#reminder they're in their early thirties in this AU

[matchadobo]

KIDD; misconfession

wc: 4269

summary: imagine confessing to the wrong dude.

warning/s: highschool au they're like 12th grade, very fluff no nsfw, afab reader, shojo coded 🎀

note: inspired by this post

you were smart. you have a reputation for being smart among your peers and teachers. so you had no idea why the hell you fumbled this bad. it was one of the biggest moments of your life, but you had the nerve to fuck it up.

you had a MASSIVE if not, phenomenally embarrassing, crush on this guy. he wasn't that popular; he was known to be part of a school band that competes with other years, the band he was in represented your year. he has blond, luscious hair, he was tall, kinda muscular, is really good at playing drums it's making him hot, and is damn good at cooking class. so boyfriend material, right?!

after weeks of overthinking in pure whipped behavior. you've finally decided to prepare him a bento. you woke up extra early so you could take your time pouring your heart out into it. and it was perfect, it looked adorable.

the entire time you were making it, you were happy on your feet. as you shaped the onigiri like a cat and placed a hat made of fishcake on it you were giggling imagining a scenario in your head. you're so silly really.

then you finally wrapped it up in a cute hanky you had, it had some chain designs and lightning bolts. you tied it in the end with a bow and left a note in the end.

hi! i admire you a lot ever since you transferred from scotland ₍^ >ヮ<^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ you always looked so cool performing ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ please enjoy this bento, i hope you like it! from, name ♡

you went to the grocery store after class yesterday, you woke up early, you cooked something up, and you spent hours fixing up his bento. it was all for him. so why the fuck did you give it to that red head next to him?!

"hey, uh, is that for me?" killer spared you a look, eyebrow raised at you. for the record, you stood in front of his table for a good thirty seconds without saying anything. you were too into staring at him you didn't notice that your mouth wasn't moving.

you were about to speak but one of his homies asked for his homework. and you somewhat got embarrassed about this whole thing you have planned out. but you had to say something! anything!

"a-actually it's for...him!" you moved over to the side and placed the bento on kidd's desk. kidd who had his face resting on his chin, elbow propping his arm up. his scowl deepened and he studied you up and down.

kidd looked at his bento and then back at your awfully red face. he didn't say anything which made you feel even more overwhelmed. he just pointed at the bento and questionably looked at you. like why the fuck did you give it to him?

you hadn't had the chance to look over at killer because he was so happy for his best friend. he placed a hand over his mouth discretely to contain his smile and chuckle.

but you were trembling. so you left the room even though the bell for break had already rung, signalling class will continue. you walked as far away as possible. the empty halls did not stop you even though it was a sign that it was indeed time for class.

later that day, you admitted yourself to the clinic. you were feeling nauseous and queasy and your head hurt from thinking about your fumble too much, the nurses gave you ibuprofen and let you rest for an hour.

once you had a good rest, you were reminded once again of the incident earlier. you pinched the bridge of your nose in disappointment. but you had to gather your things and make it back to your last class.

the walk back to your seat was shameful. you don't know who saw your stupid shit, whether they're gonna tease you or what. but you thankfully had no encounters. what you felt though, was kidd's steady gaze on you when he and his group was outside of his room because they seemingly had their last period as vacant. or was it a glare? he truly looks like he's gonna kill you.

you met his eyes and he just casually avoided you, like he wasn't boring holes through your skull. you ran your fingers through your hair and groaned silently. what a fucking waste!

but i mean, what else is there left to do? you just have to suck all the bullshit confusion you caused up. but it ate at you, the fact that you did everything right but confessing to the RIGHT person. it'd be a dick move if you didn't clear this up, giving kidd the wrong idea. you don't even know the guy! he was in the other class with killer, thank god for that. soyou have NO IDEA what he's like.

until valentines' day came up. some part of you thought that this was the perfect time to apologize. you just have a penchant for doing stupid shit. to be fair, when is the right timing to break it up to him? you couldn't catch him even if you tried. he was always cooped up somewhere and you don't want to approach him publicly.

so you bought a cheap box of chocolates and headed to the music room, where he and his mates usually hang during lunch. you were gonna give it to him as an apology for the mismatch your dumbass did. it seems god has given you a chance because you saw him alone, playing the electric guitar. more specifically tuning the chords.

"oh kil, were there cabba-" once he snapped his head up and saw that it was you, his face was unreadably offended. "oh, it's you." he said monotonously.

"yeah, um- there's been something i've been meaning to tell you and..." his eyes shot down to your box of chocolates, clutching close to your stomach.

"no, no, no. don't even think about it." he raised his hand, palm facing you as he winced and turned his head away. "you, stay where you are, okay? i'll let you in on something shortcake. i, unfortunately, don't date. i don't ask anyone out nor do i get asked. now this, whatever freak show this is, i don't plan on moving forward with this shit, okay? so, uh, you got those chocolates all to yourself, aye?"

you furrowed your brows, looking at him with a sour expression. you just got fucking rejected. and it made your eye twitch and your anger issues rise. how dare this motherfucker cut you off?!

"hey kidd, there's some cabbage rolls by the cafeteria do you- want... some..." his friends entered the music room and got stopped with what they walked in on. "we're just gonna be...outside." heat said, gathering wire and killer out the room.

"you're so..." you let out, trying to find the right words for this lump of shit. "just get your damn chocolates!" you walked away, groaning in frustration.

you walked out frustrated whether by yourself for fucking up again or by him who wouldn't even let you speak and rejected you right off the bat. but really it was all your fault, you had the free will to choose who you're gonna confess to yet you picked the asshat.

"damn, what did you do?" wire asked kidd, who got out with an unusually sour scowl on his face, while watching you angrily walk away.

"fucking none of your business."

"not the first time you broke someone's heart." killer mumbled. "wasn't she the one who gave you the bento? it had your favorites in it, didn't it?"

"can we please leave it the fuck alone? the girl's already gone, spare her the fucking dumb shit." he rolled his eyes, walking past them.

"you know that shit made his heart flutter, look at how red his ears are." heat snickered as kidd got farther away.

but boy it did something to his heart. he received bentos before as a romantic gesture of some sort but never has anyone gave him cabbage rolls. it was always the generic shit he soon got sick of. how did you know it was his favorite? he never really says shit about himself.

and those skull-shaped chocolates you gave him, that was his favorite brand of chocolates. it's so cute and it melts in your mouth. how did you find that out? were you stalking him? snooping at him every time he picks it out in the nearest konbini? he somewhat finds you creepy yet mildly cute. mildly, okay?

on your end, you lost the will to even care and give a shit about him. whether you might've hurt his feelings or you gave him the wrong idea. hell he doesn't even care for what you're about to say, so why should you care about what he feels?! forget about your crush with killer, it all evaporated when all you could see now was this stupid fuck.

he was so irritating. him and his annoyingly gaudy red hair that hurts your eyes. how he thinks opening some buttons of his polo with his tacky inner shirts showing looks cool. or that he wears so many shit around his wrists and neck despite the school protocol to not do so. and that rebellious black on his nails that always had his handbook full of warnings. oh, it pissed you off. he had the nerve when he looks like that?!

then come the annual sports' festival where you got assigned as a reserve member for tennis. you were soaking in your own sweat from playing as a substitute for the main player for a good 30 minutes. you sat down on one of the long metal benches to catch up with where your friends are.

you sat down with your arms propped up behind you as you leaned your weight on them, trying to regulate your heartbeat and stop your sweating. you honestly felt starving and thirsty. you were thinking of something to eat, have lunch with your friends maybe.

then your vision went black and you felt a painful thunk on the side of your head, spanning down to your cheek. it took a while for the pain to settle in. but you lost control of your body. the last thing you heard was your friends shouting.

as you try and gain a hold of your fading consciousness, you felt limp yet you also felt supported from behind. almost as if you're being lifted up the metal bench.

you were seeing the blue sky and a patch of red on the side. it was all blurry really. you were very thirsty and you wanted water immediately. you tried moving a lot to try and stimulate feeling in your body, but you felt paralyzed. and now you completely lost consciousness.

causing kidd to panic because he might've killed you. he had you in his arms, as he hurriedly made his way to the clinic.

unbeknowst to you, kidd played in the rugby team. as someone so brash like him who was always on his feet, very athletic and has engaged in physically brutal activities, he fit right into the team. he was loud, lacked hesitation, greedy, and violently aggressive.

so when he was having way too much fun and lost sight of his surroundings, he threw the ball to the other side where his teammate was a little too vigorously. the ball slipped right onto his teammate's hands because it trajected way too fast and he lowkey missed and hit you right on the head.

boy did he ran so fast towards your direction when he fucked up, he ran so fast because he wanted to catch you before you fall completely on the floor because the bench didn't had any backrest. and he successfully caught you, his shin grazing down the sandy ground as he slid down to cushion your fall.

"fuck!" kidd cursed out loud, seeing a red patch on the side of your face foreseeably turning purple.

kidd had to take responsibility. he was an asshat but he was not that evil to leave you like that. so he swept you off your feet and rushed to the clinic.

"don't you dare die, after those damn signals. don't think for a second i'll let you get off easy, shortcake." he mumbled while running, out of breath but all he was thinking about was getting you to safety. or did he just do it so he can get out of trouble?

maybe it's the former, because he couldn't sit still by the waiting chairs outside the clinic. he squatted down the floor, pinching his temples and battling with his own thoughts. was he out of breath from all that adrenaline and running or did he actually felt scared?

"did she get to you?" one of your friends spoke. "you worried about her?" mischief coating her tone.

kidd looked up to spare them a glare, they were seated on the waiting chairs. he was squatting on the opposite side near the door.

"if i fuckin' killed her, yes!" he answered bitterly.

the tension was broken when the doors opened and kidd shot up from his position. thanks to his height, he was able to see over the doctor and see you sitting down and moving. a breath of relief escaped his chest.

"she's okay, she just has a pretty bad bruise. but no signs of alarming trauma. i gave her an ice pack and prescribed her with some painki-"

kidd walked past the doctor, blurring his hearing when he heard the first two words. he came to see you.

"w-why are you...?" you looked at him, cheeks pretty swollen as you held an ice pack on the bruise. genuinely wondering why this asshole is here.

"it's my fault." he sat by the chair beside your bed so he can get closer. "i threw the ball out of bounds and hit you pretty damn hard. so... sorry 'bout that. 's pretty stupid of me." he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"huh. jerk." you rolled your eyes, not even wanting to listen to him anymore. but you were too weak to banter and throw him out.

kidd chuckled. "yeah. let me uh- let me make it up to you. 's a bad ass bruise, though." he pointed at you meekly, grinning a bit.

somewhat, your heart was beating a little too fast. the heart rate monitor that was connected from your forefinger exposed you for it. he was being so cheeky and annoying, and the constant beeping of your heart rate pissed you off even more. your friends snickered at you from outside.

"make it up to me? what's your plan, asshat?"

"you name it. i'm down for anything, honestly. just don't wanna be an asshat in your eyes again." he raised his hands in surrender, saying the mocking tone to rile you up.

you were about to speak when your stomach beat you to it. kidd laughed to himself, knowing exactly what to do for you. you just sat there hiding your blushing face.

kidd took you to a hole in the wall type of izakaya, it had dim lights but not so much that the place becomes poorly lit. it wasn't spacious, but kidd got you two a table that was secluded. seems like he visits this place a lot.

he covered the bill, was actually a decent person to talk to; just a bit of an asshole sometimes but it was his humor, and was waaaay different than who you thought he was.

it's when you noticed that his eyes actually had a bright hue of orange evident when he wasn't frowning. or that he smelled really nice up close, he kinda had that metallic fragrance that hangs out by your nostrils for a while. he looked handsome when he takes off his bandana for a bit to fix his hair. or that his laugh isn't that scary, it was actually pretty contagious.

he also walked you home, insisting to do so even though he lives on the other end of the street.

"look, it's fine. it's not even that dark out yet. my house is pretty close by from here."

"aaaah shut it, all the more reason why you shouldn't bother throwing me away."

"are you doing this because i confessed?" you gave up and kept walking, narrowing your eyes at him.

"no." he looked away because his ears were red, his fist tight inside the pockets of his pants.

"hmm, really?" the smile was evident in your voice as you tried catching a look on his face.

"brat."

days went by and passed with lingering touches and stolen glances across campus. there would be times that kidd and his group would pass by your classroom while you were in the middle of a conversation during breaks or vacants, and it'd be almost as if the world will completely stop when your and his eyes met. even during lectures when you go to the bathroom and have to pass by his room, you two would always somehow find each other's gazes.

but neither of you approached nor talked to each other. you just walk past each other. it's like no confession had been made. or he didn't just take you out for a not-dinner-date dinner. and weirdly enough, he was always the first one to look away. does he hate you? thinks you're ugly or what?

it all changed when you almost broke your arms trying to lift a box of broken classroom equipment as it is a general cleaning time of the month. he then took the box effortlessly.

"you can't obviously lift this shit and you still did." he coldly started, snatching the box off of you.

"someone asked me to do it and i tried."

"this box is overflowing with metal and wood scraps, even adults struggle with this."

"and you don't? you're so strong, aren't you?" you caught up with him as he started walking.

"tch." he looked away. he really does avoid your eyes all the time. "where do you even plan to put these?"

"the janitor told me to place it outside by the dumps, said someone will collect the scraps." you shrugged, opening the door for him that leads to the dumps.

kidd groaned in relief as he placed it down near the other boxes of heavy scraps.

"thanks, why don't you carry the other scrap boxes back there too?" you smiled up at him, hoping he'll say yes because you're already tired from previous cleaning works.

"i think the fuck not, i want to go home early."

your weak giggle was immediately halted when you couldn't turn the doorknob open.

"what the hell are you- did you lock us out?!" kidd got in front of you and tried turning (shaking) the knob while kicking the door with fervor.

"i didn't i swear! the door out the dumps fucks up sometimes! why would i want to voluntarily lock myself out?! with you even?!"

"the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

but the thing is, the door didn't fuck up on its own. kidd's group and your group did this on purpose. you two had to talk eventually, it's insufferable seeing you two tiptoe and potentially waste what you two had going on. besides, they unanimously think you two look really good together.

and it couldn't get even better, it fucking poured. the rain was so heavy, there were thunders and lightnings scattered across the dark sky too. and the only shelter you could two be in is the skimpy little roof that covered the doorway. yeah, you two had to fit yourselves under it.

"ever bathe in rain?" you broke out. your shoulders were slowly getting damp with the dripping of the rain at the edge of the roof. you were sitting on your haunches, arms crossed over your knees, and your face resting over your arms. trying to keep your warmth.

"plenty of times. don't tell me you will right now." kidd snickered, his frame leaning by the door.

"on my own, i won't." you looked up at him and he finally met your eyes. ah, it really looks great up close.

"count me out, brat." he shook his head, breaking eye contact as he took his hands out his pockets to cross his arms.

"have you been avoiding me?" you asked earnestly, staring at the puddle of water and leaves before you.

"could say the same to you." he shifted his weight on his other feet.

you hid your smile on your arm, growing shy at his statement.

"i- uh- did a mistake- which i don't normally do in situations like that- but i don't think it's a mistake anymore because-"

"spit it out."

you stood up to face him, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt. "i was not supposed to give the bento to you, i wasn't supposed to have a crush on you nor do i plan on pursuing you back then. because... because i originally had a crush on killer and then i fucked up and i gave the bento to you because i freaked out and-"

"woah, calm down." he placed his hands on your shoulders. seeing you become frantic and moving your hands around as you explained. "you had a crush on killer?"

"yes! okay? but that was before, way way before. not anymore."

"why? you like someone else now?" he said in a teasing tone, a grin stretched on his lips.

"yeah." you looked away, trying to hide your red face because one person came to mind.

"might as well tell me now that i'm here, brat." he nudged you a little, implying something.

"what? you think it's you or something?" you answered spitefully, facing him with evident irritation.

"isn't it me?" he matched your height as he leaned down to face closer to you. "come on, it's written all over your face." his smirk wasn't helping, it made you feel more fire in you. whether from anger or from being flustered or from him being so close.

"f-fuck off." you squatted back down to avoid him. but the motherfucker sat by the extra space on the floor on the doorway. he wanted to squeeze it out of you.

"well, i can't blame you. i'm pretty charming, aye?"

you hate that he's right. he's an asshole with a charming personality. and you hated that you liked him. it was more embarrassing than liking killer. because atleast killer was kind. kidd's just an asshole.

"i never said it was you." you scowled at him.

"mhm, no need to, buttercup." he ruffled your hair a little too comfortably. but you liked it, of course. it deepened the red on your cheeks.

and things got much worse, the rain got even stronger and it had furious winds. which means you two got wet in just a second. kidd had the nerve to laugh because you looked drenched. that crush on him will soon evaporate if this keeps up.

"okay, okay. i'll find a way for us to get inside as soon as possible so stop glaring at me." he chuckled, looking around.

luckily, one of the school guards saw kidd banging on the door from the little window and he opened the door for both of you. you were shivering as you got inside.

you two quietly went to your classrooms to get your bags. but as you got out, kidd tossed you his jacket. it draped over your head, obstructing your vision.

"put that on as you walk home, yeah? don't want you getting sick on white day, it's a day away." his back was already turned at you because he had walked far away and he still waved good bye.

and you were reminded all over again. that under that jerk fucking asshat exterior, he had other intentions than to fuck with you. and you yearn to experience more of those with him. and it irritated you. how you view his once gaudy vermillion hair as overbearing to now an endearing sight as you see him run off campus using his school bag as an umbrella.

you pulled his jacket over your frame and nestled in the warmth it brought. his cologne still stayed in it.

"so are you two together now?" one of your friends asked, her voice a little too loud. which caused you to smack her on the head.

"volume...! and no, he's probably fucking with me. i don't buy it."

yes you do. you were totally expecting something today ever since you woke up. today was white day. you checked your phone notifications, nothing. you walked to school, nothing. you passed by him during lunch, nothing he wasn't in his room nor the music room. and now it's finally last period. so maybe he really was just fucking with you.

except that once the bell rung, loud drums and an electric guitar riff could be heard far on the campus courtyard. your friends realized it first before you did and you got dragged out the overlooking balcony of the courtyard.

it didn't take long for kidd to spot you. right, he was the frontman of the band. it really was only killer which you saw at first but now, it's like kidd has his own fucking spotlight.

the entire campus saw their performance. they soon traced kidd's gaze which was glued to you who was covering your tomato face with the lunch bag you were carrying. their band was already acknowledged by the entire school so their performance had a lively crowd.

the song was a love song but they turned it metal. everyone loved it, even the faculty let it slide because it was white day. you could also see some people taking this chance to give their white day gifts to other people.

"oi, name!" kidd called out to you as soon as they finished and the applause concluded. you wanted to strangle him for bringing so much attention to you, you were already shy enough that he's doing all this for you. "catch this!"

homie threw a medium-shaped box at you. a fucking box. you were on the second floor. you almost fell trying to catch it. but you didn't open it yet, you wanted to open it next to him.

so you waited once the crowd died down and the other students finished asking to have a picture with them, you waited by the bench that's not too far away from them. it'll be almost as if his friends kicked him out of cleaning up because you were already waiting there.

"that was flashy, didn't know you had it in you."

"you expect something so simple from me? i have a damn band to serenade you for."

"aren't you offended or something? like about the whole misconfession thing." you shrugged, tracing the edges of the bright red box with a black ribbon.

"if anything, i find it funny. and stupid." he chuckled.

"then why'd you act like an ass when i tried clearing it all up during valentines'?" you crossed your arms at him.

"first of all, do i look like a relationship kinda guy? i just predicted as much that you'd ask if we can go out. why the hell did you even bring chocolates if you're just gonna clear it up? much less give it to me?" he sounded angry but all he really was just flustered, he hated how fast his heart ran and how dumbfounded he feels back then.

"i-i was flustered, okay? it's kinda like a peace offering because i was acting stupid and i atleast didn't wanna make you feel bad."

"yet you got me my favorite shit. how'd you even know i love cabbage rolls? and those cheap ass skull-shaped chocolates? you did some stalking?" he narrowed his eyes at you, face moving closer to pressure you.

"no! it was all just a coincidence!" you waved both of your hands in front of you while shaking your head. "why would i stalk you? god no."

"whatever, just open the damn thing."

the entire time, kidd had his arm on top of the backrest of your seat as you examined the contents of his box. he was leaning in closer from time to time when you say something about the stuff that was in there.

it had some cds of his favorite bands, some kisses chocolates, and a couple pairs of studded and dangling earrings.

"these are a bit much, kidd." you chuckled shyly, running your fingers across the surface of the gifts.

"hm? you don't want it? i can return those."

"no! i do, okay? i just didn't expect these grand things. you already performed in front of everyone and... you even got me these stuff."

"we already performed that set so we didn't even need to practice. i can't just not give you anything, it's fucking white day." he shrugged.

except that his group practiced till midnight last night because they never did a metal cover on fucking love songs and kidd just thought of it on a whim. and those cds? he had to run to the music store because it closes by 6 and your classes ends by 5. he got lucky with the jewelries because they were on sale. he did those last two things the day you two got locked out.

"so we're a thing now?"

"depends on what you consider a 'thing'." he leaned back.

you got a hold of his hand and intertwined your fingers with his. his palms were a bit sweaty and he hesitated a bit. his grip was stiff. "is this a 'thing'?"

he sucked in a deep breath to try and calm his heart down. he was squeezing your hands; but not so much as to hurt you. "fucking brat."

this just me tryna project my highschool shojo fantasy (w/ kidd) i'm going to college tmr pls help

i may be inactive again bc school starts tomorrow TT

[rubyreduji]

eat your young | the before pt 1

tags: hunger games!au, gn!reader warnings: mentions of death, corrupt governments, depictions of poverty, mentions of sickness, parent loss wc: 5.6k an: if you wanna know the characters ages then you can look at the run down sheet i've posted here

m.list

It’s too hot out to be standing in the direct sun for so long in your opinion. Especially with everyone crowded together in one area, but it's not like anyone can do anything about it. It's the reaping. Everyone will stand here until two innocent kids are sent off to slaughter.

You shift a bit in place, your feet already hurting. You wish you had on your works boots instead of the dress shoes your father forced you in to, but you learned years ago this is not your battle to fight.

Everyone stands waiting in relative quietness as things get set up and more and more people sign in. You stand in the back section next to your best friend Joshua, but the two of you don't talk. Your face is hardened as you stare at the Justice Building. Right in front of it is the group of the youngest kids. They stand in their group all fearful and jittery. The heat probably isn't helping their nerves.

You can't pay them too much mind though. They're not the ones with their name in the bowl thirty-nine times.

There are five seats on the stage. In a row sit the mayor, the Capital representative, and the past victors Lee Jooheon, Hirai Momo, and Kwon Soonyoung. Once everyone has finished packing into the square and the clock hits the designated start time, the mayor gets up and starts to talk. He does the usual speech on the history of Panem before introducing the victors of District 7.

Jooheon is a middle-aged man who nobody really sees besides during the games, and that's only because he is required by the Capitol to attend. From what you know he carries a serious attitude and doesn't take anyone's shit. He's the oldest living victor District 7 has though, so everyone respects him.

Momo is a beautiful woman in her early thirties who tries her best to stay positive and do as much community work as she can. She's well liked by everyone she meets, in the districts and in the Capitol. She won her game at fifteen by pretending to be weaker than everyone else until she was one of the last one left, and then took the others out by surprise.

The most recent victor is Kwon Soonyoung. He's a twenty year old boy who won just two years ago. You're not close to him by any means, but you're definitely not strangers. He's a joyful personality and you and Joshua have a theory it's because he's trying to cover up the pains from his time in the games.

After introducing the victors, the mayor goes on to introduce the Capitol representative. Kim Jennie. She's new this year. At least she's easier to look at than the previous escort. He was a sleazy man who reminded you of a weasel. He was creepy and always had a sinister smirk on his face during the reapings. You hated him.

Jennie starts to talk. She is putting on that fake persona you despise from Capitol citizens. She goes on about how she's "so honored to be able to represent the Capitol" and how she can't believe she's "working with the brave tributes of District 7 who are serving their country" and that she "can not wait to bring two new tributes to the Capitol with her". You're sure she doesn't have a single thought in her brain that the Capitol didn't implant into her. She knows nothing about the true nature of the games and the real reason they exist, the horrors that are hidden behind them. No to her it's just all a game, one she gets to sit back and enjoy watching.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." Her voice is starting to get on your nerves. "Now, to pull the first name."

Jennie moves to the large bowl that sits off to the side of the stage and pulls out a single slip of paper before walking back to the microphone. She eagerly unfolds the paper and leans into the mic. "L/N Y/N."

You don't move at first. It takes a moment to even recognize that it was your name that was called. For a second, you feel Joshua gripping onto your wrist, almost telling you to stay, but then he lets go and you start to walk up to the stage, like you're on autopilot. You're standing right on the edge of your section, so you don't have to pass anyone and see their looks of pity. Good.

Before you know it, you're on stage, staring at every face in the district. Jennie is gesturing to you. She has pink hair and a matching pink dress that looks like planet's rings surrounding her body. It's ugly. For a moment, before she starts talking, Jennie looks intimidated by you. You get that a lot.

"Do we have any volunteers?"

No. Not that you're surprised. Nobody volunteers in District 7, let alone for someone like you. Everyone in Seven already thinks you're capable of winning the games, why would they risk putting someone else in?

When you turned twelve you and a couple other kids started to do Hunger Games training on your own, picking up skills you saw in previous games. You've always been one of the best at, being able to fight and picking up on survival skills. Over the years you've built up even more skills working with your axe in the woods. You're grateful that you belong to a district that has a trade that's useful in the arena.

You look out at the crowd and your eyes land on the closest familiar face you see, which just happens to be your little sister in the middle of the crowd, standing with the other fourteen year olds. You lock eyes. She has tears in her eyes and her lips are quivering a bit, but she looks like she's trying to keep composed for your sake. You're grateful for that because if she started to bawl, you're sure you won't be able to keep your own composure.

You're knocked out of your stupor when Jennie is talking again. "What a brave young soul. Now for our next tribute." Her heels clack against the concrete of the Justice Hall's stage as she walks back over the bowl, pulling out one more slip.

The energy of the crowd is tense as Jennie brings her lips up to the mic. "Lee Jihoon."

You start a bit at the name. Jihoon? There’s no way she just said Lee Jihoon.

You hear commotion from behind you and you suddenly remember that Soonyoung is best friends with Jihoon. That's a tragedy for them. It's even more of a tragedy for you, because now you know what tribute the mentors are going to be rooting for.

"Lee Jihoon."

Jihoon feels a chill run down his back. Shit, that's him, isn't it? Jihoon can already see the fit that Soonyoung is throwing and he starts to make his way to the stage. His legs feel like they're about to give out from under him and he nearly trips on the first step up to the stage.

He makes eye contact with Soonyoung as he finally makes it to the top step. Soonyoung looks panicked and Jihoon has the urge to reassure him it's okay, even though it's not. Jihoon can't comfort his best friend though because Jennie is pushing him towards you.

"Shake hands."

Jihoon reaches his hand out to you and it takes you a moment to register the act and do the same. Your eyes pierce into Jihoon as you shake his hand. Your grip is firm and it intimidates Jihoon a bit. Unlike most of the kids in District 7, Jihoon doesn't work in lumber, so he doesn't have the skills like the lumber kids do. Jihoon has always been an artisan, rather than a woodsman.

Jihoon is too entranced by you to realize that Jennie is presenting you both to the crowd. "Our District 7 tributes!" Nobody claps. It takes Jennie a little too long to realize that.

The ceremony ends and then you and Jihoon are ushered into the building and into separate rooms. It's a sitting room with a nice couch being the main focus. There's art on the walls and a few other chairs scattered around the room.

Jihoon sits down on the couch and runs his hand over the velvet upholstery. He's never felt something so nice before and he wonders if District 8 kids helped make the fabric. Jihoon is still distracted by the couch when the door opens and his mom and dad walk in.

Seeing them makes Jihoon's stomach churn and the weight of the situation finally starts to set in. His mom's eyes are wet with tears and his father doesn't look too far behind. This is most likely Jihoon's last time he'll ever see them and he can't find any words to say to them.

They just sit together and enjoy their last moments together before peacekeepers come to take them away. Jihoon hugs both of his parents tight and tells them he loves them before they're gone for good.

The next person who walks into the room is Jihoon's only other close friend who isn't Soonyoung. Beomju is probably the only other person in District 7 who cares about music as much as Jihoon does and they spend long days together just working on songs.

"Jihoon-ah, I'm sorry this is the situation you've been put in." Beomju is older than him and aged out of the reaping drawing a few years ago.

Jihoon just nods. He wants to tell Beomju that he's sorry he can't write music with him anymore. He wants to tell him that if anything happens to him, to keep writing music. He wants to tell him where he keeps his music journal so maybe his music can carry his memory on after he's gone. He wants to tell Beomju that when he's scared in the arena, he'll think of their songs to calm him down. None of those words come out of his mouth though. Its's like his whole throat is closed up, but Beomju still seems to understand. That's always been something Jihoon appreciates about him.

Beomju leaves Jihoon with a nod and a good luck and then he too is gone. Nobody else comes into his room after that and it's not long before a peacekeeper is coming to escort him to the train. You're already standing outside of the rooms when Jihoon exits his. There's a scowl on your face but your eyes are red like you've just finished crying.

L/N Y/N. Jihoon doesn’t know you too terribly well, but he does know you. You live in the poorer part of the district, working as a lumberjack with your dad. You’re smart, always towards the top of the class with your grades. Jihoon sings in the choir with your friend Joshua. You’re killer with an axe and Jihoon doesn’t fail to see the irony in that statement. You’ve had a few run-ins with some peacekeepers for one thing or another, but you’re generally well liked by the public.

You can be gruff at times, but you make up for it with your overall caring nature. It’s no secret that in your free time you do woodworking, either carving figurines or building things like furniture. You help take care of your family and the people in town. It’s commendable.

It's a bit embarrassing, but Jihoon can admit that you do intrigue him. You’re a year older than him and you’ve always been a big personality, someone that everyone knows. You two are at two ends of the spectrum in District 7. You’re well respected, a helpful citizen, and skilled in many areas. Jihoon is none of those things.

Jihoon’s only interacted you with a handful of times but every time he does, he’s enraptured by you with your strong hands and woody smell and attractive face. Jihoon’s feelings for you fall somewhere between intimidation and admiration.

Neither of you say a word as you’re taken to the train station. When Jihoon boards the train the first thing that draws his attention is the meticulous interior design of the train car. The second thing he notices is the people inside of the room already. The escort and mentors are all sitting around, most likely waiting for you and Jihoon to board the train.

“Great, you guys are here!” Jennie stands up at the sight of you two. “We’ll be in the Capitol by morning so go get cleaned up and I’ll come and collect you two for dinner.” Jennie guides you and Jihoon to where your rooms will be and leaves.

Even just on the train, the room is nicer than Jihoon’s at home, and he lives in the nicer part of the district. The bed is large and dressed in heavy, soft looking blankets. There’s a bathroom attached to the room and there’s an actual shower inside. Jihoon has been sweating from standing out in the sun all day and he sheds his clothes and steps into the shower.

The water pelts down on his skin and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt something feel so good before. There’s a wide arrangement of soaps and shampoos to pick from and Jihoon takes his time cleaning himself up. If he’s going to die in a few days, he can at least enjoy himself now.

His skin is red from the heat of the water when he finally steps out of the shower. There’s a machine that blow dries his hair for him and he dresses in a soft pair of pants and a t-shirt in the closet of the room. Even though Jennie hasn’t come to tell him it’s time for dinner, Jihoon wanders out of his room and into the living room like compartment.

Sitting on a chair is exactly who he’s looking for. Soonyoung looks up when Jihoon enters the car. His face is riddled with a look that’s mixed between distress and relief.

“Jihoon.” Soonyoung stands. Jihoon walks closer and allows Soonyoung to pull him into a hug. Jihoon buries his face into Soonyoung’s chest and finally allows himself to let go, tears finally starting to prick behind his eyes.

The arms of his best friend wrapped around him bring Jihoon a bittersweet comfort. It takes Jihoon a few minutes to recompose himself as he sits down in a chair next to Soonyoung’s. The chair is plush and it dips down when Jihoon puts his weight on it.

“I would have volunteered for you if I could,” Soonyoung says and Jihoon knows he means it, but Soonyoung has already won his games.

“It is what it is,” Jihoon says with a shrug. “I just have to hope for a quick death.”

“No!” Soonyoung nearly tackles Jihoon out of his chair. “You have to try and win! I know you can do it. I was your age when I won and with me as your mentor, we can do it. You can’t give up already.”

“Soonyoung, I don’t stand a chance out there. You know that.” Jihoon loves to live in his delusions day by day, but this isn’t one he can believe in.

“But I need you.” Soonyoung’s voice is no longer loud and desperate, but rather soft and melancholy. Jihoon doesn’t know how to respond. That seems like a common theme today. He can write song after song about everything and anything under the sun, but ever since his name was drawn from the bowl, he’s been rendered speechless.

“I can only do my best,” Jihoon finally settles on.

“You do your best, and I’ll do the rest,” Soonyoung says. “I promise we’re going to make it out of this.” Jihoon doesn’t skip over the fact Soonyoung says we’re going to make it out. We. A team. Jihoon and Soonyoung. This is just as much as a fight for Soonyoung as it is for Jihoon.

“Boys! It’s time for dinner!” Jennie pokes her head into the room before leaving again, most likely towards the dining room.

Soonyoung still looks disgruntled but stands anyway. Jihoon follows and they walk to the dining room. All of the mentors are already sitting there, the only person missing is you.

The first course has already been served by the time you make your way into the dining room. It’s a crazy idea to Jihoon that the people in the Capitol eat multiple courses, but he decides to take advantage of the fact and eat as much as he can. Jihoon watches you as you eat. You tend to pick more of the protein filled options and Jihoon wonders if it’s a tactic to help you further in the games.

It’s no surprise that the games have already started. From here on out, Jihoon won’t be able to rest until he’s dead. Literally.

At last dessert makes it to the table but Jihoon is too full to even touch it. You turn your nose up at the treat as well and Jihoon doesn’t know if it’s because you’re full or because you don’t want to put that much sugar into your body.

Before Jihoon can dissect your eating habits even more, Jooheon starts to talk. “So, what are we working with this year. What skills do you guys have?”

Jihoon doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have any skills. At least not any that could help in the games, unless the arena is a stage and they have to sing to survive.

Jooheon looks at you two expectantly but neither of you say a word. Jooheon sighs. “I’m trying to help you guys, give me something. You, kid, do you use the axe?”

You nod. “Yeah. I have some basic survival skills and I can fight, both hand-to-hand and with the axe.” You’re strong too, from lifting wood and swinging an axe all day long, Jihoon thinks, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

“That’s a good start. A really good start. Once you start training keep working on those survival skills, but don’t let anyone see you use that axe until it comes to evaluations.” You nod only as Jooheon advises you. Jooheon then turns to Jihoon and Jihoon feels like sinking into his chair and disappearing forever. “And you?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Soonyoung interjects. “I can take care of him.”

“Soonyoung, we’ve talked about this. We’re a team and we have to work as one.” It’s Momo who’s scolding Soonyoung.

“I hate to interrupt, but the reaping recap is about to start broadcasting,” Jennie informs the group. It’s clear the conversation isn’t over and Jihoon assumes the mentors are going to finish it later, in private.

Everyone moves to the train car where Jihoon originally found Soonyoung in. The broadcast has already started but it’s just the introduction stuff. Jihoon’s attention is peaked when the reapings start.

Like always, the careers look threatening. It’s more intimidating to see them on the screen knowing that Jihoon will have to face them in the arena in a week. The most prominent career is a tall boy with a large build from District 4, Kim Mingyu. He has to be a foot taller than Jihoon and just thinking about it makes the shorter boy sick.

Jihoon cringes when the District 7 footage plays. You looked so strong and sturdy when your name was called and as you stood on the stage. The only time even a flicker of emotion was shown on your face was when…Jihoon’s name was called. In all honestly Jihoon thinks it’s probably because he looked like a clumsy deer in the headlights as he walked up to the stage. It’s embarrassing. It’s even more embarrassing to watch himself as he’s forced to shake your hand. He definitely stared you at way too long. You look like a statue on stage, hardened and beautiful. It’s clear from even just a glance that out of the two of you, you’re the more promising tribute. It makes Jihoon’s gut twist knowing that your skill assets are miles ahead of his as well.

The youngest tribute this year is a thirteen year old boy from District 12 named Lee Chan. The other District 12 tribute, Chwe Hansol, isn’t much older being only fourteen. It makes Jihoon frown as he watches them stand on the stage, visibly shaking with fear. The two seem to be close and it makes Jihoon’s heart ache even more.

The broadcast ends and Jihoon feels even worse than he already did. The whole situation feels like it’s crawling up his throat, threatening to spill out with all of his dinner. Jihoon is grateful when Jennie sends everyone off to bed.

“It’s getting late and we will all need as much rest as we can get in the next week. Tomorrow we’ll be in the Capitol and the opening ceremony will commence,” Jennie tells the group. She then moves to make her way to her own compartment. “Happy Hunger Games!”

You can’t believe your eyes as the train pulls into the Capitol. The buildings reach up into the skies and you don’t think you even knew this much technology exists. You hear the Capitol citizens screaming before you see them, and you have to back away from the window when you do. They’re terrifying. Not just their presence, but their actual appearances. If you thought Jennie was bad, they’re ten times worse.

The train finally stops at the station where you and Jihoon are quickly whisked away to the remake center. You don’t know what you were expecting when you showed up, but it definitely wasn’t being scrubbed, plucked, and prodded at by a team of strangers.

You’re honestly a bit disturbed by the time you’re left alone in the room. You already feel uncomfortable from how raw your skin is, but you know it’s only going to get worse from here. Another thing you’re not expecting is for a handsome young man to walk into the room.

He’s tall with a smooth face and blue and purple hair. There’s black makeup smudged around his eyes and his eyes are a bright blue that cannot be his natural iris color. Other than that, he looks normal. He’s wearing a flowy sheer shirt and tight pants and he looks at you up and down before speaking.

“You want to robe?”

You nod and the man hands you a soft robe to cover your naked body. You wrap yourself in it before sitting down in a chair opposite of the man.

“I’m Minghao, I’ll be your stylist while you’re here in the Capitol,” he tells you. “My friend Junhui will be styling your district partner. Our goal is to make you two look desirable. You want sponsors and we’re going to get you them.”

“You two are new this year,” you say, instead of addressing anything he said.

Minghao nods, though he looks a bit surprised that you know that. Despite having a large disdain for the games, you do keep up with what happens in them. “The old stylists were…outdated. We want to elevate your looks and focus on lumber, but not just as raw trees. Would you like to see what you’re wearing for the parade?”

The garment is beautiful. The construction is made out of a mix of paper origami and fabric. There are sharp edges all over it that gives it a regal, yet dangerous look. You wouldn’t want to mess with anyone wearing this outfit so you’re glad you’ll be the one in it.

“Now, I know my work is good, but it’s not the only thing that can be pulling the weight around here. Be presentable, darling. Smile and wave and get the people to like you. That’s the real key to winning.”

You decide that you like Minghao. Not just due to his designing abilities but also because he genuinely seems like a good guy. As good of a person you can be from being from the Capitol.

Minghao helps you get dressed and once you’re in the outfit he styles your hair and adds on all of your accessories. When you’re fully put together you look in the mirror and you have to stand and stare at yourself. The image is beautiful and all together everything looks like a dream, but that’s not you in the mirror.

You don’t have too much time to stand and dissect your whole new look though, because Minghao is ushering you out of the room to go to your chariot. You meet up with Jihoon and his stylist, Junhui, in the stables. Jihoon is in a similar outfit to yours with its own variation and accessories.

When you look at his stylist, he also looks oddly normal for a Capitol citizen. His hair is bleached to a platinum blond and his eyes are smudged with makeup like Minghao’s, but instead of black his is red. He’s wearing a white ensemble with a ruffled shirt and lots of jewelry. Other than that, if you put him in a different outfit he would look like a normal guy from the districts.

Something about Minghao and Junhui intrigues you, but you can’t dwell on it because you’re being forced to board the chariot. Jihoon climbs on beside you and two stand there in silence as the parade starts. Minghao and Junhui wish you two luck right before your chariot pulls out of the stables.

Right away your balance is thrown off and you nearly topple off the side of the chariot. You probably would have if it wasn’t for Jihoon grabbing your arm. You’re about to thank him for making sure you didn’t die before you even got into the arena, but you see that it seems he’s grabbed onto you to steady himself.

You two stand on the chariot, clinging to each other, as it moves through the streets of the Capitol. Once you finally seem to have gotten your footing on the chariot you lift your free hand and start to wave to the audience. It nearly pains you to do so, falling right into the trap of being their little plaything, but you know Minghao was right when he told you to please the Capitol citizens.

You smile and wave at them and they cheer and throw roses and you can even hear a few scream out your name. It’s sick.

Your stomach feels nauseous for multiple reasons when the chariot finally comes to a stop. You can’t even bother to listen to what the president is saying, too focused on not throwing up or toppling over. Jennie, the mentors, and Minghao and Junhui are waiting for you guys when the chariot pulls up. Minghao helps you down and you nearly fall on your face getting off, but you’re able to steady yourself last minute.

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Jihoon who does in fact fall and takes Soonyoung down with him. You look around to see if anyone saw what just happened and it seems like everyone else it too preoccupied with their own matters to care.

“You two looked marvelous out there! I’m sure that everyone will be tripping over their feet to sponsor you,” Jennie gushes. “Now let me show you guys where we’ll be staying.”

The training center is insane, and way too over the top. Each district gets their own whole floor and you want to scream knowing that back home your parents sleep in the living room so you and your sister can share the one bedroom in your house.

If you were disgusted by the bedroom on the train, you’re absolutely horrified by the bedroom in the training center. The bed could fit your whole family on it comfortably and the closet is so big it could serve as a whole new room. The room is upgraded with different technological gadgets that you don’t even bother messing with, knowing you’ll have no clue what they do or how to work them.

“Y/N, dinner time!” Jennie’s voice floats through your door accompanied by a knock. You sigh and head out to the dining area. Momo is the only one at the table which means Jennie is still out rounding everyone else up.

Slowly the table fills up until everyone is gathered around. You notice the people standing around, most likely servants. It makes your skin crawl knowing that other people’s punishments are to wait on the wealthy for the rest of their lives.

“Training starts first thing tomorrow morning. Do not be late,” Jennie says, her tone strict.

“Remember to focus on survival skill stations. They’re often overlooked but that’s seventy-five percent of staying alive in the arena,” Jooheon says. “If you feel up to it, find another weapon to try and get moderately good at, but don’t show any skills you already are good at.”

It’s clear the more Jooheon talks that it’s more aimed at you, rather than Jihoon, who never said if he has any skills. You almost feel bad for him, but you know that Soonyoung won’t let him go in blind.

“Rest up tonight, training days take a lot of stamina both physically and mentally,” Momo tells you both.

You start to formulate a plan in your head. You have three days to train and on the third day you’ll have your Gamemaker assessment. You know for sure you’ll be messing around with an axe for the assessment and that’s not something you’ll ever be rusty on, so you know not to touch it until it’s time.

You can make a fire, tie knots, and purify water pretty well but you’re not as strong with your plant identification. You’d like to get better at handling a regular knife and you’d like to brush up on your hand-to-hand combat.

Earlier Jooheon mentioned that there are tasks that everyone has to do as a general skills assessment, so you’ll have to add those into your plan as well.

“Y/N.” You’re pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of your voice. You look around to see it’s Jihoon addressing you. It’s actually only you and Jihoon in the room, everyone having already cleared out from dinner.

Neither of you have spoken to each other at all this whole trip, the most interaction you’ve had has been steadying each other on the chariot.

“Jihoon?”

You have mixed thoughts about Lee Jihoon. He’s a little famous in your District, but not exactly for the right things. He’s a small boy with an innocent face and round cheeks. You can’t deny that he’s wildly talented though.

“I’m sorry about your mother.” It’s not at all what you’re expecting him to say, and it knocks you off your game a bit.

Last year, shortly after the reaping, your mother had fallen sick. The doctor wasn’t able to diagnose it and any medicine given to her wasn’t enough. The only possible way to cure her would have been to send her to the Capitol but your family was too poor for that, and they wouldn’t have accepted her anyway. She died a few months later. Your family is still healing from the situation and now the reaping has gone and messed up your lives even more.

You don’t know what to say to Jihoon. You settle on, “Yeah, me too.”

Jihoon wasn’t at the funeral, but you remember that one of his songs was sang during it.

A lot of the district citizens don’t like Jihoon because he doesn’t work like most of the other district kids do, he writes music instead. His music is widely known throughout the district though, his most popular song being a song of mourning sung during saddening events.

It’s one of the reasons why you have such mixed feelings on the boy.

You’re not sure if you should keep talking to Jihoon or if he has more to say to you. You guys should talk about the situation you guys are in. You’ve been trying to avoid the fact that in a week you’ll be in an arena fighting for your life, but you can’t do that for much longer. The fact of the matter is that Jihoon is now your enemy, but he also has no chance of winning against you.

Jihoon is smart and his mind is well matured, but he’s not the kind of intelligent you need to be to survive the games. You hate to think about it but it’s the harsh truth. You know Jihoon knows this as well. If District 7 is bringing home a winner this year, it’s going to be you.

Even if Soonyoung does everything in his power to save Jihoon, it’s clear the other mentors do not share Soonyoung’s favoritism towards his best friend. If anything it seems like Jooheon favors you and your hard earned skills you’d built up.

Not that you’re confident enough to think you are going to win. You saw the group of careers. It would be foolish to think you can even hold a flame to them.

“Are you-,” Jihoon cuts his own sentence off. “Never mind, I’m sorry.”

You want to ask him to continue and ask you what he was going to, but you don’t say that, and you let him walk off, leaving you alone in the dining room with nothing but your thoughts. Thoughts, and curiosity for the boy who is going to die in a week.

taglist: @hotricewoozi @embrace-themagic @066hc @biromogeulworld @belladaises @candidupped @justwonus-recs @im-gemmy

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[wrenfxrever]

polish school au | NOT MY AU | radioapple

this is sort of a porn no plot, but as promised, here's the polish school au. go follow Enano (JuiciestE) on x!! they're really so kind <3

tw: dysph0ria

The pale woman stared back at Lucifer in his mirror, her gaze cold and unnerving. She had a soft smile on her face, blinking ever so often. Lucifer felt a sort-of pressure in his chest as he looked at the womans breats, shivering. This was wrong. He had to snap out of it. Snap out of it-

Lucifer jumped, his shiny dress shoes slipping on the slick floor of the bathroom. He stumbled into a stall, swiftly locking it. Lucifer's breath was heavy as he pulled up his shirt, sighing in relief to see they weren't there. He whimpered, tracing his scars, his lungs empty. "Get a hold of yourself..."

After a few minutes of heavy breathing and buttoning his blazer, Lucifer exited the bathroom, heading to Alastor's office. That fucking asshole, wasting his time. When Alastor had came to him and asked for help with lesson planning, he refused; at first. But after a few moments of consideration, he accepted. He couldn't resist his annoying smirk, and notably bronze eyes. So despite his disdain for the history teacher's attitude, he agreed to meet him during the kids' lunch break.

Finally he arrived, peeking through the crack in the door and walking in. "Alastor? You in here?" After looking around he concluded Alastor was late to the meeting he literally suggested. Lucifer grunted in annoyance, settling into the rolling chair before him. He leaned back, crossing a leg over the other and staring up at the ceiling. It was a tacky beige color, the same color as everything else in this shitty school. At least thirty minutes had passed. "Can't believe that fuckwad forgot," Lucifer grumbled. He ripped one of Alastor's drawers open and snatched a notebook from it, flipping through the rough pages until one caught his eye. He desperately searched for the page, finding it beat up and creased. Lucifer smoothed put the folds with his palm, his eyes widening at the discovery. It was him. Several drawings of him, many of them being scribbled over with permanent marker. Lucifer felt his heart ache with affection as he pulled it to his chest, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the chalkboard. His stomach fluttered as he heard loud clicks from down the hall; and those clicks came from Alastor's tacky shoes. Lucifer shoved the notebook back in the drawer and slammed it shut, quickly swivelling to study the empty chalk board. Soon after, Alastor marched into the room, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. Lucifer rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Glad you could make it so early," Lucifer sneered. "Glad you could be bothered to come," Alastor replied. "I'm fashionably late. It's called class." Lucifer stood up, anger shooting through his chest. "There is nothing 'classy' about being late, Alastor."Alastor grinned. "So sorry, your highness." Lucifer recoiled at first, his lip curling at the smile Alastor gave him. It was even more condemning than usual. After a minute Lucifer shot forwards, grabbing at Alastor's shirt collar. He jumped and yanked it down, bringing Alastor to meat Lucifer's icy blue eyes. "Don't play games with me. I won't put up with your bullshit." Alastor looked slightly shocked for a moment. His mouth turned downwards in contrast to his usual smile, which was almost frightening. But Lucifer shook it off and steadied his gaze. "Do...you...understand?"The history teacher nodded ever so slightly, pulling away. Their staring contest was shortly put to an end by the sound of the bell, reminding them that lunch ended. Alastor gained back his grin and slid a slip of paper across the desk, his smile growing a bit wider. "See you. Your majesty." Alastor strode away, leaving Lucifer alone in the room. Lucifer cautiously picked up the paper, reading the characters carefully.

Długa 70/71, 80-831 Meet me at eight :-)

Lucifer didn't even have it in him to make a silent remark about his hand writing; Alastor was inviting him to a bar. He felt a blush creep onto his cheeks as he stared at the dorky smiley-face at the end, something a child would do. After fighting back a squeal, he bolted out of Alastor's office, heading straight back to his.

[sibillascribbles08]

cole and literally anything i beg

Anything? Mmmmaybe some lava?

Kai was dozing until he heard the apartment door open. It made him sit up quick, his tablet falling from his chest to his lap.

“Cole?” Kai called out, though he couldn’t see the door at all from here.

“Who else?” Cole called back.

Kai shrugged and rotated himself so his feet rested on the floor. “On some occasions Jay comes over unannounced, or Nya.”

“Oh, hanging out with Jay without telling me?” Cole finally appeared in the living room doorway, not hesitating to lean against it as he smirked.

Kai couldn’t keep himself for staring for a second. Cole must have been hiking again. Sweat glinted on his forehead and on his chest. Once again he left his flannel shirt half open, leaving little to the imagination.

Kai forced himself to ignore the burning in his cheeks. “I’m sure you do too from time to time, or are you too busy wandering around outside of town.” He stood up and put his tablet on the coffee table. “You hungry? You’ve been out all day.”

Cole shrugged as he straightened up. “Yeah, but I won’t make you cook something.”

“It’s fine. I need something too.” Kai stared at him. “You should go take a shower.”

Cole scoffed and stuck out his tongue. “I’m not that sweaty.”

“Yeah sure, I bet if I squinted I could see my reflection on your pecs.” Kai glanced at them but kept himself from staring. “Just go.”

“Fine, fine.” Cole waved a hand as he headed down the hall to the bathroom.

Kai let out a long breath as soon as the door closed. This wasn’t getting any easier, was it? He swore when it started it was just a mess of emotions from coming out of a 20 year almost-coma and seeing your friend suddenly with thirty extra pounds of muscle and enough chest hair to knit a sweater. He figured he just needed to adjust to everything that changed.

In retrospect agreeing to be roommates was probably what doomed him, but he didn’t want to live alone, and Jay isolated himself. Kai might have Nya as well, but since she started seeing Skylor he found himself leaning on Cole more than anyone.

Not that it was one sided either. Cole seemed to need the company just as much.

So it made sense to share an apartment, right?

But Kai swore if he had to deal with Cole lounging around the living room shirtless again he’d go mad. Why did it get to him so much now? It never did in the past.

Maybe he should just ask Cole to shove him against a wall and make out with him already. Was that too forward?

Probably.

Kai drew his focus to cooking instead, digging out some leftover veggies and some rice to make a stir fry. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it’d be filling.

The sound of it all sizzling in the pan was loud enough that he didn’t hear when Cole came into the kitchen.

“Smells good.”

He turned, seeing Cole standing much closer than he expected. His eyes fixed on his friend’s chest and trailed down for a second.

“God.” Kai sputtered as he adjusted his grip on the pan. “Seriously, can you put a shirt on after you shower? Or some pants?” He pointed at the towel on Cole’s waist.

Cole frowned and headed to the fridge to pull out their jug of water. “I still don’t get what your problem is, Kai. You see me shirtless all the time.”

“That doesn’t make it any less distracting.” He sputtered.

It took a moment for him to even realize what he said.

“Distracting, huh?”

Kai’s shoulders went rigid. He looked back at Cole, seeing him leaning against the now closed fridge. His eyes were focused but his lips showed the slightest of smirks.

“Didn’t know you were into this.”

“Oh shut-up.” Kai moved the pan off the heat, knowing he was going to burn the food at this rate. “Yes you did, you must have some idea. If I didn’t know you better I’d swear you were flirting half the time.”

“Did you want me to be?”

Kai growled as he tilted his head back. “Stop making fun of me. Yeah, I have a crush, okay? Can you even blame me?” He gestured to his friend. “Twenty years later and you turn into a lumberjack dream boy. You even wear the flannel shirts! If you hung out the in city more I’m sure tons more people would be throwing themselves at you.” He tossed up his hands as he headed to the cupboard to grab some plates. “Just forget about it, okay?”

He opened the cupboard only for Cole to shut it again. Kai went tense again, but forced himself to turn around, looking at his friend who was now well leaning over him.

“Why should I forget about it?” Cole raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you know.” Kai avoided his gaze. “If the feeling isn’t mutual...”

“I can’t say I thought about it too hard Kai but... really doubt I’d want to be with anyone else either.”

Kai couldn’t help but frown. “Is that you just saying you’ll settle for me?”

Cole laughed. “You’re thinking about it all too hard.”

“Well you’re not thinking enough. Come on, Cole, I don’t want to jump into something like this and risk ruining our friendship over this. It’s one of the few things I have left after...” He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

“Yeah, alright. That’s fair. Fine, let me think about it then. Let’s just eat dinner for now yeah?”

Kai nodded and allowed himself to glance over Cole’s chest. His friend didn’t move away yet, now reaching over Kai to pull the plates down before heading to the table.

Kai kept staring for a moment before he blinked and dragged his head back to reality. “Wait, are you seriously going to sit at the table in just a towel?”

“Why not?”

“You’re going to get your butt germs all over the seat.”

Cole snorted. “What? Seriously?”

“Yes!” Kai could feel his cheeks heating up again.

“Wow, I’m going to sit on it extra hard now.” Cole plopped down on one of the wooden chairs.

“Cole please for the love of god just get some pants.” Kai covered his face and groaned.

“Fine, fine, plate dinner for me then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kai agreed, but didn’t move his hands away until he was sure his friend left the kitchen.

[theladyofdeath]

For Rowaelin

Morning in bed with their children

Ship: Rowan x Aelin Trope: Parenthood, modern au, fluff A/N: Thank you for the sweet prompt! I hope you enjoy. :)

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

"DADDY!"

Rowan didn't even have time to open his eyes before he nearly took a knee to the groin. His daughter, who was going to be five in a week, was half her mother and half WWE wrestler. Beautiful and funny and slightly terrifying, Rowan loved her more than anything in the world.

Even at five-thirty in the morning.

With a grunt, Rowan wrapped his daughter in his arms with a yawn. "You should still be asleep, Freya. It's too early."

"But I'm excited," she whispered, although it seemed loud as hell in Rowan's ear. "Mommy said we go swimming today. I want to go swimming."

Rowan looked over at Aelin, who was still sound asleep. Her mouth was hanging wide open and he swore she was drooling.

"Mommy won't be up for at least two hours," he grumbled. "Go back to sleep until she's up."

"But you're up, daddy," she said, and he swore she spit into his ear as she spoke.

"Not by choice," he muttered.

"Want to play superheroes?" she asked, slapping him in the face with every word that came out of her mouth. "Or, we can watch cartoons. Or, we can make pancakes. Or, we can play with playdoh--"

"I will do all of that once the sun is up," Rowan promised her, his eyes still closed as he patted her back. "C'mon, Freya. Back to sleep."

"But I'm not tired," she whined, throwing her entire little body into her mini-fit. "If RoRo can be awake, so can I."

Rowan sighed. "If Roman was awake, he would be--"

A soft cry came through the baby monitor, and Rowan opened his eyes to find Freya giving him a satisfied grin that reminded him of his wife when she was proven right and he was proven wrong.

Beside him, Aelin barely stirred and Rowan swung his legs off the mattress and stumbled down the hallway to the nursery. Their eight-month-old son was sitting up, lip wobbling as his feet kicked in his sleepsack. Rowan quickly picked him up and nearly gagged from the stench coming off of the infant.

How something so small could produce such a stench...he would never understand.

After a quick diaper and pajama change, Rowan was carrying his son down the stairs, his lip being tugged on as if it was the latest trend in baby toys. He was too tired to care.

He mixed a bottle that was quickly put into Roman's mouth to keep his whining at bay, and with his little head on Rowan's shoulder, they went back upstairs to the master bedroom.

Once Rowan entered, Aelin was still sound asleep but to his surprise, Freya was too. Her golden curls were splayed across the middle of the bed and she was lying sideways, her feet propped on Aelin's side. Even in his exhausted state, Rowan chuckled at the sight. His daughter and his wife were snoring in unison.

"They're a mess," he whispered to Roman, who grinned up at his father with the bottle still in his mouth. Careful not to wake either of them, Rowan settled back against his side of the bed and cradled Roman while he finished his bottle. When he was all done, Rowan laid the infant against his chest and burped him. In the process, Roman fell right back asleep, his mouth hanging open, breathing steadily.

He was just about to doze off himself when the bed shifted and Aelin's glazed eyes met his. She gave him a sleepy smile before laughing quietly at Freya, still sprawled out across the bed. She reached across their daughter and ran her thumb over Roman's hand.

"You could sleep through battle," Rowan mumbled, and Aelin chuckled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she shot back with a yawn, scooping Freya into her arms. "You shouldn't be up so early though, babe. It's Saturday for fuck's sake."

Rowan shot her a look that only earned him a wicked grin before she puckered her lips. Rowan leaned down to press his mouth softly against hers before saying, "You're so full of shit."

"That's why you married me." She winked. "And procreated with me."

Rowan's deep laughter shook the bed as he settled back into his pillows. "Yeah. That's why."

Aelin reached around Freya and took Rowan's hand in hers as her eyes fell shut once again. She drifted back into a peaceful sleep but Rowan was wide awake. Even if he couldn't fall back asleep, he didn't want to move. He was comfortable holding his wife's hand, cradling his son, listening to the sweet obnoxious snores of his four-year-old.

It was so simple, but it was perfect.

Even if it was too damn early.

[dragon-kazansky]

Made with love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU! 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 12

You had called Wanda immediately after you were dressed. You asked her to meet you at Escorpión Morado as quickly as she could. She said she would be there with Nat right away.

The doors were open when you arrived, Sam having come in early to reorganise the bottles and boxes from behind the bar. He welcomed you as you entered, but could clearly see something was up.

"What happened?"

"I think Helmut just threatened to kill Stark."

"What!"

You sit down at the bar and catch your breath. Sam fetches you some water and then leans against the shiny new bar to listen to you.

"What happened?"

"Helmut explained everything about Tony and Heike. I listened to him. I'm not worried about Heike, Helmut proved to me he loved me and I'm not going to leave him like she did. This morning Strange came to important an gave this bullshit letter to me. Helmut read it, got pissed, and stormed off, telling me to meet him here. He said he was going to kill Stark."

"He won't kill him."

"Are you sure? He was so angry, Sam."

James comes out from the back and sees you both talking. He comes to stand beside Sam.

"What's up?"

Sam explains everything.

Wanda and Natasha show up about ten minutes later. Everyone but Helmut was present. Once everyone was caught up, Sam made everyone coffee and you all waited.

An hour passes by.

Thirty minutes later the window cleaners you hired show up. You let them get on with it.

Another hour.

"I have to call him," you pull out your phone. Wanda sits next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

There had been no word from Zemo and you were worried sick.

It rings.

And it rings.

And it rings.

He doesn't pick up. You drop your phone on the bar and bury your head in your hands.

Wanda rubs your back gently.

Natasha stands by the door and looks out. She watches the square. It's quiet, not even the locals were pottering about, but it was first thing Saturday morning.

Then, as if they knew Natasha was going to be waiting, someone comes around the corner and enters the square.

Heike. She's coming here.

Natasha pushes off the door and enters the restaurant again, coming to stand beside you.

"That woman is coming."

You sit up, spare a glance at Sam who stands in front of you, and then slowly turn in your seat. Your eyes narrow on Heike as she enters the restaurant.

She's dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse, small nude heels on her feet. She looked she was here to do business.

You stand from your stool. Wanda and Natasha flank either side of you. Sam stands up straight behind the bar and Bucky crosses his arms.

"What do you want?" You hiss.

"To talk to you."

"How unfortunate, I don't want to talk to you, so bugger off."

She clenched her jaw.

"Don't talk to me like that."

"Or what?"

"You should be nicer to people you don't know," she says, keeping her voice level, but you knew you knew you were irritating her.

"I don't have to be nice to wicked women who go around breaking hearts. He was in love with you."

"He told you?"

"Yeah, he did. We don't keep secrets."

"Evidently," she rolls her eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Helmut came raging a storm at The Iron Grill this morning."

"Where is he? Is he still there? What happened?" You ask, urgently.

Her blank expression doesn't change.

"He's fine. They both are. Helmut punched Tony again. If he does that a third time there will be a lawsuit."

"Where is he?" You demand.

"I don't know. He left and I came straight here."

"Well, leave."

"Don't you want to hear what I have to say?"

"Not really, no."

She glares.

"You're appalling."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." She looks you up and down. "Ugh, what does he see in you?"

You didn't have an answer for her. You have no idea why you stood out to him, not really. You had just caught his attention one day and that way it.

"A kind, amazing, human being who values my thoughts, feeling and most of all, my cooking."

You look behind Heike to see Helmut.

You run quickly across the restaurant and jump into his waiting arms. He holds you to his chest tightly, kissing your temple.

"Helmut, you're OK!"

"Of course I am."

"An hour, you said.'

He cradles your face between his big warm hands.

"I know, I'm sorry, darling." He kisses your forehead.

Heike coughs into her fist.

You don't look at her, just bury your face in the crook of Helmut's neck. He keeps his arms around you as he looks at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell Y/N how much happier they would be if they took Stark's offer, and to try and convince them to convince you to sell the restaurant over to Tony. You're only going to lose in the end."

You shake your head against his shoulder.

"No, you'll be the losers here."

"You sound quite sure."

You lift your head and look at her.

"I am. We have put a lot of effort into this restaurant and we're going to prove it this weekend," you tell her.

"Is that so?"

You nod.

"On Monday the invites will be sent out. By Thursday the restaurant will be complete. On Friday the grand opening will happen. Sokovia will remember who was here first, and who they should be supporting."

Heike looks unimpressed.

"You should be careful what you say."

You smirk.

"You should be careful who you mess with."

She scoffs and turns to Helmut.

"We could have been great."

He narrows his dark eyes at her.

"Remind me again who left who at the alter."

She looks like she's about to throw a tantrum. Quickly, she turns on her heel and leaves.

You watch her go.

Once she is out of sight you wrap your arms around Helmut's neck and pull him down for a kiss. He returns the gesture eagerly.

Wanda smiles softly at the pair of you.

When you pull away, your brush your fingers through his dark hair and look at him.

"There's still a lot to do before we re-open."

He nods.

"I know. We better get started."

Wanda claps her hands and gestures to a box she had set in the table.

"These are the invitations, thought you should check them before we send them off."

You walk over and open the box.

You smile.

The card is a rich purple and the lettering is gold. They're perfect.

"Send those asap!"

She nods and closes the box.

Natasha presents to you another box, this one a bit bigger.

"I picked them up just as you asked."

You open this box and smile. You reach in and pull put the fabric which sits inside. You unfold it and hold it up.

"Aprons?" You hear James ask.

"Brand new aprons."

You hold one out to Bucky, hand one over to Sam, and then you turn to Helmut. His fingers brush against your as you hand it over. He smiles.

"Put them on!"

Helmut chuckles and puts it on, tying it securely around him. The aprons were black, Escorpión Morado sewn into them, and their names too.

"You had these made for us?" Helmut asks, looking up at you.

"Yes."

"Where's yours?" He asks.

You smile and turn back to the box.

"Right here."

Helmut takes the apron from your hands and gestures for you turn around. Slowly, he puts it on you. He ties it securely around you.

You turn around and show him.

"Beautiful."

You smile.

"Handsome."

He grins.

"We look good!" Sam states, looking at each if you.

Helmut smile as he faces you all.

"We don't have much time left. I'm counting on all of you to help make my father's restaurant the great place I remember it being when I grew up."

You smile proudly at him.

"Let's put Escorpión Morado back on the map!" You cheer.

The others cheer with you.

Helmut holds your hand as you reach out to him and he pulls you in for another kiss.

Sokovia will remember what this place once was, and Tony Stark won't see it coming.

@namethathasnotbeentaken @belle82devart @cathrin2405 @lieutenantn @wilder-fangirl @latenightartist-author @lucky-luck-lucky @hb8301 @charistory @thatoneartgalsstuff @thesuitkovian @malkaviangirl @zemosimp420 @realremyd @the-chaotic-cow @lostghostgirl94 @zafiro-draco @lazygurl05 @pinkcutiepiee @goddessofmischief03 @whovianayesha @myybebe @awesomesauce-abbie @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @swooning-for-mc-avoy @nonamec0s @apparrio @scuttle-buttle @alex-the-nb @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @greeneyedblondie44 @somethingthatsaysbubbles

[txemrn]

It's me, literally sprinting into your Asks! ❤️

Can we have a taste of:

Ethan/Casey

Mr. & Mrs. Ramsey

OPH Cancer (I hope it is not what I think it is!)

Thank you! 🥰

Lin! Eep!💜 Thank you so much for sending me the Ask for the WIP game! I'm so nervous, but hopefully something will pique your interesting. lol

Also, keep in mind: these titles are awful. They're almost like my own personal titles to remind me of the fics, so hopefully they haven't been too misleading. LOL

Warning: Long Post...

Ethan/Casey

Someone sent me an Ask last week about Ethan and Tatum's attraction if Ethan was still with Casey when Tatum was hired, and then someone (maybe the same person) asked if I could write something about that. Well, this got away from me, and I developed this AU of my HC, and I'm hoping to have this as a miniseries for October! Here's a snippet:

"And over here are the charts of the new arrivals," Casey pivots back to her new batch of interns. Her arms are outstretched as if she's the Vanna White of medicine, guiding them on a tour of the emergency room. "Remember, folks, every patient needs to be triaged–" she freezes as she watches a familiar tall blonde at the nurse's station, thumb through all the charts. "Um… they need to be triaged within thirty minutes," she hurries through her instructions before holding up a finger. "Just a minute, guys."

Casey walks up to the desk, inquisitively observing the woman. Even under the fluorescent lights, her platinum highlights perfectly shine, her waves bouncing effortless on her shoulders. Her scarlet wrap dress hugs her curves beautifully, and her patent-leather nude pumps show off the musculature of her calves, those thick thighs, and–

The stranger clears her throat, Casey painfully aware of the warm flush crawling across her cheeks as her eyes dart from the shapely woman's backside to her face.

Without looking facing towards the diagnostician, the curious stranger continues to pull folders. "I'll be done in a minute," she nods to the registration desk, "you can finish undressing me with your eyes over there.’

Does she not remember me?

~🖤~

Mr. & Mrs. Ramsey

Did you ever see Mr. & Mrs. Smith with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt? Long story short, they are a married couple who have no clue that the other has a secret assassin life until their agencies pin them head-to-head to chase after a specific hit. In turns into a dangerously sexy good time.

With the overturning of Roe v. Wade fresh on our minds here (removing not only autonomy for women, but appropriate healthcare for women), one of my writing friends shared with me how she would love to see an AU where Tatum is this underground abortionist, secretly saving lives. I thought it was a hilariously genius idea (even though Massachusetts is luckily a more progressive state).

So for this story, it's just that. Tatum is part of an underground abortion ring, and Ethan has no idea. Not much has been written, but here's a snippet:

The sweet, maple aroma of thick-cut bacon wafts throughout the pristine townhome. As she scrambles some egg whites for herself, Tatum carefully prepares two over-easy yolks for her husband as she toasts an artisan loaf for their breakfast.

“Mmmm,” Ethan bounds into the kitchen, a sports coat tucked over his forearm. “Something smells delicious in here.” He hastily grabs his mug of brewed coffee, but stops for a brief moment to brush a peck on his wife’s cheek while she carefully shimmies his delicate eggs onto a plate.

“Would you like for me to butter your toast, sweetheart?” She sweetly croons, a doting smile warming her early-morning expression.

“I think I can manage that, thank you, darling.”  Ethan collects his plate, stealing the delivered morning newspaper and hoarding it under his arm. Making himself comfortable at the breakfast nook on the island of the kitchen, he takes a bite of bacon before fanning out the oversized-paper to catch up with the news.

Tatum quietly fixes her coffee, but as she stirs in her hazelnut creamer, a large bold font on the front page startles her: Feds Confirm Underground Abortion Ring in Kinsington County; GOP Outraged. She coolly takes a sip of her smooth Arabica roast, her eyes shifting from the headline to Ethan, and then back again. “How are your eggs, sweetheart?”

“Perfect,” he answers, his eyes trained to the text before looking up to give her an appeasing smile.  

“Perfect,” she offers an ostensible grin.

~🖤~

OPH Cancer

Unfortunately, this is exactly what you think it is. There was a prompt going around several months ago about "My love comes with a lifetime guarantee" ... and because I'm me, this angst was born from it.

This is from the POV of Tatum. It's several months after she gives birth, and she finds a lump in her breast. I haven't written much of this one either, but here's a snippet:

I get it. 

Physicians like myself go to great lengths to create safe spaces, special offices developed to establish a calm atmosphere for effective communication while discussing emotional health concerns. These meeting rooms are ideal when patients and loved ones need to make tough, well-thought out medical decisions. You know the type: a comfortable chaise lounge; soft sounds from a noise machine, like a babbling brook or a rainstorm; low and soothing ambient lighting–none of the fluorescent bullshit that makes you look sick.

Because you are sick.

But, beyond the perfectly polished wood, the infusion of essential oils in the air and the crisp cucumber water for enjoyment, being in this seat, the patient’s seat, is terrifying.

~🖤~

Thanks again, girlie!

[resonating-kitty]

Far Cry 5 Au - Dreambur because my brain went brr and the gears turned.

Wilbur is Joseph Seed and Dream is the Deputy.

It takes place in the Far Cry 5 setting, more specifically the events that happened between Far Cry 5 and Far Cry New Dawn.

-

One side of the bunker to the other, over and over and over so many times that Wilbur lost count of the times that Dream passed by the doorway. The other would always throw a glare his way every time he passed by. It ceased to be amusing an hour ago.

Now it was just grating on Wilbur's nerves.

He sat in the near darkness of his room. His intentions were to meditate the time away, to soothe the restlessness starting to crawl under his skin. But Dream has started pacing and Wilbur found himself unable to let his guard down enough to slip into that medium that he needed.

The constant threat that passed his door every twenty seconds made the crawl under his skin writhe and his own dominate primal urge raise it's hairs and bare it's teeth in a fight. Wilbur knew he wouldn't get to mediate so he started playing a game to amuse himself. Every time Dream passed by and shot a glare, Wilbur would smirk because he knew that it pissed Dream off. The other would growl and stomp away and Wilbur's face would fall to neutral as he waited for Dream to turn around to repeat the action again.

That game had grown tiresome after about thirty minutes and Wilbur began just flat out ignoring Dream in hopes that the other would tire himself out and finally settle. It seemed as though being right out ignored also pissed Dream off, which Wilbur filed back for late use.

Wilbur's ire was rising and his normally dormant temper was starting to rise up as his blood boiled because the man was still pacing and was not settling and the sound of his footsteps were starting to become too loud.

"Will you stop?!" Wilbur finally snapped when Dream reappeared in the frame of the doorway. His outburst seemed to caught Dream off guard and Wilbur felt just a smudge of satisfaction as the green eyed man stumbled just a bit before he regard his balance and turned in the open doorway to face Wilbur.

"Why?" Dream demanded, his fists already coiling tightly and his shoulder tensing. He was looking for a fight and Wilbur was damn determined to give him one.

Wilbur rose slowly. He stood a inch higher than Dream but Dream was bulkier than he was but not by much. Two equal dominant males trapped in this little space.

Sometimes Wilbur wished that he'd just sealed the bunker and left Dream to die from the blast of the nuclear bomb but then, he'd remind himself, he'd be alone and loneliness was never good. A sworn enemy was better than than nothing.

"Because," he sighed, a tiredness that was bone deep, "it grates on my nerves and I'd very much like to get a few hours of meditation in before bed so if you could either go pace elsewhere or find something else to occupy your time." The honesty in Wilbur's voice seemed to throw Dream off. He could see the way the other's eyes flash with brief surprise before the emotion was hidden away.

They'd fought plenty of times since they've been down here. Wilbur has lost count of exactly how many times. It was mostly words, harsh and thrown with precision, these days but in the early days it was with fists and feet and teeth and claws, a true fight. Dream's hatred had ruled all his senses and Wilbur's pain blurred his control. They're bloodied each other, broke noses and left trails of blood along the floors of the bunker.

Never had Wilbur been truly honest with Dream.

Silence hung between them. A beat. Then two.

Dream shifted, looked away. Asked, "What does the meditation do?"

"Relieves the restlessness and helps me keep my head." Wilbur blinks. He wasn't expecting Dream to ask as he also was expecting Dream to shift in place and look almost sheepishly back into the room, not quite at him.

"Is... is it hard to do? I've never," Dream's face wrinkled with uncertainty as he spoke, "I've never meditated before."

A small smile spreads on Wilbur's face and he ducks his head to hide it. He wasn't about to ruin whatever was happening by setting Dream off again. "It's not hard," his spoke, his voice neutral as he nodded, "come into the room and have a seat. When you're settled and ready, we will begin and I'll walk you through it.

[xeiniex]

for the whitruv reqs- maybe a snapshot of a swap au, with criminal whitty and famous ruv? you can interpret the prompt however you want as far as what they're doing together (and bonus points for ruv being a hardbass producer and whitty being angry at the world for being made as a superweapon, because one is funny and one is character motivation, but its up to you if you include it!)

Oh man, I love swap AUs. My all time favorite is alignment swap, where all the good guys are evil and vice versa. Role swaps are AWESOME too though, so definitely, here you go! (swearing and smoking in here, heads up!)

Whitty leaned against the wall of the alley. Graffiti was scrawled across the concrete in front of him, lime green shapes and words that didn't mean anything to him. He stared at them blankly, wondering if he would get work that night.

It wasn't work he wanted to be doing, no. He puffed on his cigarette, blowing smoke out into the air in front of him. This was his fourth city, and he managed to stay low for now, but things would start lining up with the cops if he got too busy.

His gaze fell from the wall to the ground. He didn't pick who he worked with. Sometimes, people needed an explosion to make a point. There was a market, and he could provide. He narrowed his eyes at the ground as that thought passed through his mind, and took another long breath out of his cigarette, hating the firey feeling in his mouth, but loving the calmness it brought over him.

The sun had set a long time ago, but the neon signs and glowing displays lit up the streets. If he was a poet, he might've thought it was romantic. He didn't really give a shit, as he stared out at the glowing, navy street.

He heard the footsteps before he saw anyone. He knew it was always best to let them come to him, so he didn't acknowledge the guy that was walking up. A small part of him was hoping for an off night. The other part of him reminded him that he had rent due in three days. He huffed, wishing his cover job at the shoe store paid just a little more, so he could stop doing this. Someday, maybe.

"Hey, you." The guy said.

Whitty looked up from the ground, staring through the man. Tall, strong-ish. He wore a white ribbon over his eye, with what was probably a gang sign drawn on it. Whitty didn't mind dealing with gangs, as long as they were on the same terms. He didn't pick any sides.

He took another puff of his cigarette, clearing his throat a little as the smoke swallowed down a bit wrong.

The guy glanced around, his hands deep in his coat pockets. "You're Whitty." he stated.

"No." Whitty told him, blinking slowly.

"You're..." the guy's single eye squinted at him, and he growled a bit under his breath. "Right. I heard about you from a friend of a friend."

"No you didn't." Whitty told him. This guy had no sweet clue what he was doing. Probably some rich child looking to get an early inheritance. Whitty wasn't going to get in the middle of that. He turned from the guy and started walking down the alley away from him.

"No, stop!" The guy called. "Fucking... I can pay you thirty thousand dollars if you do this for me."

Whitty halted, a laugh rising in his chest. "Yeah, right. Sorry, I only work if I'm paid up front." he muttered.

"Then turn the fuck around." he said.

Whitty almost didn't. He was glad he did. The handful of cash could've all been ones, but even then, it was at least a hundred dollars. The guy waved it up beside his head. "I need to send a message. Think you can do that for me?"

Whitty blinked at the cash, then back at the guy. If he was being honest, that much could cover him until he skipped town again. Whitty felt suddenly very up to whatever task this guy was offering. He walked back over, crossing his arms and staring at the guy with his best stony expression.

The guy nodded, "Ten thousand up front."

"Fifteen."

"Twelve." He said, his eyes narrowing. "I don't want you to just run off with it."

Whitty's eyes narrowed. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind until he suggested it.

He pulled a different paper out of his bag. "There's going to be a rock concert downtown. This chick," he tapped on a picture of a purple-skinned lady. "Is performing. About halfway through the concert, I want the speakers blown out and the people running for their lives. Make it look like an accident with the pyrotechnics."

Whitty took the picture out of his hand. He didn't really care for music, so he didn't know who this woman was. He assumed either an Ex or a plain Rival. He wouldn't press.

"Oh, and this girl here," he held out another photo, this one of a pink-faced girl with faux demon horns grinning at the camera. "I'm her producer, and she has the first show. If she gets hurt, or if any of this ends up looking like her fault," he glared up at Whitty. "You're not getting paid."

Whitty caught the message the guy was putting across. He glared right back, wondering if this random man actually thought he was tough enough to scare a walking, talking explosive.

He took a step closer, and as he thought, the guy shrunk away, his back pressing into the graffiti-lined wall behind him. His gaze still tried to smolder, but it was hindered after that, and Whitty chuckled at him, before holding out his hand. "I got it. Twelve now. I'll be back here after the show for the rest."

The guy nodded, handing over the money, his back still against the wall. Whitty carefully counted it, making sure he wasn't getting swindled and not letting the guy have any breathing room until he was certain it was the right amount.

It was exact. He stepped away, and the guy straightened up again, fixing his coat and Russian hat. He began to walk away, when he stopped, barely turning to say, "Thank you."

Whitty shot a look at him. For what? He hadn't done any work yet.

He turned, and started walking down the alley away from the guy. He didn't want to have to do this anymore, he told himself, reaching his cigarette back up to his lips. It had burned down in his hand, and he sighed, dropping the butt on the ground.

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

Screaming in the Night

Everything Billy touches, breaks. 

Things go differently during the fight between Hargrove and Harrington, and suddenly there's another person pulled into the secret mess that is Hawkins Indiana.

(Season 2 finale rewrite, season 3 AU

Chapter Thirty-Two

Billy has no fucking idea what is happening anymore. 

He remembers sleeping in his car but that's it. He expected to wake up early in the morning with a stiff neck and maybe a headache, but when he opens his eyes he's met with a strange sight. 

It's not morning. Judging by the position of the sun, it's in the middle of the afternoon. And he's at the fucking pool . He's wearing his whistle and the standard red swim trunks like this is just a normal fucking day at his job. But there is nothing normal about this. He doesn't know how he got here. 

He looks around and is surprised to see Heather is here too. It's like last night never happened. They're just here, doing their jobs like it's no big deal. He waves her over, hoping maybe she can shed some fucking light on this weird ass situation. 

"What's wrong?" She asks him when she reaches the stand. 

"Did I- was I acting like I usually do when I came in today?"

She frowns in confusion. "I guess so. Maybe not as grouchy as usual."

Well, at least he didn't attack anyone else in a shower stall. That's good news, right? 

He rubs his tired eyes and asks her an important question. He can't be the only one that this is happening to. "Have you- have you been losing any time?" 

That makes her frown more. "What? What do you mean?"

Maybe it is only him. Maybe he imagined the creepy way Heather talked to him before she got out of the car. Maybe she is mostly  fine. "It's.. Nothing. Don't worry about it." 

She still looks like she's worried about it. Heather sometimes reminds him of Steve. "Billy, are you ok?" 

Billy, are you ok? Should I call someone?  

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of that memory of last night. "I'm.. I'm fine. But I think I should go home early. Could you maybe take over?" 

"Sure. Yeah. I can do that." 

He sighs in relief and climbs down, but before he can walk away her hand clamps around his wrist and she whispers. "We need another." 

He stumbles and turns to look at her. She looks exactly like she did a second ago, but now her eyes seem wrong. 

He walks a little faster than necessary to get back to the locker room. That wasn't Heather. It was at first, but it's not now. Just like he's him at this moment in time, but who knows what is walking around in his body when he's checked out. It's like they've been body snatched or something. 

Fuck. 

He sits on the bench and just tries to breathe, because he's pretty sure he's about to hyperventilate and he doesn't want to black out. It feels like whenever he's asleep or distressed the other him takes over. He just doesn't know why. 

[honeydeweddimples]

Officer Jeon- Policeman Jungkook au

~ Born and bred in Busan

~ Actually grew up with his Grandparents as his parents went to America to expand their business.

~ He grew up on the coast of a fishing village. His Grandfather was an incredible fisherman and his Grandma ran a restaurant, mainly using the local seafood her husband caught. Jungkook is incredibly close and endeared to his Grandparents.

~ Actually was a trouble-maker in high school because he was tired of the small village.

~ Used to graffiti and street tag buildings. That was until he was reported and caught...

~ That's how he came to be a police officer. Because he met Park Jimin, a young officer of Busan Police (I had to!)

~ Who basically set highschool rebel, Jungkook, straight and also let him off with a minor warning for the offence.

~ Since then Jungkook was determined to become a police officer, knowing he could have that authority and respect within the community.

~ So after his exams in his final year of high school (which Jungkook might or might not have done so well on) he took an internship and volunteered at the station

~ Helping with paperwork and phone calls (being the coffee bitch) and even shadowing Jimin and senior officers.

~ Soon after he enrolled in training and at 21 became the youngest officer of the branch.

~ Just because he's young that doesn't mean he fools around, actually, he's more determined because of that. Practically married to his job.

~ Still lives with his Grandmother, which is partially why he's so motivated. As he wants to give her a comfortable life and retirement in thanks for raising him so well.

~ Hardly sees his parents or his brother, and refuses to except the money that comes with being a Chaebol heir, as it's not his owned hard earned money.

~ Within the force he's mainly used for his braun and known for his strength when the team require physical reinforcement.

~ He's good at interrogation too, cold and methodical, but only because he's so detail orientated.

~ Works late nights and takes on extra cases because he wants to be promoted

~ The local village women are infatuated with him, he's polite and participates within the community. They admire his handsome ruggedness, strength and almost romanticise his dismspiesve behaviour towards them.

~ He sees romance as a distraction to his job.

~ Most people presume he's cold romantically because he's so methodical about approaching people and shows no interest in dating. However, if he likes someone he's rather awkward and doesn't know how to act around them.

~ His Grandma is terribly worried that when she passes away no one will be there to remind him to take care of himself.

Anyways back to the job...

~ In their late twenties-early thirties Jimin is now the youngest Chief of the branch and Jungkook is coming up for Deputy (their village is small and the elderly officers had retired).

~ Jimin and Jungkook are like brothers, as Jungkook looks up to him. Otherwise he would've been on the streets running into trouble with the law.

~ A very playful friendship even on the job, but they're both scarily serious when they need to be.

~ Bickering in Busan Satoori 24/7, even the local youth who frequently end up in behind bars are fed up with them...

~ Jimin always declaring "Yah- I was born in Busan first, stop copying me, kid!" Or scolding him when Jungkook drops the honorifics "Mah,". The elder constantly running his hand through his fluorescent orange hair in stress and jokingly going to smack the back of his head.

~ But Jimin loves it because he knows he's inspired someone younger than him, he feels a sense of pride and honour at being respected.

~ Officer Jeon is one of the most dedicated policemen in Busan.

~ Y/N you're in for one turbulent journey when you meet Officer. Jeon Jungkook. I wish you all the best x

This is quite lengthy of an AU, I couldn't help myself 😂 let me know what you think. I actually have a fanfic in the works based on this but thought I would post to see the reaction. Like a character blurb? Thanks for any feedback or taking the time to read 💖 Honey

Credit goes to those who took/own the photos, no copyright intended...

[youaretoosmart]

Can yu write a strangers au where one of them sleep on each other's shoulders and they're too polite to do something about it so they just roll with it

birthday prompts 3/7

I… forgot the strangers AU part omg I’m so dumb. I went with post 3x06 instead!! Sorry!!

The bus bumps gently along the road, one turn at a time, in a way that is vaguely nauseating. Stiles can finally understand Jared a little better: the endless repetitive circles down the mountain are enough to make him want to puke, just for something to do.

Or maybe it’s not the bus—maybe it’s the fact that their lives are, once again, interwoven with the supernatural; dangerous, deadly supernatural. Because, yeah, Stiles may be a pessimist but he’s also often right, and someone is going to die if they don’t find a way out of this situation, this tug of war between two unstoppable powers. A few months ago, he would have wondered why that was always the case: can’t they be an active cause in whatever’s going down in Beacon Hills, for once, instead of the helpless rag doll tugged this way and that by the two enemies? The rag doll is always the one who pays the most in the end, in Stiles’ opinion: it’s simply physics.

Okay, so it’s definitely not the bus.

He tries looking out of the window, but the endless desert landscape doesn’t help: all he sees is that they’re heading back towards Beacon Hills, towards fighting and death and sacrifices. Towards war, if Lydia is right—and of course she’s right.

He tries to glance subtly above his shoulders, to check up on Scott, as he’s done about, oh, thirty thousands time since the previous evening, which, really, was just more proof that he may be a pessimist but at least he has reasons to be. For once, he hates being right.

Scott still smells of gasoline, even after changing his clothes and quickly washing up in the bathroom while Stiles gathered their bags. He used to like the smell: it reminded him of his crappy Jeep and the long afternoons spent fixing it up with his father, before they gave it up as a bad job and just brought it to the shop. Now he feels like he might suffocate if he doesn’t stop breathing it.

It’s worse for Scott himself, but he’s characteristically stoic in the seat behind Stiles. Although—it’s been a while since Stiles felt him move and accidentally knee the back of his seat.

He tries to turn around subtly when a hand on his arm stops him.

“They’re sleeping,” Lydia whispers, handing him a small compact. With the mirror open like that, it’s easy to spy on the seats behind them and to see Allison and Scott, soundly asleep. Their bodies are angled differently, away from each other, but even an outside eye can see the secret yearning in their poses, silently reaching for each other.

It’s infuriating.

“I swear to God,” Stiles mutters under his breath, barely aware that he’s spoken.

“I know.” Lydia rolls her eyes and smiles when he looks at her in surprise. “I want to shake them or lock them in a closet until they work things out.”

“That’s why Seven Minutes in Heaven was invented, I think.”

“Oh definitely—resolve sexual tension, not create it where it didn’t exist before.”

“Don’t forget the crushing humiliation two-thirds of the assembly will feel.”

“How could I?”

Stiles lets out a small laugh, almost a breath.

“I hate this game.” Then he remembers: “Uh, sorry.”

“Mmmm.” Lydia inspects her hair, brushing it between her fingers. It’s a mess, so unlike usual, but Stiles hasn’t been able to get the image out of his head all morning. “That’s how Jackson and I got together.”

“Yeah I know—That’s why—Forget it.”

“I hate this stupid game too.”

Stiles wants to smile, but the victory doesn’t feel as sweet when the casualties are Lydia Martin and her happiness.

Silence falls on them for a while.

“How long to Beacon Hills? I left my book in Allison’s car, I can’t believe it.”

“About six hours,” Stiles says, faux enthusiastic. “You’re going to have a very deep appreciation for bus seats and imitation leather.”

“I’m sweating through my dress,” Lydia deadpans. “And I already spent one night too many on them. That seems unlikely.”

“Good thing you’re not any teams.”

Lydia pretends to count on her fingers.

“I hate sports. The debate team is a bunch of entitled pricks who think their masculinity has to be sacrificed when they’re proven wrong and value their dicks too much for that.”

Stiles waits a beat.

“I thought you were gonna keep going,” he says. “Your tone was very confusing.”

“No, that’s it.”

“Colleges will fight to have you anyway,” he says.

It’s just a throwaway compliment: truth presented in a nice way to give to Lydia when she feels down, a skill Stiles has practiced and perfectioned since middle school. He doesn’t mean anything to come of it other than a small smile on Lydia’s face, the way she stands straighter for a second and lifts her head just so, accepting the praise without saying it. Lydia, Stiles noticed in his never-ending quest to understand her, has two ways of dealing with applause: blunt acceptance of the obvious, a flip of her hair and contempt for the worthless praise; or, when it matters, silent thankfulness that cuts Stiles deeper than blades.

Stiles has long been the butt of the former; he’s recently started to get glimpses of the latter, and he thinks he can never stop wanting more.

Lydia bites her lips instead, and looks down.

“I’ve already received word from Stanford,” she says.

“Lydia, that’s amaz—” Stiles begins automatically. “Wait, what?”

“I followed a two-week course over the summer, yes?” Stiles nods. He remembers the long interruption into what had become their routine, meeting and discussing things they didn’t—still don’t—grasp fully, looking for answers that weren’t there. “I’ll have enough credits to graduate at the end of the year,” she says. “They said they were interested in having me after that.”

Stiles remembers to close his mouth after a while.

“That’s incredible,” he says. “Are you—are you going to take it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I haven’t said anything. It’s still early, and who knows how I’ll feel at the end of the year?”

“You might get better offers then,” Stiles says. “Not that I’m telling you not to do it! But, uh, that’s not an easy decision.”

Lydia hums. “I want out of this town,” she says.

“I know.”

“That’s the way to do it.”

Stiles does know; he knows it desperately, distantly: he can run to the other side of the country, but as long as his father and the McCalls live here, he won’t be getting out, not really. Lydia, however—if anyone can leave this town behind and spread her wings over the world, it’s her.

Selfishly, he wishes she won’t take the offer. Is it wrong to deprive the world of Lydia Martin to keep her closer to him, where he matters?

“What did your mother say?” he asks instead.

“Nothing. She doesn’t know.” Surprise is fleeting, then Lydia leans closer to him and says: “No one knows and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Are you going to kill me now that you’ve told me?” Stiles jokes weakly, to hide the overwhelming feeling of being Lydia’s confidant.

“There’s enough people dead in this town as it is,” Lydia mutters. She digs her palms in her eyes and rubs, leaving intact the dark circles under her eyes. “Just—please don’t tell anyone.”

“I can keep a secret,” Stiles offers.

“I know.”

She smiles then, and Stiles likes her so helplessly that he returns the gesture, absurd as it is.

“You should sleep,” he says when she doesn’t manage to hide a yawn. “We’ve efficiently ruined the weekend.”

Lydia nods and doesn’t say anything for a long time. Stiles turns back the window, watching her fall asleep through the washed-out reflection on the glass. It feels like spying, or maybe protection. He can’t discern the two, but he knows that after yesterday, the least he can do is watch his friends when they sleep. He’s done it last night too, when they were all spread out on the crackly seats and he couldn’t calm his heart or his nerves. He thinks he might never fully stop doing it.

He doesn’t realize he’s spaced out until he feels a weight on his shoulder. He almost jumps out of his skin when hair tickles his neck; for once, though, his body doesn’t betray him, and he can blink at the curve of Lydia’s cheek with outward calm. She’s slumped all over him, her head fitting right on top of his shoulder, her hair fanning out on his chest. The little breaths she lets out are hot against his neck.

Stiles actually has to bite his fist not to shout or move. He feels a grin stretching around it, but he hides it with his hand, throwing as many glances at Lydia’s sleeping form as at the scenery unfolding by his window.

It’s not perfect: Lydia slumps a bit more on his arm after almost thirty minutes—that’s when his limbs go numb, and his brain kicks in overdrive. Not moving is torture, his arm is cramping, and he’s so thirsty that his head is pounding; unfortunately, the bottle is in his bag at his feet, and he can’t bend down enough to retrieve it.

In the end, he dozes out against the window, the rattling from the road turning his brain to mush. The next pit stop awakens Lydia, and Stiles can feel her sitting up quickly when she realizes how she’s fallen asleep. He wants to turn and tell her he doesn’t mind, that she’s welcome to sleep on his shoulder anytime—really—, wants to ask her if she slept well and enough, wants to turn around and crow with Scott about this one step forward in their friendship.

He pretends to wake up when Scott calls his name, instead, and ignore the knowing look he sends his way.

Now is not the time, he tells himself sternly as he stretches out his legs with relief. Lydia is right: there are too many deaths in Beacon Hills; next to a vengeful Darach and a pack of ruthless alphas, what does Lydia’s head on Stiles’ shoulder mean? It won’t happen again, anyway, and Stiles should just cherish it; so he does, and he pretends he’s not disappointed when Scott drags him to sit next to him when they board again.

Four hours later, they’re back in the familiar parking lot of Beacon Hills high school.

[brightlotusmoon]

According to the timestamp, it's been over an hour and the first dose of codeine isn't chiseling through the block of pain. Time for another dose plus a CBD head and neck massage.

I'm going to put on my Fanfic Self Insert Face and hop into my imaginary fanfic world of Young Adult Mutant Ninja Turtles* and pretend Mikey and Donnie are still massaging my trigger points while Raph is adjusting my weighted blanket and Leo is adding more honey to my matcha with passionflower, hibiscus, seabuckthorn, kratom, and rhodiola extracts (I was raised on supplemental extracts alongside knowledge of neuropharmacology, so my self insert is the same).

*there are folks in fandom who think that the TMNT are the same as human fictional characters and have to follow human ideals. One recent thing has been making threats to fanfic writers who age them up. But they forget that growing older is canon. There's so much more than the cartoons. The turtles have been over a hundred. And these foks need regular reminding that the word Teenage was tacked on as the weirdest part of a weird parody name. They're not always teenagers, they're also turtles, they're also mutants full of both turtle and human biology (turtles don't pair bond for example, but these guys do), the Mirage and 2003 boys were asexual, and if there's a fanfic AU that occurs after the events of a canon iteration, the author can do what we like to call take creative liberties and alter the world around the characters. I feel like I'm doing student teaching for creative writing all over again. They're fantasy fictional creatures who don't exist, can't exist, are only really human because they were taught to be, essentially have what are dinosaur instincts, and don't have to be friends with our own imaginary friends of all kinds, yet here we are, thirty something years in, struggling to figured out how and why it's wrong and disgusting to pretend they, Mutant Ninja Turtles could be asexual, or bisexual, or autistic. Especially because at different times, the artists at Mirage Studios had been quietly headcanoning these things since the early 90s, before we had all these good labels and no shame in claiming them.

*looks left, looks right* Look, you know I hate pulling the Fandom Old card for arguments but most of the harassment didn't even happen until the last few years, and I see most of it on Tumblr. I keep telling myself it's not worth it, but I get a cheek twitch at the phrase "Don't let the haters get you down" - two decades of that on repeat taught me that I don't "let" cyberbullies "get me down" so much as I use my autistic infodumping overthinking analytical hyperempathic powers to hype up my ADHD and anxiety disorders, which when left unchecked will quietly break free and start shrieking for closure. Which is The Worst (Ben Schwartz voice). Because if I can't explain the logical and rational concept of "fantasy creatures that are not human exist in fictional imaginary worlds that do not and can not actually impact the real world the way people seem to think" to a bunch of very young purity police who keep trying to stretch the laws of crime to include "fictional potential relationships we disapprove of" then I haven't "let" anyone get to me beyond making me pinch the bridge of my nose, think about how fiction used to be banned, burned, outlawed, and otherwise condemned when they were functionally harmless, and feel Very Concerned.

Fanfiction, especially online, has a very lengthy history of being attacked over ridiculous and tiny things and we don't need history repeating itse-

*pause*

*blink*

... we don't need a bunch of vocal, purity policing, willfully ignorant and morally confused adolescent mentalities to drag up dark times in history for fandom ON TOP of everything that's already happening and *vague exploding gestures*

Reading and writing fanfic is supposed to be this inventive, creative, liberating, transformative thing, not something with so many gates and levels of gatekeeping that we may as well have a manual on How To Avoid Fandom Harassment Over Your Completely Fictional Weird Headcanons That Are Actually All Valid.

Wait, that's just blogging.

By the time I post this sorry mess of an essay, the first dose of painkillers will probably have just started to smash through my cinderblock of pain enough to soothe my aching skull, legs, hips, and spine. Which will give the second dose more room to continue smashing more cinderblocks of pain, which means that in another hour, I can walk down the staircase without potential syncope. Which means I'll have energy to write more fics. Which will raise my dopamine, which will gradually raise my serotonin especially with my night dose of duloxetine and oxcarbazepine and methocarbamol, and at least the methamphetamine-dextroamphetamine is keeping my ADHD in a focused queue so I don't veer completely off course.

After I make that tea in real life, I will have a pretty good sleep.

Although I might still have a migraine. Those are notorious for not leaving. Especially this one when it's layered with cervicogenic and sinus headaches.

... what was my point?

Holy shit, you guys, I finally wrote an entire fic after, what, a year? Fuck me, I actually updated my AO3, someone hug me and give me cake.

All those little Tumblr snippets and imagines were worth pushing through whatever this creative block was.

And it turns out I can totally write from my phone via Google Docs. Take that, fibromyalgia plus spasticity.

This was absolutely inspired by @ulisabarbic-blog and her own Psychic Mikey fics.