#or saying 'oh we should write this all down somewhere' then not contributing at all aside from maybe three

[alren-ki]

The shitty thing about feeling as if you've been ignored is the Paradox you trap yourself in if you even THINK of mentioning it, on the one hand, if you directly say it to the faces of the people who have just been busy and haven't been ignoring you at all will think your clingy and desperate and might want to pull away from you because you've made them uncomfortable, on the other hand, if you do it in an untargeted soft way of "Hey I've felt a little left behind" in the general chat that could very well get ignored to, leaving you to just feel worse. It's a catch 22 of minty fucking eels

[supercutszns]

luke castellan comforting his gf?

btw i love ur work 💗💗

wc + pairing: 0.9k, luke castellan x reader

oh i really needed this,,, if i stop writing comfort fics i’m dead i will literally write a thousand of them over and over they could be exact replicas and i would not care. sorry this took such a long time i've been in a big writing slump and i really don't like this but we have to start somewhere <3 every time someone requests a comfort fic i get very happy inside! i know this isn’t my best work like at all but hopefully it’s enough for now

Luke’s good at finding hidden things. A playing card wedged between wooden panels. A camper that always trudges at the back of the line. He can find something at its most sheltered and pluck it right back where it belongs. He’s good at that with you, too. When you wedge yourself somewhere tough, he slips through the cracks every damn time. 

You’re exhausted. You don’t know what time it is, how long you’ve been here, or how you can stop it. You just couldn’t get up this morning and your siblings let you stay sick. You imagine an alternate version of this day over and over, where you’re up and alive and contributing to something. But that’s not today. But it should be. You dream it until tears press against your eyes but you’ve got no energy to push them out. 

Feeling like this isn’t a constant occurrence, but it happens. Luke finds his way in each time, wedging open the slightest crack in your door or coming in through the window. He comes bearing gifts, he jokes. You don’t ask him where he gets the things he brings you—snacks, chocolate, plastic figurines to place on your windowsill. Menial things you like. Luke has his methods, and you know he loves you too much to reveal them. 

“Got some offerings for a goddess here,” he says when he sits down on your bed, knuckles brushing your arm. If you’re too tired to answer he never minds, he just crosses his legs and pulls your head into his lap. He smooths the hair away from your face to massage your scalp, and lets you rest. He doesn’t ask you for anything. Doesn’t force you to speak. You do when you’re ready. 

“I don’t feel good,” you admit hoarsely, blinking back tears. 

“That’s okay.” He leans down to kiss your forehead. “You just rest.”

It almost makes you laugh. “I’ve been in bed all day, Luke.”

“Mm, yeah, but you’re not really resting,” he says without judgement, letting you cling to his body as you pull yourself up to a seated position. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

You press your face into his neck so the warmth can distract you. Sometimes you say a lot, sometimes you say a little, like your mouth has separated from your body. It almost always ends with, “I feel like shit. I don’t know what to do.”

Luke is patient with you, but never overbearing. He knows you shut down when things are laid on too thick. “Want to take a nap?” He offers, threading his hands through your hair. “I can take you to my cabin, it’s cooler.”

He’s right, so you let him, and he steals you away without a fuss. The sheets smell like him, so even if you want to be alone, he still grounds you. When you fall into his bed you curl into a ball like an armadillo, like you can squeeze the rot out of your bones if you compress hard enough. Luke slots himself beside you after confirming it’s what you want, pressing kisses into your shoulder, until you turn into him and starfish over his body. “You let me know if you need anything, angel,” he murmurs, swiping your hair away from your face. “I’ve got you.” 

You manage to doze off, with his arms loose around your back and his chest underneath you. When you wake up later with a kiss of late afternoon breeze, you’re struck with the disorienting feeling of a good sleep. “Luke,” you mutter, digging your nose into his neck. 

He rouses too. “How’re you feeling?”

“Still bad.”

“Mm.” He kisses your forehead, squeezes you against him. “That’s okay. Want me to go grab you some food?” 

“Can we talk a little before?” 

“‘Course,” he says gently. He ghosts a kiss over your jaw. 

Sleep has pieced together some of the words you need, and Luke brings them out of you with hardly any effort. You have what’s probably a fragmented reason at best, but he doesn’t care. He keeps you anchored to him as long as you want him to, rubbing your back and letting you take your time. Once you’re done with the conversation, Luke diligently wipes your tears and kisses you. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” he grins. “I mean, I do love you. Nothing else I’d rather do.”

You let your forehead rest against his. Your throat feels thick but you get the words out, “I’m worried I’m going to feel this way forever.”

It doesn’t feel good to admit. Luke’s face softens, and he presses a kiss between your brows. “You won’t,” he murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “You’ve got time.”

The length of the day moving around you matters a little less when Luke shields you from it. His knuckles rub across the ridges in your back until you’re sure the texture of his shirt is imprinted on your face. 

After he goes off to bring you some food, you find the strength to go wash your face in the bathroom. It’s practically nothing. Practically. At least you settle back into his bed, the blankets aren’t as heavy as before. You don’t feel better yet, but Luke’s got plenty of time for you. (He’ll pawn his kids off to Chris. None of them need this grilled cheese anyway.)

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant @huang-the-geek @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jennapancake @idunnowhattonamethis @jarofshells @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @lauraisthebestyapper @nininehaaa

[unmotivated-student]

"No, no, no, it has to be a fucking joke" He muttered, clenching his fists trying to contain his anger.

Something had to be wrong, it was impossible, he just refused to believe the green team was dead.

They have strong members like Etoiles, Fit or Forever, they also have Bagi, his sister who, although not very strong physically, is mentally strong and...

They also have Roier...

Oh Roier, his husband who is strong mentally and physically and is always willing to show a smile even if he is not well, one of the few people he cared about on that island, probably the only person he trusted 100%...

He couldn't be dead, he couldn't, he couldn't, Cellbit loved him and needed him, Roier couldn't leave like this forever.

That thing was lying to them, right?....

Right?...

"Aren't you happy? Your team won, YOU won "

The voice of that fucking entity echoed in his head again interrupting his thoughts.

"It's not true right? You just want to see us suffer" He wanted answers but in response he received nothing but silence.

"Answer me!" Cellbit shouted, but he didn't get any response this time either.

He turned his gaze to Jaiden and Foolish looking for some kind of support or encouragement but both of them were looking at him with a combination of pity and sadness.

"I know this is harsh, but it seems like it's telling the truth" Foolish said resting one of his hands on Cellbit's shoulder.

"Maybe we have to accept it" Jaiden also tried to calm him down.

Cellbit wanted to yell at them both, telling them how wrong they were, that they didn't understand anything because they don't love Roier as much as he does, that they were idiots if they thought he could be dead, but... Cellbit knew it wouldn't be fair.

How could he say something like that to Foolish? Roier's father. Despite their various "fights" Cellbit knew how much they both love and care about each other.

And Jaiden, she was Roier's partner, they lived together for a long time, they raised Bobby together... Cellbit knows very well that those two had a special relationship, which was born thanks to Bobby.

He would truly be a heartless being if he let out his anger and frustration in any of them.

"You never told us anything about this!" Cellbit shouted to the entity"Why did you do this?!"

"Me? I didn't do anything, you are the ones who are fighting to win here, aren't you?"

"But I wanted to win to save my son!, I didn't want to..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"In my opinion it is quite obvious that in a competition the weak lose and this time you were the strongest, congratulations, enjoy your sweet victory"

Had he contributed to the loss of the only family he had left? just by blindly following the instructions of something they didn't even know if they should trust?

He, who had told him "take care" before being sent to that place, was now part of the reason why Roier was no longer there.

If only he had thought things through better, if only he had not gotten carried away by everything that had happened on that island, if only...

That wasn't a "sweet victory" at all, it was bitter.

Whether Roier is alive or not, the entity won, Cellbit is suffering without knowing the whereabouts of his husband, perhaps he is dead, perhaps he is somewhere else suffering worse things. If it is the second option, he only had to trust more than ever in his husband's strength.

A little thing that occurred to me when I read about the elimination.

I don't think anyone dies and maybe it just means that the team "dies" as a concept but I wanted to explore the implications of the loss of a team or at least the implications of the ones left believing it died.

And that's it.

I guess we'll find out soon what happens to the losing team but for now I just wanted to practice my writing 🫡

[bunnimew]

Plan Your Naps

Rating: G Fandom: Rise of the Guardians Characters: Jack Frost, Bunnymund, Toothiana, North, Sandy Tags: Humor, Characters Play Dungeons & Dragons, Author does not play Dungeons & Dragons Summary: For @rotgsecretsanta 2022 Prompt 55

It's hard enough DMing a game when one of the players keeps losing their dice and making everyone wait, but it's even worse when...

On AO3 here.

“Okay,” Jack said. “Roll for damage.”

They sat in relative silence while they listened to Aster picking up his dice and rolling them on the table. There was the telltale rattle of a pair of D10s skittering across wood finish, then a dip in sound as one of them stopped suddenly, and finally the impressive cursing of an Australian man growing more and more distant. 

Tooth’s voice, caught halfway between worry and amusement, came over their combined speakers. “Are you okay over there?”

“Yeah,” Aster called from… somewhere. It wasn’t like any of them could tell when they were only doing audio for this Dungeons and Dragons session. “One of ‘em just rolled under my chair. I’ll find it.”

“Probably,” Jack joked, sarcasm heavy in his tone. He folded his arms on the table, over the map in front of him. His laptop sat pretty far away, making room for the notebook that kept track of their campaign and his dice tray next to it. “You know this is the kind of thing a dice tray is for, right?”

“I’ll put it on my Christmas list,” Aster grumbled, barely audible. He might not have meant for them to hear that at all. Oops.

“It’s okay,” North soothed. His tone was kind, at odds with what he said next. “I am sure we didn’t need his help, anyway.”

They shared a laugh while Aster continued to look, then laughed harder when they heard a dull thump from his mic and a new round of cursing. 

Jack shook his head even though none of them could see. “You guys need all hands on deck. I mean, maybe you’ll get lucky, I’ve seen crazier stuff out of you, but this giant isn’t low level, so…” 

Jack had taken care to make it a hard, but not impossible, enemy to beat. He’d even considered Aster’s usual luck with dice in calculating the giant’s health. They would need his help. 

…If he ever found his other D10 again. 

The rattle of a re-rolled die came over the speakers, and then Aster’s voice, clear and close. “Eight and six.”

“Awesome,” Jack said, writing fourteen down in his notes and subtracting from the giant’s hit points. “Glad to see you actually contributing.”

North and Tooth’s raucous laughter nearly covered Aster’s indignant reply. “How is it my fault if the dice hate me?”

North quieted his laughter just long enough to say, “Maybe if you didn’t throw them on floor so much?”

“You know what?” Tooth said, barely keeping her laughter in check. “If it would make you roll higher, I will buy you a dice tray.”

Even Jack had to laugh. “You might have to get him a new set, too,” he added. “This one probably has too many bad memories of carpet and rabbit fur.”

“I’ll have you know,” Aster said pointedly, “I keep my floors incredibly clean. And my babies don’t shed that much.”

“Of course, of course,” North agreed consolingly. Then he snickered again, which ruined the whole effect.

“Okay, okay,” Tooth interrupted. “Let’s get a move on. We don’t have all day. Who’s next?”

Jack consulted his notes before answering. “Alright Sandy, your turn.”

Sandy never talked much, and his proficiency with sign language was their primary argument for why these sessions should be video. Sandy had insisted that audio was sufficient though, and that he could just type his responses if the words were too much for him. 

Dead silence from his mic was a little unusual, though. 

“Sandy?” Jack tried again.

“Sandy?” Tooth repeated, concern in her voice. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” North said comfortingly. “Right, Sandy?” But there was still no answer. “Maybe just AFK,” he continued after a beat.

And then they heard the tiny snore. 

“Oh em gee,” Jack said, just before Aster cried out.

“He’s sleeping!”

“Are you serious?” Tooth asked, disbelief all over her voice.

“He takes nap,” North said, tone flat, “while we die by giant.”

Jack snorted a laugh and had to cover his mouth to prevent the harsh sound from getting to his mic. “Maybe we can wake him up?”

“Sandy!” Tooth cried as if she really needed to throw her voice over the speakers. “Wake up!”

“Sandy, don’t leave us like this!” Aster yelled through his mic.

“Sandy!” North shouted desperately, like this was a real emergency.

There continued to be no reply. The silence stretched. They heard another little snore. 

“Does anybody, like…” Jack asked awkwardly, “live near him? And can go, I don’t know, poke him or something?”

"I could, but I would have to put on pants, and I'm not going to do that." Tooth said. "I would rather lose this campaign."

Aster snorted. “Did not know you felt that strongly about pants.”

“No, I’m with her,” Jack said quickly. “Down with pants.”

“So what do we do?” North asked.

“Um,” Jack answered uncertainly. He hesitated long enough to hear another soft snore come over the speakers. “I guess we pause here until next week?”

“I guess we have to,” Tooth replied.

Aster’s grumbling floated through the speakers, again soft enough that he probably didn’t mean for them to hear. “And you say I don’t contribute.”

North laughed again. “Sandy would roll higher than you in his sleep, my friend.”

“What?” Aster yelled. They all heard his hands hit the table. 

“And that is my cue to head out,” Jack said hurriedly. “Talk to you later. Bye!”

He waited just long enough to hear a chorus of goodbyes from North and Tooth, and one accusatory, “Coward!” from Aster, then Jack hit the disconnect button and sat back in his chair.

With a shake of his head and one last disbelieving laugh, Jack said to himself, or rather to a Sandy that couldn’t hear him: 

“You have got to plan your naps better, Sanderson.”

[lavendersbucky]

•°. *࿐beanbag talks

notes: this is my first post back after taking a long long break from writing and tumblr in general. starting out with something soft :) please reblog if you enjoy! i do not allow my work to be reposted anywhere.

pairing: roommate!bucky x oblivious!reader

summary: your dating life is a mess. but you have bucky.

word count: 867

warnings: no warnings here!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Come on,” he smiles, patting the soft and bouncy fabric of the worn out beanbag chair beside his.

Dragging your socked feet across the room and plopping onto the seat, you let out a long sigh while cuddling into the warm blanket.

“I’m so done with dating.”

“Oh?” Bucky smiles while adjusting the blanket to cover your feet fully, then picking up the remote to put on your comfort show. “What happened this time?”

A chill runs down your back while thinking about the disaster of a date you had just come back from, and the man who thought it was okay to ask you straight up if this date was going to finish with him getting laid.

“I just don’t understand men,” you say with frustration, muttering a quiet thank you when you’re passed a small bowl of popcorn. “Like if I wanted to go out purely looking to hookup you’d think that would be clear before we event went out!”

The sound of crunching popcorn is all you hear while you look at Bucky again, expecting some sort of sarcastic remark about how dumb that guy was.

Instead you’re met with him looking at you intently, with something you can’t quite pinpoint.

You and Bucky met through mutual friends about a year ago, hitting it off almost immediately with similar interests which are present throughout the apartment you two share. The small space is mainly filled with a small but growing record collection, which both of you contribute to, and the two beanbag chairs you find yourselves on most nights instead of the couch on the other side of the room.

The chairs were Bucky’s idea obviously, and his excuse was something along the lines of needing somewhere close to the ground when you two were doing the craft that was picked out for movie night.

They almost didn’t make it into the apartment after multiple attempts to bring them up the stairs, but somehow they did.

“Maybe you should take a break from dating.” He shrugs after minutes of silence, breaking eye contact with you and going back to the show.

“A break?” You scoff, shaking your head. “What will that do? Assholes will still be out there whether I go out with them now, or in a year.”

“A fair point indeed.” He mumbles through pieces of popcorn.

“That’s it? Usually you’re all for talking shit about the assholes I go out with.” You turn to face him fully, pulling his bowl from his hands and setting it on top of yours. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired of you letting yourself get hurt I guess.”

Bucky has always been protective of you, and you feel the same towards him.

But this is different.

He isn’t laughing, or joking around with you in the way these conversations would usually go.

His eyes are still glued on the screen, reflections of the people moving around across them.

“You know I care about you, it sucks when you come home from dates and people treat you like this is all.” He finally turns and smiles softly at you, “Can I have my popcorn back?”

“What would you do if you were me?”

You can tell that your question almost catches him off guard, almost. His soft smile drops for not even a second but you catch it as he tries to get out of answering it.

“I’m not you.”

“But if you were?”

“If I were you,” he starts slowly, shifting in his seat as if he was getting uncomfortable. “I would take a look around and seriously consider my options.

Options?

Confusion was written all over your face, neither of you paying attention to the show still playing, but very much in the background now.

“What kind of options do I have?” You ask carefully as you find yourself digging your toes into the beanbag.

“Just, God I don’t know.” He sighs, your eyes glancing along his hands while they scratch at his jawline. “You have people in your life who care so much for you, but you focus on all the bad as if you don’t even see them wanting to be more.”

His point flies totally over your head as you shake it from side to side, letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah well unless you’re willing to put me out of my misery, I think I’m gonna be taking your advice and laying low for a while.”

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat.

You were joking, he knows that, but a small part of him was hoping you were anything but.

“Yeah, we don’t see each other like that.” He brushes it off like it was nothing, something he had gotten all too familiar with doing these days.

“Exactly.” You flick a piece of popcorn at him, “Now pay attention. This is one of my favourite parts.”

You point your finger between him and the screen, making the crinkles by his eyes more prominent as he smiles at you.

Maybe one day he will find some sliver of courage to tell you the truth, after many, many sleepless nights.

For now, he settles for having your heart and attention in moments like these.

[lilacline001]

As a fic writer, how do you stay positive and not stress yourself out with constantly comparing?

I've been really struggling with that. I start spiraling when a certain chapter doesn't get as many comments as usual, comparing my hit counts and kudo counts to other fics, and it's really not healthy but I'm struggling with knowing how to stop, how to just be happy and proud of the response I've gotten. Any thoughts or suggestions would be much appreciated.

Hi, anon! First of all, thank you for asking this because you might need to hear it, but so do I! I needed to write this out, so I really appreciate your question and I’ll try to take my time to answer it.

With that, let me say, it takes an incredible amount of courage, time, & effort to create in any type of way. Writing, drawing, edits, etc are all content that fans create for other fans. Life can be hard sometimes. So it’s truly amazing in itself that people are inspired enough that they create something.

I’ve been in fandom culture a while, and it took me years to work up the nerve to create and post a story. I didn’t contribute to fandom culture; I consumed fandom culture. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. But it was bad that I often felt like I was tapping down an urge to create because I didn’t want to face ridicule. I was scared of a negative response, and didn’t understand that practicing is a way to hone your craft. Not everything has to be perfect. In that way, creating and posting to share any form of content is an amazing accomplishment in itself. Anon, you should celebrate yourself for taking that step! I’m so proud of you!

Listen, I have never shared my writing in real life. I was terrified of posting something and getting negative feedback & I’m doubly afraid of that happening to my face. So the closest I’ve gotten to sharing my work irl, is talking about my work to only my closest people. Right now, I can’t imagine sharing my AO3 account with anyone irl. So I take time to celebrate that I’m finally creating! I’m not tapping down the impulse anymore, and most of the time, I’m so excited to create my own story.

Also, I think an important point to consider is that social media has completely screwed with our perceptions of what success looks like. Oftentimes, we equate success with “going viral,” in a sense. The more hits the better; the more kudos the better; the more bookmarks the better. But success isn’t always having the most “popular” story.

Now, my work with the least amount of everything on AO3 is Mirrorball. It currently has 16 kudos and like 250ish hits. Which in a social media, “viral” perspective isn’t that much, but think of it like this, 16 - SIXTEEN - actual people clicked on that fic and thought it was good enough for a kudos. Like imagine 16 people in a room with you. Socially anxious, introverted me would be overwhelmed. But all 16 of those very real people gave my story kudos. They read my story and said “oh this is good!” Again, I haven’t shared any of my writing outside of AO3, so to have 16 people read my fic in general is kinda of amazing.

So that’s part of it, for sure. My definition of “success” is different, and it’s not about getting a lot of hits. Define “success” for yourself, and what you hope to accomplish. Hopefully, you can find it in yourself to celebrate the fact that you created something, that you posted anything. I’m celebrating that fact that I’m at a place in my life where I’m somewhat comfortable having people read words that I’ve written. It’s an accomplishment, an achievement that I’ve made.

Beyond that, any and all comments that come from posting, I take them and hold them close to my heart. That’s an actual person somewhere in the world that likes your story enough to leave you a comment!

And then for Nocturne some people made art! ~Blows~ my mind honestly. I vividly remember getting the notification that Byler Fic Recs had made a graphic for Nocturne. I literally couldn't stop staring at it, and it was the same for all the art that followed. It’s so special that other people loved my story so much that they drew art for it.

So yeah, celebrate where you’re at! Take joy in your success! Express gratitude if you feel led to! Appreciate where you are!

And if after that spill, you’re saying something like - “but Lilac the numbers, the numbers are so small.”

Listen, I hear you. We can’t help but compare. I feel like this is like a life thing as well. We can't help but compare ourselves to other people and other authors and their progress, their story, their journeys. But if you write looking at everyone else, who’s going to tell your story?

Personally, what finally drove me to create for fandom was that I have a story to tell. One that past me would love to read. I finally stopped tapping down that impulse to create and just started.

Tell the story for yourself. For the reader you once were. Finish the story for yourself. For the past you, that searched desperately on AO3 for a fantasy/ coffee shop/ horror AU, for a fluff/ angst / family fic that ticked all your boxes.

And if you have to compare, compare to where you started.

Has your writing gotten better? I bet it has. If anybody writes in their free time, I bet it’s gotten better. The same for drawing, making edits, if you spend time doing a hobby, you are going to get better, more confident. The words might come more quickly. The planning might become easier. And at the end of the day, you get to say, well, I’ve self-published *#* of words on AO3.

At the end of this year, I hope I’ll be able to say I finished a whole novel *cough* Nocturne *cough.*

So here’s to you anon! 🎊 You created something!!

I hope you continue to create! I hope you continue to find joy in telling a story, in making art and honing your craft!

💜💜💜

[my-mt-heart]

"Imagine that. People who write for TV showing their passion for TV like any other fan hahaha :P My fics are nothing to be intimidated by, so at least there's that."

Long-form fiction is a completely different way of thinking about story from dialogue and character/camera cues. There's all that exposition and introspection, so fandom writers are way ahead of us :) Plus, there are other occupational hazards: I keep thinking, "We'll have to hire a snake handler/stunt specialist/intimacy coordinator," or "Do I really want to shoot where there are centipedes and scorpions?" and "What are the tax incentives of [insert state]?" Production costs and logistics are always at the back of my mind when I write.

MT doesn't want me to read her fic, but I did comment on one of her scenes, so my thoughts on that should be somewhere further back on the blog. I've read one story, which was beautifully evocative (and I'd love to see how that writer's skill set would translate to scriptwriting). There's definitely talent in the fandom regardless of what your day job entails :D

"Writers with a lot more power like LaToya or SF, I don't know. I'd have to read something of theirs to find out :P"

I just grope around in the dark until something takes shape :P I'm a decent plotter and that's pretty much all there is to my supposed superpower. (I need to visualize that one scene in my mind, which will set the tone for the project, before I can break a plot.) Finding time for extracurricular writing is the problem, but you could've already read something of mine and not noticed because it was unremarkable. Online comments on my work tend to run the full spectrum—you can't have an ego in this business or it'll be a one giant bruise lol

[SF]

Makes sense you'd have to remember to take your production hat off. Occasionally I'll find myself wondering if something I write is going to clear, but for the most part it's the exposition, introspection, and oh god sensory detail I struggle with. While I do like some extra emotional language in my scripts if possible, I'm used to having to be concise, letting the scenes speak for themselves, and relying on others to help me fill in the details. I get overwhelmed at the prospect of having an unlimited amount of space to describe where someone is, what they're thinking, what they're hearing, tasting, smelling, etc. So yes, lots of respect for the amazing fic writers out there who have all of that down. I will probably stick to writing scenes from now on (you're allowed to read those lol). Unless I get an idea in my head that I can't fight no matter how hard I try. We all know how that goes.

Hear you on the time constraints for sure. It's also possible we've read something of yours, thought it was spectacular, and just don't know to connect it to you. I completely agree being a professional writer doesn't make someone more qualified to contribute to fandom. But I also like to think that most women don't get to your position without having a modicum of talent that can still translate to different mediums. Which is just to say, I'm confident there's room at the table for you among the greats. Including but not limited to @silversundown2 @waynedunlaptheorgandonor @spanishrose2002 @gunmetal-ring @lighteneverything @rubberchickeny, @sienna27, fairiesmasquerade (I still need to check out sienna's and fairies' work, but I take everyone's word for it), and if she doesn't mind, I'd also like to give a special shoutout to TheWrotetoFreedom on 9L. Friends, if you haven't read her stories, please do, especially if you're looking to fill the spinoff void. By the end, you'll be dying for more just like I am 0.o

[itzynabi]

amazing saturday: glassy

set: june 11, 2022

warnings: mention of food

word count: 3.8k

an: i don't know if the words i used for the dictations sound similar phonetically to the original lyrics, i was going based off of syllables and what it meant in english and the translations might not be accurate. words in these thingies [] are captions appearing on screen. hope you enjoy it!

eve's masterlist

“Introducing today’s guest,” Boom began, “ITZY’s Eve and Yuna!”

Eve walked into the room with Yuna walking in behind her. The pair were waving and bowing as they went to the centre of the room to dance to the post-chorus of glassy. After dancing, they went to their seats in between Taeyeon and Nucksal.

[ITZY’s ace and oldest member. with angel-like vocals and impeccable dance skills. Eve]

[ITZY’s maknae. With goddess-like visuals and powerful rap skills. Yuna]

“Eve, when you came in, we got to see a bit of it, but you’ve got something to promote,” Boom prompted, waving his hand in Eve’s direction. “Remember to say everything that is relevant because this is your only time to promote it,” he jokingly warned.

“Ah, yes. I recently made my solo debut with the mini-album diary entries and the title track glassy. I participated in the writing and producing for all the songs on the mini-album–”

“Wow, really?” Narae asked from the other side of the table.

“Yes, I wanted to make sure that all the songs would be absolutely perfect and so I chose my favourite songs for this mini-album. All the songs are love songs talking about different types of love: romantic, platonic and self-love/forgiveness,” she explained.

“The two of you are here for the first time,” Boom said.

“Yes, Lia unnie and Ryujin unnie were here before during Mafia era,” Yuna said.

“What did they say about us?” Seyoon asked. Everyone burst out laughing.

“He’s asking as if Ryujin-ssi and Lia-ssi started gossiping when they got back home!” Taeyeon exclaimed through her laughter.

“You should word that sentence differently,” Nucksal said once he had calmed down.

“They said that it was very fun to shoot the episode and they felt very comfortable. They also said the food was very nice,” Eve said.

“Ah, that’s good,” Boom said, looking at his cue cards. “How good do you think you are going to be?”

“Uh, for me I don’t think I’ll be very good or very bad; I think I’ll just be in the middle somewhere,” Yuna said and nodded her head slowly.

“Not bad but not good,” Narae said.

“Yeah.”

“I think I’ll be able to contribute a fair amount,” Eve said confidently.

“Oh! You seem very confident,” Boom noted.

“Yuna and I did some practice dictations yesterday and I only got one wrong so… I got confidence from there.”

“Wow. Like brother, like sister,” Donghyun muttered to himself.

Narae started laughing. “Donghyun oppa shook his head and said ’like brother, like daughter’ so sadly!”

Everyone laughed and then suddenly Hanhae raised his hand. “Why is it ‘like brother, like sister’?” He asked hesitantly.

“Key and Eve are siblings,” Taeyeon explained.

“Really? No way!” Hanhae exclaimed. “But now that I know that, they look similar.”

“What are you talking about? No, we don’t!” Kibum disagreed while Eve shook her head.

“Before we run totally off track here, let me introduce her. It’s Small-mouthed Haetnim,” Boom introduced and waved his hand to the left where Haetnim sits. “What dishes are waiting for you today? Let’s say it out loud.”

“Nolto nice!” Everybody said together

[Samgyeopsal. Isn’t this Eve-rything you want?]

When the screen stopped showing the food, it showed Eve. She framed her face with her hands and smiled at the camera.

“So pretty,” Narae said.

“Isn’t this Eve-rything you want? Go check it out!” Boom instructed.

The cast and guests went to Haetnim’s table where there was a grill with the pork belly on it and lettuce, perilla leaves and ssamjang to the side.

“Wow, it looks so nice,” Eve exclaimed as she leaned over the table.

“It looks juicy,” Yuna added from beside her.

“Right.”

“Please go back to your seats. Before I introduce the first artist, can I just say that the producers were very stressed out because of you, Eve,” Boom said.

“Because of me? Why?”

“Because you���re an MC on Show! Music Core and they were worried that you’d know too many songs.”

“Ah, you don’t have to worry. Because there’s so many groups that have comebacks and so many songs I have to learn, my song memory bank is glitching,” Eve said and looked at the staff behind the cameras.

“There’s too many songs that you can’t even remember one?” Boom asked.

She nodded. “I have to focus really hard.”

“I see. The artist joining us for Isn’t this Eve-rything you wanted? Their eighth time here,” he announced.

“SEVENTEEN?” Kibum guessed.

“IU?” Nucksal guessed.

"TWICE!" Boom exclaimed.

“Ah, TWICE. This might be hard,” Donghyun muttered.

[The first time there was a TWICE song, they gave up]

“From their second studio album…”

“Title track?” Narae questioned.

“... as a b-side,” Boom finished.

“Is it Up No More?” Eve asked. Boom stared at her with a blank expression.

“She must be right, look at his face.” Nucksal laughed

“It is Up No More!” Boom confirmed

“How does that song go again?” Kibum asked.

“I don’t know,” Eve said as Yuna started humming the song.

“Right! Now I remember.”

[Isn’t this Eve-rything you want? First listen]

The part they had to dictate:

이런 하루가 또 몇 달이 되어가고 (hey) / A day like this turns into months (hey)

또 몇 년이 되어버려 (hey) / The months turn into years (hey)

나는 더욱더 무너져만 가 / I’m falling more and more

나를 잃어가 버리는 게 두려워 / I’m afraid of losing myself

생각에 잠긴 이 밤 / I spend this night in thought

One by one, the cast shared their dictations with each other until it was only Eve left to go.

“Today’s main character,” Boom began.

“Eve wrote a lot,” Nucksal announced to the group.

“Ah, really?” Seyoon asked.

“Eve’s panel, open!” Boom exclaimed.

Eve’s dictation:

이런 하루가 또 몇 달이 되어가고 (hey) / A day like this turns into months (hey)

또 몇 년이 되어버려 (hey) / The months turn into years (hey)

나는 더욱더 [...] / I am more [...]

[…] 버리는 게 두려워 / [...] afraid to lose myself

생각에 잠긴 이 밤 / I spend this night in thought

“Woah, she really wrote a lot,” Donghyun muttered. “Why?”

“Wow, so good. Well done,” Kibum said.

“Thanks,” Eve preened. “I’m very confident about the first two lines and the last line.” She underlined the parts she was talking about.

“You think those parts are right?” Taeyeon asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“It could be, because Yuna, Donghyun, Nucksal and Kibum and wrote down something to do with years,” Dongyup said, “but let’s wait for the one shot before we start discussing more.”

“Let’s award the first one shot for today,” Boom announced and made a 1 sign with his finger.

“I think it’s either Kibum, Taeyeon or Eve," Seyoon said.

“One shot…” Boom started.

Eve started writing on her notepad as they waited for Boom to announce the one shoot. she finished writing and posed with he notepad next to her face.

“... please reveal it!”

[Eve got it!]

“Wow!” everyone exclaimed as Eve was shown on the screen with her notepad that read ‘Want to have glassy skin? Listen to diary entries every day. I love you’.

“Wow, legend,” Nucksal said.

“It really is like brother, like sister!” Donghyun exclaimed causing everyone to laugh.

“Wow. Let me give you all the basics. First, syllable count, open!” Boom said and the camera panned to the screen to show the syllable count and the number of lines.

“There are five lines!” Narae exclaimed.

“It felt shorter than that,” Kibum said.

“Right,” Hanhae agreed.

“Don’t agree with me.” Kibum jokingly glared at Hanhae.

“I’ll give you the song info,” Boom started, “the song is about struggling with insomnia and not being able to fall asleep.”

“That’s why the chorus said ‘I don’t wanna be up all night again’,” Kibum thought out loud.

“Yeah,” Eve said.

Preceding lyrics:

I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna waste my time

Oh-oh, 깊어진 이 밤이 (끝날 수 있을까?) / Tomorrow to seep into a deeper night (so that I can get further away)

Following lyrics:

Uh, 어둠 속의 느낌, 수심 저 깊이 헤엄치는 이 feeling / Uh, this feeling in the darkness, this feeling of swimming in deep water

Yeah, 너무 추운 것 같아, 손발에 어떤 것도 닿지 않아 / Yeah, it’s so cold, my limbs touch nothing

“Open Taeyeon’s panel. This is where you’re at," Boom said as Taeyeon’s panel was shown on the screen. It had everything Eve had written down.

“That’s pretty good. It’s almost complete,” Hanhae said. “Well done, Eve.”

“Eve said that she’s confident about the first two lines,” Narae said, pointing to the screen.

“Yes, I heard them very clearly,” Eve said.

“Okay, so we just need to figure out the third and fourth lines,” Seyoon commented. “Who had something for the third line?”

“Me,” Yuna raised her hand.

“Please show Yuna’s panel,” Boom asked.

Yuna’s panel third line:

무너져만 가 / I’m falling apart

“‘I am more’ and ‘I’m falling apart’...” Dongyup said. “Did anyone else have something?”

“I did,” Hanhae said.

“What you wrote isn’t right,” Narae shot him down and Yuna and Eve laughed.

“I think everyone else just wrote one or two words for that part,” Kibum said.

“Yeah,” Nucksal agreed.

“So how are we–” Hanhae started, but got interrupted by Donghyun inhaling very loudly in a lightbulb! moment.

“What? What?” Narae asked.

“Don’t put on a big show like this if it’s going to be wrong,” Seyoon warned.

“Everyone. I think we can finish this in one try,” Donghyun said confidently.

“Why?” Hanhae asked.

“Please show my screen,” Donghyun asked and began writing. “This is what Eve wrote, right? And this is what Yuna wrote. When they’re separate, you’re thinking ‘how do we connect this?’ But once we connect the two sentences together, it’s no longer ‘I am more’ and ‘I am falling apart’.”

At this point everybody started catching onto what he was saying and you could see their eyes go wide upon realisation.

“Once you connect the two sentences, it’s now ‘I’m falling more and more’!”

“Wow!” Yuna exclaimed.

“It feels like ITZY is doing all the work for us and we’re just relaxing,” Nucksal joked.

“Seriously! The first two lines that Eve gave us fit into the syllable count and so does the last line! And they both had line three but different parts… this is really crazy!” Taeyeon exclaimed.

“It’s what happens when you’re skilled," Kibum smirked.

“Don’t you get the one shot if you’re skilled?" Eve asked no one in particular. Nucksal, who was sitting next to her, laughed.

“What’s funny?” Narae asked.

“When Taeyeon said how much ITZY had done so far, Kibum said “That’s what happens when you have talent” or something along those lines and then Eve quietly said “Don’t you get the one shot if you’re talented?”Nucksal explained.

“Hey! How could you say that?” Kibum burst and stood up dramatically.

“You know I sometimes don’t have a filter! How could you forget such a thing?” Eve also stood up, crossing her arms and raising her left eyebrow in question.

“Is this what it’s like to have two Key’s?” Dongyup asked, causing everyone to laugh. Eve and Kibum sat down after winking at each other.

“Okay, so let’s move on. For the fourth line Eve wrote ‘afraid to lose myself’," Boom took charge of the conversation.

“What did everybody else write? Yuna?” Kibum asked.

“I couldn’t hear that part properly so I didn’t write anything,” Yuna admitted shyly.

“That’s okay. Who wrote something that might be right? Put up your hand.” Kibum put up his hand along with Hanhae, Seyoon and Narae.

Kibum’s panel fourth line:

잃어가 / Get lost

Seyoon’s panel fourth line:

얻는 것이 두렵다 / Scared of getting

Narae’s panel fourth line:

나를 잃어가 버리는 / Losing myself

“They’re all kind of similar,” Yuna started, “because Eve unnie’s dictation said ‘afraid to lose my self’ and Kibum sunbaenim’s said ‘get lost’ which could be losing oneself–”

“Right,” Hanhae agreed.

“–and Seyoon sunbaenim wrote ‘scared of getting’ which takes us back to Eve unnie’s dictation when she said ‘afraid’ and then Narae sunbaenim’s says ‘losing myself’ so that must mean that this line has something to do with the fear of losing one’s sense of self.”

“That makes sense,” Dongyup agreed.

“So we just need to sort out the words,” Taeyeon said.

“Let’s think of all the different ways we could say this,” Narae said. “Open my panel and let’s write them down. First one could be ‘I’m scared to lose myself’.”

“I’m scared of losing myself,” Kibum suggested.

“I’m afraid of losing myself,” Eve said.

“Oh!” Nucksal suddenly exclaimed.

“What is it?” Everybody turned to look at him.

“I think it might be ‘I’m afraid of losing myself’. It sounds similar to what i heard–”

“You heard something but you didn’t write anything smart for this line,” Seyoon interrupted, crossing his arms.

“–and it fits the syllable count,” Nucksal finished.

“He’s right!” Hanhae exclaimed.

“So we’re writing ‘I’m afraid of losing myself’?” Taeyeon asked.

“Yes,” Nucksal confirmed.

“Okay then. Eve, our one shot star, please go to the stand and check your answer,” Boom instructed and Eve stood up and walked to the stand.

“It would be so legendary if we got it right. We didn’t use Boom fool and we didn’t listen to the song again,” Donghyun pointed out.

Eve wrote the lyrics down and sang them.

“She’s a really good singer, hey,” Narae commented.

“If only she joined SM,” Kibum joked and put his head down in mock despair.

Eve braced herself for the popcorn to hit her, she curled in on herself and shut her eyes tightly, and then heard a beeping sound before everyone cheered.

“It’s right?” She asked, opening her eyes and standing up from the chair.

“Wow! She gave us most of the answers and she’s the most shocked that the answer was right,” Seyoon pointed out before giving her a high five when she passed him.

“Everyone you succeeded on your first try so here is your food. Isn’ t this Eve-rything you want? enter!” Boom exclaimed as staff members walked in with trays of food.

“Thank you for the food!” Everyone said before digging in.

“This is so good!” Yuna said.

“It’s snack time!” Boom announced and everyone cheered. “Have a look at the screen.”

“Nolto nice!”

[Chocolate lava cake]

“Right, here they are,” Boom picked up a tray of chocolate lava cakes. “I’ll introduce today’s snack game,” he said once he was seated again. “Today’s game is Music Video Scene Quiz! We’ll show you a picture from a music video and you’ll have to tell me the name of the artist and song.”

“It seems easy enough,” Yuna said.

“Yeah. Unless we’re given a super zoomed in photo and have to squint our eyes,” Eve joked.

“That’d be so bad!”

“Yeah.” Eve sighed.

“Okay, everybody up,” Boom instructed, “and please show us the first photo!”

The screen showed a picture of Huening Bahiyyih in WA DA DA at 01:39.

“I know this,” Kibum muttered to himself.

“Eve!” Eve shouted.

“Yes, Eve,” Boom said.

“Kep1er’s WA DA DA.”

“Correct!” Boom exclaimed.

“Why is she so good?” Donghyun asked no one in particular as Eve walked around the table to dance. When the music ended she made a heart over her head and went to collect her cake. She went back to her seat and all eyes were on her as she had her first bite of the cake.

“Mmhh,” she hummed.

“Is it good?” Narae asked.

“So good. The cake is chocolate flavoured, and then there’s the melted chocolate, and then there’s also chocolate chips as well,” Eve described the dessert.

“Ah!” Taeyeon shouted. “I need to get one of these right.”

“Is it really good?” Yuna asked Eve once everyone had focused on Boom again. The older girl nodded and offered her a bite. “Mmhh.” Her eyes opened wide in shock. “How is it so nice?”

“Right? You must hurry and answer a question correctly.”

One by one, the members sat down until Seyoon and Donghyun were the only ones left standing. The screen showed a picture of Ryujin in WANNABE at 01:18.

“Oh!” Eve exclaimed

“You should be able to get this one,” Taeyeon said.

“Eve, can you give us a hint?” Boom asked.

Eve thought for a second and then stood up and did Ryujin’s shoulder move.

“That’s a really good one!” Taeyeon exclaimed.

“If you don’t get it, then there’s no saving you,” Narae said.

After four tries, Seyoon ended up getting the answer correct and when it was his turn to dance, Yuna and Eve danced with him.

“After we ate a tasty snack, it’s time for round two,” Boom said. “Does anybody know what dish we will be enjoying today?”

“Pork!” Narae exclaimed.

“Let’s look at the screen!”

[Yukgaejang. Yuna wants some yukgaejang!]

“Can anybody guess the artist joining us today?"

“No. We can’t,” Seyoon deadpanned.

“I see. It’s Hyuna…”

“Hip and lip,” Taeyeon sang.

“... and DAWN!"

“What?” Nucksal asked.

“PING PONG!” Yuna exclaimed happily much to Boom’s dismay who looked at her blankly.

“He looks so sad,” Hanhae laughed.

“Sorry,” Yuna apologised.

“Cute,” Eve cooed.

“Yes, the song for this round is PING PONG,” Boom confirmed.

“Ah, I really love this song!” Eve exclaimed when the song started playing.

The part they had to dictate:

검은 머리 파 뿌리 / Till death do us apart

푸른 초원 위 우리 집 으리으리 마무리 / Our house on the prairie grand finale

“Right, let’s see your dictations, starting with Eve,” Boom said.

“Me?” Eve asked.

“Should we start with Yuna?”

“No, I can go first. I was just shocked that I’m going first.”

“I want to have all the good people go first,” Boom explained.

“If you want all the good people to go first… you should start with me,” Hanhae said confidently.

“Why would he do that?” Nucksal asked.

“I wrote quite a lot.”

Key chimed in, “Quite a lot of nonsense.”

“Okay, please open Eve’s panel,” Boom asked.

Eve’s dictation:

우리의 죽음은 따로 / Our death apart

당신과 함께 여기 우리 집 / Our house here with you

“Once again, it seems ITZY will do everything for us,” Dongyup joked.

“Even Yuna wrote quite a lot,” Taeyeon said, taking a peak at Yuna’s dictation.

“Really?” Hanhae asked.

“They’re really loco, don’t you think?” Boom asked.

Yuna gave her dictation and it was similar to Eve’s.

“Wow, they’re really good!” Seyoon exclaimed.

“And Yuna said she wouldn’t be good,” Nucksal said.

“But now look at her," Hanhae added.

They continued on with the rest of the casts’ dictations.

“It’s time for the one shot,” Boom said.

“I’m not even going to get ready,” Donghyun said.

“You should never get ready and yet you always do,” Kibum commented.

“Unnie, you might get it,” Yuna whispered to Eve, encouraging her to write something.

“I don’t think I’ll get it twice in one episode. That’s too much luck,” Eve responded.

“And the one shot goes to..” Boom trailed off, waiting for the camera to show who got the most correct syllables as everyone waited with their notepads ready just in case the one shot was theirs.

[Eve!]

Eve didn’t realise she had gotten the one shot until Yuna started nudging her arm. “Ow!” She complained.

“You got the one shot!” Yuna exclaimed and Eve’s face changed from one of mock hurt to surprise.

“Oh wow. That’s crazy!”

“Eve has gotten the one shot twice in one episode!” Nucksal shouted.

“Well done,” Kibum said to her, clapping in his seat.

“Thank you, but why are we acting like I just won ₩3 000 000?” Eve asked.

“This doesn’t happen often,” Narae explained.

“I don’t think the great Kim Kibum has gotten a one shot twice in an episode," Hanhae teased and Key playfully punched his arm.

“Do I get a prize?” Eve asked.

Boom stared at her blankly. “You get to add your name and signature to the One Shot Hall of Fame.”

She nodded sadly. “Oh, is that it? Okay. Can I write ITZY instead of just my name?”

“Of course!”

“Cool.”

He cleared his throat. “Let’s continue. I’ll give you the syllable count. Open!” Boom said and the screen showed how many lines and syllables there were.

“Now for the song info: the song is about enjoying the one life that you have by having freedom and experiencing love. The preceding lyrics, please.”

Preceding lyrics:

I love you my beauty

Following lyrics:

우리 함께 발을 맞춰 feel like harmony / Our steps in sync, feel like harmony

“Let’s open Taeyeon’s panel and see where you are,” Boom said.

“There’s an extra syllable in the first line,” Yuna pointed out.

“Wasn’t there someone who had the first line?” Eve asked.

“I had something but I don’t know if it’s right,” Hanhae hesitantly spoke up.

“Knowing you, it probably isn’t,” Narae said.

“Anyways–” Hanhae rolled his eyes– “I wrote 검은 머리 파 뿌리 / till death do us part.”

“It fits the syllable count,” Yuna pointed out.

“And Eve also wrote about death,” Narae added.

“Yeah, should we write it?” Seyoon asked.

“I think so,” Taeyeon said and wrote it down.

“Second line, what are you going to do?” Boom asked

“We need five more syllables.” Taeyeon muttered

“Seyoon, what did you write?”

“I wrote 푸른 초원에 / on the green meadow.”

“On the green meadow?” Kibum asked.

“I don’t know if it’s right, but that’s what I heard.”

“So we’ve got on the green meadow, our house here with you and?”

“Ah!” Donghyun exclaimed.

“I almost had a heart attack.” Narae put her hand on her chest.

“I’ve been thinking about it and I have the last line.”

“Really?”

“Wow, even Donghyun oppa is contributing two rounds in a row,” Taeyeon said in amazement.

“Ever since Seyoon said his line, I’ve been saying his, Eve’s and Yuna’s over and over. And I’m pretty sure I got it. pPlease show my panel.” Donghyun got to writing.

“Now, this might not be right, but it also might be right.”

“Just show us your screen,” Dongyup rushed him.

“Okay.”

Donghyun’s dictation:

푸른 초원 위 우리 집 으리으리 마무리 / our house on the prairie grand finale

Nucksal repeated the line over and over. “It does sound kind of similar.”

“Let’s write it then,” Taeyeon said.

“Yuna,” Boom called.

“Yes?” Yuna answered.

“Please go to the stand and write the answer there.”

“Yes,” Yuna walked to the answering stand.

Yuna wrote the lyrics down and sang them.

검은 머리 파 뿌리 / till death do us apart

푸른 초원 위 우리 집 으리으리 마무리 / our house on the prairie grand finale

“Please, please,” Narae muttered.

“Correct!”

Everybody shouted in surprise and joy at the answer being right.

“It’s a good thing ITZY came here because we wouldn’t be able to do this without them,” Dongyup said and applauded for them as Yuna went to sit down.

“Thank you for the food!” They all said as it was brought and put in front of them.

“How did you find today, girls?” Kibum asked.

“Very, very fun,” Yuna said.

“You must tell Yeji-ssi and Chaeryeong-ssi that when you get home, okay?”

“We will,” Eve said and playfully rolled her eyes.

tagging: @lunarxsun // @ateezivy

©️ kim nabi

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. I’m curious. What did you mean by “women who read fiction might get Bad Ideas!!!” has just reached its latest and stupidest form via tumblr purity culture.? I haven’t seen any of this but I’m new to tumblr.

Oh man. You really want to get me into trouble on, like, my first day back, don’t you?

Pretty much all of this has been explained elsewhere by people much smarter than me, so this isn’t necessarily going to say anything new, but I’ll do my best to synthesize and summarize it. As ever, it comes with the caveat that it is my personal interpretation, and is not intended as the be-all, end-all. You’ll definitely run across it if you spend any time on Tumblr (or social media in general, including Twitter, and any other fandom-related spaces). This will get long.

In short: in the nineteenth century, when Gothic/romantic literature became popular and women were increasingly able to read these kinds of novels for fun, there was an attendant moral panic over whether they, with their weak female brains, would be able to distinguish fiction from reality, and that they might start making immoral or inappropriate choices in their real life as a result. Obviously, there was a huge sexist and misogynistic component to this, and it would be nice to write it off entirely as just hysterical Victorian pearl-clutching, but that feeds into the “lol people in the past were all much stupider than we are today” kind of historical fallacy that I often and vigorously shut down. (Honestly, I’m not sure how anyone can ever write the “omg medieval people believed such weird things about medicine!” nonsense again after what we’ve gone through with COVID, but that is a whole other rant.) The thinking ran that women shouldn’t read novels for fear of corrupting their impressionable brains, or if they had to read novels at all, they should only be the Right Ones: i.e., those that came with a side of heavy-handed and explicit moralizing so that they wouldn’t be tempted to transgress. Of course, books trying to hammer their readers over the head with their Moral Point aren’t often much fun to read, and that’s not the point of fiction anyway. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Fast-forward to today, and the entire generation of young, otherwise well-meaning people who have come to believe that being a moral person involves only consuming the “right” kind of fictional content, and being outrageously mean to strangers on the internet who do not agree with that choice. There are a lot of factors contributing to this. First, the advent of social media and being subject to the judgment of people across the world at all times has made it imperative that you demonstrate the “right” opinions to fit in with your peer-group, and on fandom websites, that often falls into a twisted, hyper-critical, so-called “progressivism” that diligently knows all the social justice buzzwords, but has trouble applying them in nuance, context, and complicated real life. To some extent, this obviously is not a bad thing. People need to be critical of the media they engage with, to know what narratives the creator(s) are promoting, the tropes they are using, the conclusions that they are supporting, and to be able to recognize and push back against genuinely harmful content when it is produced – and this distinction is critical – by professional mainstream creators. Amateur, individual fan content is another kettle of fish. There is a difference between critiquing a professional creator (though social media has also made it incredibly easy to atrociously abuse them) and attacking your fellow fan and peer, who is on the exact same footing as you as a consumer of that content.

Obviously, again, this doesn’t mean that you can’t call out people who are engaging in actually toxic or abusive behavior, fans or otherwise. But certain segments of Tumblr culture have drained both those words (along with “gaslighting”) of almost all critical meaning, until they’re applied indiscriminately to “any fictional content that I don’t like, don’t agree with, or which doesn’t seem to model healthy behavior in real life” and “anyone who likes or engages with this content.” Somewhere along the line, a reactionary mindset has been formed in which the only fictional narratives or relationships are those which would be “acceptable” in real life, to which I say…. what? If I only wanted real life, I would watch the news and only read non-fiction. Once again, the underlying fear, even if it’s framed in different terms, is that the people (often women) enjoying this content can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fiction and reality, and if they like “problematic” fictional content, they will proceed to seek it out in their real life and personal relationships. And this is just… not true.

As I said above, critical media studies and thoughtful consumption of entertainment are both great things! There have been some great metas written on, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and how it is increasingly relying on villains who have outwardly admirable motives (see: the Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier) who are then stigmatized by their anti-social, violent behavior and attacks on innocent people, which is bad even as the heroes also rely on violence to achieve their ends. This is a clever way to acknowledge social anxieties – to say that people who identify with the Flag Smashers are right, to an extent, but then the instant they cross the line into violence, they’re upsetting the status quo and need to be put down by the heroes. I watched TFATWS and obviously enjoyed it. I have gone on a Marvel re-watching binge recently as well. I like the MCU! I like the characters and the madcap sci-fi adventures! But I can also recognize it as a flawed piece of media that I don’t have to accept whole-cloth, and to be able to criticize some of the ancillary messages that come with it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.

When it comes to shipping, moreover, the toxic culture of “my ship is better than your ship because it’s Better in Real Life” ™ is both well-known and in my opinion, exhausting and pointless. As also noted, the whole point of fiction is that it allows us to create and experience realities that we don’t always want in real life. I certainly enjoy plenty of things in fiction that I would definitely not want in reality: apocalyptic space operas, violent adventures, and yes, garbage men. A large number of my ships over the years have been labeled “unhealthy” for one reason or another, presumably because they don’t adhere to the stereotype of the coffee-shop AU where there’s no tension and nobody ever makes mistakes or is allowed to have serious flaws. And I’m not even bagging on coffee-shop AUs! Some people want to remove characters from a violent situation and give them that fluff and release from the nonstop trauma that TV writers merrily inflict on them without ever thinking about the consequences. Fanfiction often focuses on the psychology and healing of characters who have been through too much, and since that’s something we can all relate to right now, it’s a very powerful exercise. As a transformative and interpretive tool, fanfic is pretty awesome.

The problem, again, comes when people think that fic/fandom can only be used in this way, and that going the other direction, and exploring darker or complicated or messy dynamics and relationships, is morally bad. As has been said before: shipping is not activism. You don’t get brownie points for only having “healthy” ships (and just my personal opinion as a queer person, these often tend to be heterosexual white ships engaging in notably heteronormative behavior) and only supporting behavior in fiction that you think is acceptable in real life. As we’ve said, there is a systematic problem in identifying what that is. Ironically, for people worried about Women Getting Ideas by confusing fiction and reality, they’re doing the same thing, and treating fiction like reality. Fiction is fiction. Nobody actually dies. Nobody actually gets hurt. These people are not real. We need to normalize the idea of characters as figments of a creator’s imagination, not actual people with their own agency. They exist as they are written, and by the choice of people whose motives can be scrutinized and questioned, but they themselves are not real. Nor do characters reflect the author’s personal views. Period.

This feeds into the fact that the internet, and fandom culture, is not intended as a “safe space” in the sense that no questionable or triggering content can ever be posted. Archive of Our Own, with its reams of scrupulous tagging and requests for you to explicitly click and confirm that you are of age to see M or E-rated content, is a constant target of the purity cultists for hosting fictional material that they see as “immoral.” But it repeatedly, unmistakably, directly asks you for your consent to see this material, and if you then act unfairly victimized, well… that’s on you. You agreed to look at this, and there are very few cases where you didn’t know what it entailed. Fandom involves adults creating contents for adults, and while teenagers and younger people can and do participate, they need to understand this fact, rather than expecting everything to be a PG Disney movie.

When I do write my “dark” ships with garbage men, moreover, they always involve a lot of the man being an idiot, being bluntly called out for an idiot, and learning healthier patterns of behavior, which is one of the fundamental patterns of romance novels. But they also involve an element of the woman realizing that societal standards are, in fact, bullshit, and she can go feral every so often, as a treat. But even if I wrote them another way, that would still be okay! There are plenty of ships and dynamics that I don’t care for and don’t express in my fic and fandom writing, but that doesn’t mean I seek out the people who do like them and reprimand them for it. I know plenty of people who use fiction, including dark fiction, in a cathartic way to process real-life trauma, and that’s exactly the role – one of them, at least – that fiction needs to be able to fulfill. It would be terribly boring and limited if we were only ever allowed to write about Real Life and nothing else. It needs to be complicated, dark, escapist, unreal, twisted, and whatever else. This means absolutely zilch about what the consumers of this fiction believe, act, or do in their real lives.

Once more, I do note the misogyny underlying this. Nobody, after all, seems to care what kind of books or fictional narratives men read, and there’s no reflection on whether this is teaching them unhealthy patterns of behavior, or whether it predicts how they’ll act in real life. (There was some of that with the “do video games cause mass shootings?”, but it was a straw man to distract from the actual issues of toxic masculinity and gun culture.) Certain kinds of fiction, especially historical fiction, romance novels, and fanfic, are intensely gendered and viewed as being “women’s fiction” and therefore hyper-criticized, while nobody’s asking if all the macho-man potboiler military-intrigue tough-guy stereotypical “men’s fiction” is teaching them bad things. So the panic about whether your average woman on the internet is reading dark fanfic with an Unhealthy Ship (zomgz) is, in my opinion, misguided at best, and actively destructive at worst.

[hood-ex]

just found this post, what are your thoughts about it? i like the way you talk (write, but u get it) about characters and was curious on what you think

My thoughts on Bruce's abuse lines up with that of the post. That being said, this topic definitely contributes to one of the reasons why I have an issue with comics as a genre (and this can sometimes go for TV shows as well.)

What I mean by that is that comics aren't like novels. Comics are written by multiple people who can all have different takes and perspectives on the characters they're writing. Depending on the writer, the characters can deviate either a little or a lot from the characterization/character development that the original creator/writer wanted to portray. When the characters keep getting passed between different hands, it's easy for the characterization to get muddled somewhere along the way.

Novels or book series shouldn't have that problem because there is one writer from start to finish. We can look at someone like Aragorn and say with certainty, "Oh, he would never do this and this because there's no case of him doing that in the books. Tolkien never wrote him to be that way so he isn't that way."

But you can't always say shit like that about a character like Bruce who is constantly being written by new people who have the ability to change his essence at the drop of a hat. He can easily go from being a bachelor lovingly raising his ward to a father who abuses his son. Hell, he can even go back and forth between the two because some writers are like, "Continuity? I don't know her."

So I look at some comics like Rebirth Nightwing #38 and I think, I like this Bruce. And then I look at some comics like N52 Nightwing #30 and think, This Bruce is a piece of shit. And I've said this before but it very much so does feel like there are two Bruce's in my head that constantly box each other. One is the Bruce I like and the other is the Bruce I don't like. It's really annoying to have to shove these two different versions of Bruce together and to think of them as the same person.

This is why we end up cherrypicking and why some people in the fandom are going to stick with Bruce the non-abuser vs Bruce the abuser. This is why I think of canon as a bunch of puzzle pieces. You have your own personal puzzle board in your head and you get to decide which pieces you want to add to your board. Do all the pieces fit together? No. They're jagged and strewn about but they're still there.

Is abuser Bruce part of my puzzle board? Yes. Bruce's actions have negatively affected my favorite character enough times to the point where I have decided that abuser Bruce is part of my canon puzzle board. But like I said, this puzzle board isn't pretty and neat. There are some other pieces mixed in that show Bruce in a more positive light and, on some days, those pieces shine a bit brighter than the other ones. This keeps me from saying, "I 100% hate Bruce Wayne," because I don't entirely.

As for the second part of the post, I agree that creating contingency plans to kill your friends/co-workers is bad in general. Obviously, it would be terrible if you looked at all your friends and plotted ways to take them down. But our friends in the real world don't have the ability to shoot lasers out of their eyes while they're being mind-controlled, now do they? Bruce's friends/co-workers do.

When you're dealing with these superpowered beings and the fact that they can be forcefully controlled, or when you're dealing with evil counterparts from alternate universes invading your world, I don't think it's entirely unreasonable to ensure that there is a plan to rein them back in should the worst-case scenario happen.

However, that should be an issue Bruce addresses to the League and seeks to resolve with all of them involved rather than plotting contingencies on his own. There definitely is a control issue embedded in all that, and like OP was saying, I do think that's problematic and bleeds into Bruce's relationships with other adults in a way that can be abusive.

[thebluesideofmyworld]

A Good Guy - A Solangelo One-Shot

Summary: Will might be a lot of things. And among those things, Will would dare to say that he’s a good guy. But when it came to Nico di Angelo, would he ever be good enough, though?

Word count: 3900 words || Rating: Teenage and Up Audiences || Read on AO3

Notes:

1. Based on the song "good guys" by LANY 2. My contribution for @after-everything-pjo-zine project. Check out other fics (each fic is accompanied by great fanart so you just HAVE to check it out) in the zine here.

***

Will might be a lot of things. And among those things, Will would dare to say that he’s a good guy. And he would proudly say that it’s because his family raised him to be one. His Mama made sure that he never forgot to say please, sorry and thank you, and his grandma taught him to respect people. Even though Apollo wasn’t around to be an ideal father as Will was growing up in Tennessee, his grandpa showed him how to be a Southern gentleman.

So yeah, he might come across as a young man who with a sassy attitude. But heck, Will knew that he was a good guy. And he’s proud of that.

But here’s the thing. Here’s a thing about being a good guy. Being a good guy might sound like it’s a good thing to do. But being a good guy also sometimes meant that you’re almost as invisible as a wallflower. Because even though you’re good, there were always be better guys. And one thing that Will learned about being a good guy? Good guys never win.

***

“It’s been almost two weeks, you know,” Will said as he kept his eyes at the monthly medical report that he (pretended) to be reading.

“Two weeks since what?” Kayla asked, but didn't bother to pretend that she's actually interested.

“Since Nico went for that quest, remember? Something about Persephone’s parrot or something?” Will said, still trying to keep his eyes at the notes. Because he knew that Kayla might still see the worry in Will’s eyes. (Sometimes it’s almost scary, how his siblings knew him too well).

“Oh? Really? Has it been two weeks yet?”

“Almost,” Will said, decided to leave the detail that it’s actually has been 11 days and since Nico had left the camp early in the morning and now it was almost dinner, it’s been almost twelve freaking days since Nico left the camp for that stupid quest.

“I mean, of course, it might be nothing but well, I thought it was supposed to be a short, simple quest?” Will continued. “Usually if it’s just this small quest, it never took him this long before. Usually it would just be like, three days, five, at the most, and like, a week if he took a detour to impulsively do something unnecessary, but never this long.”

Will lifted his head and turned to look at Kayla, who didn’t seem to share the same worry as Will. Her eyes were still fixed on the glossy pictures of the magazine that she was looking at. A non-committal hum coming from her was the only sign that she was (kind of) listening.

Will tried to focus on the lines of writing in front of him, but the letters were all jumbled and he couldn’t make himself try to read anything. His mind was too busy thinking about different reasons and scenarios of why Nico wasn’t back yet from the quest.

“Do you think I should ask Chiron about it? Probably he’s heard from Nico, y’know. Like, maybe something came up and I don’t know, maybe Chiron knew or maybe even Rachel got a vision or something, or-“

“Or you could have just contacted me, Solace. Pretty sure that it doesn't hurt to try IM me”

Will stood up and spun to face the direction where the voice was coming from. He did it so fast, he got dizzy because of it. It took him two seconds before his eyes could fully focus on Nico di Angelo, who was staring at him. His face looked nonchalant, but his eyes glinted with amusement.

“Uh, hey,” Will greeted, gripping the desk as he suddenly needed to get a hold of himself. “You’re back.”

Nico gave him a single nod, brushing away some strands of hair from covering his eyes. “Yep. I just got back.” He shrugged his shoulders before continuing. “Thought I’d drop by here before I report to Chiron.”

Will tightened his grip on the desk, trying his best to hold himself from closing the distance between him and Nico just to pull Nico into his arms.

“And uh… What brings you here?”

The emotional part of him wished that he was the reason why Nico came straight to the infirmary after the quest. But the rational part of him shushed him. That damned rational part of him told him that hey, it was him who wanted to see Nico, not the other way around.

Nico kept his eyes at Will and there was something in those dark eyes that Will couldn’t really put his fingers on.

“I thought you wanted me to have a check-up every time I got back from a quest?”

Of course.

Will tried to ease the dull pain in his heart by giving Nico a small smile. “Yeah. Of course. Need to make sure that you won’t fade into the shadows again, huh?” Will let out a nervous chuckle. “I mean, I am your doctor, and a doctor only wants the best for his patients.”

This time Nico stayed silent as he nodded. Will gestured to a nearby cot with his chin.

“Now, if you could just sit down over there, please?”

Still saying nothing, Nico strode to the cot and quickly sat there. Will took a deep breath, mentally telling himself to be professional, and let it out in a long exhale. He made his way to where Nico was waiting for him.

The check-up was a regular one. And there was nothing new about how touching Nico made stupid butterflies do some stupid dancing in his stomach. He ached to ask Nico questions about what happened in the quest and why it took so long. He wanted to know whether Nico ever thought of him while he was on the quest the way Will kept on thinking about him while he was away. He wanted to listen to Nico talk to him, with that slight accent that made his voice so melodious, almost like he was singing.

But it would only scare Nico away.

So he kept his eyes at the board where he jotted down the notes about Nico’s vitals.

“So, uhm… This quest was a bit longer than usual, huh?” Will asked, almost proud of himself that his voice sounded normal.

Nico hummed as he put his jacket back on. “Yeah, we had an unexpected encounter with some empousai. Luckily, David is unexpectedly good at fighting.”

At the mention of the name, Will lifted his head up. “David? You mean the new camper? That Athena kid?”

Nico nodded. “Yeah. For someone who never held a sword before, I have to say that I’m impressed.”

A strange, nauseating heat flared inside Will’s stomach. “Really?”

“Yup. In fact, I promised to give him an extra lesson in sword-fighting tomorrow.”

That strange heat swirled even more inside Will. He stretched his lips into a lame attempt to smile at Nico.

“Oh,” Will said. “Nice.”

“In one way, he strangely reminded me of Percy, you know? The way he held his sword.” And Nico continued talking for a while about that stupid new guy. Will listened, humming every now and then just to show Nico that he’s listening.

Half of his mind wished that the harpies would find that David kid to be a nice target for their dinner. The other half of his mind scowled at him for having that kind of evil wish.

“Okay. Everything looks good. Just make sure that you drink enough water,” Will said as he wrote the date and signed his name on the bottom part of the report.

“So I can go now?”

Will nodded. “Yeah, you’re free to go now,” he answered as he walked back to his desk to put the record in the folder.

“And you’re not even offering to walk me back to my Cabin like a good Southern gentleman?”

Will spun on his heel quickly. He stared at Nico with wide eyes, thinking that he might have been hallucinating.

“What?”

Nico snorted and slid down from the cot. “Never mind. I need to report to Chiron first anyway.”

Will blinked, and it took him a full two seconds before he had his voice again.

“Nico-“

But Nico was already one step away from the door. He stopped and looked at Will over his shoulder. The left tip of his lips curled up, just slightly, forming a ghost of a smile. He gave a two-finger salute to Will.

“I’ll see you around, Solace.”

Not waiting for Will to answer him, Nico stepped away. And just like that, he’s out of sight.

Will stared at the open door. There is this hollowness inside his heart that he couldn't explain. Like he just missed a chance.

He always thought that he’s a good guy. Or at least, he’s trying to.

But would he ever be good enough, though?

***

“What are you doing here?”

Lou Ellen’s voice startled Will.

“Me? Uh…” Will scrambled to pick up the book that he just dropped and showed it to Lou, like he was trying to prove something. “I was reading!”

Lou Ellen stared at him with a glint of amusement in her eyes as she gave Will the Look. The ‘don’t-give-me-bullshit’ Look.

“What, am I not allowed to read in peace?” Will said, a bit defensively.

“Hey, it’s cool dude,” Lou said. “In fact, it was nice to see you somewhere else aside from the infirmary,” she added.

Will relaxed a bit, going back to lean his back on the tree.

“I can see why you choose this spot. It’s much quieter than the infirmary on your busy days,” Lou said.

Will hummed.  His eyes flickered to the far left, to the clearing a few yards away, just for a split second before he opened his book.

“And the view from here is also… decent.”

Lou Ellen’s tone made Will quickly look up again at the daughter of Hecate. She’s now grinning at him, like she just figured something out.

“How long have you been spying on those two?” Lou asked, gesturing with her chin to two demigods in the clearing who seemed to just finished sparring.

Will gaped at her. He blinked and quickly shook his head. “What? No! I’ve told you, I was reading here!”

But Lou Ellen didn’t seem to care about Will’s reaction as she waved at the demigods in the clearing.

“Hey, Nico! David!”

Will’s eyes widened in horror this time as he turned his head around, only to see that Nico and the new Athena kid walked towards them.

“Lou!” he hissed in annoyance.

Lou Ellen just gave him a teasing smirk. “What?”

Will groaned and quickly stood up, his book abandoned on the grass as he unconsciously ran a hand over his wild locks.

“Hey,” Nico greeted. “What’s up?”

Nothing’s up aside from his heartbeat, Will would like to answer. But of course, he kept it to himself as he tried his best to school his face into a relaxed, nonchalant, I’m-just-chilling-here expression.

“Nothing much,” Lou Ellen shrugged her shoulders. “You two are sparring together here? Why? Is the arena too mainstream for you?”

The new Athena kid gave a half-smile as he brushed off some hair from covering his eyes. “It was my request, actually,” he said. “I just want to have a...” he waved his right in a vague circular motion, like trying to find the exact word to say. “A more… realistic view when fighting a monster?”

That didn’t really make sense to Will. But it seemed to be an acceptable reason for Lou Ellen as she nodded at him.

“And has Nico been a good teacher for you?” Lou Ellen asked.

Will didn’t miss the way Lou gave him a quick glance.

David’s half-smile turned into a full one. “He is!” He turned his head to Nico and smiled at him, like he was pleased at Nico. “Thanks for teaching me, Nico. You are very good at sword-fighting.”

Nico returned David’s smile with one of his small smiles. A smile that could have filled Will’s chest with warm air. But since he’s not at the receiving end of that smile, it turned Will’s chest into lead instead.

“Anytime. It was a pleasure.”

“You will teach me more, yes? And ah… We also need to talk more. About football.”

This was the first time for Will to really listen to David talking, and he couldn’t help but notice how David’s voice had quite an accent. Especially when he pronounced football, the way he stretched some syllables.

Nico’s face lit up. “Yeah! We should! I know that Cecil played football! Right?” His eyes darted from Will to Lou Ellen, like asking for confirmation.

“Cecil? He does. I can take you to talk to him. Come on,” Lou Ellen quickly pulled the sleeve of David’s shirt and led him away from the other two demigods.

Will watched the backs of Lou Ellen and David who were walking away from them. He could feel nervousness starting to creep in on him as their voices slowly faded away, as he realized that he’s now alone with Nico.

Not that he hated to be with Nico. It’s just… this wasn’t his plan. He wasn’t prepared. And Will hated it when things didn’t go as he planned. He hated it when he was unprepared.

“David played football,” Nico said just when David and Lou Ellen disappeared from their sight.

Will angled his neck to look at Nico. “And when you said football, did you mean soccer?”

“I mean football,” Nico answered, turning on his heels a little so now he was facing Will. “The real football.”

Will snorted and slid down to sit on the grass. “They’re the same,” he said, leaning his back on the tree.

Nico followed Will, sitting on the grass. “It will always be football for me,” he said. There was a melancholic tone lacing his voice. And it made Will wonder, maybe it’s something that Nico used to play. In the streets in Venice, when he was just a kid who had no idea that Greek gods and goddesses were real.

“We, David and I, we were talking about playing here. I mean, it would be great, you know? David said he played midfield. I’m usually,” Nico paused, but quickly continued. “I mean, I used to play as a striker. If we can connect well, that would be really cool.”

Will closed his eyes while his stomach churned with a strange, unpleasant feeling. So, not only was this David kid good in sword-fighting, he’s good in soccer too?

“Do you play too? I mean, you can be the goal keeper. I guess you would be great. I mean, you’re tall and it would be a great asset for a goalkeeper.”

Will huffed. Stuck between the goalposts while watching Nico and David scoring goals? Yeah. No, thank you.

“We’ll see about that,” Will said, still with his eyes closed.

For a while, none of them said anything. Will opened his eyes when he heard Nico sighed. He turned his head, watching Nico stand up. Nico brushed his pants, and gave Will a small smile.

“I’ll see you around, Solace.”

Will wondered why that smile looked a bit strained, but returned it anyway. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

He watched as Nico walked away.

Someone would be a good guy for Nico, he thought. And even though Will was a good guy, maybe he just wasn’t good enough. So of course, someone would be a good guy for Nico. Someone else. Not Will.

***

Will didn’t even know why he was here, standing awkwardly near the table where the food and drinks were.

Oh, yes. Because Cecil and Lou Ellen practically dragged him here, to this stupid Halloween party organized by the Aphrodite Cabin.

It’s not that Will disliked Halloween. And it wasn’t like he hated Halloween parties either. What he didn’t like, was seeing Nico talking with David at the other corner of the room. Just looking at the sight made a strange, nauseating fire flame inside of him.

“Pining over di Angelo again?” Lou Ellen nudged him on his shoulder.

“Yeah. How long are you going to act like this Will? Playing it cool while we all know how you wish you’re the one talking to di Angelo instead of David?” Cecil joined Lou Ellen in interrogating Will.

Will only rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” he mumbled, and took another sip of Coke from his cup. He tried to watch the campers who were dancing in the middle of the floor. Some kids from the Hermes cabin somehow got a hold of speakers. And of course, with a little help from the Hephaestus kids, the party had a cool sound system that was now playing pop music.

Lou Ellen sighed. Will stole another glance at where Nico was standing. David was leaning a little to whisper something at Nico. The proximity between those two made it a little bit harder for Will to breathe. He wondered what it was that David was telling Nico. But then Nico turned his head to Will. And no matter how cliché it might sound, Will’s heart skipped a beat when their eyes met. Will quickly looked down to the floor.

Next to him, Lou Ellen clicked her tongue.

“You know what? I can’t take this anymore. It’s been MONTHS. This has got to end tonight,” she said. Ignoring Will’s protest, she grabbed Will’s wrist and pulled him along with her, walking towards Nico and David.

A few seconds later, Will was standing with a flustered face in front of Nico and David.

“Hey, Nico, David! You guys enjoying the party?”

David gave that half-smile again. “Ah, yes. The party is nice.” He angled his neck just a bit so now he was looking right at Will. The half-smile subtly transformed into a knowing smirk. “And you? You… You are the healer, yes? Will?”

Will forced himself to smile politely at David. “Yeah. That’s me.”

David gave a single nod. “Nico talked a lot about you. A lot of good things.”

Will blinked. His eyes darted to Nico, but the raven-haired boy looked away from him. Still, his cheeks were a dark shade of red.

“Is that Cecil over there? I think I want to talk to him,” David suddenly said as he pointed at Cecil with his chin. “Lou Ellen? Come with me?”

Lou Ellen grinned as she nodded and made a 90-degree turn on her heels. “Yeah, come on, David. Let's leave these two idiots.”

And just like that, they left Will again, standing awkwardly less than two feet away from Nico.

“Uh… I didn’t expect to see you here,” Will said.

Nico turned his head at Will, an eyebrow slightly raised up. “Oh? I thought you were the one saying that I need to work on my social skill.”

Will gave Nico a small smile. “Yeah. So. Good to see you here, then. I mean, for your social skills and all.”

Nico stared at Will. And there was just something behind those dark eyes. Something that Will couldn’t put into words. Something that made him unable to look away.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, Solace?”

The question got Will off-guard. Of all the questions in the world, it’s probably the most unexpected one.

“Huh?”

Nico held his eyes at Will’s for another second, but then he looked away. “Never mind,” he said, half-mumbling. His cheeks blushed again into dark cherry color.

“But… do you want to, though?”

Nico’s head turned back to Will. “Want to do what?”

“Dance? Do you…want to?”

Nico bit his lower lip and he looked down for a second. When he looked up back at Will, his charcoal eyes were soft.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On who’s asking me to.”

Will’s heart started to jump around in his chest.

“What if it’s me asking you?”

The eyes that were staring back at him were now smiling.

“Then I guess, it depends on the song, then.”

Will’s heart was probably doing some crazy somersaults right now, but his lips curled up without him even thinking about it.

“Well, it’s my favorite song that they’re playing right now. I hope it suits you?” he asked, carefully offering his hand.

Nico’s smile was as soft as the look in his eyes. And the moment their fingertips touched, Will’s heart soared high and suddenly his chest was filled with warm, light air.

As Will led Nico to the floor, he thought about how long he has been wanting to do this, to hold Nico’s hand in his.

They swayed along with the music. Nico’s left hand felt perfect in his right hand. Will’s left hand rested on Nico’s hip and Will couldn’t care less about the other people dancing around them.

“Your dancing is better than your singing,” Nico said, a playful smile on his lips.

Will chuckled. “My grandma said a real Southern gentleman must know how to dance. And I remember my Mama dancing with me when I was a kid.”

“Your Mam raised you well, I have to say.”

Will hummed. “I’m a good mama’s boy, I can promise you that.”

“I can see that, Will. Everyone can see that.”

“See what?”

“That you’re a good guy.”

This time Will held his eyes at Nico. “I try to be,” he said. “But… Would I ever be good enough for you?”

Nico huffed. “And you said I was the dense one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Nico stopped, but his feet kept on moving. He sighed. “Gods, do I really have to spell it out to you?” He asked, sounding exasperated as he looked away from Will.

Hope bloomed inside of Will and he grinned and oh, how he wanted to shout and laugh. He took his hand off Nico’s hip so he could gently cup Nico’s cheek, guiding him to face him back.

“Do you mean you like me?” Will asked.

“Well, do you like me?”

Will chuckled and he could feel a stupid smile creeping in. “Why do you even have to ask?”

Nico shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Because you’re nice to me but you’re also nice to everyone? Because you don’t seem to care even if I talk about someone else? Because you…” Nico stopped again and shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe because I just…don’t know?”

Will squeezed Nico’s hand just a bit tighter. “I was just… I was just afraid that I’m not good enough for you.”

Nico rolled his eyes. But his lips twitched, like he tried to hold back a smile.

“You’re a good guy, Will. You’re a good guy to everyone. But sometimes I hope that you can be my good guy.”

It’s like a thousand birds were singing inside of Will now as he felt like he was floating in this bubble of happiness.

“Then I’ll be yours, Death Boy.”

Will wrapped his arms around Nico, and pulled him into his embrace.

“I’ll be your good guy, then. I’ll be your everything.”

Nico pulled himself a little away from Will. He looked up at Will and the light in his eyes was like the most beautiful star in a dark night.

“Everything?”

“Everything. Anything you need.”

***

Additional Author's Notes: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :). Reblogs, replies or any other feedbacks are much appreciated. Also please don't forget to check out the zine!!!

[perpetual-stories]

How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

like, comment and reblog if you find this useful! feel free to reblog in instagram and tag me perpetualstories

Follow me on instagram and tumblr for more writing and grammar tips and more!

[carnationcreation]

Can you do Luke Patterson fanfic where the reader is Alex sister and is in the band who’s been in love with Luke all this time but he never noticed her. And ever since they met Julie she has seen them together has gotten jealous.So she hatches up one finally plan to make him jealous to get him to see her . And Luke realized he had been in love with her and confess to her . Sorry if it’s too much this is my first time asking for a request 🥺

TITLE: Unrequited (Luke Patterson x reader)

✌🏻Masterlist Taglist, Requests, and Works in progress!

Requested: Yes!

Prompt/summary:  Reader does one final attempt at getting Luke to notice her.

Word Count: 1,615

Authors note: appear I just write a lot of angst. Again Where’s my Love by SYML is the vibe lol

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day we woke up on the floor of the garage in the year 2020 was the worst day of my life.

Or that’s what I decided at least.

Apparently we had spent the past 25 years in a dark room, with Alex crying for most of that time. The girl who found us, Julie, quickly became our only tie to the real world. We could only be seen playing if she was playing with us. We soon found out that we had unfinished business that we needed to attend to before we could properly cross over to the other side. We figured it was simple. Play the Orpheum and we were done. But getting to the Orpheum was going to be a lot harder than we thought.

Slowly we had started to build up a following on a thing called ‘YouTube’ where people share videos, I never thought such a wide library of videos could exist for free every single day. Practices became a daily thing, though I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. 

I really shouldn’t be jealous. Luke has chemistry with everyone he sings with. Alex would kill me if he found out that after all these years I was still crushing on his best friend. I couldn’t help the feeling in my throat when I saw Julie and Luke singing together though... the feeling like I couldn’t breathe. Like all the air was being sucked out of me while I tried to keep the feeling of anger from bubbling over.

Why can’t he look at me like that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I never meant to get him jealous, because I always thought making crushes jealous was unhealthy and only ever worked in the movies. But as soon as I started only talking with Reggie and Alex at practice Luke started to notice how I didn’t go out of my way to talk to him like I used to.

As time went on I started only singing with Reggie on stage for the harmonies. Every time I would look over afterwards I would see Luke staring at me with an almost blank expression.

The next few days were miserable for me.

My only desire then was to go up to him and tell him why I had been avoiding him. That I had seen every glance, smirk, smile, and laugh he and Julie had shared and say it was breaking my heart in two. I just had to watch in silence. The fear of causing drama within the band had taken precedent over my unrequited love. 

I never meant for it to be taken this far. After Caleb branded us I truly began to wonder if my place in the band really meant anything to anyone. My feelings poured out over a page as I explained everything to them in a letter. A stupid letter that I didn’t know if I actually was going to deliver or not. 

My worst fears soon became a reality after I saw their interaction outside of Luke’s house on his birthday.

Tears fell out of my eyes as I slipped the letter into his songwriting notebook and poofed out of the garage. I knew they would find it. I knew my brother would know the first place to look for me, so I avoided it.

I stood in the alleyway behind the Orpheum, tears falling down my face as I held onto my brother’s sweatshirt he had given me a few days prior. Hopefully I could still keep it.

“Are you ready?”

I turned around and saw Caleb standing in all his elaborate glory, “I guess so.”

He smirked, “Why so hesitant little dove?”

“Um,” I mumbled, a shiver went down my spine at his awkward nickname, “I’m just going to miss them.”

“Miss them? You’re going to miss them? Oh (Y/n), they haven’t even noticed you were gone. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Tears began to form in my eyes. Breathing became hard as I realized I had been sitting here for hours, and no one came yet.

“Poor (Y/n), in love with a boy who doesn’t even notice her. A brother who was rejected by even his parents, and a best friend who doesn’t even notice her feelings. You can leave all that behind, just shake my hand.”

I stood there, debating on if I really wanted to give it all up. Did I really get a choice in this? I slowly lifted my hand, still hesitating.

“(Y/n), look around. They haven’t even come for you yet, and I’m sure that rat Willie already told them what you were doing. They just don’t care-”

“That’s not true!”

I turned around and saw my band running towards me.

“(Y/n) don’t listen to him? He’s manipulating you,” Alex said.

Tears fell down my face as Caleb grabbed my shoulder, “You’re too late. (Y/n) just look at them. They didn’t even notice as you drifted further and further away.”

My eyes flickered up, Luke locked eyes with me. Tears were forming in his eyes, “(Y/n) please don’t do this.”

I looked back down at the ground.

Julie spoke up, “(Y/n), you really don’t realize how much you contribute to this band. We all care about you so much.”

“I doubt she wants to hear from you,” Caleb scoffed, “Seeing as you stole the one thing she most wanted away.”

The boys looked at each other confused but the look on Julie’s face told me that she knew exactly what Caleb meant.

“(Y/n) I promise you, Luke and I are just best friends. I’m so sorry you felt like you weren’t important to us anymore,” Julie said.

Luke looked up at me but I tried not to meet his gaze.

“(Y/n),” Alex said, “You’re my sister. I can’t lose you too. Please.”

Tears ran freely down my face as I pulled myself away from Caleb. Luke ran forward and caught me as I began to fall.

Caleb let out a frustrated yell and disappeared. I didn’t even bother to look up as I sobbed into my hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Luke whispered to me. Alex pulled everyone into a group hug.

“Guys I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

“This isn’t your fault,” Reggie said.

I brought my hands down to wrap around Luke’s shoulders, “I just didn’t feel good enough. I wanted to know if you guys really cared. I’m so sorry I should have said something.”

“We’re just happy we got here in time,” Alex said, he ran a hand through my hair, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

My tears came to a slow stop, and eventually we began to walk home.

“Guys, I’m taking (Y/n) somewhere. We’ll catch up.”

The guys waved as Luke grabbed my hand and pulled me in a different direction. It soon became clear where he was taking me. 

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

“Barely,” I said. I looked around the park I had always gone to, it had changed so much since 1995, “They tore the gazebo down.”

He looked over to where the rickety white structure used to be, a bathroom area was there now.

“I remember, you used to always go there after there was a fight at your house.”

I nodded, “Quiet, secluded, free to go to. Can’t tell you how many songs I wrote here.”

He pulled me over to sit on the benches near the playground. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said. 

I looked up at the clouds, trying to get the answer straight in my head, “I just… I had seen how you looked at her. I wanted you to look at me like that. Once I started to pull away, no one seemed to notice. Caleb offered me his help, he said I’d be famous…”

“What made you hesitate?”

“I realized… I didn’t want a million admirerors, I just wanted one. Nothing could compare to that.”

I jumped as he reached over to grab my hand, bringing it over to sit in his lap as he covered it in both of his, “I want to be that person.”

“You always were.”

He smiled. He brought my hand up and placed a kiss gently on my knuckles. In a quick moment of bravery I leaned over and kissed his cheek quickly.

He placed both his hands on my cheeks before pulling me into a real kiss. The boy I thought I had lost was kissing me. The kiss I had always dreamed of but thought I could never have. 

We both pulled away breathing heavily. I looked up and giggled at his swollen lips and tousled hair knowing I probably looked the same. 

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to say this. I love you (Y/n). I’ve loved you since the day I met you, I loved you after we died, and I loved you every moment till now. I guess the only reason why I didn’t do anything is I was so scared of you not liking me back, or how your brother would react.”

I sighed as he rubbed his thumb across my cheek, “How do you think he’ll react?”

“He told me while we were looking for you I should’ve asked you out weeks ago. He knows,” He laughed.

The sun had started to set, the light illuminated him making him look ethereal. I pulled him into another quick kiss, “I wish I had done this sooner.”

“What? The kiss or trying to sell your soul to a dead magician?”

I laughed, “Either.”

He smiled and wrapped his arm around me, “Don’t do the second one again anytime soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[theasstour]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟎.𝟏𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

Monday, 25 September 2017

It was strange to Y/N that she was enjoying herself as much as she was just then in an educational setting. In school, she had never really liked any of the subjects besides English, and here at uni, she got to sit and listen to professors who were truly experts on English literature ramble on about Othello and specific analysis on act 3 scene 3. She loved every single second of it, and was sure she could sit there for hours on end just listening to her professors. At one point she was sure this would all get tiring and she’d hate University, but in that moment, hearing her professor, Richard, talk about things that truly interested her, was such a breath of fresh air compared to what she had experienced previously.

The door to the lecture hall opened, and since the doors were right by the blackboard where Richard stood talking about Othello and the ‘temptation’ scene, all eyes landed on the blonde girl in pink shorts and a white jumper. She smiled at Richard, mouthing a “sorry” before taking the first free seat she could find, which was conveniently right beside Y/N. The two girls shared a small smile themselves before Y/N went back to focusing on the lecture happening in front of her. Y/N was hunched over her notebook, writing something off from the PowerPoint slide displayed on the wall in front of her. She did not know how much time went by, she was listening too intently to care about that, but suddenly, the blonde beside her rested her back against the seat and leaned a little closer to Y/N.

“This is quite boring, innit?”

Y/N looked to her left, and to her surprise, realised that the girl who had walked in late was Chloe. The same Chloe who she had met when she registered a week and some ago. She must have been too caught up in the lecture to pay proper attention to her surroundings.

Chloe let out a small chuckle, nodding in the direction of the PowerPoint before she continued to whisper. “The lecture. I knew we’d be discussing Shakespeare in Introduction to English Studies, but Othello’s just fucking boring, innit?”

“I…” Y/N looked at the PowerPoint for a few seconds, then back at Chloe. “Sure.”

They were quiet for a few seconds, Chloe just studying Y/N, eyes searching her face. “You like Othello.”

Y/N felt a sudden urge to relate to Chloe. Since they had met earlier and since she hadn’t made tons of friends on her course yet, she wanted Chloe to be her mate. If they got off on the wrong foot today, they might never sit next to each other again.

“It’s not as good as Twelfth Night, not as bad as Julius Caesar.”

Chloe continued to just look at Y/N, but suddenly, a smile came creeping over her lips. “Take it you like Shakespeare.”

“I like analysing his work, yeah.”

“More of a Modernism, and sometimes Postmodernism, girl myself.”

“I’m not big on either of those.”

Chloe let out a small chuckle again. “You won’t be taking Postmodernism next year then?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Chloe only crossed her arms and stared ahead, still smiling. For a second Y/N was afraid she might have said something to make Chloe detest her, but the next, she reminded herself that she had to live her truth regardless of what anyone said about it. “Guess we’ll just have to enjoy each other’s company in the core modules then.”

Y/N felt a few butterflies in her stomach at that and could not help smiling back at Chloe when their eyes met again.

“How come I haven’t seen you at any Freshers parties yet?” Chloe asked.

“Been busy applying to jobs and such,” Y/N explained. “Gotta get one as fast as possible ‘cause I need money to live.”

“Ahh, fair.” Chloe nodded. “One of my course mates, Hayden – think they’re up there somewhere –“ Chloe pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, indicating further up the lecture hall. “Has decided they’re going to start an Uno society.”

“Uno?” Y/N frowned. “As in the card game?”

“Yeah,” Chloe laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be nice and all, but they’re very passionate about it. Have yet to come out with me, Thian, and Annalise. Those are my other course mates, by the way.”

Y/N nodded. Was she just incompetent at making friends or was Chloe just very good at it? How had she made so many friends, made a small group by the sounds of it, and Y/N had barely talked to anyone on her course yet?

“Hayden promised to come out this Friday, though,” Chloe smiled. “You should come, too.”

For some reason, both nerves and excitement rushed through Y/N at that. She smiled back. “I’d love that.”

“Wicked. It’s at my Dinwiddy flat.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Uni accommodation at Helmond is a huge piss take, I tell you. I feel like there’s mould everywhere.”

“That’s just UK houses in general. We’ll all die from it one day.”

“It’s literally disgusting,” Chloe said. “Also, one of my flatmates never does his dishes. It’s minging. And it’s started smelling, too.”

“Oh, my days.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad I just immediately moved in with my best mate instead of going through the whole uni accommodation thing. At least I can be assured that they do their dishes and no food’s left on the kitchen counter for too long.”

“Oh, that sounds lush.”

The people around Y/N and Chloe were all starting to pack their things and get out of their seats. Seeing as the two of them were sat by the edge of the row, they had to get up rather fast and let people through. So, that’s what they did. Y/N put her notebook and pencil case in her rucksack and slung it onto her back before she and Chloe made their way out of the lecture hall and out into the hallway beyond.

“There they are,” Chloe grinned, waving as she saw a small group of three standing by the wall a bit further down. “Come say hi.” Though Chloe wasn’t looking at her, Y/N assumed she was talking to her, so she followed her over to the rest. “Gang, this is Y/N, the one I met while we were both registering.”

“Ah, you’ll be Y/N, then,” a man with protruding cheekbones, a strong jawline, and deep set, brown eyes said. The Viet man’s smile lit up the room they were standing in, and it made Y/N’s overthinking ebb. “I’m Thian, pleasure to meet you. Chloe told us she met you, but never saw you since.”

“Proper rude of the universe to keep us away from each other for so long,” Chloe said.

“I’m Hayden,” a smaller person said with the greenest eyes and long brown hair. They too had a smile like Thian’s, but this one displayed crooked teeth, which made Y/N more at ease with her own bottom teeth that were the same.

“And I’m Annalise,” the last one said, her hair dyed an unnatural dark red colour that Y/N absolutely loved. “I think I saw you in a Critical Reading seminar.”

“Oh, yeah, I think we might be.”

“We’ll have to sit next to each other next time!”

Y/N could detect a slight accent, but she could not tell where Annalise was originally from. She suspected Germany, there were tons of international students here after all, but Y/N did not want to assume.

“Guys, we have to plan the first Uno society meeting,” Hayden said, looking at the time on their phone. “It was so nice to meet you, Y/N, but we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

She just smiled. “No, totes get that. I need to get back to my flat, anyway.”

“See you around, then,” Chloe smiled, waving as the four of them walked off.

Y/N walked home to Orsman Road. Though she knew there would be less walking if they took the tube, it would also mean that she had to walk on and off boiling hot tube trains and stations, and she was not about to do that. She was sweating enough in the late September sun as it was, she did not need the tube to contribute to her sweat moustache as well. Instead, she plugged her earbuds in and listened to her most recent playlist on Spotify, humming along to her favourite tunes as she walked.

She stopped by Gregg’s by Dalston Kingsland station, buying herself a sausage roll and an iced latte before walking the rest of the stretch home. Hackney bustled around her, with tons of cars, double deckers, and mopeds driving by, as well as all types of people milling to and from work. The early autumn sun was still a little too hot, but it seemed like most Londoners were soaking up the sun while they could. They were walking by in shorts, tee shirts, and summer dresses, while the only reason why Y/N was dressed in her tee shirt and trousers, was so she would not quite literally go up in flames on the way home.

Y/N arrived at Orsman Road not long after her trip to Gregg’s, and walked up to the flat. She locked the door once she was indoors, checking the kitchen and the living room to see if anyone was there. To no one’s surprise, none of her three other student flatmates were home in the middle of the day on a Monday. She walked up the stairs and to her room, letting her door be open so she could air out a bit more. Her windows had been open all day, so her room smelled fresher than normal as she entered. That just reminded her that she had to buy some scented candles or air fresheners to liven up her room.

Putting her rucksack down by her door, Y/N started looking through the two bags that she had yet to pack out from. In one was most of the stuff she’d put on her desk when she finally bought that, and in the other were loads of decorations that she had yet to bring forth. She started pulling out fairylights that she wanted to hang across her room or over her wall, when she heard footsteps. Out of the door directly to the right once you came up the stairs, came a man with short dark hair and a strong build, thin lips and pale skin. He must have heard movements outside his door, because his eyes landed on Y/N almost right away. However, he smiled at her and Y/N immediately knew who this was.

“You’re Y/N, then,” Mason said, walking over to stand in the doorway of her room. “Mason, your third flatmate.”

“Thought I’d never run into you,” Y/N smiled, making his smile grow.

“Yeah, got here like two days ago, and have been all over the place since. Helped some of my mates move into their flats, been at work, and at rugby practice.”

She nodded. “Busy man.”

“Very busy.”

“Lucky I caught you now, then.”

Mason nodded his head. “Would have eventually. Knowing Nath, he’ll probably end up forcing us all to bond as a flat at one point.”

“Sounds horrific.”

“It was. It will be,” Mason laughed, leaning against the doorframe and pushing his hands into his grey joggers.

Y/N furrowed her brows. “It was? He’s done it before?”

“Yeah, our first year. He made everyone in our flat bond, he especially talked about flat yoga sessions and shopping trips when he was drunk or high as a kite.”

She dropped the fairylights and turned her full attention on Mason. “You lived together your first year?”

Mason just looked at Y/N, blinking a few times. “Yeah.”

“All three of you?”

“All three of us. Me, Nathan, Harry, and like five girls.”

Y/N felt like screaming, but lucky for her dignity and Mason’s ears, the front door opened and closed. Nathan’s singing could be heard all the way upstairs. Instead of screaming, Y/N called Nathan’s name, not caring that Mason saw just how annoyed she was now. Poor bloke had no idea what he’d just said. Nathan strolled up the stairs and looked in Y/N’s room’s direction, his face lit up at the sight of Mason and Y/N together.

“What a view!” he grinned. “What’re you two bonding over?”

“Right now we’re bonding over being your friend,” Y/N said.

“Which I’m sure you’re both honoured to be, yes.”

“And I just heard you’ve lived with Mason and Harry for the last year, but have not told me,” Y/N said, ignoring Nathan’s previous comment.

Nathan looked to Mason, and then back at Y/N. “No, Harry moved in later. He lived in another flat first, hated it, and since him and Mason were good mates, he got to move into our place since one of our flatmates dropped out our first week.”

Not caring that she would smudge her makeup, Y/N ran her hands over her face. “How long did he live there, Nate?”

Silence for a second or two. “Start of second semester till we moved out.”

Y/N let go of a heavy sigh. “Nathan, why didn’t you just tell me?-“

“-I know, I know, I know,” Nathan started, walking into Y/N’s room and sitting down on the floor beside her. “I’m a shite friend.”

“You really fucking are,” Y/N said, swatting Nathan’s hand away when he tried to take hers. “Harry was both of our friend when he lived in Notts those months, and I literally had sex with him.”

Mason took a small step back in pure shock, blinking rapidly as if an eyelash fell onto his eye.

“Don’t I have a right to know you’re living with him?” Y/N asked.

“You do. Of course, you do. I just… I thought I told you at one point, and when I got home and I found out I hadn’t told you… I didn’t know how to break the news.”

“How about just telling me?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “Instead of hiding it from me like that.”

“Technically, I didn’t hide anything ‘cause I thought I-“

“-Nathan, I’ll literally skin you alive-“

“-Fine, I should have told you,” he groaned, taking her hand this time and holding it tight in his. “How can I make it up to you?”

Y/N thought for a moment, but came up with the perfect solution. “By coming with me when I go out with my course mates on Friday?”

Nathan just looked at her, blinking once. “My punishment is to… go out with you and your mates?”

“Yes. I barely know them, I need moral support. No matter how bad the person giving me said support actually is.”

Nathan looked down at their hands, patting hers slightly. “I’ll come.”

“Thanks.”

He continued to look down at their hands as Mason’s quiet footsteps back to his room sounded throughout the first floor. “I do have a lecture that finishes at 7pm-“

“-You’ll skip that lecture if you so have to.-”

“-Yes, ma’am,” Nathan answered without hesitation, kissing her hand and getting up from the floor. He gave her a small smile. “And I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you.”

Y/N nodded. “Is there… Is there more you haven’t told me? In regards to Harry?”

Nathan pretended to think for a few seconds, eyes getting big as if he remembered something.

“Nath?”

He chuckled. “No, nothing.”

Y/N hit him on his calf before he walked away. “You’re bloody buying the first round of drinks on Friday.”

“As I should,” was all Nathan said before he danced off to his room. Y/N picked up her fairylights again, trying to get them out of the messy tangle they were currently in so she could finally make this room look like her and her new home.

Friday, 29 September 2017

Y/N was nervous. She was usually nervous before going someplace she had never been before, or to meet people she had never met, but it was never like this. Her nerves were almost always drowned by her natural eagerness to be around people, to be surrounded by friends and strangers. However, this, her first pre-drinks at uni with other people, had her feeling a little too nervous for her own tastes.

She loved parties. Fuck, if she could party every single day, she would. She did not care about the hangover that came the following day, as long as she had a good time the night before. At home in Nottingham, she would have loved to party as much as she had in London, but for some reason, meeting as many new people as she had, made her nervous for some reason. It was weird to Y/N because she loved making friends, but it was different here. She had yet to figure out what about University that triggered this reaction out of her.

A knock sounded at her door and she grunted, which Nathan took as a good enough sign for him to be allowed entrance. He grinned, sitting down on Y/N’s fluffy dark blue duvet cover and looked his best friend up and down.

“Lush,” he said.

Y/N glanced at the mirror in front of her again, running her hands down her sides. Her black ruched detail ribbed crop top fit her perfectly, making her tits look exceptionally good, and the gold necklace and earrings topped it all off. The crop jeans in light wash blue were tightened at the waist by a black belt with silver eyelets, the black lace up boots made her almost as tall as Nathan. Though Y/N had been out on town in Nottingham with this very same outfit, she was unsure about it now. There was a familiar fear in the back of her head; one that had not visited in a while, one that would lay low until it saw fit to paralyse her. Y/N was experiencing only the tip of the iceberg now. The rest would reveal itself later, it would all melt and drown her in nervous ticks and anxious tendencies.

God, she hated how nervous she was. This was not like her at all. Nathan knew this, which was why he picked up on how unusually quiet his best friend was. He got up from where he was seated on the bed, walking over to Y/N and placing his hands on her shoulders.

“What’s up?”

She took a deep breath, looking at him in the mirror. “You remember the party at Jack Lloyd’s?”

“When we were 17?”

“Yeah, and I was nervous to wear that tight-fitting dress? ‘Cause of my stomach?”

“Yes, even though you had no reason to be nervous.”

She sighed. “Well, I’m feeling like that now,” she admitted. “Not as intensely, but it’s there and… I haven’t felt this nervous about being seen in a long time.”

“What do you mean ‘being seen’?”

“When… When you’ve had and still have a hard time accepting yourself, it’s hard to let others look at your body ‘cause you don’t want to exist outside your own head, if that makes sense? Being seen means people will have an opinion, it means they’ll piece together this image of you before even getting to know you. It means them judging you on your looks alone before they get to actually know you.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders a little, Nathan squeezing them ever so slightly. “My confidence is much better now, but I still have those moments every so often when that 17-year-old girl I used to be will come back and whisper something discouraging into my ear.”

Nathan nodded, wrapping his arms around her neck and bringing her to him. She melted into her best friend, taking a grip of his forearms. “I know it’s much easier said than done, but focus on now. You’ve come so far, and though that 17-year-old is part of the reason why you are who you are today, she’s got nothing to do here. 19-year-old Y/N has come so far, she has no time revisiting the past ‘cause she’s going to a party tonight, and it’ll be fucking fantastic, yeah?”

Y/N chuckled, closing her eyes as Nathan planted an encouraging kiss to her cheek. “Guess you’re right.”

“Of course I fucking am.”

She laughed.

“Now, get your vodka, tequila, sourz, or whatever the fuck you’re drinking, and let’s go.” Nathan let go of her and walked to the door, opening it. “You got Chloe’s address?”

“Yeah, it’s Dinwiddy, flat 10.”

“Uni accommodation?”

Y/N huffed, reaching for her purse and putting it over her shoulder. “Did you expect my first-year mates to live anywhere else?”

“Not really. Dunno why I’m shocked.”

Y/N searched through her purse, checking she had everything she needed before reaching for her plastic bag where her drinks were.

“Still remember when I lived in Coopers Court with Harry and Mason. Oh, how time flies.”

Y/N stopped short, narrowing her eyes. “I still cannot believe you didn’t tell me anything about you living in the same flat as Harry your first year at uni.”

Nathan sighed.

“Cannot believe you didn’t tell me he went to Helmond. Cannot believe you wanted us to live together without at least informing me-“

“-Mate, are we done with this?”

“Don’t think I’ll ever be done. You tricked me into this.”

“I did not.”

“What did you think was gonna happen when I found out?”

“We’ve been over this,” Nathan said. “I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. Harry did not react like this when I told him I promised to live with you my second year, your first year.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, having already heard this.

“In fact, he did not mind one bit living with you.”

“I mind living with him.”

“Clearly, or else we wouldn’t still be having this conversation.”

Y/N tutted, walking past Nathan and down the stairs. “I’ll let this argument be for the time being, but expect me to pick it back up again tomorrow when my mind’s not all over the place. I want to be able to fucking destroy you.”

“Great. Can’t wait.”

Y/N and Nathan started walking in the direction of Dinwiddy, the biggest uni accommodation at Helmond, where most students ended up staying. Parmiter Street was a mere 30-minute walk away, and though they could have easily taken the tube, they both knew that it would be best for them to get some fresh air before drinking. Y/N also wanted to walk off some of her anxiety, though she was fairly certain that would not happen. On one hand she was looking forward to meeting Chloe and the rest of her English Lit gang, on the other, she was nervous. Her nerves came more from fear of experiencing the same blinding anxiety she had when she was younger, for that same feeling of helplessness and bottomlessness that it had brought her. What if it appeared when she was drinking? What if it got worse as she got drunk?

She hated how moving away to London and to University had brought her so much doubt. It was like she had to figure out who she was all over again. Here, it was only Nathan who knew her. Well… him and Harry, but the latter did not count. If Y/N so wanted, she could become a new version of herself. She knew that was something uni offered; finding a new you and shaping it into a person you want to be. There were several things Y/N wished she could change about herself. She had a horrible temper, was a little too loud at times, took many things far too personal, and more. She was unsure how much independence and a new environment could help make her a better version of herself, but she hoped Helmond and London could help her to some degree.

Once they arrived at Parmiter Street, Nathan walked straight onto Dinwiddy campus grounds and showed them the way to flat 10. The brown brick buildings rose five storeys high around them, shaping a small T formation with some benches along the stone path where people could sit on the few occasions when the weather would allow it. Nathan had been there the year before, loads of his friends from his Criminology course had lived at Dinwiddy accommodation and therefore hosted pre-drinks there. Nathan knew his way around, and, sure enough, he showed them right to flat 10. On the right hand-side, the first building, Nathan strolled over to the entrance.

He met Y/N’s eyes, trying to get a picture of just how nervous she was. After all, these were her friends, and had they been home in Nottingham, she would not have been this nervous at all. Nathan was not anxious at all, and he had never talked to – never met – Chloe or any of Y/N’s course mates.

“Listen,” Nathan said, giving Y/N a small smile. “If it gets too much, we’ll just go home, yeah? I won’t leave your side.”

Y/N smiled back, nodding her head. “Yeah. I’ll send Chloe a text saying we’re here.”

“We could just ring the doorbell.”

She looked at him. “Nath.”

“Y/N.”

“What were phones invented for if we’re just gonna ring people’s doorbells? I’m sending her a text.”

Nathan reached forward and rang the doorbell, making Y/N raise her eyebrows at him and take a deep breath as not to throw him against the brick building.

“Yes?” came from the speakers beside the doorbells. It was Chloe.

Nathan nudged Y/N, nodding in the direction of the speakers. She glared at him. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ahh, brill!” Chloe unlocked the door for them and Nathan opened it, letting Y/N enter first. They walked over to the stairs, looking at a sign there that showed them flat 10 at the topmost storey.

“They don’t even have a bloody lift, do they?” Y/N asked Nathan as she looked around.

“Gotta walk, mate.”

“Fuck me,” Y/N groaned as they began their ascent.

“I’d rather not.”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed a bit. They made it to the fourth floor, and Y/N knocked on the door as Nathan breathed heavily beside her.

“Hi,” Chloe smiled as she opened the door, stepping aside to let Y/N and Nathan in.

“Hiya,” Y/N smiled back, feeling her heart beat hard inside her chest. Something about Chloe’s smile, the reminder that she had invited Y/N over, that she wanted her there, settled atop Y/N’s shoulders, making them sag to a comfortable level. “Brought my housemate, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” Chloe said, turning to Nathan.

“Nathan,” he smiled. “Thanks for letting me come here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Chloe said, closing the door and showing them the way down a corridor towards the shared living space where a heavy bass was throbbing. The fluorescent lights overhead in the hallway resembled those at a petrol station, making Y/N squint as she entered the living room. There sat everyone she had the pleasure of meeting earlier that week. Hayden, Annalise, and Thian were all  around the table with a glass each to drink. Y/N smiled at them, waving her hand as they all grinned back at her. She still felt like she was intruding.

“Y/N, Nathan, do you like sambuca?” Chloe asked, walking over to the kitchen bench to fetch plastic shot glasses.

“Never say no to sambuca, ey?” Nathan grinned, nodding for Y/N to go sit down so he could follow her lead. “We’ll have a shot each of you’re handing out.”

“I am, indeed,” Chloe said, getting two shot glasses and walking over to the table, placing the glasses in front of Nathan who looked absolutely ecstatic.

“Thanks, babe,” Y/N said.

“You lot playing a drinking game?” Nathan asked, getting his drinks out to mix them all together into his paper cup.

“Yeah, we’re playing Never Have I Ever,” Hayden answered. “However, if no one drinks, everyone’s got to take a sip except for the person asking, but the person asking’s gotta take two if no one drinks.”

“Ahh, alright,” Nathan said. “Creative. Love it.”

“This is Y/N’s friend, Nathan, by the way, guys,” Chloe said as she came back over with shots for everyone.

“Oh, yeah, this is Nathan. He’s a second-year, we live in a flat together in Haggerston.” Y/N suddenly felt stupid for not introducing him right away so that Chloe had to. She felt her cheeks heat up, but she refused to look like she felt headless. Instead, she got her vodka and cranberry juice out, mixing it as Nathan spoke beside her.

“We’ve known each other forever, so she moved in with me and my flatmates this year instead of moving into uni accommodation,” he elaborated.

“You knew each other in Nottingham?” Chloe asked, and, for some reason, the fact that Chloe remembered that made Y/N feel all kinds of warm.

“Yeah, been best friends for years.”

“How nice that you got to live together here,” Chloe smiled in Nathan’s direction, then at Y/N.

“It is, isn’t it?” Nathan said, looking at Y/N and giving her a small wink before going back to his drink.

“Right, we need to take advantage of being first-years and get drunk as often as possible,” Thian said. “So, tonight needs to be good.”

“It’ll be good regardless,” Annalise retorted, taking one of the shots from the tray Chloe had brought to the table.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Hayden asked.

Thian nodded. “Pub or club?”

“Don’t really feel like clubbing tonight, you know what I mean?” Chloe asked, the other three coming with exclamations of agreement or nodding slightly. “Pub then?”

“We have a pub right by us,” Nathan said. “Only 30 minutes away and it’s the best one in Haggerston, in my opinion anyway.”

Y/N wrinkled her nose some. “The Stag’s Head?”

“Yeah, it’s always full and they sometimes got live music and everything.”

“We could go there, yeah,” Chloe said. “If everyone’s in.”

“Could we take a bus there?” Hayden asked.

“30 minutes isn’t a long walk, though,” Chloe chuckled. “As long as Nathan and Y/N show the way, we won’t get lost.”

“Don’t count on my navigational skills when I’m under the influence, babes,” Nathan said, making the others laugh.

“We’re better off using Google Maps, he might just show the way to the Gregg’s by Dalston Kingsland where he thinks the entire staff’s got a crush on him,” Y/N said before taking a sip of her drink, laughter erupting again. It felt good, like a pat on the shoulder, and Y/N instantly eased. Maybe she had not lost her old self at all, maybe she could still feel at ease, even around new people.

“They all flirt with me, and who can blame them?” Nathan shrugged his shoulders, whipping his head to the side so his lush, curly red hair dangled at the top of his head, grinning his wide smile and making the lip piercing shine in the fluorescent lights overhead.

The rest of the night went on, and it was easier to talk to everyone as time progressed. Not only because Y/N got more and more intoxicated, but she also just felt better after getting to know them all. Hayden always laughed the loudest, and their laughter was also very infectious, making it hard not to chuckle along with them. Annalise, though she sometimes stuttered over a few English words, was incredibly considerate and would urge Y/N to continue on with her story when others did not hear her. Thian offered Y/N tons of shots and complimented her on her outfit, making it easier for Y/N to feel good and seen, as she had been terrified of back at the flat. Chloe was easily the boss, and did most of the talking, though no one seemed to mind. After all, Chloe had introduced everyone to everyone, so people knew her the best out of everyone.

As time went on, Y/N just felt better. It was easier to talk to everyone and, at one point, she thought she was back at home in Nottingham, introducing herself to strangers at a party. They all made it easy to forget just how nervous she had been. It made her look forward to seeing them in her other lectures and seminars the coming week and all those weeks after that. Maybe these were the people she would spend her time at University with, and that excited her.

Bottles emptied and the volume inside the uni flat had increased massively. It was close to 9 when Chloe suggested they leave, and assured Y/N that she could leave the little she had left of her vodka at her place to pick up another day. Y/N took her up on the offer, insides warm from both alcohol and Chloe’s hospitality.

Nathan showed the way towards Haggerston and The Stag’s Head, arm entwined with Y/N’s for most of the way there. At one point however, Y/N let go of him and ended up walking beside Annalise and Thian, talking about one of the texts they had to read by Tuesday. It was such a mundane conversation, complaining about course work and talking about coming deadlines, that it felt like they had been mates for ages. The chat flowed so easily, the laughter rolled off their tongues, and it just made sense for all of them to be together, walking along the dark London streets in their tipsy states, making their way towards what would hopefully be the first of many trips to a pub.

They arrived at Orsman Road and they could hear The Stag’s Head before they saw it. Y/N had never paid it much attention. She knew she would end up popping by once or twice during her time at uni, but she had not envisioned her checking it out that first week. Nathan held the door open for everyone, resting a hand at Y/N’s back as he followed her indoors last.

The pub was small, but Y/N was sure that it was bigger than it appeared late on a Friday evening. Straight ahead, in a V formation, stood the bar, a wall filled with bottles of all alcohol imaginable behind it, lit up by red light which fit the dark red of the counter surrounding it. Far down to the left, it seemed the rest of the pub disappeared from view, but judging by the stairs Y/N could see, she supposed there was a loo somewhere in that direction, and it also looked to be where one could go to reach the smoking area. People were both sat and stood by the bar as well as booths along the walls. What appeared to be the stage further down to the right was unoccupied by any performers, though a few lads stood there with a pint each. There were no free tables, and this put a damper on the mood quite quickly.

Nathan, however, pulled them all towards the smoking area and they were all pleasantly surprised to see a free table and two benches untouched. Fairylights hung over the outdoor space, from the house and over to the fence on the other side. It lit up just enough, made it possible to see, but not too bright for people to squint when walking out into the night. A few empty pints and a smoky ash tray stood in the middle of the table, but Nathan put the glasses on the brick fence before everyone sat down.

“Alright, I’ll pay for your drink,” Nathan said, smiling at Y/N. “Anyone wanna come to the bar? Y/N’ll watch the table.”

“Ah, yes.” Chloe got up, the rest of the gang following along and walking towards one of the two entrances to the pub. Y/N got her phone out, looking to see if she had any notifications she had to check out, but there were none. She was about to resolve to scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, when she heard a slightly familiar voice.

“Hi there.” Mason sat down on the edge of the opposite bench, a cigarette in hand and a small smile on his lips. “Didn’t know you and Nath would come here tonight.”

“Oh, hiya,” Y/N smiled. “No, we didn’t know where we’d go after pre-drinks. He suggested this place, so we brought some of my course mates with us here.”

“You going out later?”

“No, think we’re just gonna stay here.”

“Yeah, this is a chill place,” Mason said, puffing out some smoke.

“This is my first time here.”

Mason raised his eyebrows. “Is it?”

Y/N smiled. “You think I should’ve come here earlier?”

“More to do with the fact that our flat just loves this place, thought Nathan would’ve at least taken you here already.”

“He did now.”

“It’s my favourite pub around here, and Harry-“

“-Mase!” Nathan exclaimed, grinning as he came over with two gin and tonics. “You’re here as well!”

“Yeah, it’s a Friday night, innit?”

“Hi,” Chloe said, sitting down beside Mason with a wide grin on her face. It seemed like she wanted to introduce herself or to be introduced, but before Y/N could say anything, the conversation resumed.

“Hey,” Mason answered, looking back to Nathan who seemed to be ecstatic to see one of his flatmates. “Hear you haven’t taken Y/N here till now.”

Nathan sighed. “Not like I didn’t want to, just haven’t gotten the opportunity.”

“What’s so good about this place?” Y/N asked, looking from Nathan to Mason.

“Just close, innit? Also, it’s crowded, but it’s not as crowded as most pubs down by Kingsland Road,” Nathan elaborated.

“You lot have a good night, yeah? Need to get back to my mates.” Mason leaned past Chloe, stumping the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray before he got up, walking over to a big group of lads. Chloe stared after him as the rest of the conversation around the table started back up again, Y/N pretended to not see how she was checking him out. It felt like she was intruding on a moment that was not meant for anyone but Mason to see.

“You’re living with him?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah.”

“He’s well fit.”

“Guess.”

Chloe giggled. “You’re taking the rule to not shag one of your flatmates seriously, then?”

“Shouldn’t everyone?” Thian asked, furrowing his brows. “It only complicates everything.”

“How? It’s only a shag. It’s not like you’re gonna fall in love with them,” Chloe said.

“Can’t really control your emotions, though.” Nathan shrugged. “Two of my flatmates last year shagged. He had feelings for her, she just wanted a one night stand. Didn’t end well.”

Y/N put her drink back down on the table after a long sip. “Well, if you’re clear beforehand and make it clear that it’s only for this night and there’s no emotions behind it other than temporary bliss, then that’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Nah,” Hayden said, shaking their head. “It’s an unwritten rule. Don’t shag your flatmates.”

“Is it a serious rule?” Annelise asked, furrowing her brows.

“It’s got serious consequences,” Hayden answered.

“But if you’re both aware it’s only a one time thing, then is it serious?” Y/N asked.

“Babe, sex is complicated. You’re always just gonna be connected in a way, you know?” Nathan said.

“I can promise you I’m not connected to Ollie Lee in any way, shape, or form,” Y/N huffed, sipping her drink again as Nathan laughed, the other joining in because of Y/N’s obvious distaste in this Ollie Lee.

“Was he awful in bed?” Chloe asked, smiling as she looked between Nathan and Y/N.

“No, I was just desperate one night last year.” Y/N rolled her eyes at herself. “Let’s just say that mid-shag he asked me if I had to go to the toilet, and when I said no, he told me that whenever I felt like I had to, just pee on him instead.”

Gasps erupted around the table, and a second later, everyone started howling with laughter. Nathan kept on hitting his thigh, leaning into Y/N and laughing. Though it was a fairly embarrassing story on Y/N’s part, her definite lowest of low, she could not help feeling good about making everyone laugh like this. Looking around at everyone, she suddenly felt very good about herself, despite this being her worst sex story ever.

It was not like Y/N had fucked her way through Nottingham and had tons of stories to tell. In fact, she hadn’t shagged that many. She had had sex with eight people, three of them being women, one non-binary, and the other four men. She had been very vocal about the fact that the best sexual encounters she had had, were with women. They had all been so nice, and though it had never escalated to anything romantic beyond that one night together, they had made Y/N feel the best she’d ever felt. She suspected women just knew what to do, that they cared how she felt and did not solely care about their own release.

The group ended up just sitting around and talking for a while. It was nice to go somewhere outside of the uni setting and get to know some people, this was what uni was all about, or so Nathan had told her countless times. These people were as anxious about making friends and being liked as she was, but there they all were, making friends and going outside their own comfort zone.

At one point, Y/N had finished her drink and went to get another round for her and Nathan. The pub seemed to be even more packed now that it was closer to midnight. Everyone wanted to drink the week away, to forget about their lives for a little while and just spend time in good company. Y/N strolled over to the bar, looking up and down the counter to see if any of the bartenders were free to help her. The second her eyes landed on a familiar figure, she halted.

Harry’s eyes were already on hers as he stood almost right opposite her mixing a drink. He let go of a sigh, looking down at whatever he was mixing.

“You…” she started, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got to be fucking everywhere.”

“Only ‘cause you’re every single place I usually am,” he said, continuing to make whatever drink he was making.

“Do you work here then?”

He looked over at her, raising one of his eyebrows. “I’m not a hallucination now?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Can’t believe you thought I was a bloody hallucination.”

“Believe it. It’s all Nathan’s fault anyway. I’ll never forgive him for forcing me to live with you for a year.”

Harry let out a dry laugh. “To answer your question: no, thought I’d help out behind the bar to get me adrenaline going.”

“Well funny,” Y/N said. “You got me cracking up, can you tell?”

“Last time I checked, I got you laughing pretty hard, yeah.”

“That’s literally two years ago now.”

Harry finished the drink, putting it in a glass and placing it in front of the person standing just beside Y/N. Her eyes first landed on the watch on his wrist, the nice brown leather, and then her gaze travelled upward. She looked up at the man who was already staring at her, giving him a smile when she smiled at him. Their eye contact was put to an abrupt end when Harry poked the man’s hand holding the drink with the card machine. Y/N looked back at Harry, and then at another man with strong build and big, curly hair who stepped into view beside Harry.

“I’ll take care of her, Kai,” Harry said.

This Kai looked at Harry, blinking once before he met Y/N’s eyes again.

“She’s my flatmate,” Harry elaborated, making Kai study Y/N a bit more closely before he nodded once. He was very good looking, with a broad nose, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips, his brown skin glowed in the dim lights of the pub.

“That new one,” Kai said.

“Yeah.”

Kai smiled then, nodding in Y/N’s direction. “Nice of you to come check on Hazza. It’s always hectic on Fridays.”

“Oh, our other flatmate took me here, I didn’t come by choice.”

Kai’s eyebrows rose on his face and he looked at Harry who barked out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders at Kai as they exchanged a look. Harry walked over to stand right in front of her, signalling to Kai that he could take care of this one. Kai walked off, taking someone else’s order.

“Even feistier than I remember, you are,” Harry said.

She cocked her head to the side as Harry gathered a glass for her drink, already assuming that was what she was going to get. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it before.”

It left her lips before she even registered she was thinking it. Harry only took a deep breath before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, clearly choosing to ignore her statement. “What can I get you, Y/N?”

“Sex on the Beach, please,” she said. “Two of them.”

“Alright.” Harry started making them right away, signalling to someone that he’d be right with them after this. Y/N looked around her, meeting the gaze of the man who had just stood by her at the bar. He raised his glass in her direction and she smiled back. She definitely had to go talk to him after this. He seemed to be a bit older, maybe five years older than her, but just for tonight, she did not care.

Y/N glanced back at Harry and watched him, fascinated by how fast he managed to make the drinks. “How long have you worked here, then?”

“A year abouts,” Harry said. “Worked in a hotel when we moved to Brum. Tended to work at the bar when the bartender was out.”

Y/N nodded, eyes on his hands as he poured ice, shots, and all types of alcohol and liquids into her drink. “You lived there till you moved to London?”

“Yeah.” They were quiet for a moment, both of them remembering all of the things that were left unsaid between them. All of those words, moments, and memories they had created during those months the two of them had crossed paths in Nottingham.

He cleared his throat as he put the drinks down in front of her. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t much like Brum.”

Y/N took a grip of the glasses. “And why’s that?”

“Dunno. Just didn’t find my footing proper.”

“In the two years you lived there?”

He shrugged. “Guess not.”

Y/N clicked her tongue. “Was it that bad?”

“Nah, I met tons of ace people and Birmingham’s a decent place, but…” He shrugged again. “Dunno.”

“Hmm,” she said, trying to decipher his words and if he was being truthful or not.

“Anyway,” Harry said, nodding to the drinks. “Take that other drink to Nathan – as I’m sure it’s for him – and when you bring that middle-aged man home later: please, be quiet. I have rugby at 11 tomorrow morning.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open. “How dare-“

“-Y/N, what’s taking so fucking long?” Nathan shouted as he came up next to her. His eyes fell on Harry behind the bar. “Oh… forgot to tell you Harry works here.”

“Nath, shut the fuck up,” Y/N said, looking from Nathan and back at Harry.

Harry nodded towards the door, silently telling them to fuck off, and they did. They walked back to the rest who were still sitting by the same table outside. Nathan took his drink from Y/N and sat down, but just as Y/N was about to sit down, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She looked over her shoulder rather fast, blinking a few too many times when she locked eyes with the same man who had been standing beside her by the bar.

“Hi,” he said, giving her a broad smile.

Y/N almost felt herself blush. “Hey.”

“I’m George.”

She smiled. “Y/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, he gestured at the bench where she had just been about to sit down. “Mind if I sit down with you?”

Her smile widened. “Not at all.”

Y/N felt fucking terrible. Her room was too hot, too humid. Body sticky with sweat, limbs aching, throat burning with yesterday’s alcohol, and head throbbing, she opened her eyes slowly before shutting them again, groaning into her pillow. She hated herself for not drinking as much water before bed as she usually did when coming home from a night out. Sitting up, she looked down at the man beside her, racking her brain to remember what his name was. She ran her hands over her face, reaching for her glasses so she could see something, but quickly realising she left her contact lenses in the night before. Her eyes were so dry it hurt to blink and she suddenly realised why her head was hurting more than normal. Cursing herself, Y/N got out of bed with her glasses perched at the top of her head, picking up a tee shirt and some tights, pulling on her fluffy dressing gown before she made her way out of her room as soundlessly as possible.

She stumbled her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. First thing she did was take her contacts out, struggling to do so as the contacts were so dry, her eyes having dried out with them. She splashed water in her face next, then drank the equivalent to the Atlantic Ocean before splashing even more water on her face. She then put her glasses on, realising that she had to let her eyes relax some after what she had just put them through. It took her awhile to gather up the courage to go to the toilet, where she made herself throw up the nausea she was feeling before having a very long peeing session.

Moments of the night before came rushing back to her, and as she sat there on the toilet, she remembered more and more. The name George came to her like out of a fog, and then the details started falling into place. She remembered how he’d bought her more drinks, how the two of them had sat talking all night about nothing in particular. She remembered his hand on her thigh and him leaning into her to whisper in her ear. Then they were in her room, her front against the mattress and his weight on her back. It was all hazy after that, most of it just a mess of limbs and chasing a release that she had never caught up with. Though Y/N usually made it clear that she hadn’t come, she was too worn out to tell George. She remembered falling asleep almost the second they were done. To say she had been underwhelmed was an understatement.

When she was done, she walked down the stairs for the kitchen. Once again, she was left stopping right in her tracks as she walked in. Harry stood by the stove, eyes on the pan in front of him where he was making eggs, a few asparagus and peppers cooking beside the two frying eggs. For a moment, she debated walking back upstairs and leaving Harry to it, but then he glanced over at the door to his right, meeting her eyes right away. He gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning back to his breakfast. God… Y/N wanted to set herself on fire. It’d be better than staying inside a room with Harry alone after years apart.

He wore rugby shorts that reached mid-thigh, a white tee shirt to go with it, and a hairband to keep his hair out of his face. Y/N realised just then that he was getting ready to leave for rugby as he had told her yesterday he would. She could remember him doing rugby when they knew each other three years ago as well, but she didn’t think he’d still be doing it.

The small conversation they had in The Stag’s Head the night before lingered in the air between and around them. That was reason enough to turn and walk upstairs again. But as Y/N remembered who was waiting for her in her room, she stepped into the kitchen. She got two slices of bread and put them in the toaster, getting some butter and milk out of the fridge as she waited. She watched Harry’s back as she filled the kettle with enough water, quickly looking away when he moved to put his eggs on the two slices of bread on his plate. Biting her lip, Y/N got a mug and a teabag, looking back over at Harry as he stood holding his breakfast plate. Y/N took a deep breath, knowing exactly what she had to do.

“Okay,” she said only a second before Harry turned around to face her, mouth open as if to say something. He must have noticed the tension as well. “We need to talk this through. We can’t live together for the next year if it’s gonna be like this. Just gonna put that out there right away.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Y/N leaned her hip against the counter, feeling relieved that she was not the only one out of the two that had thought about how incredibly awkward this was. “You’ve thought about it too?”

“Of course. I’ve been fuming ‘cause Nathan didn’t tell you sooner, and I’ve also found it annoying how I’m the bad guy in your eyes when this wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for Nate.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I haven’t thought of you as the bad guy-“

“-Y/N,” Harry said, putting his plate down on the counter again. “You’ve been angry at me this whole time. I can tell.”

“My frustration with you has got nothing to do with this situation, but all to do with how you just left without even saying goodbye before you moved away.” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m trying to not blame you for this as well, but you’re right, Nathan’s the one that made this happen, we should be angry with him.”

“So you have been mad at me.”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t it just easier, no matter how stupid the reason, to just find more things to make you angry at a person? To make you hate them even more? Isn’t it just satisfying to find other ways to be frustrated with them?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I am.”

“Anyway,” Y/N continued, getting her bread slices out of the toaster to put butter on them. “Why didn’t we say anything? If we’ve both thought it’s been awkward, I mean.”

“You’ve been busy shagging men 10 years older than you, I didn’t get the chance.”

“Look at you not being frustrated or annoyed with me.”

“I told you to be quiet last night,” Harry said, getting a fork and putting some asparagus and paprika in his mouth. “You weren’t.”

Y/N got the kettle as it finished, pouring some hot water into her mug. “So, what you’re saying is that you’ve been angry with me.”

“Not angry, just…” Harry sighed. “Fine. A little angry last night, yes.”

Y/N smiled. “And he wasn’t 10 years older than me, he’s five years older.” She paused. “I think.”

“Right,” Harry said, eating more of his breakfast. “Listen…” He swallowed. “I think we should just… We should just address it.”

“Yeah.”

They were both quiet, looking at the other and waiting for them to say what they were both thinking. Though it looked like he was about to reach for his bread to take a bite, Harry stopped himself. Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, “It was fucking terrible. That first time…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes before he ran a hand over his face, remembering it all over again. “I didn’t even last a minute. It was mortifying.”

“It wasn’t half as mortifying as you trying to go down on me afterwards.”

Harry let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that wasn’t really…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, we were both part of it. You don’t have to apologise for that.”

“You hear all these stories about how losing your virginity is supposed to be so beautiful, but it’s not. It’s really fucking not. Especially if you lose it to someone else who hasn’t had sex before, it just makes it double as awkward.”

Y/N nodded. “It was shit. Both of us were shit.”

“Exactly.”

“But I hope you know the reason I’m frustrated with you isn’t because of that.”

Harry looked away, biting at his bottom lip before he said, “Yeah, I know why.”

“Good, just wanted that to be clear.”

Harry nodded, taking his bread slice in his hand, making sure the egg wouldn’t fall off before he brought it to his mouth. “Well, now that we’ve addressed that, let’s just move on.”

“Let’s.”

She gave him a small smile before taking her teabag out of her mug and throwing it in the bin. There was still some tension in the room, but not enough for Y/N to want to set herself on fire like she had wanted to before. Just as she was about to take a grip of her plate and cuppa, the sounds of footsteps made her look up. George, who had been asleep last time Y/N checked, walked by the kitchen, halting as he saw Y/N and Harry standing there in the kitchen. He gave them both a smile Y/N could tell was forced, and then walked straight for the door without a single word or a second glance. Y/N and Harry looked at one another, sharing a look before they both chuckled ever so slightly.

“Cracking bloke,” Harry mumbled.

“Innit,” Y/N huffed, picking up her breakfast. “Have fun at rugby practice.”

“Cheers.”

She walked by him, hoping that her room did not smell of George or anything resembling alcohol or sweat. If it did, she would hit her head against the wall. But, lucky for her, George had left the door open, which had given the room a little bit of time to get the smell of last night out. After putting on her fluffy duvet cover, she opened the windows to let some fresh air in, and left her door open as she sat down in bed with her laptop, tea, and breakfast.

Just as she was about to put her plate down on the nightstand, she noticed something already laying there on top of her books. Adjusting her glasses, Y/N squinted at the object. She put her plate down on her duvet cover and reached for the wristwatch George had left. It was the nice leather one she had seen last night by the bar, the one that had caught her attention first. The digital clock seemed to have stopped working, displaying a random time that Y/N in her hangover state could not tell anyone what was. She was too fucked to even try and understand the numbers in front of her.

She put the clock back on her desk, hoping that she’d run into George soon so she could give it back to him. Or maybe Nathan could stalk Facebook and find him so she could message him there to tell him. She was glad she hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with George as she did not want to meet him again, but right now, she wanted to give him his watch back.

Y/N heard the front door open and then close, indicating that Harry had just left for rugby, and, as far as she could tell, she was the only one currently awake in her flat. The morning was quiet, she felt oddly at peace as she put on Fleabag and sipped her cuppa, and little did she know, this would be one of those rare moments over the last three years that this emotion inhabited her body.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 7th March, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta reader! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache​ 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh​ 🏛️

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[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[notmrskennedy]

Bites and Bullet Holes

(Spencer Reid x Female leaning but sorta GN! Reader)

Summary: Spencer, during college, was bitten by a dog. Working a case involving dogs brings back old memories and friends...

W/C: 3,384

Warnings: Dog bites, bullet holes, bad writing? 

A/N: Guess what I found y’all? I haven’t edited it one single bit but I hope it goes over well anyway. When I was working at the kennel I kept having anxiety over one of my kids getting into a fight so I made this. Be a little extra gentle with this one. 

---

As he leaned over the victim, he made the mistake of thinking about you. Spencer thought he’d gotten over it. The whole randomly thinking about you thing—the thing that’s happened too many times before. He’d chalked it up to you being best friends 15 years ago. Told himself that it’s normal to miss your friends from college. 

But over a dead body? This was new. 

Though he supposes the dead girl could’ve looked like you in another timeline. There’s facial structure similarities—at least to you 15 years ago at 19. She’s been strangled with her dog’s leash and there’s some unspoken quality about her that just…jerks him into nostalgia over you. 

(You are probably the one that got away, but if he’s being honest, you live in DC. He could go see you right now if he wanted to.)

Morgan leans over Spencer and points at the dog leash. “It had to be someone she knew if the dog went off with our un-sub.”

Spencer nods, fidgeting with the 15 year old scars on the inside of his wrist. Whether or not Morgan noticed, he thankfully doesn’t press. Spencer is having enough trouble stamping down that knee-jerk reaction to think about you, let alone if Derek thinks to point out the magical, ‘hey weren’t you bitten by a dog?’

Spencer doesn’t remember the incidence well enough to comment. He wonders if you do. 

“We’ll have to check shelters for the dog,” Spencer remarks. “3.3 million dogs enter shelters every year in the US.” 

Morgan nods, pulls off a glove, pulls out his phone. Spencer looks around the park. Behind the police tape are plenty of people walking their dogs. The sorts of breeds that you’ve gushed about 15 years ago. His brain knew too much about dobermans, shepherds, mallinois—he could even hear that pretty little gasp you had when you’d point out a particularly well trained monster of a pet. 

Spencer wonders if you ever did anything with your finance degree, if you even ended up finishing college at all. You’d come close to dropping out over calculus—he hadn’t been around long enough to help you through the even harder stuff. This wasn’t the first time he’d wanted Garcia to look you up, but it was the first time he’d considered it. 

“Music to my ears, mama,” Morgan laughs into the phone and Spencer tunes back in. 

“I’ll get that puppy BOLO out,” Garcia chirps back. Spencer can imagine her wringing a fluffy pencils through her fingers. “We’re going to find this doggie and make sure that psycho didn’t get him too.”

Spencer smiles despite himself. Penelope would’ve liked you. 

#

JJ sets coffee down in front of his stack of files. She smiles, gracefully sits down next to him. Spencer tries his best to ignore her insistence. Tries to ignore the ever prominent eye contact screaming ‘We’re going to talk about something uncomfortable!’ 

“So, Spence,” she says, pausing for his attention with a sip of her own coffee. He looks up for half a glance before going back to the files. He doesn’t know why, but he’s sure there’s something in this stack of work the first victim had brought home with her. They all knew the un-sub, he had to be somewhere. 

“Spencer,” she says more insistently. He makes the mistake of looking up, of letting her place a hand on his. She gently turns the wrist over and pointedly glances towards the teeth marks. “Are you doing okay?”

He opens his mouth, but decides some things are better kept to himself. He thinks about saying that no, he wasn’t alright, that being plagued by thoughts of the first-love-of-his-life is haunting him more than the dog fight. 

That he can see your face in each of these victims. In their dogs. In the places they died. 

Dogs didn’t like him. They never did. The dog bite wasn’t the big deal out of the altercation. 

JJ won’t understand, so he offers her a truthful smile and says, “I’m okay. Seriously. More than 4.5 million people are bitten by dogs each year. I’m not special.”

JJ nods. Spencer goes back to his files. He forgets to hide his lovesick agony. JJ forgets not to notice. 

#

It’s 4AM and he knows he’s remembering it wrong. That the dog hadn’t been that big. That the teeth hadn’t really gotten him that bad. The bright red devil eyes and thousand yards of slobber were more than grossly incorrect. 

He sits up in bed and forces himself to remember the parts that were real. How real you had been. Before and after. 

Your car had broken down as you were leaving for work—already late—and you’d begged him for a ride. Promised calculus homework on your boss’s couch and only having to let the dogs out. No shit. No bleaching crates. No nothing. Just you, him, and some calculus homework. 

He’d caved. Now, running his hands over his eyes, he laughs at how obvious he had to have been. A skinny little 19 year old pimple of a boy majorly crushing on the first person to pick him out of a crowd and decide they’d be friends. The first friend who’d forced him to a tailgate at a football game. The only person he’d do absolutely anything for. 

And it was just like you promised. Your cute little nose wrinkle. Your horribly frustrated glares. Your over dramatic ‘I’m dropping out!’s every fifteen minutes. And it’d been great until you both heard a thunderous snap of a wooden fence and the wildest, most murderous howling he’d ever heard. 

You’d both bolted for the door, scrambling to get through the gates into the back. There’d been a moment of calm. Another beat. Another. And…you both had stumbled around the corner to find the next door neighbour’s dog, broken chain, trying to kill one of the kennel’s dogs. 

There had been no moment’s hesitation on Spencer’s part. He’d stupidly rushed forward, lodged his hand between the neighbour’s mutt and the sweetest dog he’d ever met. He’d yanked her free from the mutt’s jaws, only to find his own wrist dragging along the teeth. 

(He realised later that he’d always had a propensity to run head first into danger. No calculations needed.)

There’d been two beats for the dog to process it’s chew toy was in Spencer’s arms. To process that Spencer made a better victim. That Spencer’s throat and limbs were softer and easier to tear. Thankfully, he’d scrambled back enough that when the dog launched, it didn’t catch flesh. It chomped on air. Less than three inches from him. 

Fangs. Tightened lips. Black gums. Slobber. 

The mutt could be equated to Stephen King’s The Sun Dog. Always hesitant to process his trauma, it’s the one book—gifted by you during a Halloween birthday for him—that sits untouched on his bookshelves. There’s too much of you in the inscription in the cover. Too much of that horrible mutt in the pages. 

The next part of the night blurred in his memories. In his near perfect memory, it blurred. Trauma, right? 

You’d screamed. You were in front of him. You had the dog’s chain in your hands. He was running. The dog was heavy in his arms. His arm stung. You were screaming. He should’ve gone back. 

Five god-awful minutes later, you’d come into the house. Limping. Clutching onto your arm. You’d taken one look at Spencer running his wrist under the tap and forgotten about your own injuries. Despite the blood dripping off your arm. Or the quiet yelp every time you stretched. You’d barely taken ‘I’m fine, you’re the one bleeding’ as a reason to not bandage him up first. 

The only thing that calmed down the dream every time he had it was the memory of holding your hand while you got stitches. How your face pinched with the pain. How you’d said, ‘next time, it’s your turn to take the bullet.’ How he’d smiled and promised. 

Spencer watches the clock tick by and decides it’s too late to go back to sleep. Hotch’ll be up in an hour. No need to delay his start. Women were dying. Women you would’ve been friends with.

#

“Okay, crime-fighters, I found our connection,” Garcia chirps over the speaker phone. “All of our victims attended very specialised dog training courses at a facility just outside of DC. The owner said they’d send in one of their trainers to talk to you. Should be there anytime now.”

“What kind of specialised training?” Emily asks. Spencer feels like he should be contributing, should be processing any of this, but his head is pounding. He doesn’t have a hangover, but god does it feel like it. 

Garcia hums as she types. “It’s a military facility. Awww, they’ve got puppy pictures on their website!”

“Garcia—“

“Right, right. It’s a top notch facility and oh! A bunch of the FBI dogs graduate from there. I wonder if they get little caps and gowns and—“

“Hey, baby girl, the trainer’s here. We gotta run,” Morgan interrupts, though he’s all smiles to stare at whomever is plaguing his interest. 

There’s another squeal of please get puppy pictures before the call cuts and Spencer finally has the self preservation to look. And god does he look. 

15 years has made no difference on your skin and he can’t believe he’s not staring at you from across a lecture hall. The only indication you’ve changed is the nervous smile you’ve plastered on and the dog at your side. Every fun fact about german shepherds instantly crosses his mind and he can’t help but drop his jaw a little further. 

It sinks to the floor when you spot him and wave. You wave. At him. In front of coworkers. 

He’s out of his seat before he can stop himself. That easy smile reserved for movie nights falls back into place on your lips. Twinkles in your eyes. 15 years haven’t passed. Maybe he needs to check for pimples again. 

“Y/n,” he croaks and the same time his name leaves your lips. The dog at your side stands and you correct the gesture with a harsh word in what he’s sure is German. 

“FBI, huh?” Your eyes trail over every inch of him, crossing your arms in a relaxed, familiar kind of way. “I expected more math, Mr. I Like Derivatives.”

“The shepherd there doesn’t look like finance either, y/n,” he teases back like no time has passed. Like he doesn’t immediately feel incredibly guilty for ditching you for the academy. 

“Oh come on,” you huff, “you really think that I was cut out for an office job? I lasted six months.”

And before he can warn you, even think about warning you about the team that’s slowly creeping up behind him, they are all suddenly there. Very keen on knowing the ins and outs of how you know Dr. Spencer Reid. 

“Reid, you gonna introduce us?” Morgan smirks, clapping a painful hand on Spencer’s shoulder. You busy yourself with petting the dog at your hip, looking everywhere but Morgan’s insistent gaze. 

“Guys, this is my friend y/n from college.” 

JJ raises an eyebrow at the lack of explanation, but plows ahead with introductions. Takes charge of guiding you to an interview room. Gets through the entire interview without once asking about your relationship with him. 

Morgan watches Spencer rubbing the scars and makes the leap. “You okay, kid?” 

Spencer breaks from staring at your face as you talk about getting your start in Germany—Germany—and swallows. This was fine. It’s okay to tell his friend—his brother—about the story he’s never really talked about. 

“I stupidly put myself in the middle of a dog fight,” Spencer grits out, flexing and un-flexing his fingers. Every scar burns and he can’t help but stare at your smile again. “Y/n saved my life. She choked out the dog, Morgan, before he got a hold of me. Left the hospital with 12 stitches.”

“Oh,” was his all too helpful response. They both turned back to the interview. How everything jovial about your entire countenance shifted once JJ started mentioning the victims. 

“Look, Agent Jareau,” you say, leaning dangerously far away from the conversation, “They are—they were really smart women with some dangerous dogs. I don’t know—I just—there’s a lot of sickos out there.”

Every profiler within a 20 mile radius can hear the change in tone, can hear the fear. Spencer knows a lot can change in 15 years, but he thought for sure you’d never become a serial killer. He doesn’t know if it’s all his years in the bureau or if he’s still too attached to you, but you don’t seem like the killer. Not like JJ seems to think so. Sure, you’re terrified, but the dog you have is nosing your arm. Giving you big ole puppy eyes. Spencer doesn’t think a serial killer can pour that much into a relationship with an animal. 

“What do you mean?” JJ clocks the movement and switches to a maternal type of body language, tone. “Is there something going on?”

Your hand pauses on the dog’s head, and it noses your hand into action. “I, uh, just got a weird letter two weeks ago. It wasn’t—it was just weird. Off-putting.”

“Right before the first victim,” Spencer mutters. Weird letters indicated stalking. Victims with you as a central point meant stalking. Stalking meant you were probably next. Oh, god, you were next. 

JJ stretched a hand across the table and took yours. “You’ll get through this. You’ll get through this, y/n.”

#

Spencer didn’t know what to do with his hands. It was so much worse than normal. Should he stand? But what should he do with his hands because crossing them seemed too defensive? Or should he just sit down? But where? And was that rude?

Instead, he just took the cup of tea you offered and followed you like a lost puppy. Granted, it was your house and he was definitely lost. He also felt vaguely at home—there were a decent amount of bookshelves by his standards and even more mismatched furniture than he had. The house was well cared for and when you sat him down on your couch, you swept away a stack of training manuals, all sporting worn covers. 

Was it wrong to feel like he was settling onto your old apartment couch for movie nights?

You puff out a breath of air and lean your head dramatically into the back of the couch. “So, since you’re my FBI escort, is it wrong to ask if you still like cheesy 90s movies?”

He shakes his head. Grins. “You still have Legally Blonde?”

You just giggle as you head for a stack of movies. You strike up some conversation as you rummage and he knows he’s hooked all over again. It’s going to take weeks to get over you again. It’d taken months the last time, and he feels slightly less attached this time. But did he really think it would take more than a simple question about the latest thing he’s read? He wishes he knew you better, just as well as you seem to still know him. 

Though by the end of the movie, you’ve both returned to your college days. Practically curled into each other’s side. You still have horrible commentary about the movie, peppered in with Spencer’s annoying movie trivia. If it was anyone else, he figures, he would’ve been kicked out long ago. 

You still distinctly smell of vanilla, flailing the scent around as you move closer and further and closer again. You wear enthusiasm with your whole body and if you aren’t turning rapidly between facing Spencer and the movie, how could you possibly begin to explain correctly? 

Your shoulder keeps a constant pressure against his, your knees half over his thigh. There’s too many instances of hollering and laughing that you grab onto his knee to steady yourself. If this hadn’t been a protective detail, he might’ve lost his mind. 

Thank god for focus. Work. Work. Work. Not your hands on his knee. Definitely not your smile as you declare your affection for scented resume stationary. Totally not how hot it’s getting under your too affectionate gaze. 

“Spence, I really missed this,” you whisper, nudging your shoulder with his. “I know it’s weird to be thrown together after 15 years, but I—I missed you.”

“I—“ missed you too; fell in love with you in college; think I love you now. 

But there’s no time for heartfelt declarations when someone’s incessantly banging on the door. Spencer’s got half a mind to get the door for you, holster his gun, focus on keeping you safe. The banging doesn’t soften as he calls out that he’s on his way. If anything it gets worse. 

And it should’ve been the first red flag of the night. 

Spencer opens the door and thinks very loudly, “why the fuck do I always run headfirst into danger?” 

Their un-sub, a buzzcut that looks more Army that not, shakes a pistol at Spencer and demands to be let inside. There’s only so many ways to defuse the situation, so he back ups, tucks you behind him. Their un-sub winds a little tighter, shaking like one of those monkeys with cymbals. 

“McLaggen?” you whimper behind Spencer and the Army man fires a shot into the floor. You grip tighter onto Spencer’s shirt, digging in your fingers dangerously close to his skin. 

The buzzcut is red, boiling over with rage, words bubbling out of his throat. “Y/n, I just can’t stand to see you with them. You never notice me. You’re always working, so I thought I’d get your attention. Cut the competition. I just—you mean so much to me, y/n. You mean too much.”

Spencer is sure he won’t remember this day accurately as he pushes you just a little further behind him. He’s about to do something so incredibly stupid. Dear lord, why the fuck is he like this? And he lunges. 

The gun’s trapped in both of their hands. There’s one more bullet fired—at the ground he’s sure. There’s a squeak of fear. Just enough of a distraction. One more ounce of weight thrown around. One more lasting punch. McLaggen lands on the floor. The gun skitters away. McLaggen groans as he’s handcuffed.

You gasp and he realises immediately that he’s bleeding. That he’s on the floor. That there is a bullet lodged in his thigh. Again. 

One string of swears later, you’re on the phone with 911. Yes, he’s shot. Yes, there’s another in handcuffs. No, I’m not a whore, send the damn ambulance.  

You take his hand as he lays there, much like he did in the hospital 15 years ago. Unlike then, you’ve got tears pricking at your eyes. You’re sniffling like a school girl, and he’s not sure if you’ve said that aloud. 

“Spencer!” You wipe a stray tear. Squeeze his hand too tightly. “Why the hell, you freakin’ moron, did you take a bullet for me?”

He laughs, bubbling up out of his chest before he can stop it. You are too pretty to be this upset at his laughter. You are too lovely to be worried about him. To still be worried, like nothing has changed one bit. 

Every inch of him is trembling. Blood loss and bullets are bitches.

“Y/n,” he wheezes through dry lungs and more leg pain than he remembers there being, “I promised.”

You blink your eyes. What the hell are you talking about, Spencer Reid, you absolute idiot?

“I promised I’d take the next bullet. In the hospital.” He grins, groans as he moves to drag you into a hug. “I’m a man of my word, y/n, and I promise that if I keep the leg, we’re going out. Properly.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumble into his ear and squeeze his neck tighter. If the paramedics don’t bother to pull you off, who’s to say you won’t stay like that forever? Attached to the loveable, danger prone idiot, who traded dog bites for bullet holes?