hoping he wasn’t putting too much pressure on. “Not if you don’t want to. Besides, it’s a costume party, it’s not a lot of people’s thing anyway, so-“

“I want to go,” insisted Nico, his voice gentle. “It could be fun. It can’t be awful, anyway, not while we’re still at camp. But, uh- costume party, huh?”

“You can have a really low effort costume,” offered Will. “Like, a hoodie with the words ‘I’m a serial killer’ on it or something, one of those boring… easy ones.”

“Hm,” said Nico, thoughtfully, before waving off the concerns. “I’ll find a costume later,” he decided, stepping forward to tug at Will’s sleeve. “We can discuss it some other time if you want. But- I missed you.”

“Ah,” said Will, eloquently, stumbling towards the other boy. He steadied himself and instead leaned down to press his lips against Nico’s. “I missed you too.”

*

“Is that red syrup? Please tell me it’s syrup,” said Will as soon as Nico opened the door, taking in Nico’s costume. Nico just cocked an eyebrow and stepped out the way so Will could get in. “Seriously,” said the blonde, “that’s realistic.”

“Thanks,” said Nico, letting the door swing shut behind them. “You look great, by the way.”

Will grinned at the compliment. “Thanks, it took a while to throw this together,” he said, his voice full of mock seriousness. He was dressed as a doctor, wearing his usual scrubs but actually obeying medical regulations for possible the first time, completed with a stethoscope and a pair of sneakers.

“I can tell,” said Nico, a smile twitching at his own lips. “So, how do I look?” He held his arms out as if to emphasise his outfit. Will leaned back and pretend to contemplate it for a few seconds before answering.

“Honestly? I can’t tell the difference. This is just what you look like most days- blood aside, obviously,” he deadpanned, but he was always terrible at hiding his amused expression.

Still, Nico played along, huffing dramatically. “Wow. Why am I doing this with you again?”

“I don’t know, I was expecting to have to do a lot more convincing-“ Will cut himself off as he gave up trying to act serious, and instead tugged Nico closer by the arm. “Seriously, though, you look good.”

“Thanks,” said Nico mildly, stepping closer to him. He was going as a vampire, in black clothes (that wasn’t hard), fake fangs and dramatic ‘blood’ stains. It had taken him longer to put together than he’d ever admit, but he’d wanted to make the effort for Will. “Are we doing this party or not?”

“Sure,” said Will, linking their arms together. “But, just in case we want to leave early, I’ve got some candy in Cabin 7 we can raid-“

“I am way ahead of you,” interrupted Nico, waving his hand towards one of the shelves behind the door. When Will turned around, he saw a pile of candy probably bigger than the whole Cabin 7 one propped up there, clearly waiting to be opened, and let out a short bubble of laughter.

“Great minds think alike, I guess,” he said, tugging Nico even closer.

“Also hungry ones,” Nico noted, but he was grinning. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

The party was already in full swing when they walked in, which, to be fair, still wasn’t much. The music was loud, and the lights had been turned down as low as they could go without leaving them in darkness, but people were mostly just clumped around in groups, sipping on non-alcoholic drinks. People - meaning, the Hermes Cabin – had figured out pretty quickly that alcohol was impossible to sneak into the camp, because the barrier wouldn’t let it past. Presumably thanks to Mr D’s unwilling sobriety.

Will privately suspected Nico could probably get some in, if asked, since he seemed to be able to sneak past the barrier every other time he shadow travelled, but it was a suspicion he kept to himself.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Will was pulled away by Lou Ellen and Cecil to talk to them, and Nico shot him a quick grin before slinking off towards the drinks and food. Will knew that no one would mind if Nico joined them, but the other boy was very stubborn about the fact that Will should get to spend some alone time with his friends without feeling bad, which Will appreciated.

Still, it meant he had to wave off the usual questions about his relationship before they got to the actual conversation – Cecil talking about their ‘heist’ to go get food from the nearest shop.

“Yeah, but you paid, right?” Asked Will, raising his eyebrow as Cecil described the struggle to be subtle while doing it with only three people to carry food.

The other boy rolled his eyes. “Yes, we paid,” he huffed. “Honestly. You stereotype the Hermes kids too much. We’re not all thieves.”

“You’ve tried to pick pocket me at least three times,” Will pointed out, and Cecil just scoffed.

“Only three?” Repeated Lou, raising an eyebrow.

“That I know of,” amended Will, grinning.

“Water under the bridge,” said Cecil, waving his hand. “Seriously. That’s behind me. I’m a new man.”

“Right,” said Will, letting the disbelief enter his tone, and Lou raised an eye brow.

“And who, exactly, was it who pranked the latest Iris kid by stealing their pants while they were changing?”

“Okay, hey-“ Cecil held up his hands. “Pants don’t count, alright, they’re fair game for pranks-“

“Everything is fair game for pranks, according to you,” retorted Will, letting his eyes flicker around the room. Austin was in the corner, talking to two of the Demeter kids, and Will could see his guitar propped against the wall nearby. He knew that, at some point, Austin would pretend to be modest and flattered before grabbing the guitar and playing at least three pre-prepared pieces, like he always did. In a way, the ritual was comforting.

“Well, I’m a child of Hermes, what do you expect?” Huffed Cecil, and Will turned back to raise an eyebrow.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to stereotype?”

“You’re not. I can.” Cecil folded his arms, his drink sloshing out of his cup. “There’s a difference.”

“Right,” said Will flatly, before twisting to look at the snack table. “No offence, but I need a drink-“

“And a boyfriend?” Interrupted Lou, raising her eyebrow. Will ignored her.

“And maybe some food, so if you don’t mind-“

He excused himself as politely as possible, slipping through the crowd. He got stopped briefly by Drew Tanaka, who complimented his costume and joked that it must’ve been hard. He returned the compliment without the joke – it was a valid one, and Drew probably wouldn’t like it being deflected back. Besides, he didn’t know the singer she was clearly dressed as, so he kept it vague and moved past her.

He got stopped twice more, once by Katie Gardner, who kept him talking for a few minutes, and once by Damian White, for a little less time. By the time he managed to make it to the snack table, Nico was talking to Clovis, who looked seconds away from collapsing.

Still, that was generally how Clovis looked.

Will helped himself to a Diet Coke before he went over to join them, and Clovis nodded at him.

“We were discussing dreams,” he said, he voice sounding thick and distant. “And the in…” he trailed off, looking briefly confused.

“The intersections of them?” Supplied Nico, lightly, and Clovis snapped his fingers.

“Yes. Yes! The intersections. The Hypnos Cabin- we’re very loud. It’s confusing.”

“It’s fine,” said Nico, with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Still,” Clovis shrugged. “Dreams are weird.”

“That they are,” said Will, who was unsure of how to join the conversation, and Nico shot him a wry grin as Clovis yawned.

“Anyway,” said the son of Hypnos, “I should get going. I have more people to see before I go back to sleep.”

“Right,” said Nico, before turning fully to Will as the other boy left. “Good to see you survived,” he grinned.

“What can I say? It’s my magnetic personality.” Will smiled, sipping his drink. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. They have really good food here. And Clovis… well, Clovis is Clovis, but he’s fine.”

“Good,” Will bumped his shoulder gently. “I didn’t know you and Clovis were friends.”

“Well, more unwitting acquaintances more often than we try, but- it’s complicated, I guess?” Nico shrugged. “I’ll explain it later, probably – a children of the night thing. But yeah.”

“’Children of the night’?” Repeated Will, snorting. “Sorry, now you’re sounding like a real vampire.”

“Oh, shut up,” scoffed Nico, but he grinned.

They spent the next hour being pulled into random conversations with campers, most of which involved Nico hanging back, and stealing moments to talk between themselves when no one was nearby. Each conversation seemed to take them a little further away from the snack table (which Will pretended not to see Nico eyeing hungrily with every step, despite the bowl of Cheezo’s he still held), and when Will glanced around at one point, he realised they’d nearly made it to the door.

“Hey, a bat,” he observed, looking above them, a smirk already tugging at his lips. “Better kiss me under it.”

“Nice try,” hummed Nico, “but no.”

“You’re no fun.” Will pouted, but he still brushed his fingers against Nico’s as he leaned against the wall.

“You want kisses, hang mistletoe.”

“I mean, I could arrange that-“

“No.” Nico’s voice was firm, but he was grinning. “Look, we could always head back to my cabin- I have snacks-“

“Are you trying to kidnap me?” Asked Will, threading their hands together properly. “My mother always said not to trust anyone offering free candy.”

“Well, if you don’t trust me-“

“I never said that,” interrupted Will, already tugging Nico towards the door. “Come on. I want candy. And quiet, so we can talk properly.”

Nico laughed, but let himself be tugged back to the Hades cabin. As soon as they entered, Will pulled him into a kiss, supressing a wince at the coldness of the other boy’s nose.

Nico’s hand tangled in the front of Will shirt, holding him in place while his other hand fumbled about the light switch. A few seconds later, the torches on the wall flared to life, and Nico broke the kiss with a sharp laugh.

“Hang on, I was promised candy for this-“ he began, still giggling, but Will cut him off by twisting away and smoothly pulling the candy off the shelf in one movement.

“Here,” he said, tossing it on the bed. “Candy acquired. Now-“

Nico cut him off with a soft peck on the lips. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

Will considered for a second. That was an unfair statement, mainly because it was true. “Yes,” he conceded after a second, considering. “But- first, kissing. Kissing and then blankets and then talking, because it’s cold.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Nico, tugging the blonde down for another kiss.

[wantstoflyafraidtofall]

Chapter 2: New Old Thoughts

***TRIGGER WARNING*** Mentions of homophobia/homophobic language and past self harm

---

Dean wakes up in a cold sweat yet again. The black shadow he saw thought he saw plagued his dreams every night since he's been there. Which was odd. He usually doesn't dream at all.

He rolled out of bed and peeled off his boxers and shirt, both damp with sweat, and turned on the shower.

The warm water -- with amazing water pressure, dare he say -- soothed his nerves. He would have to search up if frequent nightmares were normal for people moving into new houses later.

After getting dried off and dressed, Dean went downstairs and turned on his old coffee machine. He watched the dark coffee drip down into the pot.

The deadline for unpacking really helped speed up the whole process and the amount of sleep he was getting helped to.

By what Sam had said about Cas, he sounds ok. Just a quiet guy who's fresh out of college and needs a place to stay for a bit.

Dean had finished unpacking the rest of the boxes yesterday. He had saved the library for last and the whole time his knee was a bitch. But he had to say, now that it’s done, It looks really nice.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot and went out into the large, mostly empty sunroom. He was going to have to get some furniture to fill all the floor space so they could sit and read or watch TV in here. Maybe a bean bag and a couch.

The morning sun shone brightly through the windows of the room, casting soft shadows in corners and the shelves. The backyard was really nice and big but over grown. The stones in the fire pit had weeds growing out the cracks and the fish pond would kill any fish that would dare swim in it. The grass was almost knee length and would be a complete bitch to mow. Maybe he could get Cas to do it. Complain about his knee hurting or something.

Dean went back in the kitchen and poured himself a second cup of coffee. He checked his watch, 9:34am. Sam had told him Cas would be there around 10:30, which left Dean almost a full hour to do whatever he wanted.

He does enjoy his time alone but is quite excited for a housemate. He would never admit it to anyone but the house was getting a bit lonely and now that he has everything unpacked, he would guess it would be boring as well.

Bubbles covered Dean's hands as he washed the few dishes remaining in the sink. He wanted to make a good first impression on Cas by having the house clean and was using it as a pass time to cool his nerves.

He’d just put the last plate in the cabinet when the doorbell rang. Dean quickly walked over to the door, running his fingers through his hair before opening it.

Dean was surprised at the man he saw standing outside. He was wearing a tan trench coat over an ill fitting suit with a messily done blue tie. His hair was dark and messy, as if he had just rolled out of bed. A 5 o’clock shadow adorned his sharp jaw. Dean’s eyes moved up his face, and met a pair of eyes that were more blue than the deepest parts of a sunny sky.

Cas cleared his throat before asking, “Are you Dean Winchester?”

Man, that voice . It was deep and sounded as if he had been gurgling gravel every day since he was 12. Dean quit his staring and smiled at Cas.

“Yup, that's me,” Dean beamed, “And you must be Cas.”

Cas squinted a little harder and tilted his head slightly to the side at the use of the nickname.

Dean took a step back, opening the door wide. “Come on in, you have 3 choices in rooms but I recommend up the left stairs at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you.” Cas said as he passed Dean and began walking towards the stairs, his suitcase rolling behind him. The man glanced around as he walked, carefully observing the wooden structure of the house.

Dean closed the door and went into the library and grabbed Soul Enchilada off his shelf of favorites. He laid out on an old love-seat in front of one of the windows and began to try and read.

He read a few lines before starting over. His mind was wandering elsewhere, to his handsome new housemate that would be living with him for who knows how long, how that deep, rumbly voice had said his name earlier, eyes of azure, streaked with cruelan and sky blue.

He thought back to how when he met those eyes, they seemed to stare deep into his soul. The small twinge of annoyance when Dean had used the nickname ‘Cas’ and how he had tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, his plush, lightly chapped lips barely parted. They looked so soft, so kissable. It would have been so easy to have just- NO.

Dean caught his slipping thoughts. Internally scolding himself for not only falling for his new housemate, but a guy.

After closing the book and placing it back on the shelf, Dean went upstairs to his room, into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him. He lifted his arms in front of him, using his right hand he nudged the sleeve of his flannel back and felt his thumb drag over the small, criss-crossing scars on his forearm.

He released a shuddering breath. He is such a disappointment to his father. It was wrong for him to love another guy and no matter what he did he couldn't stop. No matter how many times Dad had taken out his anger on his “disgusting faggot of a son” he couldn't stop the thoughts.

Dean pulled his sleeve back down and looked into his own green eyes in the mirror. He could almost hear Sam's voice saying it with him as he whispered to himself, “Dad was a bastard and a terrible father. You can love whoever you want, Dean, It’s ok.”

Dean had been so careful to hide the scars from Sammy, but one day at Bobby’s place he had his sleeves pulled up to his elbows so he had better access inside the car and little, 13 year-old Sam saw the scars and asked what they were about.

It wasn't until a few months before Dean was leaving for the military that he had told Sam why he had those scars. And Sam just hugged him and told him that it was ok and that he would always love him. Damn, he loves that kid.

Dean sighed. No hitting on hot roommate dude. He could be straight and Dean isn't going to 1) Make him uncomfortable while he stays here, and 2) Get in a relationship with… well, anyone. Not like anyone wants to be in a relationship with someone as broken as him anyway.

When Dean made his way back downstairs, he saw Cas standing in the library examining the books with curiosity.

“Hey Cas,” The sound of Dean’s voice caused the man to turn towards him, “I'm going to go on a grocery run. Is there anything you want?”

He stared at Dean for a moment before replying, “The ingredients for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches is all, Thanks.”

Dean chuckled, “You know, you're out of college now, you can eat some actual food.”

“I'm not a good cook in the slightest and I'm sure I will like some of the stuff you buy.”

“K then, see you later.” Dean grumbled, grabbing his keys and closing the heavy front door hard behind him.

He walked down the steps and started Baby, Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead or Alive pouring out the speakers. Dean turned up the music and drove down the driveway.

The trip to the store was short and uneventful. He grabbed the stuff Cas asked for along with some stuff to make dinner for the next week(He also got some greens because Sammy would give him another 3 hour lecture on his diet if he didn’t).

Kevin was working again today, somehow looking even more bored than last time. He scanned Dean's groceries while Dean asked about what classes he was taking.

Kevin had told him he was going to be a freshman and was studying computer sciences so he could make enough money to support himself and help support his mom.

Dean said goodbye to Kevin and loaded his groceries into Baby's trunk. The ride home was smooth and fast. Cas was nowhere in sight when he got home and Dean guessed he was probably in his room.

After unloading all the groceries, Dean pulled out two plates and began making lunch. He decided to keep it simple with some PB&Js and some potato chips. He put Cas’s plate on the island with a glass of water and made his way up the stairs to his door.

He knocked on the wood. “Hey Cas, I made some lunch for ya. It’s in the kitchen if you want it.”

There was no reply but he heard a faint shuffle of movement on the other side of the door. Dean went back downstairs and took his plate outside to the small shed in the backyard. The door was unlocked and swung open when Dean pushed.

Inside there was an old workbench pushed against the back wall. Gardening tools hung on hooks drilled into the wall and a slightly rusty lawn mower sat in the corner. He brushed some dust off the workbench and placed his lunch on the wood before checking out the mower.

It looked functional but in need of some repairs. Nothing that Dean couldn't fix himself with the right tools. He checked the drawers of the workbench and found the things he needed to fix the mower and began to work, eating his sandwich as he did.

Dean was so focused on sharpening the lawn mowers blades that he didn't hear Cas’s footsteps approaching from behind.

“Dean?” Cas called?

Dean jumped, startled by the sudden noise.

“Sorry for startling you Dean. I wanted to thank you for lunch.”

“Yeah, no problem buddy.” Dean replied, “I'm making chicken for dinner tonight if that's good with you.”

“Yes that's fine. Thank you.”

Cas left and Dean finished sharpening the lawn mower blades, leaving them on the workbench to attach tomorrow. He picked up his empty plate and headed back inside and dropped it in the sink.

Dean took a package of chicken breasts out of the fridge and placed them in a bowl. About 10 minutes later, the chicken was breaded and in the oven and he began to prepare the potato salad.

He loved to cook. When he was young, his father would drag Sammy and him from motel to motel. All they ate was take out or greasy diner food. Dean does love some good greasy burger and fries and a beer every once in a while but nice home cooked meals were always better.

Once Bobby took them away from John and his abusive parenting style, Dean learned to cook his own food in an actual kitchen. He would wake up early to make breakfast and insist on making lunch and dinner as well.

Dean pulled the chicken out of the oven and set some plates on the counter. He jogged up the stairs to Cas’s door, careful to be light on his bad knee, and knocked.

“Dinners ready!” He said before making his way back to the kitchen and filling up his plate with potato salad and sweet corn. He could hear Cas enter the kitchen and grab the other plate.

“It looks great, Dean,” Cas observed, “Thanks again.”

Dean set his plate down on the table and grabbed some cups from the cabinet before replying, “Yeah, it’s no problem, really. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Just water please. I haven't had anyone cook a proper meal for me since high school and I could never make one for myself due to my inability not to burn the food.”

Dean chuckled, “After my mom passed I didn't get a good meal till I was around 15, and those I would make myself.”

Cas stared at him, “Oh, I’m sorry.” He took the water Dean held out to him.

“Nah man, it’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

They continued to eat in silence for a while till Cas asked Dean, “You were only given 3 days notice that I was coming, yet you have the entire house unpacked and cleaned.”

“I, uh, didn’t sleep much. I wasn’t sleeping well so I made the best of a bad situation and used the time I was awake to finish unpacking.”

They both finished their meal in silence. Dean placed his dishes in the sink and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He sat back down at the table and looked over at Cas.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself.”

Cas’s blue eyes meet Deans. “I am 23 years old. I have an English major and plan on becoming a journalist. I have 6 siblings, 4 brothers and 2 sisters. I grew up in Colorado but moved to California for college, where I met your brother.”

“Hold on. You have 6 Siblings?” Dean gaped

“Yes, Dean. Micheal, Lucifer, Uriel, Gabriel, and Naomi are older and Anna is younger than me.”

“Man sibling rivalry must have been intense.”

“Our arguments were like war backed with all of heaven's wrath.”

Dean bursted out in laughter at that and took another drink of his beer. Cas stared at him with that adorable little head tilt squinting at him as if confused by Dean laughter.

“What about you?” Cas asked

Dean stopped laughing and looked at Cas, “My name is Dean Winchester. I am an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women,”Cas stared at him for a moment before Dean continued, “My mom passed when I was 4. I lived with my Dad if you could call what we did living for about 10 years until I was taken in by Bobby and Ellen. I worked as a mechanic with Bobby while Sam went to college until I decided to go to the military. I was there for 5 years until my knee got messed up and I was sent home.”

“Sorry, that must be horrible.”

“Nah man, it's fine. You get used to it and move on.”

“Is excessive drinking part of moving on?”

Dean stopped smiling and looked away from Cas. They sat in silence for a moment before Dean said, “Well I'm a bit tired, gonna head to bed.”

“Ok, Goodnight, Dean. I will clean up.”

He stood and left the kitchen. He was looking angrily at the ground in front of him as he went up the stairs. He didn't look up until he heard a quiet hissing in front of him.

The blood rushed out of his face and fear coiled in his stomach. It was back. The dark shadow was standing in the middle of the balcony. Dean couldn't get his legs to move. He was stuck. The shadow began to slowly glide towards him, reaching out a long arm-like appendage. He wanted to shout, to cry out for help but his mouth was just as stuck as his legs.

A rush of frigid air washed over him as it drew nearer. The black tendrils of its translucent arm reaching to his side, like it was going to push him over the railing.

“Dean, do you have any tupperware for the extra food?” Cas called from the kitchen.

Dean blinked and the shadow was gone. He shivered as the air began to warm up around him. Dean cleared his throat before replying “In the drawer by the fridge.” He ignored the slight shake in his voice.

When he tried to take a step forward, his feet moved like nothing had happened just seconds before. Dean went into his room and locked the door behind him.

Sleep. That's what he needs. He's just tired and that's making him see things. Everything will be fine tomorrow.

(If you want to be added to the tag list, just ask!)

@stuff-that-is-other

[13-timeslove]

Thirteen Time Ch1: The Docks

“I can’t believe he made pushed up my deadline again!” You groaned loudly into your Akita plushie. “I told him that this part of the manuscript needed more time considering I had to do more research! And what does he do?! Pushed up another fucking week!”

Your roommate Alice sighed as you continued to roll in your bed. She placed her hot milk onto the side table before sitting by the edge and patting your head. You only groaned once more before rolling into her lap. “My editor is an ass”

“You could always get a new one”

“...but he’s a good editor” you sigh dramatically.

“Then don’t complain sweetie”. Alice began to stroke your (h/c) hair as you laid in her lap, a small habit that has formed between your friendship. “Besides, it’s only one week difference. How bad can it be?”

“It’s awful when you have writer’s block”

“Oof”

You turned your head around, looking up at the black haired girl. “Why couldn’t I be smart like you? I wish I had your brain” She started laughing.

“Bitch you don’t want my position! Medical school is such a pain in the ass. You’re the lucky one with your brilliant creative mind, and nagged a job right out of college”

“Shut uppp. You’re better than me”

“No I’m not. And make me” she said while slapping a pillow to your face.

You squealed and rolled off her lap in an attempt to escape her attacks, sitting on the floor giggling to yourself. Alice followed suit and sat next to you, giving you the chance to rest your head against her shoulder. “This is why you’re my best friend”

“This is why I’m your only friend”

“Ouch!”

“Kidding”, you both laughed together. This is what your life with her was like, sarcastic jokes and compliments that neither of you would truly accept.

Alice was there for your since the beginning of college, from the time you accidentally spilled ink on her white pants because of sleep deprivation, to your graduation last year, and even to your heartbreaks. She was always there.

“Hey, Alice”

“Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

“Bout 5:30, why?”

You got up from the ground, and grabbed your blue jacket from the floor. “I’m going to take a quick walk, maybe seeing the sunset will clear my writer’s block”. Alice leaned over your desk to toss a small box over to you.

“Don’t forget these”. You caught them, knowing very well that they were your candy cigarettes. “Still don’t understand why you like that stuff?”

“Because they are yummy” you replied happily. She only scoffed, shaking her head sighing. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be back in half an hour”

“Be safe”

“Will do!”

You started to head out of your apartment complex, walking down the street. You pulled your iPod out of your pocket and continued to walk down the street. “High hopes” was blasting through your headphones, and you honestly didn’t care about the people staring at you head banging in the middle of the side walk. Hell, you even made eye contact with them and mouthed the lyrics hoping they would sing along somehow (some did fortunately).

Eventually, you felt the cold breeze of the shore biting at your open skin. You zipped up your jacket close. Pulling out the candy box, you took out a candy cigarette and placed it between your lips.

You found a spot close to the edge of the wooden rail and leaned against it. Chewing the end of the candy cigarette, you found that all stress in your body left. The sun was close to falling behind the waves, giving the sky a red and purple ombré (you couldn’t help but take a photo for instagram). This is nice, you thought.

....

....

“No, no girl. Leave her be”

You felt a nudge at the end of your leg, seeing a small dog bitting at your jeans. If you were a cartoon character, your head would’ve exploded at how cute this dog was.

“Hi baby!” You said in an overly high pitched voice. You knelt down to its level, letting the cutie jump in your lap and lick your hand.

A low chuckle echoed your ear, making you realize that there was still the owner on the other end of the leash. Whoops.

“Seems like she likes you” ooohhh he’s British.

“Heh, I’m glad” you tried to look up at him, but with the sun in your face you really couldn’t get a good look. You held your hand in front of your face, making an awkward smile. “Sorry I petted your dog without asking first. She’s just really cute”

You got up. “No no, I don’t mind. I’m just surprised. Frankie isn't really open to people on the streets. You’re the first”

“I have been chosen” you joked around. The sun started to set behind the sea, but when you tried to look back at the man in front, your eyes took longer to adjust. All you saw of him was his baseball cap.

“Do you mind if I have one?” You cocked your brow.

“I’m sorry?”

“A cigarette. Do you mind if I have one?” He was pointing at the white stick at your mouth, and you pulled it away realizing what he was referring to.

“Oh, um yeah you can. But they’re not cigarettes. They’re candy cigarettes”

“Those things exist?”

“Yeah actually” you laughed out. “But they’re made of sugar rather than tobacco. So sorry”

“No it’s fine. Um” he paused and started to rub his neck. A little embarrassed that he didn’t realize the damn thing wasn’t even glowing. “C-Could I have one still?”

“Sure” you smiled back. You opened the box again, giving the stranger a white sugar stick (author: why does that sound like a weird lingo for a drug...). He placed part of it in his mouth, chewing at the end.

“Oh god, its so plain”

“It’s unique taste” you laughed at him.

The two of you ended up leaning against the rail. Watching the waves crash over each other through the slightly dim sky. You didn’t like pure silence, so decided to try and make a conversation.

“Based on the accent, I assume you’re not from here? Or at the very least, new around here?”

You heard a chuckle escape his mouth, and honestly it was pretty soothing. “Yeah. I’m not from around here”

“Visiting or work, if you dont mind me asking?”

“Sorta for work. I um...I just finished a big project with my friends. We’re celebrating here, and have a um, contest coming up”

“Oh cool! What research did you guys do? Wait! Are you the guys who participated in the research regarding experimental drug for those who suffer from extreme GAD?”

Even though it was dark, you didn’t have to see his confused face as you threw all these questions at him. Well, that and the awkward laugh gave it away. “I’m sorry, but, wh-what?”

You brushed your hair behind your ear, embarrassed. “Sorry. I just realized that project can refer to multiple things, and my brain immediately went to medical research for some reason”

“Are you medical student by any chance?”

“Oh god no, that field is too advanced for me. I just like reading about medical discoveries”. He smiled at your response, a little astounded at how excited you got over it. “Sorry about that”

“It’s fine” he laughed, almost spitting out the candy cigarette. “Our project was actually a film we’ve been working on. It’s been a long process”

He looked off at the distance. His hat was shadowing his face, but if you focused, there were distinct bags under his eyes.

“It must have been exhausting”.

“Yeah it was” He smiled lightly. “There were a few bumps in the road, but...we all managed”

He pulled the candy cigarette from his mouth, looking at the chewed end. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have a real cigarette that made him look depressed, but you knew that it was something else. Being the cheesy person you were, you pulled a penny from your pocket and placed it on the rail near him. “What’s this?” He asked.

“Penny for your thoughts? It, seems like those bumps were a bit more exhausting that the whole project”

“Am I that obvious?” He sighed when he grabbed the shiny cent.

“No. I’m just that good at reading people”. You leaned on the rail, twirling the candy between your teeth. “When people experienced hardships, they either need to talk about it, or push it away. What kind are you?”

“...with people I know...I push it away”. You leaned forward to look at him, the back of his head facing you.

“Well...luckily you don’t know me”

And for the first time throughout this whole conversation, this guy that you’ve been talking to for the past fifteen minutes, finally faced you. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and you could see him.

He was handsome, no doubt about that. Young, but at the same time, has worn out features such as his eyes. He gave you a full on smile, averting his eyes to the side.

“What’s your name?”

“...(y/n). Whats yours?” You smirked.

“I am Nobody”

you laughed at him again. “Odysseus fan, who would’ve guessed”

“You wouldn’t” he smirked as well. You paused at the conversation, thinking about what he said earlier.

“You asked me my name so you would get to know me. And therefore, not tell me your hardships, didn’t you?”

“...god damn you really are good at reading people aren’t you?”

“Good is an understatement”

You felt your phone ring, and when you looked down, you saw that it was a text form Alice.

Girl get your butt home. I am about to call the cops to get you home safe.

“Boyfriend?” He asked you.

“No. Best friend. My cue to leave”. You squat down to pet Frankie before you left. “By girlie”. You got back up. “Nice talking to Nobody new”

“It’s a good name”

“Just don’t take it seriously”

“What do you mean?”

You started to walk off the boardwalk a little, but looked back at him one more time. “Nobody means someone who isnt worth something. But if you look at it as another way, Nobody always refers to somebody”

“...you’re an interesting character aren’t you (y/n)?” You smiled at him, before giving Nobody a quiet nod and walked off the boardwalk. Passing by more people as you left.

Nobody, that’s absolute BS.

“Hey, there you are! Gwil and I have been looking for you everywhere”

Their friend only looked down the boardwalk, and they waved his hand over his eyes. “Ben?”

“...Rami. I”

“You good dude?”

“I...I just met someone”

“And?” Gwil started. Ben pulled the candy cigarette out his mouth, staring at it.

“Guys, where can I get more candy cigarettes?”

[sirkkasnow]

07 Think Twice About So-Called Safety Gear

Ao3 link

07/16/13 Tuesday

Ford claimed the action camera and its vest and disappeared out into the woods off and on for the next couple of days. Clary and the rest of the Shack crew were all firmly admonished not to venture out onto the trails.

That meant she was back to morning sessions on the laptop, doing stuff that looked to be split between actual work and sending updates to family. Early one morning he caught her singing softly into the earpiece - a lullaby, he thought, but couldn’t be sure because she spotted him immediately and slipped away towards the woods again.

Stan kept working on the station wagon in his free hours. The bodywork would still be an issue but he was getting close to a running engine. That left him with mixed feelings - the house and the summer would belong to him and Ford and the kids again. On the other hand she’d be gone.

Clary took their adventures in stride. Even when Ford returned with erratically-focused video of a crystalline stag glinting as it stalked, tinkling, through the darkest and densest of the pine groves way out beyond the edge of town, she held. Went pale, sure. She asked a few calm pointed questions, then filed it away in whatever mental folder allowed people to deal with the kind of perpetual craziness that hung over Gravity Falls.

But she didn’t run, and she made breakfast the next morning, and went out to the swap meet with Mabel as though nothing much had happened. They made a pretty pair on their bicycles, Clary’s mountain bike with the road tires swapped back in and Mabel’s pink banana-seated tassel-handlebarred glitter machine sparkling in the bright sunshine. Hours later they rolled back in with the little bike trailer in tow and loaded to overflowing with bungee-corded bags.

“What’d you find, kids?” Stan called over as they headed into the house, Clary shouldering two-thirds of the loot.

“Stuff!” Mabel yelled back, firing off a deliberate wink as she turned to head up the stairs. Clary’s cheeks were red with more than effort and her smile a bit sheepish as the door banged closed.

Oh, hell, they were conspiring now. Stan caught himself smiling in return well after they’d gone, rubbing at the back of his neck.

The local mayhem level had been about par for Gravity Falls, though Clary had endured more of that nonsense in the last couple of days than any mere tourist should have to. When Mabel suggested a fishing trip Stan immediately agreed. They could all use a peaceful day for once.

The whole process inevitably got more complicated than it should have.

“Mabel, come on.” Stan wasn’t exactly a dab hand with a needle, but he wasn’t bad. Stitching down letters over breakfast with a ten-minute deadline was a bit much though.

“You are going to make her a matching hat and we are going to have a fantastic time at the lake, got it?” She waved a forkful of pancake at him and he dutifully accepted the bite while tacking the R into place. Backwards. Dammit.

“Are you even gonna let her get any breakfast before we go, since y’banished her from the kitchen? Ow - “ He stuck the needle-pricked fingertip in his mouth for a moment, then started in on the Y as she glared at him.

“I sent Dipper out with an egg on toast. She’ll be fine. We’ll be feasting on trout by tonight anyway, right? Right?” Mabel nudged him in the ribs and he sighed, tugging the last knot tight and snapping the thread with his teeth. The fishing hat looked about as haphazard as all his other attempts.

“I don’t know about this, pumpkin. Maybe she doesn’t know how t’fish.”

“Then you can teach her. Come ooooonnnn.” Mabel latched onto his hand and tugged. Stan plopped the four fishing hats on top of the tackle box and managed to stuff the whole assembly under the other arm, allowing himself to be dragged out into daylight. Dipper and Clary leaned against the Stanleymobile, chatting as she finished off the last bite of toast.

“Mornin’, everyone. Ready t’play kings an’ queens of the lake for a day?” Clary looked up, huge sunglasses shading her face. She was buttoned up to the chin and covered past the hips in a voluminous white long-sleeved shirt, he assumed to protect her fishbelly-pale hide. A tote bag was slung over her shoulder. Mabel grabbed her hat and Dipper’s out from the heap jammed under Stan’s arm, then plucked the new one out of the pile and dashed off. “Hey, come on, that’s not finished!”

Mabel pressed the hat into Clary’s hands. Stan headed right to the back of the car and got it open one-handed, dropping the tackle box in, struggling not to be too embarrassed by the whole thing. Clary slipped around the rear fender to stand beside him, reaching into the trunk to rearrange the poles and the rest of the gear so it’d fit more efficiently.

“What’s this?” she asked, low-voiced, tugging the hat out from under her arm.

Stan squared off the tackle box again and refused to look at her. “Mabel wouldn’t let me leave until I made you one. Said it was nicer if we all had matchin’ hats or somethin’.”

At the edge of his field of view he could see her fingers smoothing out the lettering: C L A R Y in bright colors snipped from random scraps of fabric. Clary popped it on her head, grinning in the brim’s shade. “A Mr. Mystery original, straight from the hands of the master himself. A real collector’s piece. Aren’t you supposed to be charging a premium for these?”

“Well - well, yeah, maybe - hey. Hey!” She skipped back out of reach, then dove around the side of the car with a giggle. “At least let me fix the R!”

“No way, Pines, it’s mine now!” She slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her.

Stan thunked his brow against the edge of the trunk lid in pleased mortification, then banged it shut and headed to the driver’s side. Dipper and Mabel were already regaling Clary with tales of Scuttlebutt Island and the local lake monster, which she was taking in with wary almost-belief. Much of the drive down to the lake was occupied with a lively argument about who had encountered the most annoying anomalies in Gravity Falls. Stan had a ready supply of stories that even the kids groaned over.

“And that is why only your grunkle gets to complain,” he concluded with absolute authority to a chorus of cheerful mockery from his passengers. The Stanleymobile glided into one of the more convenient parking spots, he put it in park, and the doors banged open all at once to disgorge the crew. Clary chased down the kids with her bag, applying sunscreen before letting them run ahead to the shoreline.

Stan started hauling stuff out of the car, tossing in his jacket since the day had warmed up, keeping half an eye on the others. Clary paused, stepped out of her sandals and slathered sunscreen from toes to mid-thigh along her sculpted legs, balancing gracefully on one foot and then the other. He had no excuse whatsoever for watching the whole process and did it anyway as he ducked in and out of the trunk.

Dipper and Mabel were only a minute or two into a splashing contest before he heard her yell truce! to check her phone. A few moments later she was running back up the sand, wide-eyed with alarm, her brother trotting along in her wake. “Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan, I’ve got an emergency!”

He was about to start the balancing act required to handle a bunch of beach towels, the tackle box and the fishing poles. “What’s the problem? Someone dyin’?”

“Just the opposite - a birthing! Grenda Jr. is is having a baby right now and Grenda needs me there for emotional support! Grunkle Stan, you gotta let me go.” She was pouring it on thick even for Mabel, hands wringing, and Stan looked at her with open skepticism.

“Sweetheart, you planned out this whole trip an’ we just got everyone down here. Can’t she hold it in or somethin’?”

“Please, Grunkle Stan. It’s not every day I get to witness the wonders of iguana childbirth, and she’s been there for me so many times.” There they were, the patented Mabel puppy eyes. Stan heaved a sigh and saw her fleeting glint of victorious satisfaction. They were gonna have to work on expression control one of these days.

“All right. All right, already, you can stop lookin’ at me like the world’s gonna end. Go take care of Grenda an’ her lizard, the rest of us’ll be fine out here.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Mabel threw her arms around his waist, squashing him in one of those deceptively-innocent powerful hugs of hers - he went oof, then grinned, ruffling her hair. “And I’m taking Dipper for moral support!”

She snagged her twin’s wrist, to Dipper’s surprise and then sudden horror. “Wait, I didn’t agree to this! Mabel! Mabel!”

Stan watched in bemusement as Mabel hauled her brother off up the lake path at double speed, wondering what in the hell she was up to. Clary made her way back to the car and tossed her tote into the front seat, trying not to laugh and mostly failing. “Did we just get dumped?”

“We one hundred percent just got dumped for a lizard.” The grin lingered as Stan turned to her, then faltered as he had to pause for a long look.

She'd undone all her buttons. White cotton drifted loose around her shoulders. The marine blue high-waisted shorts and halter-neck swimsuit top underneath were so retro that the style was older than either of them. Her kerchief was tiny nautical flags on navy silk fluttering at her throat.

Of all the things he might have expected out of her on a summer’s day, something that showed skin had not been on the list at all.

Clary tilted her head, watching him watch her, and her lips curved gradually. “Need a hand with the poles?”

Stan finally unfroze a little, hauling out the tackle box and leaving the towels. “Sure. I've got the rest of it.”

She shouldered two of the four fishing poles. Stan latched the trunk and they walked together towards the dock. “Aren’t you gonna ask me whether I like what I see?” he asked after a while, not quite sure whether he was offended at being probably-deliberately stranded by Mabel or pleased as hell at the company.

“I’m not going to ask a question I know the answer to.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Cocky much? Y’look nice.” More than nice, but she knew that.

“Thank you.”

Stan wrenched his brain around to the task at hand. “So, uh, since it's just us. How are you with boats? Any experience? You can swim, right? Tell me you can swim.”

Clary’s fingers drummed on the haft of one fishing pole. “I'm not great but I promise I'm not going to drown out there. Daddy used to take me out crabbing on the Chesapeake. Never did rod fishing, though. Can you show me some of the basics?”

“Yeah, that I can handle.” They came up on the end of the dock, the Stan O'War moored at its usual spot. Clary looked down at his faithful fishing dinghy and its many dings, then back up at him. Her eyes were unreadable behind the sunglasses but her mouth was quirked in doubt. “Hey, c'mon now, y'can't look at a man's boat like that. She's seen some fierce weather but she holds up just fine.”

“The repairs are your work?”

“'Course they are!”

She smiled faintly. “Then there's nothing to be worried about.”

“Except maybe the local lake monster. Which doesn’t exist, by the way.” Stan stepped down into the little boat, unlocked the storage box bolted down at the back and tossed her Ford's spare life jacket. “Try that on, probably be fine in the chest but we'll have to ratchet in the waist a bit.”

He strapped his own on without any adjustments, the buckles snapping home where they belonged. Clary looked something like an inflated orange sausage in hers at first. Stan helped tighten down the waist straps until it was secure. Damn shame to obscure the view.

“All right. Are you reassured that we're going to survive the day?”

“Y’never know out here. Ready to roll?”

“Show me what you’ve got, Stan.” Clary pressed her right hand into his offered one and stepped down into the centerline of the Stan O'War without even a bobble in the boat’s balance.

“Oh, with absolute pleasure, kid.” An offhand whack or two was enough to get the engine going. The smoke was at a minimum and they chugged out together across the lake’s placid surface. Clary leaned into the modest headwind, hands braced on the rail as he guided the boat in lazy arcs towards his favorite spot.

“There y’go. Peace and quiet, more or less.” There were plenty of other boats out and a few poles, but this was a nice deep bit of the lake, a faint chill radiating off the water providing contrast to the sun’s relentless warmth. “Live or lure?”

Clary hefted the smaller of the two poles. “I have no idea.”

“Congratulations, you get lures today. Less icky an’ less wasted worms while you get used to castin’.” Stan dipped into the tackle box and set her up with a basic lure, no hook, then made her run through a dozen practice casts until he was sure she wouldn’t pierce his ear by mistake in the process. It was clear that she really didn’t know a damned thing about rod fishing, more enthusiastic than efficient, but she caught on quickly.

The fish apparently liked enthusiasm just fine. In the first hour Stan spent more time netting the trout she’d managed to hook than manning his own line. A glow of pleasure lit up her features, shaded with occasional guilt as her catch began to pile up under one of the plank seats. “I guess they like the shinies today.”

“Beginner’s luck, kid, they’re gonna get bored an’ start swarmin’ mine any minute now.”

They didn’t, of course, stupid fickle fish. Eventually he noticed that she’d slowed her pace to something approaching Wendy levels of leisurely. Stan squinted over in suspicion; a corner of her mouth twitched up as she flicked her rod in a long, long cast, reel whirring until the lure finally splashed down. “So how much of town made it out today? I see the local constabulary’s here.”

One of her feet tipped over to indicate the general location of the police patrol boat. There was plenty of lake traffic and the weather had turned out to be perfect, which meant Blubs and Durland were out both to herd this week’s batch of tourists and catch some rays.

Stan glanced that way, then laughed hard enough to rock the boat. “You’re wearin’ a hat and shades. Even if they haven’t chalked it all up to the local gnomes or somethin’ they wouldn’t recognize ya.”

He still wasn’t seeing much action on his side of things, so he started pointing out familiar faces one by one, dropping the name and a bit of background on everyone as he went, buying a quiet laugh here and there. She’d relaxed enough to drape an arm along the rail, legs stretched out with ankles loosely crossed on one of the seats. Uncharacteristic pink daubed her toenails. He wondered idly if that had been Mabel’s doing, then swept Clary over with a single, thoughtful look.

“Y’know,” he said casually into the quiet, dipping into the storage box for a couple bottles of water and tossing her one. She caught it against her chest one-handed. “Can I ask a question?”

“Of course!”

Stan tapped the side of his neck. “You’ve got quite a collection of scarves.”

Clary’s attention flicked sharply to him as she braced the pole and opened up her bottle. “I’ve probably got a hundred or so at home and I keep picking them up when I go thrifting. You’re seeing the travel collection, here.”

“So you wear one every day. Heck, y’even slept in one when Ford was draggin’ us along for his all-night concussion marathon.”

“It’s just a scar,” she said, light, patient, practiced. “I’ve had it for years. It’s faded now, but early on I got tired of explaining it to strangers, so I went ahead and made the neckerchief a signature thing. I’m not sure anyone back home would recognize me without one of these, truth be told.”

He cocked a curious brow and she smiled a little wider. “All I can say is that I was young and stupid. You can’t tell me you haven’t picked up a couple in the course of your life.”

That was enough of a brick wall even for Stan. He flashed his left palm, fingers wiggling, then tilted it so the old scar would show a little better. “One or two. This one’s from the grizzly bear I had t’strangle with my bare hands....” Clary bit her lip to stifle a snicker. “What, don’t believe me? Undead hordes, maybe? Manotaur barbecue that got outta hand? Enraged unicorn? C’mon, cut me some slack here.”

She tugged off the sunglasses and abandoned the fishing pole altogether, resting her chin atop folded arms on folded knees. “So what happened? An episode of young and stupid?”

“Eh. Engine. I was figurin’ out how to change the oil on the El Diablo, I was sixteen, and I was tryin’ to do it with the motor runnin’ - not one of my more brilliant schemes.”

“You’ve had it all this time.” She sounded more pensive than surprised. “I wondered. That thing fits you like a glove.”

Stan felt himself coloring a little and picked up his forgotten water bottle, cracking the top open, letting his gaze sweep out across the lake. “I s’pose we’ve both got some road wear. Not like yours, that thing’s practically mint. Or, uh, it was.”

“I was born the year my parents bought the Fairlane. They didn’t get to use it as much as they had planned.” A faint rueful curve lay along her lips. “Half the point of this trip was to put some miles and some memories on it, I guess. Not doing too badly on the memories bit. I don’t mind a couple of dents.”

“Gettin’ pretty close,” he volunteered, half reluctant. “The engine, anyway. Couple-three days, I think, and we’ll test the sucker out.”

“We’ll have to make good use of those couple days, then.” Clary lifted her bottle to him in mock toast, half turning to track across the many boats dotting the water all the way to the shoreline, and stiffened up at about the same moment he did. “Are they supposed to be going that fast - “

“Ah, shit. Get in the middle, get low - “ Too late, as the speedboat buzzed past in a showy arc, carving a sharp wake that was absolutely going to hit at the worst possible angle. She was reaching for his outstretched hand, eyes wide with alarm, when the Stan O’War went up and over in a flip that flung him clean out of the dinghy to splash down flailing in the lake. The life jacket dragged him up before he could fully orient.

Stan broke the surface with a sputter and a curse, paddling off towards the upended hull and spouting a stream of furious invective off after the offending speedboat. Blubs and Durland’s patrol craft was already peeling out in pursuit.

Clary wasn’t up yet. He spotted the shadow of her thrashing legs under the Stan O’War, snapped his mouth shut, and put all his energy into getting there at top speed. Most of a year out on the bigger boat had made him a decent swimmer out of necessity and he cleaved through the water without putting much thought into how.

“Clary? Hey, Clary - you all right?” The damned life jacket made it impossible to just dive under the edge, and when her hand appeared groping around the submerged rail he reached out to clasp it in reassurance. “Can y’get out?”

“Stan! I’m fine.” Her muffled voice was reedy with panic, but clear. “I’ve got air. I’m – “ The water around him roiled as she kicked and struggled and finally shuddered to a stop. “I’m hung up on the oarlock, I think. Got two buckles undone but the third is stuck.”

“Just a sec, kid. Gotta jostle you a bit.” Stan popped the clips on his life jacket in quick succession, threw the thing up on top of the hull, then drew a breath and ducked under to join her. The interior of the dinghy was dim and smelled intensely of fish and feet. Shards of refracted light tinted green by the lake danced on the cramped dome overhead. Clary was jammed up against the gunwale, twisted awkwardly to keep most of her face above water. By some minor miracle she retained her hat.

“Second buckle,” she gasped out, strained.

“Got it.” The fish knife had gone down with the tackle box. Stan latched onto the offending buckle, so tight around her midsection that he could barely get fingers behind the strap. “Breathe out as much as y’can, all right?”

“Okay.” She forced the exhale out through her teeth in shivering increments, giving him just enough room to get a decent grip. The buckle’s tongue had jammed in the mechanism. Stan strained into it, jaw set, and twisted until the plastic cracked, then splintered. With a gasp of relief, Clary squirmed free and dragged herself under, bobbing up on the outside. Stan followed, shoving drenched hair back from his brow as he surfaced, and they both clung to the outer curve of the Stan O’War for a long silent minute.

The hat, still dripping, shadowed her features. He couldn’t make out her expression, but when he laid his hand at the center of her back she was shaking.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, Stan.” Blatant lie, told with little finesse, all but daring him to contradict her. “Is the sheriff coming to fish us out?”

It had been maybe five minutes since they’d capsized. Stan looked out across the lake; Blubs had brought the speedboat to heel and while he couldn’t hear anything, it looked like the offender was getting a thorough public dressing-down. The attention of their fellow boaters was mostly focused on that particular bit of entertainment. “Gonna be a few minutes, sweetpea. What can I do for ya?”

“Just keep talking. Please.”

White muslin clung damply to her skin. He let the weight of his hand rest right there, because she wasn’t arguing and even if she wasn’t deriving any comfort from the contact, he sure as hell was. “Don’t you sweat it. So you should know that Blubs an’ Durland, much as they love hasslin’ me, love hasslin’ out-of-towners even more.”

“I’m an out-of-towner.”

Stan scoffed. “You are not, not the way that idiot in the speedboat is, you’re practically the bonus attraction at the Shack by now. Come an' see Gravity Falls’ one an’ only actual practicin’ attorney! She’s smart, she’s funny, she’ll knock y’dead with a smile at a hundred paces! Hurry up, folks, this is a one-time, limited engagement!”

Clary snorted in soft indignation. Almost a laugh. Better. He leaned in to catch her eye and gave her the widest, most fearless grin he could scrounge up in the moment. “Just let me handle this one. All you gotta do is put on a little show for those two, a little cold, a little scared, poor lost tourist stuck stayin’ with Stan Pines an’ the rest of his motley crew tossed into the lake through no fault of her own. Rest is my problem. Trust me?”

The tremor under his palm had eased a little, and he felt her inhale and exhale once. She cut him a wary glance and lied again but with more bravado. “I trust you.”

Which was great, because the patrol boat was puttering on up right about then. “All right. You good to paddle on over?”

“Got it.”

“Attagirl.”

Her spine stiffened a little before she pushed off and swam with a few clumsy strokes to the patrol boat’s ladder. Water cascaded from the tails of her shirt as Clary heaved herself up. Somewhere in the middle of that mess she’d lost her sandals - the rungs left parallel lines on the soles of her bare feet.

“You all right, miss?” Durland draped a blanket over her as she stepped down onto the deck.

“Thank you, officer, I am now.”

He caught the lead line for the Stan O’War, tugged the upended boat along after him and scrambled aboard, venting indignation the whole way - the tackle box, the poles, flipped us both right into the drink the nerve of some people. Clary perched out of the way with the blanket drawn close while the other three managed to get the dinghy righted.

Stan surveyed his poor battered boat, scowling in sheer frustration. The engine was going to have to be taken apart and reassembled again. Ford’s spare life jacket was tangled up in the oarlock, as she’d said, thanks to the extra length of straps flopping around once they’d finished fitting it. Should’ve borrowed Melody’s, he thought bitterly.

Blubs and Durland were as blessedly deficient in the short-term memory department as they’d ever been. There was no mention of last week’s midnight escapade. Clary was on the receiving end of some awkward shoulder-patting and reassurance from Durland that she endured with stiff, mostly silent grace. Stan claimed the seat next to her as soon as he could, kvetching all the while. “You did ticket that idiot, right?”

“Oh, we certainly did!” Blubs looked pleased with himself. “Don’t think he’s going to darken our lake again anytime soon. These tourists just don’t seem to care that we live here. Your little miss going to be all right, Stan?”

Stan blinked at Blubs in surprise, then at Clary, then draped a protective arm around her shoulders. She tensed instantly, a sliver of startled eye visible under the hat’s brim before she ducked her head. “Ah, c’mon, Blubs, this little miss ain’t mine, you know I’m too busy in the treasure-huntin’ business for that kinda thing these days.” He winked for effect and the sheriff chuckled. “But I’m the one took us out there, so I’ve gotta get her home safe. It’ll be gettin’ cold.” The sun had drifted well down, late afternoon’s heat still holding out on the water but already starting to dwindle.

The Stan O’War bumped along in the patrol boat’s wake. Clary turned her head to watch it as they cruised - rather lazily, Stan thought - back towards the main dock. He realized that his arm was still looped around her and twitched a bit, not sure whether he should withdraw, but her cool hand stilled him with a fleeting touch. “Good?” he murmured as softly as he could.

“Fine for now,” she replied, equally quiet. A subtle shift in posture left her leaning into him a little, for warmth maybe. Well, all right. The loose clasp of his arm snugged down a shade and he stayed put while Durland hopped down onto the dock, looping a line around the nearest cleat for a minute’s stability.

“Ride’s over!” said Blubs cheerfully. “You two go get nice and toasty.” Stan couldn’t see her eyes roll but he knew that it was happening regardless. Clary rose, accepting Blubs’ hand and stepping gingerly down to the battered dock. She shook out the blanket, folded it into neat quarters and handed it back up.

“Thank you both so much,” she said, her smile surface-sweet.

“Our pleasure, miss!” Durland hopped back up as Stan passed him and dropped down to the planks with a thud. “Y’all stay safe an’ dry, now!” Sheriff and deputy exchanged conspiratorial grins as Stan loosened the line and tossed it up to Durland.

The patrol boat revved up and swung out for a last round of herding tourists and locals back in. Clary buttoned her shirt up most of the way, fabric still damp and clinging oddly here and there. “Good god,” she murmured. “That really, really shouldn’t have worked. At all.”

“Told ya they wouldn’t recognize you.”

She finally looked up and caught his eye for real, tugging off the hat. “I may just be convinced that this thing has magical powers.”

“Don’t know if I’d go that far, but the magical power of distractin’ chatter is somethin’ I definitely believe in.” Stan reeled in the dinghy, looking down the dock to its usual spot. “I gotta tie this thing up. You mind waitin’ on me while I get that done and fetch the car? Swear I won’t take long.”

“Sure. I’ll be fine.” The sun had finally ducked behind the bluff and a bit of a breeze was beginning to pick up. The lake was nearly empty by now, small boats tied off at the narrow little slips along the town pier, a last few families packing picnic blankets and coolers to trickle up towards the parking lot. Both of them were the object of passing curiosity but she didn’t seem to care. “Listen,” Clary said at length. “Thank you. For all that.”

“Like I said, I’m the one took you out there.” Stan shot for a grin and got something a lot more apologetic than maybe he intended. Clary looked worn, frayed at the professional edges, unruly half-damp curls escaping her pinned-up hair. The smile she lifted to him was the real thing, though, and it warmed him to his pruny toes.

“See you in a few minutes.” Square-shouldered, straight-backed, she strode off towards the shore. Stan headed the other way to secure the Stan O’War and dump the life jackets back into their storage, then jogged out to the nearly empty parking lot.

The El Diablo still held much of the day’s heat. He shrugged into his dry, warm jacket with a faint shudder of appreciation, then paused to survey the remaining cars.

A speedboat-sized trailer yet remained, hitched to a fancy four-wheel-drive weekend-warrior sport-utility with Washington plates. Stan eyed it thoughtfully, then rummaged through the emergency toolbox. He came up with a squarish notch-edged tool, casually strolled over, unscrewed the valve cap on the SUV’s left rear tire, tightened the valve core hard enough to strip the threads then loosened it halfway, and screwed the cap back on in less than half a minute.

The towels got tossed into the front seat. He hummed to himself in absent satisfaction as he rolled the Stanleymobile up as close to the docks as he could get.

Clary leaned against one of the pilings, hugging herself against the gathering chill. She looked weirdly fragile in her outsize shirt and it tugged at him as he walked, steps speeding up a bit until he saw her half buckle over with a shiver that wracked her frame.

Stan’s jacket was off and around her shoulders before it even occurred to him to offer. She pulled herself upright, jaw tensing against a momentary chatter of teeth. “Stan, I’m fine,” she protested, nestling regardless as deep into the still-warm leather as possible and pulling the lapels close.

“You’re practically blue. Lemme, ah – “ Stan juggled the keys, got the passenger side door open, then shook out the kids’ abandoned beach towels and laid them down for her to sit on. “You okay on the gravel?”

“It’s maybe six feet, I’ll live.” She minced over to the car with arms extended for balance and hopped into the seat with obvious relief, brushing grit off her soles. “But I think I’m ready to go home now.”

Stan was happy to oblige. The light of early evening was soft through the trees as he piloted half-automatically back in the general direction of the Shack, glancing occasionally over towards his passenger. Clary had wrapped herself up snug in his jacket. The hat lay against her chest, an idle hand holding it in place.

“So as usual that was a little more of an adventure than it was s’posed to be.”

“I really am all right. Hungry, maybe.”

“All the crap we’ve gotten into the last couple weeks, I was beginnin’ to think nothin’ scared you.” He meant it as a joke, but the words dropped into the car’s interior with an odd weight.

Her level reply took a few beats. “It’s one thing when you can run.”

Quiet reigned for a while after that, Stan’s fingers drumming out idle not-quite-rhythms on the steering wheel’s arc as he brainstormed ways to salvage the evening, and by the time they were cruising down the drive to the Mystery Shack he had at least half a plan.

“So we missed lunch, huh? An’ we were supposed to be stuffin’ ourselves on fresh trout by now - “

“Most of which I caught.” In spite of everything her eyes glinted with amusement.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a fish magnet, among your many other talents.” With a few casual spins of the steering wheel the Stanleymobile backed into its spot alongside Clary’s wagon. “But seein’ as we’re fishless, how d’you feel about campfires?”

“I like campfires just fine. Why do you ask?”

Stan put the car in park and laid an arm along the back of the bench seat, looking over earnestly in the half-light. “Seein’ as how today went to hell in a handbasket, can y’meet me out on the porch in a bit? You can go change into somethin’ dry. I’ll rummage up dinner and we’ll make the best of the evenin’, if you’re game.”

“None of what went down today was your fault.”

Stan winced; that wasn’t entirely true. “You’re our guest, I’m s’posed to know what I’m doin’ out there and all I did was get you drenched.”

“Since when has a day since I got here gone as planned?”

Light good humor was steady in her tone, but he knew damn well she’d been truly frightened out there in the water, and he just - couldn’t - quite let it go. Stan poked her shoulder with a fingertip through the jacket. “C’mon. Lemme make it up to you.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t make it up to me.” Her grin was a quick, welcome flash as she opened the door and slipped out of the car.

Clary disappeared into her room as Stan headed straight for the kitchen, rounding up the tail end of a package of hot dogs and the extra bag of marshmallows he kept stashed way at the back of a high cabinet. Ford stuck his head in, a pencil jammed behind one ear. “Finally! The kids got a lift and are on their way back from Grenda’s. They’ve already had dinner. How was your lake day?”

“Got capsized, lost all the fish, engine’s toast again.” Stan kept collecting. The last four hot dog buns, a squeeze bottle of mustard and the marshmallows went into a large plastic bowl labeled ‘SALAD!’ which usually contained popcorn. A couple of orange pops, the fancy real-sugar ones, turned up at the back of the fridge once he’d moved things around enough.

“Ah - you do have Clary with you, right?”

“Yep, she’s dryin’ out a bit.” Stan tossed the bottles on top of the heap and retrieved a barely-used barbecue fork from the utensil drawer. Ford looked at the accumulating pile in confusion. “Neither one of us got any lunch, so I thought I’d build a fire, she’s probably still freezin’ from the dunk. You want anythin’?”

The confusion vanished, followed by a thoughtful look Stan barely registered. “No, no, I had a sandwich earlier, I’m just fine, thank you. I’m sure you have it all well in hand. I’ve got a last round of analysis to write up, so perhaps I’ll see you two in the morning.”

“Mmhm. Good night, Sixer.” Stan tucked the bowl into the crook of his arm, patted Ford’s shoulder as he passed and headed out towards the far corner of the yard they used for the occasional weenie roast.

The firepit was nothing much, a circle of blackened stones bracketed by a couple of logs that passed for seats. Somewhere along the line he’d gotten into the habit of leaving the rough beginnings of a fire laid out in the center. A couple of matches and a few well-aimed breaths got the kindling going just about as Clary came out looking for him. Unasked, she brought over a few chunks of split pine until he had a nice crackling little campfire.

Stan sat back on his heels and looked up, dusting off one sooty hand before pushing his unruly hair back. She looked dry, at least - fresh clothes, fresh kerchief, spare set of sandals, still wrapped up in his jacket. “Hot dogs okay? There’s marshmallows for dessert.”

“Hot dogs sound fantastic. You need a little help, there?” Clary stood with hands stuffed in the jacket pockets and grinned down at him as he tried to figure his way around to getting up without looking like an idiot, wrenching something in his back, or both. Finally he stuck out a hand and she caught it, leaning back to help get him upright with dignity intact.

“Thanks, I think.” They both settled onto one of the logs, Clary dipping into his improvised picnic basket while he kicked out of his shoes and peeled off still-damp socks. He stretched out his toes towards the fire’s building warmth with a shudder of relief and accepted the barbecue fork and the half-package of hot dogs when she handed them over.

They talked quietly of nothing much as he went to work on grilling dinner. Exhaustion edged her voice, though her eyes were still bright with reflected firelight as she wolfed down her second roasted dog. “Listen, y’do understand that we’ve got a bigger boat, right? The one we go on wild adventures in?”

“Mabel and Dipper gave me an overview between rounds of interrogating me over breakfast.” Stan blinked and she ducked her head with a chuckle. “They are very determined to make sure I’m not some kind of bad influence, you know. Those are good kids.”

“The best.” Stan clinked his half-empty pop bottle to hers. “To family.”

“To clean getaways.” They both drank and Stan handed over the marshmallow bag. She tore it open at a corner while he hunted up a couple of passable toasting sticks. Headlamps over at the parking lot caught his attention. A familiar minivan had pulled in, its side door cracking open to drop off Dipper and Mabel, both silhouetted for a moment by the interior light.

“Bye Grenda!” Mabel yelled, answered by Grenda’s booming ‘Bye!’ as the twins spotted the campfire and came dashing over. “Just in time for dessert, I see,” she crowed, plowing into Stan for a proper hug. “You will not believe the day we’ve had.”

Dipper collapsed onto the log next to Clary, who obligingly handed him a stick and a couple of marshmallows. “I don’t think I believe the day we’ve had.”

Mabel took up position at the opposite side of the campfire and helpfully re-enacted their afternoon’s journey with grand gestures, starting with the mad dash to Grenda’s house - ‘we thought we’d never make it in time, we got stuck behind a parade of plaidypuses!’ - and on through the uncomfortably detailed process of Grenda Jr. Extreme’s arrival in the world. Dipper rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment all the while.

“And Grenda Jr. Extreme imprinted on Dipper, can you imagine! Little DipDop, a mom!”

“I’m not little, I’m manly - “

Clary turned out to be a champion marshmallow toaster, precise and patient, every single one perfect, golden and gooey. She traded them out for Dipper’s often scorched ones and chuckled her way through Mabel’s stories, then through Stan’s as he started to explain their day on the lake with a few judicious edits.

After a while he noticed, sort of vaguely, that she was leaning into his shoulder. He was too busy balancing Mabel on his knee and describing the dramatic flip of the Stan O’War to pay that much attention.

A while after that, he noticed that the last marshmallow was bobbing into the edge of the waning flames. Stan glanced over in surprise to see Clary’s head pillowed against him, lips parted in a faint regular whistle-snore. “Uh.”

Mabel leaned over for a better look. “Wow, looks like you wore her out.”

“Mabel.”

She looked up at him, expectant and a little smug. “Sooooo maybe you should get her to bed.”

He didn’t dignify that one with a response, setting Mabel on her feet. “All right. Sleepy time for little niblings. Up, up.” Dipper groaned in protest, chomping down his last char-edged marshmallow. Mabel caught his arm and led him off towards the Shack, all but skipping. She leaned over to whisper something in her brother’s ear, and Dipper’s eew was audible all the way back at the campfire.

Clary stirred just enough to peer blearily after the twins. “C’mon.” Stan nudged her upright, then took her elbow and helped her to stand. “You’re way past bedtime yourself, kid.”

“I can stay up too late if I want to,” she slurred, but shambled agreeably towards the house, leaning into him a little when her tired shuffle got off rhythm. “I’m on vacation.” One hand snagged the jacket’s lapel, tugging it forward to half conceal a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Yeah, but I’m not leavin’ you out there t’sleep with the crickets. There y’go.” Clary’s eyelids were drooping as he guided her down the hall, pausing at her doorway. “All good?”

For a moment she leaned against him to steady herself. She took five steps into the room, bumped a toe into the air mattress, then allowed her knees to fold and pitched sidelong into the pillows. Stan hastily stepped through after, to catch her if necessary, but she’d managed a decent landing for someone half unconscious.

His jacket was rucked up around her shoulders, shadowing her face. Long lashes stroked paintbrush lines against her cheeks; all the tension had bled from her fine, angular features. She looked far younger. She looked, he dared imagine, happy.

Stan picked out a blanket, fluffed it, then snapped it out to drift down over her loosely curled body. He took a moment to coax off her sandals and tuck a few folds in around her feet. “G’night, Clary,” he whispered, and got a faint mmm in reply.

The door closed silently under his hand. He looked up to the top of the stairs, straight into the wide eyes of the kids. Mabel flashed him an enthusiastic thumbs up, Dipper a more hesitant one and a toothy grin. He skewered them both with what he hoped was an appropriately grunkly glare and pointed in the general vicinity of their room. They obeyed, muffled giggles trailing after as they scampered off to bed.

Stan leaned against the wall and nudged the glasses up far enough to rub at his eyes. His head was buzzing with entirely too many thoughts tonight – he wouldn’t be settling down anytime soon.

Hell with it. Wasn’t like he hadn’t worked through until dawn before.

The sleeping house breathed softly all around him.

Stan rolled up his sleeves and set off to gather what he’d need.

tumblr: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Ao3: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Clary steps out of her sandals and snaps the flip-top back on the sunscreen.

Whistle in appreciation.

Watch, but subtly.

My, isn’t this tackle box fascinating.

[kazrbrekkr]

Things That Shouldn’t Exist - Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: Remus notices someone for the first time. He thinks that someone might fit into a category of things he’s already noticed, even if they don’t fit in with anything else.

Warnings: cursing/strong language

Words: 2058

Remus Lupin was certain that there could only be a few things that weren’t meant to exist.

The first was mirrors. This was down to two reasons, the first being that Remus was infuriated by the sight of himself. He was resigned seeing his face, having spent too many hours in the aftermath of the full moons inspecting it, examining for any sign of the monster he had become only hours previously. It was large mirrors, like the one that ran the full length of the back of the dormitory door, or the large thing above the sink in the dorm bathroom, that he hated. They refused to let him avoid the truth about how scarred and broken this disease had made him. The second reason that Remus hated mirrors was because he was tired of being forced to lie awake at one in the morning whilst Sirius attempted to style James’ hair, even with the latter boy continually swatting the former’s hands away.

The second thing was acid pops. The first time he ate one was in his first year at Hogwarts, when Peter had received a box from his Gran as a gift. Peter had shared them amongst his friends, though there was a glint of something Remus couldn’t quite place in his eyes as he did so. The thing was vile and tasted like it was burning a hole through the roof of his mouth. James thought it was the funniest thing he had ever witnessed when Remus promptly spat it out with disgust, retching. The next time he had eaten one was in fourth year, after Peter and Sirius had snuck out to Honeydukes the week before Halloween. They told Remus that the shop had received a shipment of muggle lollipops. He had no idea why he had ever trusted the little shits enough to accept the one offered to him. It was as disgusting as the last time. Nevertheless, Remus still bought Peter a box of acid pops every Christmas. They were the only thing he ever asked for, even if Remus suspected that it was just so Peter would have another opportunity to get Remus to eat them.

The third thing, and he wasn’t too sure why, was y/n.

It’s the first day back at school after the summer hols and Sirius is ranting about something Regulus said to him before they got on the train yesterday.

“Then the pillock told me that I wasn’t safe in that fucking house anymore, like I would ever go back into that hell hole again while that witch is still alive!” Sirius’ arms are flailing about in all directions. Peter ducks more than once to avoid being whacked in the face by a rogue hand.

“Do you think that, possibly, maybe, he didn’t mean it as a threat?” Peter says.

“The fuck else would he mean, Wormtail?”

Peter shrinks into himself a little. “Maybe he was trying to give you advice?” His voice is smaller now.

Sirius opens his mouth to retort but Remus cuts him off. “Pads, shut up. You’re reading into it too much.”

Sirius huffs, grabbing toast from the stack in front of him with more force than is probably necessary.

Remus turns to James, hoping for support, but finds him staring longingly at the entrance to the Great Hall. “Prongs.” No response. “James.” James draws in a breath.

Remus looks over at the doors and sees that Lily has just walked in, arm in arm with a friend that Remus can’t quite remember the name of. He elbows James as the girls sit down with Marlene, along the table from the group of marauders. James pushes his glasses up his nose and pretends to busy himself reading the Prophet.

“Potter?” Lily’s voice is clear in the silence amongst the boys. Sirius is glaring at his toast as he smothers it in jam. Peter has retreated into his bowl of porridge.

James doesn’t look up. “Evans?” He says, attempting to sound nonchalant. He doesn’t.

“Paper’s upside down.”

James glances up at her now. “Ah, yeah,” he pauses for a beat to look at Lily properly. “I got a tad distracted when you sat down.”

She flushes at this and the girl – Remus still couldn’t remember her bloody name – rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Lils? You’ve gone a bit pink,” Marlene says.

Lily’s friend snorts loudly at Marlene’s comment. “She’s the same colour as her tie.”

Marlene laughs when the girl – was it y/n? – jerks back in her seat. Lily had kicked her under the table. She mutters something about finding new friends.

The girl – it had to be y/n, Remus was certain now – makes eye contact with Remus. She shrugs, as if to say can you believe the two of them?

Remus smirks and rolls his eyes. I’ve been putting up with it all summer.

Miraculously, the boys manage to make it half way through their first period of herbology before Sprout splits them up.

“Mr Potter! I’ll thank you kindly to move to the other end of the bench and to restrain yourself from distracting Mr Lupin any further.” Sprout’s face is sweet as she says this.

James sputters, trying to find the words to explain that it was actually Remus that purposely spilled the stinksap over the two of them. Remus suppresses a laugh and pats James on the shoulder as he struts off.

Someone nudges Remus on the arm. He turns and y/n is there. She isn’t looking at him. Maybe she didn’t mean to nudge him. “Hi,” he grimaces. Why in the name of Godric is he being so formal?

Y/n replies immediately, “I saw that.” She’s talking about how minutes before, James was complaining about how much he hated the smell of the stinksap they were extracting from the plants. Remus had decided that, in order to shut him up, he would dump a bucket of the stuff over James’ head.

Remus has the audacity to look shocked. “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“Also, you absolutely reek,” y/n pretends she hasn’t heard him. Her nose crinkles as she moves closer, reaching for her work gloves that have somehow moved to the other side of the bench. “Do you always smell like that?”

Remus turns back to his work. “Unfortunately, I only smell this great when I’ve doused myself in stinksap.”

“A confession! And yes, that is unfortunate.” She squeezes the plant too harshly. Sap sprays all over her robes. “Shit!”

“Miss y/l/n!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Sprout moves away and Remus turns towards her. He screws up his nose in mock disgust. “Merlin! You absolutely stink! Do you always smell like that?”

Y/n grins at him, utterly whole-heartedly, and Remus has to stop himself from staring at her for too long. “Unfortunately, no. It’s a very exclusive fragrance and I can’t afford to waste it.”

Remus had never really noticed her before this year but now, y/n seemed to be everywhere. Her laugh danced around at the back of the charms classroom when Peter decided Remus would be his target when practicing Depulso. Her hand shot up across the table from Marlene’s in potions and she cuts Snape off midsentence. Exactly four times in the space of a week, y/n was sat on the bench across from Remus at various meals and caught his eye, rolling her eyes and gagging at something sappy that James said to Lily. Remus learns quickly how to stop himself from going red and drawing breath nearly every time she so much as looks in his direction.

Remus thinks it must be a mistake that he knows her. She’s not meant to exist in his little world.

It’s two in the morning and Remus is lying on the floor of the dorm, staring at the ceiling. He’s vaguely aware of James and Peter playing chess on one of the beds, and of Sirius reciting Shakespeare badly in a voice that isn’t quite loud enough to be considered shouting.

He’s zoned out, thinking about how y/n somehow managed to turn her porcupine into a pin – instead of a pincushion – yesterday in transfiguration when Sirius whacks him in the side of the head with his hairbrush.

“Moony!” Sirius’ voice is loud enough to be considered a shout now.

Remus grunts in response, pulling himself up from the floor.

“Leave him be, Pads,” Peter has climbed off the bed, smirking triumphantly, even as he talks. The only time James has ever beat him at chess was the one time he got pissed on fire whisky – even then, it was a close call. “He’s distracted by something.”

Sirius’ eyes light up. “Distracted by what?”

James, much to Remus’ displeasure, has the same look in his eyes when he glances over from the bed.

A group of them are in the library, crammed around a table behind the restricted section. Sirius likes sitting here because, despite its secluded corner, it gives him a good view of what’s happening in the room. Peter likes sitting here because it’s the only table that doesn’t have a squeaky leg. James and Remus like sitting here because they can gaze longingly at the locked door of the restricted section, just out of reach.

At the table, Lily, Marlene and y/n have squashed themselves onto a bench that’s only mean to seat two. Lily is getting flustered with the combination of trying to finish her potions essay (she’s the only one here who’s actually trying to get anything done) and James, who keeps kicking her under the table with his constant fidgeting.

Remus is wedged in between James and Peter, and is diagonally across the table from y/n. He can’t finish his homework for McGonagall with her there. She’s driving him mad.

“What’s the potion Slughorn was talking about the other day?” Marlene asks.

Sirius has been in a foul mood all morning. “He’s a fucking potions professor, he’s always talking about-”

“Wiggenweld?” Remus offers.

“That’s the one.” Marlene turns back to her parchment, scribbling notes quickly despite her limited arm movement as a result of being jammed between Lily and y/n.

Everyone falls into a steady silence, although Remus can’t figure out if it’s because they’re all stressed about deadlines or if it’s just that they’re all terrified of Madam Pince.

Remus has zoned out again. He tells himself that he’s only staring off in y/n’s direction. Not at her.

Y/n reaches forward and her cardigan sleeve rides up her arm. Her wrist is exposed as she flicks trough the pages of the notes that cover the table. It doesn’t have a hair-tie wrapped around it for once.

“Oi, mate, you alright?” Remus turns his head and James is grinning at him, a spark in his eyes when he realises this is what dear Moony has been distracted by.

Remus swallows. “Yeah,” he glances back across at y/n. He was distracted by her fucking wrist. “I’m fine.”

Y/n finds what she’s looking for. She grabs it triumphantly and waves the paper about for everyone to see. Everyone doesn’t see. Just Remus and James.

“What is it?” Remus mouths across to her. He can feel James still grinning him and his cheeks are starting to go red.

“The secret recipe for l’eau de stinksap.” She’s grinning now too, just as much as she was the day she was covered in the vile stuff.

Remus goes to laugh and chokes on air. James responds by hitting him (hard) on the back. Lily looks up at the racket they’re causing and shushes James. Sirius, joining in, also shushes James – in a much louder fashion. Chaos erupts in this cramped corner of the library.

They’re chased out by Pince 3 minutes later. Y/n and Remus accidentally take off in a different direction from the rest and collapse against a wall two floors down.

Y/n’s face is flushed and the pair are breathing heavily. Remus can’t stop himself from staring but she’s staring back so y/n doesn’t seem to mind. He can’t remember how long it took to regain their breath.

This exact moment is too… real for Remus to comprehend.

Certain things, Remus believed, weren’t meant to exist. That didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t want them to.

[wordsnstuff]

How To Actually Get Writing Done

-- I’ve seen so many posts on how to feel productive, but not too many on how to actually be productive. I do firmly believe in the power of mindset but that only does so much if you’re not actually going to sit down and get to work. I hope this is helpful to those who need it right now, whether you’re facing the end-of-the-year deadline or you’re trying to finish an essay before Christmas break is over or if you’re just trying to get out of a writing rut. This, as always, is my advice derived from personal experience and it may not work for everyone, but if this can so much as point you in the right direction, it has served its purpose.

Get Your Priorities Straight

Do you really want to spend this time writing? Or do you need to get that essay done? Is the laundry piling up in your closet, forming into the shape of a demon that’s going to scare the crap out of you tonight? If there is one thing I can pass onto you as advice, it’s to write with a clear mind. I’m not saying that you can’t write if you have other responsibilities, but writing to escape the million other things you know you need to do is not going to make that weight leave your shoulders and isn’t going to allow you to create good content either. it is much easier to be creative when the boring chores of reality aren’t nudging at your brain whenever you get stuck on a word that sounds wrong.

Eliminate All Distractions

Social media is not the only distraction there is that’s keeping you from writing. If you need to get stuff done, realize that maybe it isn’t wise to have two friends over to “study”. Be honest with yourself when the situation is starting to get critical. Do not set yourself up to fail by turning Netflix on in the background because “the noise just makes me feel more comfortable when I’m alone”. That’s what ASMR is for. Don’t make excuses for the fact that creating distractions is a form of procrastination.

Say No To Yourself

Your brain is going to tell you “Just one more YouTube video” or “Just a 30 minute power nap” or “I’ll have more time to write tomorrow anyway”. Ignore that voice. Recognize that that, forgive me if I offend you, is BS. You cannot have faith in the convenience of the future if you want to be a successful writer. If you constantly depend on the cozy belief that you will feel it tomorrow or that you don’t have anything going on tomorrow so you can spend today doing whatever and shove it all on future you, you are going to get slapped hard by reality a lot sooner than you think. Train your mind to hear that voice and respond with “no, there is a good to fair chance that something unexpected is going to pop up tomorrow and that right now is the only time I’ll get to get this done, so I’m going to power through and do it now” because it is much better to have it done early than be worrying about it later on.

Write What You’re Excited About First

So, it’s common sense that you’ll be more motivated to start writing when you’re excited about what you’re writing, so start with that. This is one of the oldest pieces of advice in the book, but it’s popular for a reason. If you need to, start at the end or the middle or a scene you’ve been thinking about a lot recently or whatever. Even if you go back and edit one of your past scenes to throw yourself back into your own story, it’s ok. It’s allowed. Do what you need to do to get into it.

Just Get Started

I promise you that writing is more fun and exciting and a lot easier than you think when you just do it. Even if you know that what is coming out of your pen is garbage, just enjoy it. Fool yourself into thinking it’s the best art there has ever been and sometime into the writing session it will become such. If you tell yourself what you’re writing is golden, it will become golden. Confidence is pretty much everything when it comes to writing, because the confidence shows in the final product at the end of the day. Just remember, like everything else in life, you just have to fake it until you make it.

Face Reality

You’re not going to get 10,000 words written and edited and ready for publishing in one day. You’re not going to wake up tomorrow any more motivated than you are right now. You aren’t going to suddenly feel ready to write your entire book if you spend an hour scrolling through inspirational quotes on Tumblr. You are never going to be more ready to write than you are now, so stop making excuses and procrastinating and read this as a sign: start now. Don’t second guess it, don’t spend time making your surroundings perfect and outlining the chapter ad nauseam. Just write. Right now.

Support Wordsnstuff!

Request A Writing Help Post/Themed Playlist/Writing Tips!

Send Me Poetry To Feature On Our Instagram!

Receive Updates & Participate In Polls On Our Twitter!

Like us and share on Facebook!

Read More On Our Masterlist & See our Frequently Asked Questions!

Tag What You Want Me To See With #wordsnstuff !

[teamkaiforever]

CLOCK TOWER

Kai Parker x Reader word count: 3 092 warning: possible triggers summary: a few months months before ‘White Christmas’ *gif by me _________________________________________

Walking into the bar, Kai couldn’t help but notice all the people gathered there –  laughing, drinking and eating in groups while listening to the live band the manager of the Grill had contracted for the week. He walked over to the bar, quickly getting the cute bartender’s attention as usual and even before he had ordered his drink… a glass slid on the counter towards him. He gave her his best smile, adding a ‘thank you’ and turned around looking at all the people in the bar when he noticed something. Or more like someone. 

In one of the darker corners of the bar, alone with a tray with curly fries sat Y/N. Her elbow was on the table and her head rested in her hand. Usually her hair would be always in a tight ponytail though in that instant it was messy and her sideways loose ponytail was almost completely gone. For a moment he wondered if that was even her, though he quickly became 100% convinced. There was no way for him to forget those eyes or those hands. Not because they’ve been a couple, but because at the wedding when everything had seemed lost and he had though that would be it for him with the werewolf bite and everything … Y/N had been the one to go to him and try to help him as best as she could. That was three months ago, but he never forgot it or her. Instead she always found ways to sneak into his thoughts, into his dreams… and he couldn’t understand why. But what he knew was this feeling of warmth he got every time he was around her was something he never wanted to lose or let go off. In fact, he couldn’t get enough of it.

    “Hey, can I have another drink?” he asked and a few short moments another glass slid towards him. “Better yet, give me the entire bottle.”

Swiftly he made his way through the crowd to her table and the closer he got the more he figured something was off. Her smile was gone and it was almost as if there was an actual dark cloud over her head. Y/N reached her hand towards the fries and took one, then dropped it back in the plate. 

    “Mind if I join you?” he asked, almost making her jump up. Y/N looked up at him and sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you or anything –”

    “Be my guest.” she muttered, barely looking at him until a glass with bourbon found its way before her. “I don’t drink.”

    “Tonight, you do.” he nodded towards the glass. “And maybe you can tell me why you are so… not yourself at the moment.”

Y/N studied his face for a second, her fingers reluctantly wrapped around the glass and before she realized she gulped almost all of it at once.  “What makes you think I am not myself?” 

Kai reached towards her fries and took a couple before answering. “Where should I start? First your hair is all messed up, you have dark circles under your eyes, your skin is paler than usual, you look like the weight of the sky is actually on your shoulders and… for the first time since we’ve met you are not smiling. I could feel your dark presence across the bar. It’s really bumming me out.”

    “Well, then I’m gonna go and stop bumming you out.” she started to get up when he pulled her back in her seat with magic. “What the –” 

    “Talk to me. Come on, I talk a lot but I am a good listener too.” he took a couple fries, giving her a small smile. “And I really don’t mind listening to you. That’s the least I can do for you after saving my life.”

Y/N sighed, rested both her hands on the table and buried her face in them. Music blasted around them, loud and ruckus yet she could still hear her thoughts and drown in them; in every emotion that swirled through her heart and soul. A few seconds passed and he poured her another drink. She looked up and almost got lost in another sea of thoughts all because of the way he was looking at her.

    “So that’s your plan? Get me drunk enough so I spill all my secrets –”

    “No.” his lips curled into a small smile. “But I am hoping to see you smile. See, the thing is –” he leaned in closer. “There is something about your smile and the way your eyes twitch when you laugh that I find fascinating…Usually I’d just walk away, but with you… everything is different. And I won’t go away or let you go until you smile.”

    “Well,” she took a large sip from her glass. “You may be waiting a while.”

    “I don’t mind waiting.” he smiled. “I’m a patient man.”

Y/N glanced at him and sighed. Kai was the last person she had expected to see that night and even though the past few weeks she had been drowning in her thoughts and feelings, she didn’t know what to tell him. Days after days, weeks after weeks absolutely nothing went right in her life. Her parents used her as an emotional punching bag, yelling at her when they were upset with something else. Deadlines for assignments for school hovered over her head like a guillotine, threatening to leave her headless at any moment. Her boyfriend, someone who had claimed he loved her and would do anything for her… had used her and broken up with her, not giving a damn in what a fragile state she was. And her friends – well, they were busy dealing with all the supernatural stuff going on, trying to prevent a ‘doomsday’ like scenario for all of them. Not that she could blame them or anything but in the end, no one was around for her to talk to.Y/N didn’t feel comfortable calling her old high school friends, thinking she’d be bothering them. In a way, even though during her day she was surrounded by people everywhere, she was completely alone. Absolutely and utterly alone…. Until a few moments ago when her eyes met with Kai’s and that feeling started to dissolve so very slowly, she wasn’t sure if it was even happening for real. Yet his smile made her feel happy, in a way, for the first time in a long time.

    “Tell me.” he nudged her.

A quiet sigh left her lips and she trailed her finger across the glass’ lid.    “I don’t know why I am not myself.” she said so quietly if he wasn’t a vampire he would’ve missed it. “I can’t think. Nothing works out the way I want to, I can’t do a thing. I have this constant pit in my stomach like something is wrong… and I’m… alone.” she blinked fast a couple of times trying to blink back the tears that threatened to start rolling down her cheeks which seemed to happen a lot to her lately. “Being alone never bothered me before. I like silence… and being by myself used to be fun. But –” she sighed. “– everyone I know has someone, and I have a cat… who can’t talk, and as fun as he is, being alone –” 

    “It’s starting to weight on you.” he finished for her. His hand slid across the table towards hers and he gave her a gentle squeeze. “I know how that feels. But you are not alone. You have all your friends  –” 

    “Who are busy cleaning up your mess because you let the heretics out of 1903.”

    “Oh so it’s my fault?” Kai chuckled. “Oh-kay, yeah. That might’ve been a mistake. But… you still have me.”

    “A dangerous sociopathic vampire/witch hybrid wants to be my friend. I must be drunk already.” she gulped the glass before her at once.

Kai laughed under his breath for a second, raising his hands in defense. “Hey, you want to be alone. It’s fine with me but as someone who spent his entire life alone –” 

    “Because you killed most of your family and got banished into a prison world for it.” she snatched the bottle, looking into his eyes for a moment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to – I… I’m such a bitch right now. I’m sorry.“ she sighed. “W-where they really that bad? I mean, there must’ve been someone who –” 

    “There wasn’t.” he swallowed hard, grabbing the bottle from her hands. “But we are not here to talk about me. We are here because a girl as beautiful as you has to smile and deserves to be happy and not to spend the night alone, sitting at a bar. Not even eating. How long has it been since you had something other than water?” he asked, watching her shift uncomfortably in her seat. Perhaps a bit longer than he had thought. “Anyways, what do you say? Friends?”

    “No.”

    “Come on.” he insisted. “If you don’t want to be friends then why did you save me at the wedding?”

Y/N glanced around the bar and sighed. “Because… I owed you one for saving me from certain death at the Salvatore library and … it was the right thing to do. You royally pushed it, but everyone deserves a chance and there is something about you. A light or something, I don’t know. It got me curious to see it grow, get brighter.”

    “Then give me a chance.” he said softly. “One night. Be my friend for one night.”

About a minute passed before she grabbed the bottle from his hands and took a sip directly from it. Y/N didn’t say a word at first. He was using her words against her but it was true. He could’ve walked away, he could’ve ignored her and pretended she wasn’t at the Grill. But he had chosen to check up on her.    “Fine.” she said, watching him smile widely at her words. “One night.”

During the following hour or so Kai and Y/N talked or more like he talked while she listened and for a moment he thought he had succeed in his mission to make her smile. Though every attempt seemed to end in failure. A couple of her old high school friends walked by, stopping for a few minutes to talk but even though her lips tried to curl into a smile as she talked to them, he could see her eyes watering. It was almost like her body was there but her mind was elsewhere. 

Every now and then her eyes would drift around the crowd, longingly finding something to look at. A young couple making out in the darker corner, some guy sitting alone at the bar with his phone in his hands or a group with friends laughing and talking. In a way he understood why she had that longing look. Most of his life he had been on the outside looking in, wondering what it would feel like to have your parents hug you instead of find ways to punish you because you were born different. But something seemed off to him. He could see in her eyes that a lot of things weighted on her and he wanted her to open up, to tell him knowing that’s the only way things would get better. He found himself carrying about her well being, about the way she felt and he couldn’t understand why exactly. It wasn’t like they were close or anything, they weren’t even friends more like sort-of-friends. Y/N was always there, almost unnoticeable, always trying to be good and do the right thing even if it meant going against her friends. There hadn’t been a person like her he had met and if she had said she had seen a spark of light in him, he was sure it had been because of her and the way she had touched his heart and soul the first time they had met.

    “How did you do it?”

    “Did what?”

    “See that light in me.” he said softly. “No one else does. They just see me as the monster who killed his entire family, the one who linked Elena to Bonnie, who are your best friends and yet …here you are. Giving me a chance not once but twice.”

Y/N stood up suddenly. “I’m going to um… the restrooms. Excuse me.”

Kai’s eyes followed her through the crowd until she slipped behind the corner where the restrooms were. His fingers wrapped around the almost empty bottle and he poured whatever liquid remained in his glass trying to figure out why she’d jump up so suddenly. Everything had seemed to be going fine, Y/N had seemed to relax a bit and go back to her old self but then she had shut down again. A couple minutes passed and he turned around with a glass in his hands. Y/N was taking too long and a part of him started to worry something had happened to her when he saw her by the bar. A sigh left his lips and he made his way through the crowd to her.

    “What took you so long –” he started to say when the girl turned around and it wasn’t her. “Sorry, I thought you were my friend.”

He looked around the bar searching for her, then headed towards the restrooms when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out noticing a text message from her and quickly swiped the screen, tapping on the large square in the middle. Thank you for trying. Meant a lot. said the text. ‘What?’ he mouthed, quickly dialling her number while listening in with his vampire hearing but the loud music made it almost impossible for him to concentrate, so he walked outside. When no one picked up the phone, he dialled again and that’s when he heard her voice. Almost a murmur with a nervous note, a kind of shakiness he had only seen in movies when people cried or were about to do something irreversible. Only what she was saying made his blood freeze in an instant.

‘Fast and quick. Painless too and you’ve always wanted to fly like a bird.’ she muttered. 

Kai followed her voice and took a few steps to the right towards the clock tower, looking up. There she was, standing on the edge and looking straight ahead while the light wind ruffled her hair. Her heart was racing faster than he had ever heard it before, so fast as if trying to burst out of her rib cage. He took a few steps towards the building’s entrance without taking his eyes off her for a moment, trying to figure out what to do.

 A part of him knew if she figures out he is down there, it might make her rush… the other was terrified he wouldn’t be fast enough getting there. But while he was attempting to figure out his next move, she made hers. Right as the clock struck 12.30AM her foot took a step off the ledge and she started to fall fast towards the concrete. His blood froze, a feeling he had felt thousand of times before in the Prison World washed over him – he felt like he was slowly dying every second he watched her fall towards the ground. By instinct Kai ran towards her, catching her barely a few seconds before she went splat. He held her tightly in his arms, glancing up at the tower and then at her with fear and shock in his face. Her eyes remained shut for a few moments longer before she opened them and they met with his. There were unshed tears in her eyes, pain and so many things he couldn’t even begin to understand.

    “A-are you okay?” Slowly he let her feet on the ground, still holding onto her with one hand while his palm brushed against her cheek. Y/N lightly shook her head as she refused to look at him. “Did you really just try to kill yourself? Y/N, suicide is a permanent decision for temporary problems. You are smarter than tha–”

Y/N to get free from his grasp. “Let go of me.”

    “No. No, I let go and you try again. Not happening. Not on my watch.” he said determined when she broke free and ran down the street. In a second he flashed before her. “Y/N, stop –” 

    “Who are you to talk Mr. I tried every method in the book?!”

    “There is a difference – I was trapped in a magical world where I couldn’t die! Dying there was a way to… press pause for half an hour. You jump and that’s it. No going back.”

    “Why do you even care if I live or die?!” she put her hands on his chest and pushed him off. “You care about nothing and no one!”

    “Usually I’d agree but…” he went after her. “Surprisingly I care about you. More than even I understand. I care about this girl who did something no one has ever done. The one who stood against all her friends and what they kept telling her about me and gave me a chance to turn my life around. I am just returning the favour and I’ll keep returning the favour. I’ll always be there to catch you when you fall.”

Y/N groaned in frustration, and stopped in the middle of the street. “Malachai Parker –” she said with tears in her eyes. Her hands balled into fists and she started to hit him while tears started streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t go on like this –” she started to sob, feeling his fingers wrap around her wrists. “I feel so hopeless, so alone and I hate it! I hate every fucking second of it! I hate the way the closest people I have treat me all the time. How I am always to blame, like I am a punching bag and not a real person! I can’t –” he pulled her into his arms. “I can’t live like this anymore. I don’t want to live at al—” 

    “You don’t have to and you won’t.” he said softly, rubbing gentle circles on her back. “You have me now. You will never feel alone again. I promise you.”

    “Y-you don’t mean it.” she said quietly. “You are just –” 

    “Taking care of my only friend?” he smiled at her. “Damn right I am. I might not have any experience with that but I am going to do my best because… I can’t lose you.”  _________________________________________ MASTERLIST - SMUT MASTERLIST - FLUFF ▪ ▪ ▪ kai!angst list 

[probably-writing-x]

Had enough.

Request by anon: Love when you ask for requests ❤ could you please write something about the reader and haz hating each other and some day Tom has enough of it and locks them in a room until they sort things out? Don't know if this makes sense

~~~

"Well I didn't ask you to bring me the world, did I?" The volume of your voice wasn't falling now, "I asked you to get one small thing to help me out, is that so difficult?"

"Is it so difficult for you to actually do what you're meant to instead of expecting me to pick up your slack?" Harrison retorts, directing his hands at you to show his emphasis despite the fact he was still slumped on the couch.

"I've had things going on, Harrison," You grumble, running a hand through your hair.

"Oh yeah, things going on," He rolls his eyes, putting quotation marks around those last three words to echo his sarcasm.

"Fuck you Harrison," You snap, picking up your laptop and walking away to the kitchen.

To avoid being too close to the enemy, you take a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. Your brows were furrowed over the laptop in front of you and the deadlines you had to meet - all building up to overwhelm. Every so often, your eyes would steal a deathly glance to Harrison before quickly averting, recognising how much he could make your blood boil in that split second. You didn't notice him do the same.

And then you're typing away, trying to mind dump everything that needed doing to get it clearer in your head, your stress fueling the pace of your typing.

"Oh my god, do you want to type any louder?" Harrison yells, evidently increasing his volume as though he was fighting to be heard over your actions.

"Put your headphones in and stop complaining then!" You respond, glaring at him with nothing but irritation.

"You're not even supposed to be here yo-"

Before he can continue, Harrison is interrupted by the entrance of someone into the hotel room - Tom. The boy who you were both assistants for.

"Guys don't tell me I've walked into another fight," He sighs, shoulders slumping with a known defeat.

"Well she said-"

"Well he said-"

"Nope!" Tom raises his voice over both of you, "I'm not hearing this another time round. I don't care what either of you said, did or heard,"

He sounded like a parent when he got like this - ironic considering you were meant to be the ones assisting him.

"But, please, just both shut up," He sighs, taking a deep breath to relax his parental frustration, "I don't want to hear any more of it,"

Harrison turns back round on the sofa and you watch him slump further down, phone in hand as he scrolls through something that definitely shouldn't have priority over helping you. The two of you had worked together as Tom's assistants for over six months now and Tom was beginning to regret his decisions. He loved both of you and would forever be grateful for how much you helped him but, boy, you two could get on his last nerve when you got like this. It happened a lot. Harrison always seemed to be one step ahead of you when it came to work and his arrogance always resulted in arguments and bickering just like this. You couldn't really remember ever not arguing. In fact, you were fairly certain there never would be a time where you wouldn't argue.

"Tom do you want a drink?" Harrison asks his friend, going to get up from the couch.

"I'll have a coffee please, mate," Tom smiles, flicking through the TV channels to find something that would catch his interest.

From where you were sat in the kitchen, you saw Harrison nearing, moving to get two mugs from the counter before turning to where you were sat, in the way of the sink.

"Sink," His voice cuts through your work bubble as he stands behind you with the empty kettle.

"That's not how you ask someone to move," You mutter, eyes not leaving your screen as you drafted an email to send to a company that had recently contacted Tom.

"Fine," He clenches his jaw, "Move,"

"Harrison," Tom says with warning to his voice, not even bothering to look up this time - knowing it was just like any other time.

"Why do you have to be such a fucking dick?" You fully snap this time, turning in your chair to face him head on, "I've done nothing wrong and you act like I'm always this fucking burden an-"

"Guys!" Tom stands up, "You can't keep acting like this, it's draining for me so I know you're fed up too,"

You and Harrison glance to the ground. You don't speak for the rest of your time there.

~~~

The next day you're summoned with a text from Tom to help with making up a bed so you make your way over to his in the early morning to help as much as you can.

"Hello darling," Tom smiles when you walk in, a way he'd always platonically greeted you, "Know anything about how to follow instructions?"

"Approximately nothing," You laugh, taking off your jacket and shoes and leaving them at the door.

You follow Tom through the corridor until you reach the spare room.

"Why didn't you ask Harrison for he-" You stop when you see the boy in question already stood in the room, "What's he doing here?"

"What's she doing here?"

"Right," Tom claps his hands, "You two are staying here until you learn to be in the same room and not constantly argue. I want you to give me your phones and I expect that bed to be made perfectly by the time I come back,"

You exchange a look with Harrison before setting your phone into Tom's waiting hand, watching as your enemy does the same.

"I'll see you on the other side," Tom wiggles his brows, stepping out of the room. When you hear the lock turn from the outside, you know he's serious.

Okay. You could do this. Make the bed as quickly as possible and then get your ass out of here.

But Harrison sits down onto the carpeted floor and you can already tell he doesn't care to get out quickly.

~~~

You'd been working on fixing one leg to the bed frame for what felt like forever now. Every time you thought you were getting close, it fell and you had to begin again. Harrison had helped for approximately zero seconds.

"You're not doing it right," He finally pipes up, picking at a thread on the mat below him.

You drop the tools in your hands, "Oh, sorry, I forgot you were here. That's what happens when you sit there and do fuck all," The sarcasm seethes in your tone.

He pushes himself up and walks over to you, taking the tools from the ground.

"Hold that," He mutters, aimlessly gesturing to the bedframe.

You put your hand where you assume he'd just said and watch his eye roll response.

"Hold it here," He repeats, his hand holding yours to lift it to where he needs it.

You sit silently as he screws the leg into place and it doesn't fall to the ground as it had done for you.

"Just needs two people," He says bluntly, setting the tools back down and residing to the other side of the room where he had previously been.

You go to continue with the task at hand but stop yourself, rolling onto the balls of your feet, "Why do you hate me so much?" You sigh, avoiding eye contact because you didn't want to see his response - maybe not even hear it.

"I don't hate you," He states but the lack of warmth in his tone tells you otherwise.

"Oh come on," You roll your eyes, turning to face him.

He is sat with his back against the wall knees bent up with his hands clasped in front of him, "I don't hate you. And I could ask you the same thing, anyway,"

"I don't hate you, you just infuriate me,"

Harrison lets out a little laugh, "Infuriate, huh?"

You sigh and stand up, sitting against the opposite wall so you can face him, "You know what I mean. You treat me like I'm completely incompetent,"

"And I don't think you're incompetent," He corrects, "I think you're better at this job than I am,"

You're the one that laughs this time, "Yeah, right,"

There's a silence that settles over the room and you find yourself staring intently at the carpet like it would magic you out of here.

And then you finally speak, "It's my parents. They're the 'stuff that's been going on',"

You see him glance up and he frowns at your admittance, "Your parents?"

"Yeah, they've been arguing a lot recently and my Mum spent the night at mine last night. I don't think they're going to stay together,"

You see him wince slightly, "I'm so sorry,"

You shake your head, "Come on, it's not your fault,"

"No I'm serious. I shouldn't have been so harsh to you," He sticks his leg out and nudges you with his foot, "I'm sorry,"

"To be honest, it's probably for the best if they split up. After speaking to my Mum, I don't know how much she ever really loved him," You take his silence as means to continue, "She asked me what I want in the person I love,"

Harrison looks really interested now, looking at you with piercing eyes, "What did you tell her?"

"I told her I want somebody that makes my heart skip a beat or race a little bit faster. Somebody that can get on my last nerve but that I know will always, always be there," You stop yourself and smirk at the ground, "Someone who's-"

"Like your other half," Harrison finishes for you, "I know,"

You look up and cock a brow, "I told you that the first day we met,"

He shuffles over to you, "And you told me your favourite colour is emerald green and your favourite film is 'Footloose'. You told me you hate arrogance and that you talk way too much when you're nervous," He recites it all, "But I think I already knew that last bit,"

You're thankful that there's not much light in this room - it hides your blush well.

"Hey," His hand reaches out to touch your arm, "I'm sorry about your parents,"

You shake your head, moving to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear but Harrison does it for you.

"Now, how about we make up this bed and get out of here?" He suggests, nudging at you to force a smile onto your lips.

"There's no rush,"

~~~

Tags: @imarypayne @sunshine112 @bringmethehorizonandpizza @supernatural-girl97 @vibhati123 @butithasntkilledyouyet @faefictions @carisi-sonny @trap-house-homiecide @shamelessbookaddict @tommydaspidey @oneblckcoffee @darlingtholland

[chasholidays]

Time stamp, Forever and/or down in flames universe, prompt: future

Original fic here!

“I think I have a career,” says Clarke, in the same way other people might say I think I have cancer. Well, not quite that bad; there’s more shock than upset in her tone, a kind of disbelief that something like this could happen to someone like her. Pregnancy might be a better analogy, something that could be good or bad but she’s too surprised to know yet.

Regardless, he mostly finds it hilarious. “Did you not know? I thought you knew or I would have told you.”

He does get why Clarke is surprised about her career in general, he’s just not sure why it hit her now. A few months after they got married, she started a webcomic, something that’s half slice of life and half weird doodles of mythical creatures doing errands, and somehow it really took off. Raven deserves a lot of the credit for the initial jump in popularity, since Clarke is incapable of figuring out online self promotion, but once she got enough instagram followers, she stopped really needing to do much. She’s made some merchandise and takes commissions, and has enough that she can pay Raven to help with her with her homepage and other stuff.

It’s not a great career, not making her rich, but it’s enough that she’s gotten rid of most of her part-time jobs and is making a living as something like a professional artist.

It is definitely very weird and confusing; he just assumed that she would have noticed that sooner.

“I keep waiting for someone to notice I’m not actually funny,” Clarke admits.

“You’re kind of funny,” he says, and she laughs.

“Thanks, babe. Your support always means the world to me.”

He raises his arm and she tucks herself under it, snuggling in. “I think you’re funny,” he says. “But a lot of the comic is kind of–absurd,” he finally says. “It’s not about making jokes, it’s about being fucking weird. As it turns out, people think our lives are just kind of inherently funny. Which they are. You’re not coasting on unearned success here, Clarke. You work hard on your art, I know you do.”

“I know. This just wasn’t really what I pictured myself doing, I guess. I thought making it as an artist was going to be–”

“Your art hanging in a museum.”

“Something I could show my mom to prove I made the right choice.”

“And you can’t show her the webcomic?”

“I could tell her about the book.”

Bellamy freezes. “The book?”

“That’s how I know I have a career, yeah. Raven just told me. A publisher is interested in putting together a print version of the webcomic, with some exclusive content, a certain percentage of new strips, stuff like that. The email has all the details.”

“So you already agreed?”

“I wanted to surprise you. Do you not think I should do it?”

He laughs and tugs her closer. “No, of course I think that. Honestly, I’m just amazed you kept it quiet.”

She rolls her eyes. “I can keep secrets. And it wasn’t hard, I got most of the emails while you were at work. It did kind of suck to not tell you, but I got advice from Raven. And I figured it would be, you know. Cool.”

“It is cool. I’m really proud of you. Do I need to do anything? What’s your deadline? When does it get published?”

Clarke laughs, soft, and kisses his shoulder. “We’ve still got a while to go. I’m probably going to be a mess for a while while I try to get everything done.”

“You?” he teases. “A mess? What a concept.”

“Shut up. A new kind of mess. A mess with purpose. I’m turning over a new mess leaf.”

“Wow. That’s going to be something. Can’t wait to see what new horrors that will bring.”

She elbows him. “It’s going to be awesome.”

“It is.” He kisses her hair. “My wife, the published author.”

“Don’t jinx it. I still have to write the book in time.”

“You’re going to,” he says. “I’m not worried.”

“That makes one of us.”

“New leaf, remember? It’s going to be fun.”

She shakes her head, smiling a little. “Sure. Fun.”

*

There’s no particular reason that Clarke’s book should cause any kind of seismic shift in Bellamy’s life, but that’s not really the cause of the shift, he doesn’t think. It’s hard to not occasionally take a step back and think about where he is and where he’s going, and given what his actual life looks like, it’s pretty easy to feel like a lowkey failure.

Really, the odder thing is that every time he does this, he finds his life is actually in amazingly good shape. He and Clarke might not be great adults, but they’ve cleared more hurdles of adulthood than a lot of his friends have, without even trying. They’re married, they’re homeowners, they have a dog. Bellamy has a steady job in his field, and Clarke has a good gig of her own. They have a savings account that they actually put money into every month. They’re not getting rich, but they’re stable, even upwardly mobile. Against all logic and reason, he thinks he and Clarke are doing well.

Which is honestly what freaks him out the most, and what he doesn’t quite know how to explain to anyone.

“It’s like when you beat a video game and you’re running around doing all the bonus content because you’re not ready to be done yet, but you know you kind of did everything?” is the approach he tries with Miller, who does not look impressed.

“So what you’re saying is you already beat life and now you want the DLC? Yeah, I can see why you don’t want to tell people that.”

“Seriously, you know what I mean, right? I don’t know where we go from here. It’s not bad, just–weird.”

“I feel like the next logical step is kids, but I’ve met you and Clarke and I’m not convinced reproduction is a good idea.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure either. I like kids, but I don’t know if we actually need to have any of our own. I’m amazed we keep the dog alive.”

Miller snorts. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re all shocked about that one.”

“It’s not like I’m complaining. My life is awesome and I’m happy. But it’s weird feeling like I don’t have anything to work for.”

“Promotions,” Miller says. “Another dog, I don’t know. I get it,” he adds. “I’m not there yet, but it makes sense. But dude, it’s like you’ve never even seen Tangled. Find a new dream.”

He pauses. “How many times have you seen Tangled?”

“That movie is fucking solid,” says Miller. “Good luck with your stupidly perfect life.”

“Thanks. I’m doing my best with it.”

*

Clarke working on a book honestly isn’t really functionally different from Clarke working on anything else, at least not from what Bellamy can tell. Her hours are as bizarre as ever, and she still has ink-stained fingers and a penchant for falling asleep on anything.

But there is a change in her too, even if it’s harder to detect. She takes the book seriously in a way that she’s never taken anything else seriously, for all she’s always been dedicated to her art. The book means something to her that he hasn’t figured out yet, that he’s not sure how to figure out.

At least, not until his conversation with Miller, after which he asks, “So, is this book like your final boss?”

She’s reviewing some of her old comics to see which she wants to put in, almost completely engrossed. “What?”

“The book. Is it the culmination of your life or something?”

She snorts. “I hope not.”

“It’s something, though. Not that it shouldn’t be, but–”

Finally, she stands, her entire body cracking as she stretches. She’s been sitting on the floor so much he’s starting to worry about the long-term effects on her body. If they didn’t have the dog to force them to go on walks, he’s not sure how much fresh air she’d even get.

“This is a lot, even for you,” he says, and she flops onto the couch next to him.

“Yeah, I know. I think it’s probably residual–it’s an assignment, and I was a straight-A student. I want to do my best on it. And do extra credit.”

It makes sense, but it doesn’t feel quite sufficient. “Have you told your mom about it yet?”

Her discomfort is immediate and obvious as she shifts a little, frowning. Clarke and her mother are on better terms than they were when she and Bellamy first met, but it’s still hard. He remembers from his own childhood how long it can take to recover from a loss like that, how the fallout can sometimes feel even worse than the event, or at least different and awful in its own way. Clarke and her mother don’t want to be enemies, but Clarke likes her life, and he has to admit it doesn’t look great from the outside.

Even from the inside, it can sometimes be pretty grim.

“Not yet. I thought I’d just send it to her when I got author copies or whatever.”

“That won’t be for a while yet.”

“It’s not like we talk that much,” she points out. “I kept it a secret from you and we live together and talk all the time. It’s not going to be hard to not tell my mom. She asks what I’m working on and I say the usual. Which isn’t even a lie,” she adds, before he can try to protest. “Because this is definitely what I always do.”

“It is. I wasn’t going to say that. I just feel like I don’t get how you feel about this book.”

“And you want to understand every feeling I have?”

“No, fuck that. I just don’t like not knowing shit. And this one’s bugging me.”

“It’s not the only thing.” She nudges him with her elbow. “I’ve definitely noticed you acting weird too.”

“Yeah?”

“Not even going to deny it?”

“No. I’m having a weird crisis.”

“Define weird crisis. Do you want to buy a sports car?”

“Not really. But is it weird if I feel like we should be buying something? Or maybe just me, I don’t know.”

“I don’t have enough information to tell you how weird that is. What do you want to buy? Why do you want to buy it? Is this just capitalism?”

“No.” He rubs his face. “Fuck, I don’t know what I want. If I did, I would have bought it already.”

“Oh, wow, this is actually bugging you. I thought you were just being normal grumpy, but this is something different, huh?”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s the same as your thing, though. My thing might be the next step, after you finish your book.”

“So this is a grim vision of the future, huh?”

“Learn from me.”

“You need to tell me what I’m learning first.”

“Our lives are awesome and I’m happy, but when I think about–what we’re aiming for in five years, ten years, fuck, thirty years, I have no idea what we’ll be wanting.”

“And that’s bad,” she says, slow.

“It’s weird for me,” he admits. “I think it’s just taken me a while to notice that all of the stuff I used to be working for–I’ve got it now. Good job, steady income, retirement fund. Awesome wife, nice condo, stupid dog. I’m so fucking happy, but it feels like I have everything I want.”

“You definitely don’t,” says Clarke, immediately.

He snorts. “Wow, just like that, huh?”

“I mean, I know what you mean, but what we’ve got is–the big stuff, I guess. The flashy stuff. My dad used to call it the money can’t buy happiness stuff.”

“Your dad had a name for this?”

“I mean, not this. But the general idea. He said that when people said money can’t buy happiness, they’re taking for granted all the stuff they wouldn’t have if they didn’t have money. Food and shelter and all that. So I’m going to say you are officially at the point where you have all the happiness money can buy.”

“You say that, but I don’t own a private jet.”

She rolls her eyes, as he deserves. “You don’t want a private jet.”

“No, I don’t,” he grants. “So, you’re saying that life is awesome and it’s time for me to find a new place to get validation?”

“Or just find a new hobby. Maybe you could write a book. I don’t know, you can figure it out. But I’m pretty sure in the next thirty years, we’re going to find awesome stuff to do.”

“And you’re going to prove to your mom that your life is good?”

She sighs. “I get that my life doesn’t seem great to her, but her life doesn’t seem great to me either. It would be cool if this book was, like–the intersection of what I think is good and what she does. We can all agree that a book is an accomplishment.”

“It is.” He kisses her hair. “Your mom’s going to be proud of you, no matter what. I’m pretty sure she already is.”

“And you’re going to come up with something new to want to do.” She frowns. “It’s not kids, right? This wasn’t some weird, roundabout way of telling me you think we should have a baby or something, right?”

“Honestly, I’m pretty sure we should never reproduce, yeah. Unless you want that.”

She nudges her nose under his jaw. “I think we could just get a bigger place and more pets. If we’re looking for things to aspire to.”

As aspirations go, they feel pretty small, but like Clarke said, they really have all the big stuff. They’re healthy and happy and more well off than they deserve to be. They can’t afford a house now, but in a few years, if he gets promotions and Clarke’s book does well, it’s probably within the realm of possibility.

“So, I have to find a new dream, huh?” he asks.

“And I have to write an awesome book. As problems go, they’re pretty awesome ones.”

He kisses her hair, smiling. “Yeah, you’re right. I bet we can work through it.”

After all, they are, somehow, good. They’ve got this.

[hansolmates]

vernon; get lost in the rhythm of me

Summary: She had less than a month to finish a project she should’ve finished ages ago, and on a whim decides to interview the campus radio show. Little did she know she’d get locked into the Thursday Night Lockdown with a certain campus cutie. Wow I’m sorry I suck at summaries please send help.

Characters: fratboy!Vernon/Original Female + various

Genre: Fluffity fluff (and if you count student stress a lil wittle angst)

Word Count: 5896

01 | 02(?) | 03 (m)(?)

“There’s that dance team that covers songs, you can write about them?”

“I already checked with their e-board, they’re too busy for an interview.”

College Avenue was littered with students after the final 4:10 session, the kids excited for the week to be over as they walked around like busy ants. Despite the nippy weather, Greek Row was still going strong, so strong that we couldn’t get past the student center without hearing the cacophonous noise pollution coming from the different houses. I totally got it though, considering it was a hard week of exams for everyone. It was lucky enough for us to go to a big university where students could cry and party together. A little part of me itched to go grab a drink from one of their coolers, but I promised myself that I couldn’t have fun until I figured out my final project topic for Media Studies. The topic that I was supposed to have down over a month ago.

(Last Tuesday, 4:33:

“I’m doing a compilation on popular YouTube artists,” Joshua informed, taking a long sip of his iced Americano. .

“Ah. Should I get the small or medium?” I asked distractedly, my eyes calculating how much more content I would get in my smoothie if I got the bigger size.

“I’m almost done with my project, maybe you should start soon.” he continued, probably glaring holes into my back because I wasn’t paying the least bit attention to him.

“Do you think I should get extra bananas in my drink? How can you even tell if there’s extra bananas when it’s all mixed up?”

“And I’ve also discovered aliens are real.” Joshua drolled, unamused as he swirled the caramel in his drink. “Their mothership came to my dorm last night, and now I’m pregnant with the Queen’s future heir to the throne. So nice knowing you, I’m glad to have a friend who’s always willing to listen to me!”

Needless to say, I didn’t have my work cut out for me.)

Joshua stopped in his tracks, and by my demise I had to stop in front of him, my neck narrowly missing the sharp corner of his textbook that was sticking out of his backpack. “Did you see that?” he asked, practically pulling my arm from the socket so I’d be right in front of him.

Sigma Tau (notorious for having the prettiest pink house on Row) had a lawn practically spilling with loud students, with equally loud music drowning out their block.

On the makeshift plastic and metal stage, a guy with flowers was on one knee looking like the high heavens as his lips moved in some sort of proposal. The girl who was forcefully dragged up by her sisters looked absolutely mortified, cheeks ruddy, face sunken, and her pale limbs hugged around her t-shirt that was now way too skimpy for her comfort level. The guy was absolutely smug however, looking like he just won a trip to Mars as he practically dipped the rose petals in her palms. But everyone was watching, cooing and making eager, alcohol-laden cries of encouragement, and she had no choice to accept, her face tilted away as she reluctantly grabbed the bouquet.

“Seungcheol is so embarrassing,” Joshua muttered under his breath, pulling them away from the lawn and back onto the sidewalk, “She looks terrified up there.”

I frowned at the childish proposal, watching the couple (?) pull away from the stage and melt between the thick crowd. “I feel bad for her.” I frowned, forcing my gaze to the DJ. The rosy-haired student flipped a switch in his soundboard, and played another upbeat mix, effectively bringing the mood back to a million.

Joshua bobbed his head to the everlasting beat as they walked further away, in that cute non-party boy way that looked more like he was walking down Disney’s Main Street, U.S.A. with birds and sunshine rather than a Thirsty Thursday on campus. “Oh, I got it. What about the radio show?” he suddenly asked, his face glowing with excitement.

“Radio show? Like the campus one?”

“Yeah, there’s one for every day of the week. You can probably go tonight and see if you can snag an interview or something.”  Joshua dragged us to the pizza place by one of the main classroom buildings, the aroma of garlic buttered dough and tomato sauce notifying my empty stomach like lightning.

“The mac n’ cheese pizza looks good,” I murmured, my eyes glazing over the shiny window display.

“Are you paying attention? You should go before their show starts because we have to have our topics before class tonight and—oh shit that does look good. Let's get two slices. With garlic knots.” his large cat eyes widened at the specialty pizza, ready to pull out his wallet. “I can spot you this time.”

Nudging his shoulder with mine I giggled, “You're a lifesaver.”

I blame the food coma from that sinful pizza, because after napping in the dorms it nearly escaped my mind that I was supposed to go to the radio station after class. By napping, I mean sleeping. Missing the first campus bus, it took an extra fifteen minutes to get to the Communications Department. It looked like any other building on campus, faded brick walls which veiled a treasure cove of our student talent. The lights that led to the station upstairs were a dim deep yellow, bathing the atrium that led to a series of dark hallways.

“Excuse me,” I said, careful not to disturb the student in the lobby who was currently alphabetizing records behind their desk. “Are you, DJ Suga?”

Said boy took his sweet ass time to turn around, his glazed eyes giving me a look that wondered why on earth I was here so late. He wore a dark denim jacket with a poorly painted uterus on the back, with a very subtle wording of “fuck the patriarchy” in fine white script. “Yeah, I am.” he said, his pebbly voice wracking my form and waking up all the hairs on my arms. DJ Suga was the de facto head of the campus radio, and at best I hoped he could be a tad less irritable to my outreach. “What of it?”

“I was wondering if I could get an interview with one of your DJs? If there’s time.”

The ebony haired student tilted his head, as if he were momentarily stuck in dreamland, before pulling himself away from his desk. “Let’s see,” he hummed, more to himself as he walked down one of the dark hallways. He returned in a matter of seconds, his petite form looking absurdly high and mighty from his lazy smile, “Sorry, doll.” he murmured, jerking his head back in the hallway. “I got a kid who’s going to be on the air in a few minutes. But I think you’re better off listenin’ to their show before you get the interview, y’know? Feel their vibe.”

My eyes darted to the big digital clock that sat fat in the middle of his desk. 11:52. Wow, I slept longer than I thought. I suddenly felt a little silly, barging in so late with the faintest idea about how to go about this project. With a quick thanks, I hitched my bag above my shoulder, going across the radio floor and to one of the study lobbies. When I made sure I found a nice corner desk where no one would bother me I threw my laptop on and shoved my headphones over my ears, finding the university station. I hoped after coming all this way here in the middle of the night, I could at least try to “feel their vibe.”

Some techy music signaled the start of the show, and to my lack of anticipation the most velvety voice filled my ears, causing my chest to jerk involuntarily.

“What’s up, College Avenue. I’m Vernon and we’re back with The Thursday Night Lockdown.”

His voice was something out of the city and back, with purpose and history. It wasn’t raspy like DJ Suga’s, but it definitely had that low timbre that probably could melt people like butter if he used it right. Adjusting the volume on my laptop, I closed my eyes and let DJ Vernon have his evening.

“I hope you guys submitted those assignments. I’m tellin’ ya freshmen, that 11:59 deadline will close on your ass if you don’t press that red button.” a small smile played on my lips, and I subtly kicked my sneakers under the table, tucking my legs in a comfortable position. I’d imagine Vernon would be just as comfortable, feet on the desk, loose sweats, totally in his element. “I didn’t really have a set plan for tonight, considering it’s midterms and there was a lot of stuff to do this week. I know a lot of us are out drinking their livers out, but for the rest of us I was thinking we could all wind down together. Listen to some playlists, I’ll take some calls and talk about life.”

He talked a little bit about his first playlist, saying it was his favorite cool down mix after a hard day of classes. Everything he said rolled off his tongue like molten chocolate, and I belatedly realized that my fingers curled after every other syllable, his eagerness to spread his enjoyment seeping into my tensed muscles. When his voice faded to silence and soft acoustic music rose, I felt myself momentarily transcend in the surprisingly soothing setlist. I opened up a new tab and started working on some homework, feeling myself get in the zone as I let my mind bounce comfortably between assignments and The Thursday Night Lockdown. This was pretty cool, actually. I never made the time to listen to university shows, but this guy was a natural. Vernon made off-hand comments between songs, reading some comments from their forum page like a conversation with friends or ad-libbing on certain songs. It was a welcoming distraction on particularly rough parts of the work.

“Ah, but one thing that I really need to get off my chest today.” Vernon’s low chuckle rumbled in my ears, “I’m incredibly annoyed at what went down at Sigma Tau today. My boy Coups was brutally rejected for formal on stage this afternoon.”

Shooting up from my nylon seat, its wheels rolled farther from the desk causing my ears to tug painfully from the wire. Pulling myself back to the wooden desk, I furrowed my eyebrows as my focus blurred from my literature paper, concentrating on what Vernon had to say.

“I mean, he did so much for her, Got her flowers, played her favorite song right before he asked, and even got her sisters on it, But once she got off the stage she apparently got so angry, and walked out on him! Seriously?” he scoffed, the once enjoyable sound of his voice feeling like a grating chalkboard forced against my ears. “It was so rude of her, I hope she apologizes to him soon because no one deserves to be treated that way.”

White heat boiled my blood, my jaw pulled so low in shock that it ached. My fingers twitched with a sudden urge to rip at my textbook that I’ve left on the side for the last ten minutes, finally putting it to good use on my sanity.

“Feel free to drop some comments on the forum or shoot me a call, let me know your opinion.”

With pleasure. My fingers typed at lightspeed as I searched up the radio’s number, then with equal pace as I tapped on my cellphone with a bit of unnecessary force with each key. Pulling out one bud, I pressed my cell to my ear. The dial tone was Drake’s Fake Love, which made me even more irritated as I waited for him to pick up.

“And then I was craving—oh, we got our first phone call of the night!” A small, cruel smile nipped on the edge of my lips at Vernon’s innocence as he prepared to pick up. Ripping out the other earbud, I slammed my laptop shut, the lid echoing in the small cubicle. “Good evening, Caller 10.” Vernon sing-songed, “Welcome to The Lockdown. What’s up?”

“Hello, Vernon.” I replied with an equally cheery voice, drumming my nails against the lid of my computer. “I presume you were there when Seungcheol asked that girl to formal?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course I was there.” his voice perked up, probably eager to vent out his frustrations of this afternoon. I was equally armed.

“So I guess you’re blind, then?” I bite, my voice still laced with a sickly positivity.

I felt his breath hitch slightly, probably undetected from the rest of campus listening, but against my ear his surprise was blissfully palpable. “E-excuse me?” he said.

“Because if you had eyes, you would’ve seen how absolutely uncomfortable that poor girl looked on stage. She looked like she was about to cry.” I prayed that the girl from this afternoon wasn’t listening in, and if Seungcheol was supporting his friend like I’d imagine, I hoped he’d feel every ounce of my venom. “How dare you insinuate that girl was wrong. She doesn’t have to apologize, and in fact it’s your friend that should be apologizing.”

“Whoa whoa, hold up Ten.” I blistered at the fact he referred to me as a number, but let it slide considering it was my first time on his line and I was attacking him. “You don’t even know the whole story—”

“Oh, I don’t need to know the whole story to know that your friend is immature and delusional. And so are you, if you think some flowers and a grand confession is any consolation for a date. She had every right to say no.”

“You have no idea,” I felt his voice go dangerously low, like the way a predator would test the waters. Eliciting that sort of reaction from the originally happy Vernon, was satisfying. “How much Coups likes that girl. He would do anything—”

“Bullshit.” I spat, fingers curling around my phone. “If he really liked her, he wouldn’t have put her on the chopping block. He wouldn’t have let her stand on that damn stage, forced to say yes on the spot. She was doing your friend a favor,” I said slowly, my words careful and deliberate. “And made sure she wouldn’t embarrass him like he was embarrassing her.”

I knew Vernon was hanging on a thread, trying to be mighty and defend his friend. Despite my subconscious telling me to let this poor boy off the hook, it’s not my business and it’s his show, I couldn’t let him continue to talk as if he knew everything.

Vernon scoffed, and I could imagine him practically groveling in his studio, grappling for a comeback. “You really think he was trying to hurt her? Coups wouldn’t hurt a fly.” he said.

“Then if it’s not you or me, Seungcheol is the blind one. If you had asked me out on that stage, you better believe I wouldn’t have been as nice to you as she was.”

“Good thing that won’t happen, ever.” Vernon shot back. “I don’t think I’d want to date someone like you.”

Low. Blow. “Excuse me?” I hissed. Screw being quiet in the study room, I got up, smacking my palms against the desk as if Vernon was right in front of me. “You’d be so lucky to date someone like me—”

“Oh!” I heard some rustling, plastic, prickling against my ear. And then the call ended.

Ripping the phone away, I whipped open my laptop and turned on The Lockdown.

“The call dropped.” Vernon’s A-class acting reverberated through my speakers, his candied voice strained with concealed stress. “So, so sorry that happened, Ten.” he cooed. I was fuming, half-tempted to fling my laptop across the room if it wasn’t so expensive. “Anyway, I hope she comes to her senses. The exams must be getting to her, but on more important—”

I closed my laptop with another huff, throwing it in its case and shoving my books in my bag. Unbelievable. It was hard to get me riled, but my face was burning so hard with embarrassment and anger that my cheeks hurt. No way in hell was I letting this guy get to me. He was probably a complete idiot who didn’t deserve the satisfaction of making me angry, and was probably sweating in his studio for being such a coward and ending an argument that he was destined to lose. Throwing my jacket on, I left the study area as fast as I could. I needed food, a hot shower, and Vernon’s stupid voice to be erased from my memory.

I passed by the lobby, avoiding DJ Suga’s smirk as he lazed against his desk.

“Nice show, doll.” I heard him say to my retreating back. “You’re a natural.”

“So, I heard the radio show last night.” Joshua’s voice was like a meek puppy, molasses slow as he weighed my expressions.

“Can we not?” I sighed tiredly, taking a sharp stab into my bubble tea. My straw pierced through the tight plastic with a satisfying ‘pop’ and I gave a hard sip of my thai.

The small bubble tea shop felt even more suffocating than usual, the arylide yellow walls closing in on me through Joshua’s motherly gaze. There was nowhere to go when you’re trapped under his chocolate eyes. People who have never done a wrong thing in their life would plead guilty if Joshua was chastising them.

“Minghao’s in Sigma. He said that Vernon was practically fuming when he got back.” he informed, both of his hands clutching in his mango yogurt tea. “Apparently he doesn’t get angry often.”

“Well, I’m glad I was able to tap into his newfound emotions.” I replied tartly, looking away to focus on the black framed window. The sky was a dull blue-grey, signaling the end of another day. Clouds blanketed the campus, fat and eager for a reprieve. “Josh, can you please stop looking at me like that? I did nothing wrong. I only spoke my mind, or is that against your moral code?”

“It’s not.” Joshua huffed. “But you messed up your final project by picking a fight with him. You don’t have much time.”

“It’s fine. I’ll ask Suga for help. He found my little stunt entertaining.”

“His show is about underground rap. What on earth do you know about underground rap?”

“Okay, what about Woozi?”

“Not after what happened last night. Vernon and Jihoon are friends, no way is he going to help you.”

“Alright, Grapevine.” I looked up at him through my lashes. “I was impulsive. What do you want me to do, apologize for telling the truth?”

“Stop attacking me. I'm just saying for the sake of your grade, you should try making peace with him.” Joshua took an obnoxious sip of his tea, emptying his plastic cup with a loud slurp. “You already declared radio as your topic, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I glowered, shifting in my uncomfortable metal stool. “I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

Seemingly satisfied, Joshua threw away his finished drink and put on his backpack. A little part of me envied how put-together my friend always was, the perfect poster student in a baby blue button down and Dockers oxfords. He gave me a pleased smile and waved to the owner, pulling out his portable umbrella. “I gotta go to glee club, but think about what I said alright?” he patted my head, mussing up my hair. Before I could growl in his face he was already out the door, waving cheerfully.

Once he was out of sight, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Feeling a whole lot more heavier and weighed with the whole world against me, I slumped in my chair and leaned over my laptop. Ordering another round of tea, I vegetated in that little hole-in-the-wall shop all evening. Mulling over my unfinished radio project, the layers and upon layers of other subjects I had to handle, and to my bitter acknowledgement, The Lockdown. Had I made a mistake, lashing on a fellow student when I really did have no clue what was going on? I only said what I saw, and while I wasn't going to take it back a little part of me felt guilty for putting that guy on the spot.

It was already past ten when I finally decided to go home. Popping my joints in all the right places I packed up my things, bumping into other customers who were trying to get something to drink before the shop closed. Bubbling myself to repel the happy students lazing around the sweet smelling shop, I walked outside where the rain was at its peak.

Thunder popped across the sky, and I flinched, clutching the straps of my bag tighter around my shoulders. I didn’t have an umbrella and my windbreaker definitely wasn’t large enough to protect myself and my laptop. Water droplets bounced like millions of tiny scintillating diamonds across the sidewalk, and I had to take half a step under the canopy to stay dry.

“The rain isn’t going to stop anytime soon, but a little water never hurt anybody.”

That voice. The pops in the sky, the lightning streaking across the midnight blue sky suddenly made a race into my chest, electrifying me and rooting me to the spot. An umbrella was suddenly draped over my head, the inner lining decorated with pearl white clouds and a clear azure sky. I looked up to the speaker of that insultingly attractive voice, and it belonged to DJ Vernon of The Thursday Night Lockdown.

There were a number of things that confused me on a daily basis. The people who order iced water at Starbucks, or why the detergent pods couldn’t be used in the laundry rooms because they were so damn convenient. But today it was Vernon, I couldn’t fathom why I couldn’t look at him and get mad like I did last night. It was like he was a completely different person, the way he smiled like he was the sunshine steering away tonight’s rainfall.

He was cute. Really cute. I felt trapped under his aura, which felt tons warmer than the cold rainy night. Eyes like caramel coffee, both energizing and sweet. A smile so disarming I was struck as much as the lightning to a tree, a little part of me felt like he was being betrayed because I didn’t deserve such niceties.

“Uh, are you okay?” his smile quirked in confusion, and I realized he probably felt really uncomfortable that I was staring up at him like he was some beacon in a fog. He tilted his head, the dark bangs shifting slightly in his neon orange beanie. One hand held the handle of the umbrella, the other with a large strawberry yogurt boba. If I moved a centimeter closer I would surely be bumping into his arm. As fate would play dirty tricks in life, it was inevitable that I would end up meeting him the night after I called him out.

Feeling like cotton was being shoved in my throat, I said quietly, “Hey, Vernon.”

And I couldn’t comprehend the sinking feeling in my stomach when his face fell slightly at my words, recognizing my voice just as quickly as I had. “Oh, Ten.” he said with a sort of glazed wonder, his umbrella dipping slightly to let the water dribble off the edge. “You look, a lot less scarier than I imagined you to be.”

“Scarier?” I gaped, wondering exactly how angry I made this guy.

“Yeah. When you’re not talking, of course.” his voice was devoid of any distinguishable emotion, blending with his barely there smile and off-putting gaze. “You look, kind of sweet actually. But unfortunately for you, looks are deceiving.” he deadpanned simply.

And he dropped me like a bowling ball, pulling away from me and walking into the rain.

My eyes followed his quickly retreating trail, looking about as dry as a sheet of paper as he walked into the street. I swallowed back a sigh, half-expecting Vernon to walk away upon discovering I was Caller 10. He had every right to leave me stranded, but it felt even crappier watching him walk off in the rain. I looked up into the suffocating sky, the dark clouds giving me no hope of getting back to the dorms without being drenched. Maybe if I stared hard enough, the rain would stop. Maybe I could do a raindance, at this point dignity was non-existent.

The tic-tic of rain suddenly turned into harsh splashes, and I looked straight to find Vernon retreating his footsteps and making his way back to me. If he noticed his Timberlands drowning by the neck in grimy water, he made no notice. He looked like he was talking to himself, his cheeks glowing pink in the midst of the grey city as he quickly pushed himself back to the front of the store. My heart rate seemed to multiply in double time the closer he got, and I fought the urge to go back inside the warm shop and avoid him altogether.

“Okay, shit. I’m not that much of a dick.” he looked guilty, biting his bubble gum toned lips. There it was again with the eyes, I thought in frustration as he stared in the remnants of my soul. They reminded me a little of Joshua’s, they way he’d stare and be completely willing to share the world. Vernon placed the umbrella over both of our heads. “I’m not gonna let you walk in the rain alone. Are you heading to the bus stop?”

“Yeah.” I said quietly, still surprised he actually came back for me. What exactly was this guy?

“Cool. C’mon then.”

I followed his footsteps, doing my best to match his long legs which were covered by a light pair of cuffed jeans. I don’t even know what I was thinking, walking with the guy I practically trashed on the night before. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing either, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he walked to the stoplight. It seemed more like his morality was forcing him to be generous to me, and it was only more aching on my conscious knowing he was being nice to someone who probably didn’t deserve it.

“Wow,” I murmured against the thick rain, soft enough for only the two of us to hear. “You’re really nice.”

A small grin tugged on Vernon’s lips as we rounded the corner. He refused to look at me, his gaze dead straight on our destination. “Why, did you think I was some evil radio host?”

“No.” I snorted, “Believe it or not I actually thought you were pretty nice back then, too. Anyone who’d stand to defend their friend no matter how bad they messed up, is a pretty good guy in my books.”

He didn’t reply after that, and I didn’t mind. He probably thought I was tricking him or something. We stood in front of the bus stop next to the other late-stragglers, waiting for the next bus to take us back.

I tried not to notice the wary look he gave me, not because I looked threatening, but because I was pretty far from him. As big as his umbrella was, I kept edging away from the center to give him his personal space. My left shoulder was exposed, water spilling on the wicker fabric of my windbreaker. I did my best to ignore the subtle way Vernon would try to cover it.

“Your show is nice.” I continued to fill the lack of conversation, might as well while we waited it out. “It was my first time listening to it. I thought it was great, I like your music taste and you really sound like you’re enjoying it. I was actually supposed to write about your show for a project. Still am, actually.” I added with a little bit of remorse, willing for the bus to come faster. “It’s too late to change my topic, but I’ll figure my way around.” The familiar red and white bus turned into the stop, and I shied away from Vernon’s space, finally looking at him with as much sincerity as I could muster. “Thanks for waiting.”

And as I climbed on the bus, Vernon finally spoke.

“Turns out the girl broke into tears after. Coups really fucked up.”

My head snapped to him in surprise, Vernon still rooted on the spot. While I didn’t want to be right, knowing I was made the situation feel a lot more real. Our fight wasn't in vain. I didn't understand why Vernon felt the need to tell me that, so I bit my lip and replied, “I'm sorry to hear that happened.”

“You were right about Seungcheol. I talked to him today.” he looked up through his lashes with nothing but pure guilt, “While I’m still angry for you talking trash about my friend, I’m sorry I was quick to judge.”

Before I could even let his words sink in, the glass doors barriered us, and the buss whirred back to life. I gripped on the handle of the railing, watching Vernon wait for his bus as mine drove away. Vernon certainly was a character, I couldn’t even tell if he liked me or hated me. But he said sorry, and it wasn’t even his fault, and that only fueled the aching guilt inside me that would haunt me for the following week.

The next Thursday felt more like a Monday, the most painful Monday-Thursday in my entire college career. There was just so much work. I felt like I was drowning in it. Drowning in sleepless nights, drowning in coffee and all the various types of teas in the hope to keep myself conscious for even five seconds. I couldn’t retain any information my professors were giving me. My projects were crap, my life was a mess, and I could hardly breathe.

So that’s how I ended up in my dormitory’s laundry room at 3 A.M., curled up against the washing machine. My laptop was strewn across my slippers, my headphones connected to them and wound over my ears.

I’m sure it was normal for students to have their obligatory breakdown midway through the semester. When everything feels like it’s crashing down on you and you have no idea how to get up. I pressed my back further into the rumbling washing machine, the cool metal burning through my thin pajamas. I turned my music up up up, all the way to max volume until I couldn’t hear myself tear.

Crying’s a good thing, I tell myself.

It’d be even worse to let myself bottle up and explode in the worst possible way. I wasn’t even entirely sure as to what I was crying about, all I knew was that I was sad and I needed to let it out. Was it the piles of work? The fact that I missed home? My subpar projects? My shoulders shook like a chilled autumn leaf, brittle and vulnerable, my throat constricting and my face puffy and wet with stress.

I wasn’t exactly sure how long I was crying for, but I remember hearing the music breaking to a MultiVitamin commercial, forcing me to change the station on my computer.

“We’re at the last hour of The Lockdown.” Vernon’s voice purred in my ears, willing me to lift my shoulders up a centimeter.  

I exhaled tiredly, wiping away the tears that still wouldn’t cease their race down my face. My fixation to his radio show since that time in the rain definitely wasn't healthy, it was one of the main things distracting me from my studies. Although I would like to convince myself it was because of my Media Studies project, and not a certain beanie-wearing DJ.

“I'm not exactly sure how many of you are up with me, but if you are—that's lit!” I suppressed the small smile at his infectious enthusiasm.  “Because now you get to listen to a little something I whipped up with Sigma last month. It still needs a little bit of work, but you’ll like it either way.”

Vernon wrote music?

“This is for everyone who's going through a hard time right now. That you'll always have someone to lean on.

If I am in your heart If I am really in your heart Wherever you are I will follow you Even if we’re so busy That we can’t see each other often If we get drunk on each other and fall asleep In the dreams, don’t hesitate Lean on me.”

When he started rapping, I realized there was way more to radio than I thought. Way more on the inside to the puzzle that was Vernon. At the time, the one thing that I was absolutely sure of was that I seriously underestimated him. There was so much passion in his words, the messages he wanted to share, his declaration was nothing more than genuine. It only caused my emotional self to get even worse, tears bubbling down my face like water boiling over.

As soon as he finished his song I pulled out my phone, and tugged off the plug of the speaker. Vernon’s bashful self started explaining the origins of his song, the speakers echoing throughout the cramped laundry room. Pressing my cell to my ear, I waited to the all-too familiar dial tone of “Hotline Bling.”

“Oh. We have a caller! I didn’t think anyone would be awake.” he chuckled awkwardly, and I wondered what he thought about his rapping if he only decided to sing when virtually no one would be listening. “Welcome to The Lockdown… Ten?”

Surprise, surprise. “Hey, Vernon.” I sniffed, trying my hardest not to whimper according to  my weary throat.

“Are you, are you crying?” there was disbelief laced in his voice, honest surprise. He spoke as if this wasn't public radio, like a one-on-one phone call between two friends. “Was it that bad?”

“What? No?” I hiccupped, rubbing my raw nose between the paw of my sweater. “You’re amazing. I loved it so much. You’re so talented.” the words rushed out in impatient whispers, as if the laundry room had ears and would eat up my words if I didn’t speak fast enough. “I had no idea you could write songs.”

“Thank you.” he murmured, his words lingering in the air with no intention of ending the conversation.

“And I’m sorry. Sorry for talking shit on-air, sorry for thinking so badly for you, sorry for everything and anything. And if it’s okay and if you think I’m not so much of a scary person as you imagined,” his warm chuckles reverberated through the airwaves, and I stuffed my face in my sweater in embarrassment, “I know you said you’d never want to go out with me, but do you think you could take those words back for one afternoon? So I can apologize in person.”

I could practically hear his smile from the other line. “It’s a date, Ten.”

[obsidianarchives]

Black Woman Creator: Monique Steele

Originally from the island nation of Jamaica, Monique Steele is an illustrator, designer, and card carrying member of the Beyhive. Graduating with a BFA in illustration from Ringling College of Art and Design in Sarasota, Florida, she left for NYC to pursue designing full time. In her off hours, however she spends her time making art that represents all the things she’s a fan of from Harry Potter to historical fashion to killer queens throughout history and yes, Beyoncé. When she’s not drawing, you can find her incessantly spouting the virtues of non-prestige television, debating the best superpower to have (it’s teleportation by the way) or yet again shouting into the void about the one time she met Sebastian Stan on the streets of New York City (a fact she has yet to get over).  

Black Girls Create: What do you create?

I create illustrations, mostly of women in historical costumes and occasionally fanart of things i enjoy, mostly fan-art of Beyoncé (so much Beyoncé). On the rare occasion I do a full illustration, I try to create a scene that tells a story. I want people who see my work to be able to come up with several ways the scene before them could play out.

BGC: Why do you create?

I create because I don’t think I know how to exist without making things. I draw to show appreciation for the things I enjoy and the things I wish I saw in day to day life. For me, it is a natural extension of who I am and how I relate to the world around me. Art and illustration are just subsections of storytelling and, growing up, I was a lover of stories. Drawing gave me a way to insert my own thoughts and feelings into worlds and landscapes and tales that didn’t exist outside of books and television. It allowed me to tell stories.

Creating also became a safe haven for navigating two very different cultures when I first immigrated to the United States. Having the ability to come up with my own space and rules through illustration was a source of quiet amidst the confusion. At the time, creating meant not having to choose a cultural identity where I could be wholly myself and express who I was, how I thought and what I enjoyed independent of which part of the cultural spectrum that placed me. While that particular battle no longer continues when I make art, I still find that its through the act of creating that I feel completely myself. When I create I’m not beholden to anyone else’s parameters but my own. In essence I create because it allows me to be the master of my own narrative.

BGC: Who is your audience?

Truthfully, that’s a question I’m not exactly sure how to answer. I think as an artist I’m just finding my voice and maybe because of that I haven’t really figured out who I’m making art for. I would like to believe that I make art for the people of color who just want to see themselves in ways that they’ve never even thought plausible. I want to make art for the people who’ve never been the star of the show and make art that centers them as the main characters. Mostly I think I make art for people who want to see flights of fancy, and bright colors and magic, but in ways that involve them and doesn’t relegate them to the side lines. I think my audience would be the people who, similarly to me, are just finding their voices and making spaces for themselves in the world.

BGC: Who or what inspired you to do what you do? Who or what continues to inspire you?

At one point in time the thing that inspired me the most was probably all the stories I grew up reading and the movies I watched growing up. I drew a lot of things that were based on trying to recapture the thrill of adventure that I would get from these stories and narratives. As I got a little bit more mature and settled in my work I still look to pop culture as a basis for what themes I want in a piece of work, but now I shift the lens a bit to refocus on my place and the place of people like me in pop culture. Realizing I’ve never seen many people like me in the stories I love to read about or watch helped drive me to make a lot of my later pieces.

I’m also very interested in history and research and highlighting time periods in which people of color existed but are often erased in the pop culture retelling of that time. It’s very often that a period piece will emerge and frame places like London as mono-ethnic societies. The references for Victorian and Elizabethan people of color that existed gets washed away from history and my desire to see those other versions of history does impact a lot of the stuff I try to make now.

Another big inspiration for me is definitely seeing the creativity from my contemporaries and other artists and creatives. I make quite a bit of fanart in my spare time, mostly when I see or hear something that strikes me in the moment. I might see a celebrity wearing an amazing outfit and that inspires me to try to recreate the look in a drawing or watch a musical performance that is so mind-blowing I’m immediately inspired to make something that captures some of that feeling. In a way, I feel as though I’m a creativity sponge. Seeing and experiencing spectacular moments of creativity inspire me more than anything else. Seeing something beautiful makes me want to create something beautiful as well.

BGC: Why is it important as a Black person to create?

It’s important because in many ways being a Black creative opens the door to so many others to feel like they can as well. I remember going to art school and not seeing people who looked like me, which in turn made me feel as though I didn’t belong in that space, a feeling that shakes your confidence in numerous imperceptible ways. Being able to feel as if you are a part of something and a valuable contributor to that community is such an undervalued experience. Feeling seen and valued starts with being able to identify that the people who came before you were also members of the creative community who did work that is appreciated amongst the work of their peers. Not seeing people you identify with in a space is a bar to entry that perpetuates until it becomes seen as truth. With every Black creative out there we nudge the door a little bit wider, bit by bit, until it’s an open doorway for anyone interested to be a part of the industry without feeling intimidated by their own otherness. Without us there to tell our own stories, we have to rely on others to tell those tales for us. Which leads to claims like “Black people don’t have their own stories unless they involve pain and tragedy,” a common refrain often quoted on the internet. Without Black creatives there to tell our stories in an honest, truthful, and non-judgmental way that belief spreads until it's considered to be fact.

BGC: How do you balance creating with the rest of your life?  

The creation vs. everyday life balance is such a tricky thing, because, professionally I work full time as a Graphic Designer. In a way I never really stop creating. When your hobby becomes your job, you’re always working, which is why I think it’s important to put the creating parts away for bit and take a break, mostly so I don’t “burn out” or go insane. I try, after I finish a piece, to set aside time and not dive right into the next thing. I also give myself a time table when I work because I do often come home on weekdays from my job designing one thing, to work on a completely different personal artistic endeavor. For instance when I come home in the evenings I won’t start working on my own projects until maybe 8:00 pm and when it hits midnight I try to wrap things up. When it’s a personal project, I know I have more time because the only one setting my deadlines is myself. Freelance gigs are a little trickier because, naturally, the assignment comes with its own deadlines. Regardless of whether it’s freelance or personal in nature, I do try to schedule myself and parse out time so I work in a way that doesn’t completely leave me running ragged. I also try to give myself moments to partake in other hobbies. Sometimes it’s as simple as taking a break to go see a movie or play a video game or hanging with friends, but I find those moments just as valuable as the actual act of creating. It’s in those moments that I refuel for the next thing or find something that sparks a new interest that sets me down the path to begin creating anew.

BGC: Any advice for young creators/ones just starting?

The greatest advice I can give is to create the things that you love. It's the love for creating things that keeps you driven to continue and the more you create the better you’ll be. Also, don’t be scared of putting out things that are less than perfect. A lot of times, especially when you’re just starting out, the worry of having to be absolute perfection to compete with other people in your field keeps a lot of us from making the things that truly embody our craft and our voices. Often times in trying to seek out perfection we begin to imitate work that we already deem to be impeccable and lose the essence of who we are as artists. In an attempt to display faultless work, we hold ourselves back from enjoying what we’ve made as well, which, I feel, is one of the greatest parts about making something. The process of creating is often times so messy and slapdash and it's through the throwing of all that craziness together that you find the thing that works for you. Take a risk on the imperfect and just be bold and proud of the things you make.

BGC: What are you current/future projects?  

Currently I’m working on more full illustrations centered around the theme of Black people in fantasy. It’s an idea born from the fact that I hear people say quite often that people of color in high fantasy “isn’t historically accurate.” I’ve had the idea to do something centered around that theme for a while now but I think I’ve finally found a good way to best represent how I envisioned the pieces to work, and how they would fit together. Other than that I have a million and one things I want to draw fanart for but you can bet if Beyoncé has another random performance between now and when I start my pieces, I’ll be drawing fanart of that first and foremost!