#thanks for the wait! I tried to make it look as 'marker-drawn' as possible

[thebananwithaplan]

@artfulprankster (cont.)

🎨

“Really..? You like me and George’s pranks…?” He asked, voice confused. He never really met others who liked his pranks. Especially not adults. Most of the time, when pranks did go off, a lot of kids and teachers got Uber mad!! Like, really super duper Uber mad.

But, it was nice to be appreciated.

Especially when it came to his art. Truth be told, sometimes he didn’t feel confident about his art skills. Usually making comics with George helped heal those worries but. Every artist has those days. So hearing someone say they liked his work…

It made him happy.

The boy giggled, moving to kneel down once again and grinned. “Well alright!! You need a pen?” He asked, pulling out a handful of colorful and sparkly pens from his blonde mess of curls. “If you don’t like these colors, I have more where that came from!! Oh!! Plus! Some smell like fruit!! You can use the banana marker if you want!!” He offered, holding out indeed a yellow marker, decorated with black banana stencils.

Wait, was that awkward? Did it… was it like a person smelling marker to him?

Eh, we’re sure it’s fine.

Maybe.

Probably-

The boy then pulled out a couple pieces of paper from his mess of curls. “I always carry supplies on me! Pranking supplies, art supplies, rations… which is actually just my lunchbox, but saying rations sounds much cooler!!” He handed one to Banana.

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

Oh, ok. So that's where he keeps those supplies. Kid's already got his own hyperspace inventory. Harold's going places, that's for sure-

The banan' was about to pull a poster of his gameshow host self that he could quickly sign, but stopped once Harold offered him his art supplies. Paper, markers, and all. DB... admittedly isn't one with decent artistic integrity, but heck, he'll give it a shot for a fan. Just this once.

. "Don't mind if I do! Thanks!" Taking the paper and a few of the other markers, Banana kneeled down with him to draw his own impromptu signed poster on the ground. He didn't mind, really. He's used to occasionally drawing a few doodles or so alongside his own nephews back at his place.

So he's gonna use some purple, some orange, and even a little of that banana-scented yellow marker (which somehow smells a lot better than he himself did).

And of course, some black to finish off the writing and signature.

Annnnnd done!

. "Here ya go! It's not quite the best art I've got, but hey, it's guaranteed one of a kind!"

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.6/finale

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five 

Summary: Inside the fold, Y/N and the Darkling face off.

Warnings: angst, fluff sprinkled on top, indicating smut

========================

When she was a child, Y/N feared the darkness. Every night she would lay awake with a candle by her side, too scared to close her eyes. She feared the unspoken horrors that occurred under the cloak of darkness, of one day finding herself in peril as well. The fold fueled such fears, especially when the boys in the orphanage would speak of the Volcra. She had heard the descriptions, the vile appearances and inhuman deeds they’re capable of. They haunted her when she closed her eyes, wondering if that’s what killed her parents.

Y/N still fears the dark, just of a different kind.

She fears the darkness that resides in humans, the kind that’s lurking under the surface yet remains invisible to the naked eye. At any point, the darkness could surface and once it does, it would swallow anyone who stands in its way. Perhaps that’s where her trust issues stem from, the corruption of human hearts. People are wicked, using everything, even love, for their selfish desires.

In truth, she should have seen it before.

Aleksander Morozova should have been a clear danger for her heart right from the moment they met in that dark tent where she wondered how anyone could be comfortable in such an environment. A powerful, handsome man with a silver tongue and a weakness for her had seduced her by simply paying attention. He looked at her like no man ever before – like she was the only one for him, a source of eternal sunshine.

She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be deceived.

A woman with trust issues and a fear of darkness fell in love with a man who was darkness incarnated. He embodied all she dreaded and yet she couldn’t see beyond the mask of perfection he always kept in place. A part of her wondered if he ever showed who he truly is in those intimate moments they shared.

Throwing his head back, Aleksander laughed. His chest rose with a sharp intake of breath before it quaked with a new laugh erupting from deep inside.

“It’s not funny!” She pouted, trying to glare at him as if the sound of his laughter didn’t make her feel like she’s in a dream.

“You know I adore that pout”, Aleksander smirks, pinning her against the wall.

Breathless, her lips part just in time for Aleksander’s to take advantage. He gave a low, throaty chuckle once her knees turned to jelly and she collapsed against the strength of his arm behind her back. He bent, put his other arm beneath her knees. His mouth never leaves hers as he carries her to the bed. He abandoned her lips only to press them on her neck and she couldn’t believe how easily he swayed her.

Before long she could bear no more kissing. She ached all over and she pulled his hair to better meet his mouth. She fastened on his lips hungrily, greedily, ready to feel him inside her, around her, to completely numb her senses.

“Aren’t we eager today”, he teased her as he slowed down, determined to drawl out every moment he had with her.

“I can either be angry with you for laughing at me”, she trails off, her eyes flickering to his lips. “Or you can make me forget about the poor Grisha I flashed in your map room.”

Growling, he inhales sharply, “As amusing as it was to see you both scream, I prefer when you scream for me when we are alone.”

Rolling her eyes, she huffs, “I wanted to be spontaneous! How was I supposed to know someone else would be in the room?”

He picked up a lock of her hair from across her neck and held it up, letting the dim light of the fireplace play though the strands. He held it to his nose, then to his lips.

For the first time he could ever remember, he was completely content.

“What do you want us to do?” Ivan asks, finding the change in his general terrifying. He could see the Darkling is enraged, losing control and a Grisha powerful as he is could be lethal in such circumstances.

“You’ll do nothing”, Aleksander snapped as he mounted his horse. “I will go after her.”

He looks to his loyal Grisha with narrow eyes, aware he’ll return undoubtedly changed by whatever transpires inside the fold. Whether he returns with his Sun Summoner in hand or with her body in his arms, the Darkling would be different.

During his time with Y/N, Aleksander relied on her for happiness he long forgot about. He held onto her for as if she was all he had and she still abandoned him. They all do so once they see how far he’s ready to go in order to protect those he loves – his people….and her. He would have done anything for her.

This is his kingdom, but she’s not his queen anymore.

“We shall await for further instructions at the camp.”

Nodding, Aleksander turns away from them with a dark look on his face. For the first time since he created the fold, he will step inside and he didn’t know who would emerge victorious. If he dies, he won’t be around to care, but if she does? He was sure he will never be whole again.

He kissed the corner of her mouth boldly, waiting for a sign of resistance. Her hands pushed weakly against his shoulders but even at his slight touch, her eyes closed in surrender. 

Seeing her so, Aleksander smirked before he kissed her cheek, her ear lobe. Then, as she gasped for breath, his mouth came down on hers. His tongue sweetly touched the tip of hers and she drew back, startled. He smiled at her as if he understood how strange such affection is to her.

“Someone will see us”, she whines.

Shrugging, Aleksander’s smile grows wider, “Let them see.”

“Don’t you have a reputation of a hardass to preserve?” Her lips press into a thin line as her eyebrows rise, tantalizing him.

His eyes are nearly black as he pulls her to him again. He ran his tongue along her lips, touching the inner corners especially. She parted her teeth for him, desperate for a taste of him. He was better than the richest honey; hot and cold, soft and firm. She explored his mouth as he had explored hers, no longer shy or reserved with him.

Parting in desperate need of a proper breath, he looks at her rosy, swollen lips with complete resignation.

“My reputation means nothing to me when you’re with me. You are what I want my reputation to be.”

Panting, Y/N felt like her lungs would explode. She had been running from the edge of the fold, deep into the darkness she once feared. She ran because she wasn’t sure if Aleksander was furious enough to disregard his own safety by following her inside.

Lips quivering, she pulls out the flask Mal packed for her. Taking a sip, she frowns at the watered down taste of alcohol. She made it clear she wanted nothing but water, yet Mal disregarded her wish. Shaking her head, she smiles anyway. If Mal was with her, she’d thank him for the liquid courage. She’d have agreed to a bottle of whiskey now, lost in the dark.

Swept away in her thoughts, she gasps at the growling in the distance. Her heart nearly stops as a dark, looming shadow passes above her. She whips around as the growls come from behind her as well.

She passed sixteen markers, but she hoped to get to the eighteenth. She planned to get as close to the middle as humanly possible, but wasn’t this just it? If she kept going, nothing could guarantee her safety and she was deep enough inside the fold to at least try. 

Every night she laid awake in the past year was spent with her strengthening her light, her control. 

This was it – she could do it. 

She had to do it.

Releasing a shaky breath, Y/N folds her hands before her. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath as she parts her hands at the palms.

“I wouldn’t do that”, a painfully familiar voice sounds and her eyes open wide.

“Or you’ll kill me?” She laughs, unable to stop herself. It’s a laugh made from pure anxiety and hurt, one that made her feel like she’s mad. Her habit of laughing when she feels like she’s got nothing left to lose came rarely; the first time it happened was when she learned her parents have succumbed to the very fold she’s in now. She reckoned this would be the last time.

“I don’t want to but, if you do not submit to me –“, Aleksander starts, coming closer slowly as if she was a doe and he the hunter. Every sudden move could frighten her and he didn’t want to face what happens in that case.

“Kill me if you must but I will not submit to you, or any man who wears his crimes like crown jewels!”

Raising her voice had drawn the Volcra, the growling growing louder.

"Is it so wrong for me to want to save you?" Sniffling, Y/N swallows thickly. She couldn’t cry anymore, there were no tears left to cry. She’s dry, inside out. “Things could have been different, you know? You didn't have to fall so far.”

Lifting his chin, Aleksander took a step further in her direction. Catching the slightest shake of her head, he pauses, arms raised in mock surrender.

“You made me love you”, he speaks through gritted teeth, “To depend on you.” He clenches his jaw, his patience wearing thin. “Now you’re trying to take the last piece of my sanity with you.”

“You don’t have to do this”, she tries meekly, “We can still be magnificent. Be the man I fell in love with, please.”

“And then what? We’re supposed to play house while they’re killing our people?!” Aleksander spat, barely holding himself back. “They wouldn’t stop until they kill you right before me and any children we might have!”

Eyebrows knitted together, Y/N’s mouth opens at the words spoken. There was a moment when Y/N realized she’d misinterpreted her darling Darkling’s actions, his words, his expressions from the moment they met… as if he’d been speaking a language she couldn’t understand… that moment was the moment her heart broke…She could hardly speak in her shock when she learned he had lied to her, but this shockingly defining moment was much different than that first moment.

“Children”, she breathes out as a smile forms on her lips, one he found confusing.

All this time, Aleksander had been using the fold as a way to protect his people and yet, he failed to realize it is exactly what they need to destroy.

“We don’t need the fold”, her smile widens, “You are the fold, my darling Darkling and I am your Sun.” Her lips quiver, her entire body trembles and she still comes closer to him without fear. “With the two of us, we can create and destroy this fold anywhere in the world and today is our chance to demonstrate our power to all those who’d dare to defy us!”

Lips parting, he shakes his head. “What are you saying”, he sneers, still angry at her for defying him.

“I’m saying it doesn’t have to be one way or the other”, she chuckles in disbelief, “We can both destroy the fold and win this war. Every war.”

The growling is near, close enough for the hair to stand on the back of Y/N’s neck.

“Don’t”, he orders as her hands touch, “Don’t you dare!”

Shakily lifting her head, Y/N smiles, "I love you".

Before he has time to comprehend the weight of her words, his world was set aflame by a blinding light exploding all around him.

She screamed out as a bright light emerged from her entire being, enveloping her like a lover’s embrace. It is the kind of brightness that enchants the eyes to open all the wider as it warms the skin.

She never felt the warmth like this, not even when Aleksander’s lips gave her breath or when his arms gave her a reason to believe in him. This warmth is different, like the sun had incorporated itself into her soul and is finally shining through.

She looks to her hands, opening the fists that glow an ethereal light force she never experienced. Her light is like sunlight, it comes as woven strands, free and united, and flowing as it reveals and solidifies, making the world of nightmares around them into something so beautiful. 

Her eyes meet Aleksander’s dazed gaze, her smile wide but his lips are set in a firm line. 

She could feel her soul ripping as she pushed the light further from them, toward the edges. The pressure in her head grew, erasing the smile from her lips. Her legs barely kept her standing as she stumbles. She could feel a wet liquid running from her nose to her lips, the metallic taste making her eyes widen.

“You’ll kill yourself if you keep this up!” Aleksander shouts, trying to make her see sense but she shakes her head.

“I have to do this! For us!”

He could see a vein pulsating across her forehead, the blood gushing from her nose and it slowly became clear to him – he might not have been able to kill her, but seeing her like this convinced him he doesn’t have to. She’ll do it all on her own.

Reaching for her, his hands wrap around her wrists firmly. “I love you too”, he rests his forehead on hers, amplifying her power. He could feel her smile for a split second before she closed her eyes.

Gasping for air, she felt her insides burning and before she could stop herself, Y/N’s bloodcurdling scream echoed in the fold, effectively stopping his heart in fright.

As her scream dies down, Y/N goes limp in Aleksander’s arms.

Her light disappears, another one taking its place as he lowers to his knees, holding her close to him. Looking up, he almost cries as the blue skies above shine a light on his face. 

“You did it”, he croaks, shaking her slightly. “Solntse? Solnechnyy svet?!”

Unmoving, Y/N laid in his embrace as if she had simply fallen asleep, but Aleksander knew she was hanging by a thread.

“Lyubov’?” His voice breaks the self-imposed sternness, his fingers clutching the fabric of her kefta…He didn’t even realize she kept it. 

She must have put it on inside the fold, he realized.

Now, in the light of day, he finally saw the black kefta he ordered to be made for her – black with golden traces of the light she brought in his life. It was fitting she’d be given powers of light for she was the embodiment of lightning, illuminating stormy skies he couldn’t navigate through. Not on his own.

“Wake up”, he whispers. “I need you”, the raspiness of his voice and the cracks are enough testimony for the break inside his chest.

“I can’t survive without you”, he bowed his head down, a choked sob escaping him.

“I love you.” Aleksander whispered into her chest, breaking down when she didn’t say it back. Y/N always chose to say ‘I love you’ instead of goodbye, explaining goodbye was the last thing she ever wanted to tell him and he understood now. He never wanted to tell her goodbye, but maybe that’s necessary too. Maybe life is about learning a better way to say goodbye, learn to let go of the ones you love with nothing but love.

“Aleks”, she tries but the words are stuck in the back of her throat as her need to breathe becomes direr.

“Saints!” He presses his lips as he looks up at her, just as breathless as he was the day when he first saw her. “What can I do? Tell me how can I help you?!”

“All this time I’ve blamed you”, her hand rests upon his cheek, “For pulling me into the dark”, she pauses, “But I was wrong.” Wetting her lips, she manages a small smile, “It was me who brought out your dark side.”

She averts her gaze, hating the vulnerability in her voice as he takes her hand in his, inspecting the ring he gifted her with a crooked smile.

“None of it matters now”, he rests his forehead on hers, “I love you with all I am and I never want to feel like this again.”

“Look at me.” He’s not asking, rather demanding and she can feel the subtle difference just as she can feel his warm hand wrap around hers.

“Gladly”, she chuckles as he helps her sit. None of her hate for him remained. Love…hate, it was always a fine line to walk on and she finally settled on a side – his side.

Saying I love you is the bravest thing he has ever done in his life, for it took every ounce of strength and courage to openly expose his feelings to the love of his life, to put his heart on the line time and time again after all the times she walked away. He knew he didn’t deserve her as she’s always been too good for him, but he swore he’d spend the rest of his life building himself up to be the kind of man she’d be proud of.

“I love you”, he kisses the palm of her hand, giving her enough time to say it back.

“And I love you. I promise you, we will be unstoppable. Together, hand in hand, nothing will dare stand in our way.”

As soul meets soul in a lover’s kiss, the two embrace in the midst of a desert made of ruin they would find a way to rebuild. Their story is far from over, but this time around, they’ll write it together – as equal parts of a whole.

 Tags: @blackbirddaredevil23 @subjecta13-thefangirl @aquamariene-me​ @savannah-elliott @auggie2000 @daybleedsintonightfa11 

[ivyaugustetc]

how the dead poets would react to you asking if you can draw on their hands

Neil: we all know that this boy loves art, and, by extension, artists, so he would be more than happy to let you draw on his hand, probably responding with an enthusiastic "sure", or "cool!". Would be very patient as you drew, understanding that the best art takes time, but he would still ask you a bunch of questions about what you were drawing, if you had been drawing for a while, if you liked any other mediums. just fellow art kid questions, you know the drill. he would sometimes accidentally interrupt you to ask "hey can you draw [insert random thing]?" and pick out specific colors. when you were done he'd take his time looking at every little detail. it'd mean a lot to him. he'd give you a heartfelt thank you and probably compliment your artistic ability, even if you weren't very confident in it. he'd definitely show charlie first with so much freaking pride because look at what you drew!! but he'd try to show it to all the other dead poets, pointing out all the little details he likes.

Todd: would go silent for a few moments and probably ask you to repeat the question even though he heard why you said—he just wanted to make sure that you were correct in asking him. once confirming that, he gives you a nod and smiles a bit when you immediately dump out a pencil case full of markers in every color. he tries to look anywhere but directly at you as you work, drawing constellations and quotes from your favorite book (which he’d ask about afterwards). he’d thank you quietly afterwards, not really making a big deal about it, but every time he sees it, it would make his day all over again.

Charlie: immediately rolls his sleeve up and declares that he is your canvas in a very, very flirtatious manner. would literally not give a shit about what you put on his hand and would smirk proudly the entire time you were drawing because you wanted to draw on him. he'd tell you random stories about cool shit he's done (whether the stories are true or not). "i'm actually an artist, too you know. saxophone. stage name is nuwanda." afterwards he’d show it to the entire club with immense pride and a general feeling of superiority because you chose him out of all others as your canvas.

Pitts: just the question alone makes him smile really big. like, he gets so happy that you asked that he deadass forgets how to respond verbally and nods to tell you to go for it. and tall boy has very wide hands and when you make a small comment about lots of space to draw, he genuinely feels happy that you feel that way, rather than seeing him as someone who's just incredibly tall. would show it to meeks first and fanboy over the drawings for a good few hours, maybe a few hours depending on how long the drawings stay.

(Fanon) Knox: from the moment you put your marker to this boy’s hand, he is already imagining a whole relationship with you. he asks for specific doodles just so that he can make 100% certain that it’s perfect—and that it won’t taint his incredibly romanticized and wholesome idea of you. he wants the drawing to be as perfect as you are. he silently questions whether or not you would think it was sweet if he asked you to draw on his hand every time you had that class together—the last thing he wanted was to come off as creepy. but he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of you as you drew.

Meeks: he legit asks to pick his color palette before you begin—a mix of reds and blues and purples that he really likes. you end up connecting the freckles on his hands into constellations and he starts to realize what you’re doing and tells you the names + stories behind the constellations you draw. before you know it, there's a dozen constellations drawn on his hands in his choice of colors—very organized and methodical, but with a touch of chaos to the way some are very far apart and some are close together. he would definitely go around showing people, happy to re-explain the stories behind each and every constellation marked on his hands.

Cameron: when you ask, he first looks between you and the teacher at the front of the classroom for a few moments, silently trying to decide whether or not to take his attention from class long enough for you to draw on his hand. Eventually he says yes, asking that you draw on his right hand so he can take notes with his left hand (idc, he's left handed!!!!!). He tries for a bit to pay attention to the words on the board and take notes, but he keeps getting distracted by the dedication you're putting into the drawings on his hand. every once in a while when you look up and whisper a question about what kind of drawings he'd like, he gives you rushed whispery answers, hoping to god that the teacher doesn't hear you two. but when you make a comment about how he's "cute when he's stressed" his face goes RED AS HELL and suddenly he is physically incapable of taking notes or doing anything for a few moments. he then turns to look at the drawing you've done and is a bit surprised by the intricacy and attention to detail. when you finished, you don't wait a moment before snapping straight back in your seat and going to take notes like nothing happened, and suddenly the roles are reversed: you're trying to stick to your studies and he's staring at the drawings on his hand (and also possibly at you).

Stick: this adorable lil nerd would probably ask to draw on your hand at the same time, resulting in both of you hunched over the others' hand, markers in the other. "move your shadow, i can't see." "sorry. can i use that blue when you're done?". afterwards you'd put your hands up next to each other, comparing them. you'd jokingly fight for like five minutes over who's was better ("wh—do you see that star you drew? it's perfect.") and then after class you'd go around to random people, shoving your color-covered hands in their faces and asking them which looks better. you each cheer when someone picks the others' drawing.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Lazy, Summer Day

Tyler Simms x Reader

Word Count: 1,650

Summary: Tyler and reader enjoy a day on the water to get away from the heat. Based on this post by @saviorsong​ which you should all totally check out! 

“I called in sick?”

“Yeah, this morning. See? We crossed your name off the schedule and everything.” A finger tapped rapidly on the big whiteboard that had everyone’s name written in dry erase marker.

Sure enough, there was a hastily drawn line going right through the middle of yours.

They really had thought you weren’t coming in. “That’s impossible,” you said confused. “Because I didn’t call in sick.”

“Alright, alright. I believe you,” the supervisor said. “You’re one of the normaler ones that we have and a normal person wouldn’t have driven clear across town when they already had the day off.”

Both of you stood there scratching your heads. Your thoughts were leaning towards this possibly being a dream. You had weird dreams all the time, right? And it wasn’t unlike you to be dreaming of work even when you were off the clock.

There was a good chance you would wake up any second now, still swaddled in bed sheets.

The supervisor had a completely different reaction. “Well, the building ghost strikes again! They must’ve called on your behalf knowing how hard you’ve been working. Just take the day off. We’re covered anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you hesitated. It felt weird taking the day for yourself when you were perfectly able to work. “Since I’m here, I could do—”

“Nope. Enjoy some of this weather. Summer is almost over, you know.”  

With that you were ushered out the door and left standing on the concrete sidewalk, not a clue as to what you should do.

There were always things to be done at the apartment. You hadn’t cleaned the bathroom in a while…yikes. Tyler also had his collection of expired leftovers in the fridge that he was terrible about tracking of.

Oh! You could wash the cars, too! Tyler had finally gotten rid of his monstrosity of a Hummer a few summers back in favor of a classic sixties car that Pogue had helped him fix-up. He liked to keep it spotless.

Speaking of his car…you looked up and noticed it parked across the street. And it was definitely his. Not only were there not many of them still out on the roads, but that was clearly Tyler smiling at you in the driver’s seat as he waved you over.

“Were you flagging me down this whole time?” you asked. He nodded with a heavy dose of enjoyment sparkling in those baby blue eyes. “Sorry. It’s been a weird morning.”

“Didn’t expect to have to day off?” Tyler’s smile becoming more pronounced.

“Of course not—wait,” you trailed off in realization. “It was you. You’re the one who called in sick for me!”

He stroked your wrist through the window with his thumb. “You caught me. But don’t be mad, I promise it was for the greater good.”

Greater good? You raised both eyebrows. “And what’s the ‘good’ in question?”

“Weather man predicted we’re supposed to hit high eighties today. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t drag you to the lake house to take advantage of it?”

“That’s a terrible excuse, Ty.”

“Fine,” he admitted with a laugh. “How about you’ve been working this whole summer, and I miss you and want to do something nice for you?”

On the inside you felt yourself vibrate with excitement but you tried to keep it together. You shouldn’t encourage him making plans without you, especially when they disrupted work, but you were a sucker for surprises. “Better,” you admitted with your nose titled up.

And he knew that. Knew that you weren’t really cross with him as he turned the engine over, jolting the car to life with a heavy rumble. “Come on, my lady. I promise that it’ll be fun.”

The lake house in question referred to one of several Simms family properties in Massachusetts, appropriately named for it’s position right next to a small, picturesque lake. The area was naturally beautiful with shimmering water that was encased by tall, shady trees that were a godsend when the sun became too much to handle.

The drive there went like it always did: fast, thanks to a good playlist and easy conversation, and soon Tyler was pulling up to the lake house.  

Not wanting him to fixate on the fine dust the gravel kicked up, and how it was dirtying the car, you leaned over the center console to kiss him. It was just long enough to steal his attention.

When his hand cupped the back of your head, you pulled back. “Last one to the dock has to use the tacky orange kayak!” You stuck your tongue out at him as you dashed out of the car and towards the dock.

Unprepared for the challenge, Tyler sputtered as he tried to take his seat belt off with clumsy fingers.

You ran around the outside of the house and dodged trees as best as you could, laughing the whole way. You may have gotten the head start but you could hear the tell tale sounds of the man gaining ground behind you.

The dock was so close you could picture your victory as. Only a few steps more, you would’ve had it.

Then two arms wrapped around your middle in a steel tight grip, halting you in your tracks. A large exhale was forced out of your lungs at the sudden impact.

“No fair,” you whined. Slumping back into his embrace, you turned to look at his smug face. “I can’t match your stupid arm strength.”

Tyler laughed, the argument a familiar one. “We’ve been over this. If you can use the element of surprise, then the element of muscle is fair game.”

That was the agreement but that didn’t mean you couldn’t pout. Not everyone was blessed with good genetics and years of a background in competitive swimming.

“Well, let’s consider this a tie then because I refuse to use that hideous orange boat.”

Tyler hummed, the vibration noticeable against your back. “Nope,” he said. The answer was abrupt and before you could get another word out, you were sailing through the air, lake water rushing to swallow you up.

The shock made your lungs seize up and your limbs flailed in the haze of the foggy water.

Breaking the surface, hair and clothes plastered to your skin you paddled around to glare at him. The effect didn’t have the ferocity you hoped for because he merely but his hands on his knees and laughed so hard it seemed like he might tip over.

Dodging the water you splashed at him, he got the laughs under control and walked to the edge of the dock to give you a hand. You glared at it personally offended by the gesture. Those were the hands that had just thrown you in without any warning.

But Tyler was patient and held his hand out steadily until you were ready to grab hold of it. For a moment, you debated trying to sink him to the murky depths along with you, but as his impressive looking biceps flexed under the warm glow of the sun, you realized you’d have to take revenger later when you were more certain of your success.

With the added help, you hauled up to the dock. The access water from your clothes ran off, darkening the wood in random splatter patterns, and you realized for the first time that it was pretty hot out.

The sun was bright even with your hand covering your eyes as you looked up; not a cloud in the sky as the bugs buzzed around lazily.

“Sorry.” Tyler fidgeted awkwardly, bringing your attention back to down earth. “I didn’t mean to be, well, mean.”

“Most people would think you’re an angel but you surely have a competitive streak, Tyler Simms.”

He shrugged apologetically. After a moment, he stood up and called over his shoulder as he jogged away. “I’ll go grab a towel for you. Meet me in the cabin!”

It was hard to stay mad at him. Especially when he tried to make up for it by doing something cute, like literally running to get a towel. He really was puppy-like; a little reckless but very contrite when he realized he messed up.

True to his word, he did bring you a towel along with a whole bag of clothes he had packed for the trip. Figuring it’d be a waste to dry your hair—you’d be on the water soon again any way—you settled for patting down the rest of your body and changed into extra clothes.

After Tyler managed to coerce you into putting on sun block (he was strict about it, likely leftover from his swimming days, while you tended to be lazy about it), it was back to lake where each of you set off in a kayak.

And even though he had won the bet earlier, he took mercy and neither of you had to row in the garish orange kayak; a mercy on both pairs of eyes, to be sure.

The sun turned sweltering before it had even reached its highest point, the heat feeling like pin pricks all over your body. The water definitely helped. Between kayaking, swimming, and even a brief diving contest off the end of the dock, you kept cool enough.

Enjoying a late lunch under the shade of a large tree, you felt the pull of an after-lunch nap calling your name.

Tyler noticed the way your eyelids drooped and laid down on the blanket and pulled you into his chest. “Nap time?”

Utterly content, you nodded languidly.

“Alright then, let’s nap.” He pressed a soft kiss into your hair. “Thanks for letting me drag you here. This is perfect...”

The was the last words you heard as the summer heat, filling lunch, and buzz of cicadas lulled you to sleep.

_______________

We could all use a summer day like this. I’m contemplating writing more based on the other boys’ preferences too, but we’ll see. Hopefully this one was enjoyable! 

[interstellarflare]

He’s So Jealous || Chicago Fire/MED/PD Preferences

Author’s Note: All gifs belong to their original creators: @owenelliot @thompsonconnors @lonewolfmeri @lorybest​ @chicagofireadventures​ @alberto-rosende​ @justmefawning​

Connor Rhodes

A new Doctor had recently transferred to the MED, and Sharon had asked you to show him around. Dr. Ian Blake was smart, kind, and an overall nice person. He listened to everything you said, memorised where all of the different departments and wards were, and was very obviously doing this just to gain your attention, and to blatantly flirt with you in front of your colleagues. Connor was furious. Yes, the two of you had only been in this relationship for a short while, but seeing someone else flirt with you caused a wave of unbelievable anger to surge into his chest. Throughout the entire day, Connor kept telling himself that it meant nothing, that you weren’t interested in this new guy. But when he overheard Dr. Ian ask you out for coffee, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stormed into the break room, not saying a word as he angrily took your hand in his own and dragged you away to a vacant storage room, where he then kissed you passionately. Connor wasn’t one to complain, but when you pulled away from him and lightly pushed him away, he couldn’t help but pout. “What are you doing?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow in wait for his response. Connor shrugged “I’m trying out something new-” “Oh my god, you’re jealous of Dr. Ian!” You exclaimed, laughing to yourself quietly as Connor folded his arms over his chest. “I heard him ask you out for coffee, and I just...I don’t know, it was stupid”. You smiled at his childish pout, before reaching up to cup his face in your hands “Connor, you know I was going to say no before you pulled me away right?” You told him, standing up on your tip-toes and placing a kiss to his brow “Now come on, I’ll make it up to you after work. Tonight, at Molly’s?”. Connor nodded, smiling to himself as you disappeared from the storage room. 

Will Halstead

Will wasn’t usually the type of person to get jealous. But when he did, he became distant, mumbling short responses to long statements or questions. You had been visiting the ED a lot lately, whether it was to meet Maggie, April or Natalie for lunch, or it was to see him and drop off something you had baked early in the morning. But a few times now, every time you had walked into the ED, Connor had been there to meet you. At first you thought it was strange, but then you thought nothing of it as Connor always directed you to wherever Will was, stopping to have a conversation with you on the way. Will began to notice your interactions with Connor, and for some reason, he began to doubt himself. One particular morning, you entered the ED with a bright smile on your face, the smile widening when you spotted Will talking to April. April waved you over, whilst Will suddenly became very engrossed in his work. You couldn’t help but feel hurt by his actions, but brushed it off as you approached, “Hey...” You greeted happily “are we still on for dinner tonight?”. When Will didn’t respond immediately, you knew something was wrong. “Uh yeah, sure...excuse me” he mumbled, stepping around you and disappearing into Trauma 3. You stood bewildered, trying to ignore the painful tugging in your chest. “What the hell was that?” You asked April, who merely shrugged her shoulders “I don’t know, but I did hear him say something to Natalie this morning about you. I didn’t hear what it was but you could try asking her”. So you did, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Will was jealous of your friendship with Connor. He thought that maybe he wasn’t good enough for you, and you felt horrible. You wanted to talk to him, and try to make him understand that he was enough, that you cared about him. But every time you tried to approach him, he disappeared into a restricted section, or he went to tend to a patient. So, you thought that maybe you could get through to him some other way, and a brilliant idea formed. When Will finished his shift, he walked into the break room to retrieve some paperwork he had left there earlier when he spotted something familiar. It was a beautiful vanilla cake with buttercream icing. Specifically, your vanilla cake with buttercream icing. His favourite. Beside the cake was a letter, written in your delicate handwriting explaining everything. You apologised, telling him that you didn’t mean to make him jealous, and that if he still wanted to come over for dinner, he was welcome to. He headed to your apartment as soon as he left the MED.

Ethan Choi

It was just a regular coffee date. You and Ethan had decided to meet up at the same cafe where he ran into you that day after Ethan finished an overnight shift. Even though he was tired, there was no force on earth that could stop him from seeing you. After ordering your regular and making your way to a window-side booth, it was then that you noticed black marker scribbled on the side of your cup. Curiously, you turned the cup to examine it closer, and blushed nervously as you immediately turned it away from you. “What is it?” Ethan asked, tilting his head to the side in wait for your response. You shook you head, releasing a small huff “It’s nothing, they just got my order wrong that’s all”. Not at all liking your answer, Ethan examined the styrofoam cup himself and couldn’t help the jealousy building in his chest. The barista behind the counter had written his name and number on your cup, with a small winky face drawn at the side. When Ethan huffed angrily, you winced. “It’s okay...” You tried to reason “he’s looks like he’s in his twenties. And besides, I’m sitting with you and not him”. His jaw clenched, his eyes not leaving your coffee cup. “Is he looking this way?” he asked, causing your eyebrows to furrow “Yes, why?”. In one swift movement, Ethan moved into the seat beside you, placing a long and lingering kiss to your cheek before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. Pulling you into his side, it was then that Ethan’s eyes met the barista’s, who’s brown hues widened in shock, realisation and fear. When the poor boy disappeared, scurrying into the back of the cafe, you rolled your eyes and leaned your head against Ethan’s shoulder. “You can be a real arse, you know that right?”. Ethan hummed, kissing the top of your head “Tell me something I don’t know, but no one messes with you”.

Kelly Severide

Just as your relationship with Kelly was starting to get back on its feet, the world had decided to throw you a curveball. You had been tending to a patient who had come in last week, who fell from a great height and managed to break two vertebrae in his lower back. Every chance he got, he flirted with you non-stop, to the point where it was getting on your nerves. His pick-up lines were crude, they weren’t romantic at all, and you wanted nothing more than for him to get better as soon as possible. One such shift, Kelly entered the ED and ran into Maggie, explaining that he was here to take you out to lunch. “Before you do that, you might wanna rescue your girl first...” she teased, handing a clipboard off to Ethan who walked past “her patient’s been hitting on her every single visit, and I have a bad feeling that she’s going to snap any second now”. Without wasting a second, Maggie pointed him in the direction of Trauma 3, where Kelly spotted you talking to your patient with your arms folded over your chest. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in going out with you” Kelly heard you say, to which your patient rolled his eyes. Now Kelly wasn’t usually the jealous type, he was more protective. He was the type that wanted everybody else to know that you were his girlfriend. Before your patient could make another snide comment, Kelly decided that enough was enough. He knocked on the glass pane of the door, smiling brightly as you turned to face him. Your shoulders sagged with relief, a long sigh escaping you. “Kelly, thank god...” you spoke loudly, watching as he entered the ward with his hands tucked innocently into the pockets of his jeans. “I just came off a call, and I thought to myself, why not take the woman I love out to a beautiful lunch...” he began, now wrapping his arm protectively around your waist and pulling you into his side. You knew what he was doing, and you couldn’t help but smirk out of knowing and embarrassment. “I’m sorry, who are you?” Your patient interrupted obnoxiously, his glare zeroing in on Kelly. But before you could respond, Kelly’s arm around your waist tightened “I’m Kelly, and she’s taken”. An embarrassed blush formed on your patient’s cheeks, as his gaze suddenly found every inch of the trauma room very intriguing. You laughed, looking up at the man beside you with a smile “Come on, I have about five more minutes and then I’ll meet you out front, okay?”. Kelly nodded, placing a kiss to your temple in good measure and disappeared from the ED, waving to Maggie triumphantly as he passed.

Matthew Casey

If Matt was jealous, he did a good job at hiding it. But sometimes, he would slip up, meaning that his jealousy was out in the open for you to see. He tried not to be irked by the guy in the corner booth, who was practically eyeing you up and down. But he just couldn’t, and you could tell that Matt was struggling. You knew that the guy had been staring at you since you walked in. To be honest, it kind of creeped you out, but you found it adorable that Matt was trying so hard not to do anything he would likely regret later. In the two months the two two of you had been dating, you knew Matt wasn’t one to openly display his jealousy. Placing your hand on top of his from across the table, you met Matt’s gaze with a warm smile “Did you want to go somewhere else? I really don’t mind if we do”. Matt shook his head “No, no it’s okay, I’ll just keep pretending that it doesn’t bother me, and we’ll have a good day”. You laughed, rolling your eyes as you stood up from your seat, swinging your bag over your shoulder before urging Matt to stand. He did so with a a confused expression, smiling faintly as you stood in your tip-toes to reach him. But his smile grew as you placed your lips against his in a soft and slow kiss. The cafe was fairly busy, so no one was really taking notice of this affectionate display. All except the guy at the corner booth, who’s gaze now focused on the constantly moving world outside. When you pulled away, you smiled brightly “Come on, we’ll have coffee at my place”. Matt chuckled, nodding his head in agreement “I’d like that very much”.

Blake Gallo

A patient you had saved from an overturned car had been coming to see you every single day for the past two weeks. For the first couple of days, you thought it was really sweet. But when he constantly tried to ask you out, that was when you began to grow annoyed. One particular day, you had been working on Truck 81. Herrmann had broken something before blaming it on Cruz, and no one really wanted to fix it. So here you were. And at the same time every single day, your former patient arrived. But while you were oblivious to his arrival, a certain young firefighter was. Blake couldn’t stand the guy, and boy did everyone know it except you. As you lay beneath Truck 81, Blake made his move as the guy approached, under pressure now as Matt, Kelly, Herrmann and Mouch watched on with interest. “Hey, you here to see Y/n again?” He asked casually, to which the guy nodded “Yeah, is she around today?”. Blake shook his head, “Listen uh, I’m just telling you now because Y/n’s too nice to tell you this herself, but she kinda has a boyfriend”. He hated how amazing he felt when the guys face fell slightly, but he was completely oblivious to the fact that you were leaning against the 81 out of sight, arms folded over your chest in amusement as Blake said goodbye to your pursuer. When Blake turned to make his way back inside, he froze. There you were, a smug smirk on your face as you tilted your head to the side. “So, who’s this mysterious boyfriend of mine you mentioned, hm?” you asked, biting your lip in wait for his answer. Laughing awkwardly, Blake was lost for words. He looked anywhere but at you, before walking away and disappearing into the firehouse with his head down. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as Cruz appeared by your side. “You know that mysterious boyfriend is him, right?”. Your cheeks flushed a deep red, before you returned to the much needed maintenance on Truck 81.

Jay Halstead

A new med student had been enrolled at the MED, and it was your responsibility to show him around the hospital. He was to be present when you took care of a patient, so he could learn from you and get a grasp on what life was like at the hospital. The only downside was that every time Will left the room after making sure the two of you were capable of performing a task on your own, he would flirt with you. Relentlessly. Your shift was almost finished for the day, and you were looking forward to the moment when Jay walked through the ED doors, where he would then sweep you off your feet and into a romantic evening of chilling at your apartment with pizza and wine. But until then, you were stuck with Clay. He followed you around like a lost puppy, even when he had nothing else to do. “Come on Y/n, just one date...” he spoke cooly, stepping in front of you and almost making you run into his chest “I promise I’ll make it worth your while”. Trying not to visibly cringe, you stepped around him and continued on “I’m sorry, but I’ve told you before I have a boyfriend, so please can you stop asking” you pleaded, walking past Maggie’s station and placing a clipboard before her. Before Clay could respond, the doors to the ED opened to reveal the younger Halstead. When his eyes met yours, he smiled, and you raced over before wrapping your arms around him. “Wow, hey. Not even a ‘hello’?” he asked jokingly, laughing as you pulled away from him with an awkward smile. When his gaze moved behind you to Maggie, who was in turn pointing to the med student at her desk, Jay put two and two together. So this was the guy you had mentioned. You had told him about Clay about a week ago, but at that point his advancements towards you had been harmless flirtations. But now, his plans had obviously changed. “Come on, let’s just go-” “Hang on...” Jay whispered, his eyes meeting yours with a smirk “do you want him to leave you alone?” he asked with a slight wink. Your eyes widened “Whatever you have planned Halstead, you better not-” Jay suddenly stepped forward, looping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him as he kissed you deeply. You smiled against his lips, pulling away with a light laugh. Jay grinned “Now we can go” he mused happily, waving goodbye to Maggie as you both left the MED with now sign of Clay anywhere. 

[ladyanput]

Spots Drawn in Marker Pt.1

Based on the AU by @miraculous-of-salt

(I promise this isn't full on bashing.)

Marinette sighed ever so softly as she tapped her pencil against her sketchbook. Today was not seeming to be an inspirational day and she had a portfolio to finish by the end of the month. 

"And I just couldn't believe that Jagged's concert was almost cancelled. But he called me and I filled him with such inspiration and determination that he just couldn't help but rock out." Lila spoke in an airy, wistful tone that Marinette had no doubt she practiced to get just right. "He said I could even get VIP passes to his next show, thanks to what I did, as many as I want."

Well there goes any and all hope for any inspiration this morning. Lila just leeched any creativity out of any room she's in.

"Do you think I could get one?" Alya piped up, beaming over at Lila as she recorded the entire conversation. "I mean, since we're besties, I'd love an interview with Jagged. Lately he's been very tight lipped about a lot of things."

"Of course, Alya, anything for my second best friend!" Lila hugged the girl, beaming brightly as Alya began posting the recording on her blog.

Marinette merely rolled her eyes and settled back in her seat in the back of the class, going back to sketching her ideas for the morning. A beautiful scarf, maybe a nice warm sweater… Marinette was quickly lost in a world of design, a world she could have control of. It was something she had often turned to after Lila had caused her life to go spiralling into a pit where her friends brushed off her concerns for the lies of a shiny new toy.

Marinette was so caught up in her sketching, that she didn't notice when Miss Bustier came in, guiding along a girl who shared a wink with Lila. If only she had noticed.

"Class, we have a new student joining us today. This is Rébecca, she just transferred to our school today. I hope you will all give her a warm welcome." Bustier beamed at her class as many of her students mumbled clumsy, half-hearted hellos.

 Marinette glanced up from her sketchbook and took a good, long look at the new girl. She was tall, slim, with dark bluish-black hair that reached her shoulders. Marinette could tell by looking  at them that her clothes were Gabriel brand, the skinny jeans clinging to her long, long legs like a second skin, the leopard print top accentuating any curves the girl may have had. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you all. Lila has told me so much about you all!" Rébecca beamed at everyone, and that instantly made Marinette narrow her eyes a fraction, while Rébecca strode over to where Lila and Adrien sat, sending a flirty little smile to the model. "And I heard you're quite the helpful one, of course. I'm so glad you volunteered to show me around today."

Oh, that was it. Lila brought along a croney to try and manipulate Adrien some more, maybe help granduerize her stories. Well, this was certainly becoming a fun class. Marinette pressed her lips into a thin line as Rébecca sat down next to Adrien, causing the boy to be uncomfortably sandwiched between the two girls. It made Marinette's blood boil at how the two girls kept pawing at the model, who clearly wanted to get away, while Alya and the others just cooed and urged it on.

Honestly, this entire class has gone crazy.

Marinette made a move to go down there and get them to stop, but Adrien had looked back at her and given her a look that pleaded that she didn't. That's what he wanted, for her to sit down, shut up, and not cause trouble. It took everything in Marinette not to snap her pencil as Miss Bustier began to lesson.

…

Adrien didn't quite know how to feel about this new girl hanging off of his arm, seeming overly cuddly with him, fluttering her lashes and trying to get most of his attention.

"How exactly do you two know each other?" Alya had asked when she and Nino sat down with the duo and Lila. Lila had only perked up, and got a somewhat secretive smile on her face, while Rébecca let out a soft giggle.

“All I can say is, Alya, that Rébecca is my best friend.” Lila boasted, giving Alya an overly obvious wink. Alya stared at Lila, as if slowly digesting her words before her eyes lit up and her hand shot for her phone.

“You’re serious?!” Alya began to open an app on her phone, but Rébecca reached out a hand to stop her, then gave Adrien a pleading look.

“Adrien, I’m very parched. Do you think you could grab me a soda, please? I would greatly appreciate it.” She slid a hand slowly along his arm, giving him a smile then when their eyes met. 

Adrien opened his mouth, but then nodded and made his way to the lunch line, which had grown fairly sizable as lunch was halfway over.

“You’re Ladybug?!” Alya beamed as she reached out and took Rébecca’s hand, an eager gleam in her eyes. “I knew Marinette was wrong about everything! Can I see the earrings?”

Rébecca nodded and pulled aside her hair from her ear, showing off the black spotted red earring, making Alya practically squeal with delight. 

“I just want to say that I’m so honoured that you chose me to be Rena Rouge.” Alya took Rébecca’s hand, so awestruck that she missed the surprised look Lila and Rébecca exchanged. 

“Well it was Lila that gave me the glowing recommendation.” Rébecca grinned as Alya began practically bursting with excitement as she began dumping question after question on Rébecca, who answered every one with ease, puffing out her chest with pride. Nino even seemed to get into it, thanking her profusely for allowing him to become Carapace, thankful he was able to protect the people of Paris.

    All the while Marinette was seated on the other side of the cafeteria with Rose and Ivan, trying her hardest to design something new for Kitty Section’s concert in a month, completely unaware of the imposter across the room. She was merely smiling as she discussed with Rose the possibility of adding more sparkles to the outfits, while Ivan was increasingly pleading for them not to.

 “Oh come on, they won’t be that bad.” Marinette smirked up at her distressed classmate, playfully sticking out her tongue. “Maybe I’ll even make the costumes neon orange.”

“Don’t you dare..” Ivan growled softly, but any playful banter was cut short by an explosion nearby that shook the school. Many students let out surprised screams as trees seemed to burst from the floor out of nowhere. 

“Hello Paris, I am Dryad, prepare to start tossing away those construction sites you use as excuses to cut down my precious trees!” A voice called out, echoing across the area, and it was then a panic began. Students cried out and began running in various directions, as the branches stretched from the trees and began snatching up various people. 

Adrien ducked off into an alcove, and thinking the coast was clear, transformed and took off, completely unaware of Rébecca watching from around the corner, a stunned look on her face.

…

As soon as school was over, Marinette stretched and let out a soft groan. Her body felt so stiff from that akuma battle earlier, Dryad had been an eco-activist who had been angry that her favourite park had been dozed over to make room for a spa, so she had been an easy target for Hawkmoth.

“Mari, I have to tell you something.” Alya ran up beside her and grabbed her arm, stopping her friend in her tracks. Marinette gave her a smile, though silently wished she were heading home right now for a nap. She just felt so drained after the day, and she wanted to relax with a nice cup of hot cocoa and some cookies with Tikki. 

    “Oh, did you get a new scoop?” Marinette’s smile widened when she saw the eager look in Alya’s eyes, the slight bounce in her step. She knew right away that the young reporter had quite the story if she was stopping Marinette right outside of school. 

    “I sure did, and it’s all thanks to Lila.” Alya grinned, but it quickly dimmed when the smile fell from Marinette’s face. She then huffed and crossed her arms, cocking a hip. “Marinette, this jealous streak of yours is getting annoying.”

    “I’m not jealous, Alya, I’m just tired of you believing her lies, which are so obvious.” Marinette crossed her arms, her own annoyed expression matching Alya’s. 

    “God, I don’t know why I even try with you. You’ll see soon enough what a fool you’ve been, never giving Lila a single chance. When you see my interview tomorrow, you’ll be begging Lila for forgiveness.” Alya said this in the most confident tone she could ever have spoken, making Marinette’s frown then press into firm line. 

    “Alya-” Marinette’s words died as soon as Alya held up a hand and began storming away. The young girl felt a heavy weight in her heart as she watched her best friend walk away. Why did it feel like she was about to walk away from their friendship..?

Marinette shook her head. No, she wouldn't let it come to that! Whatever stunt Lila was trying to pull, it wasn't going to work, Mari refused to back down and let her win, because if Lila won, she'd oh make things worse. She's hurt Marinette's friends, keep using them like she had. And she might even get her hands on Adri-

Adrien. Oh no, that new girl was trying to sink her claws into Adrien too, wasn't she? It just hurt to think about how those two would try and manipulate Adrien. But he wouldn't fall for it right? He knew Lila was a liar, he wouldn't fall for any tricks..

Marinette made her way home, tightly gripping the straps of her backpack, an uneasy feeling rolling in her stomach.

…

Adrien frowned as he was dragged off by Rébecca, who was clutching his arm like a vice.

"Rébecca, what's this about? I have a modeling gig in a few hours, so I can't stay very long.." He tried to point out, stumbling slightly when she abruptly stopped and turned to him, realizing the two of them were in an empty classroom. "Rébecca, is something wrong?"

".. I can't believe it. My Kitty has been before me this whole time.." Rébecca blushed as she slid her hand down his arm, gripping his hand lightly. "I've been so blind."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Adrien blinked in surprise as the girl set her other hand on his chest.

"Don't you recognize me, Chat? Don't you recognize your Ladybug?" She whispered, biting her lower lip. "I guess without the mask, I'm not so special anymore.."

Adrien felt his breath hitch at her words, his mind racing. No, she couldn't be.. Could she?

"I accidentally saw you detransform when I was trying to sneak back into school after our fight with Dryad. I'm sorry, but I thought since I knew, it was only fair to tell you.." She whispered, looking away as if in shame. Rébecca was internally thankful that Lila told her everything she needed to know about Adrien and the class, and was even more grateful she had given into Lila's silly little plan to try and trick the class more. Being Ladybug could be fun, afterall, she always wanted to be famous.

"What, no! M- my Lady, that's not true!" Adrien blurted out the words before he could stop himself, alarmed at the sight of the tears beginning to stream down her face.

"The.. the reason I've been rejecting you is because I've been in love with you, Adrien. And when I found out that you and Chat Noir were the same person, I just couldn't believe it, but it made so much sense" Rébecca leaned closer, their bodies pressing lightly together. "You're right, kitty, we are meant for each other, I was just simply blind to it.. Do you think I could get a second chance, please? I love you, Adrien."

Adrien was silent for the longest time, his mind trying to process all of this. This was Ladybug..? His heart began to pound as she poured her heart out to him, his hopes skyrocketing. She loved him, she really loved him! It felt like his dreams were coming true! Grinning, Adrien leaned close, their foreheads pressing lightly together as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, eyeing her earring before chuckling.

"I love you too, my Lady. We're soulmates, something silly as a misunderstanding could never tear us apart." He murmured, and both of them leaned closer and shared a soft kiss, Rébecca practically preening as she ensnared the gullible model.

…

Marinette huffed softly as she stared at her essay. School had to be built to torture people, there was no way these institutes built up every person of every walk of life, because these essays and term papers were a pain in the butt.

"Tikki, I think my eyes are going to explode.." She groaned as she closed her eyes and rubbed them, feeling the beginnings of a migraine beginning to form.

"It's probably because you stayed up all night." Tikki scolded her, the alarm clock next to Marinette suddenly going off, making the girl jump in her seat.

"Oh no, I'm going to be a total zombie in school today.." Marinette groaned as she put her face in her hands. She hadn't even realized she had stayed up so late, but she had really wanted to finish this dark essay before it became a bigger problem than it was worth. She should have been more mindful.

It was then that her phone beeped. When she looked at the notification, she realized Alya had published that interview she had mentioned yesterday.

"Well, since I'm up on time, I can watch it while I get ready." Marinette shrugged and tapped on the video to play it, and began getting dressed.

Alya was seated in her room, beaming proudly as she sat between Lila and Rébecca.

"Hey guys, it's Alya your lovable Ladyblogger here. I'm here to give you guys the scoop of the century! Over the past year, you've all come to know my amazing best friend, Lila, and her amazing exploits!" Alya grinned as she wrapped an arm around Lila, giving her a quick side up before sitting up again. "Well, Lila has managed to convince someone very special to give me an interview at long last, without her mask."

Marinette watched as she brushed her teeth, raising a brow as she took in Alya's words.

"Everyone, I'd love you to meet our very own Ladybug, finally showing her face, right here, on my blog!" Alya grinned like a cat who had cream.

"I have to say, it's an honour to finally reveal myself to all of you, especially on one of the most important blogs ever. Without you, Alya, I think I'd be lost. You always do the best detective work, and give everyone the greatest stories." Rébecca praised, carefully stroking Alya's ego. "Lila finally convinced me to show myself to the world. You're right, Alya, the world has the right to know.'

Marinette felt the toothbrush drop from her mouth as she stared at her phone screen, the blood beginning to pound through her veins.

"Tikki.." She croaked out after she spit her toothpaste into the sink, her body beginning to tremble. "Oh God, Tikki, she's lying.. She's- she's claiming to be me!"

"Marinette, you need to calm down!" Tikki flew in front of her Chosen's face, panic making her gasp as she saw the tears beginning to well up in Marinette's eyes.

"Why would Alya do that?! I've told her time and time again that I want to keep my identity a secret! It's important to me, it keeps everyone I love out of danger, why would she do this?! Now Rébecca's family could be in danger!" Marinette pulled at her pigtails as her mind began to race.

"Marinette, please, calm down! Maybe you can tell Alya these things at school today! I'm sure she'll listen if you calmly explain these things to you, I'm sure she'll fix it." 

".." Marinette sniffled and wiped away the tears. "You're right, Tikki. Alya has to at least think this is strange, it would be out of character for Ladybug to suddenly out herself like that.."

…

But when Marinette got to school and tried to talk to Alya, the girl merely cut her off and gave her a glare.

"I told you that you'd regret it, Marinette. I told you to try, and look at how things are now, even Ladybug herself thinks you're being unreasonable!" Alya snapped, motioning to where Rébecca sat with Lila, the class all overjoyed to have their wonderful hero Ladybug in that very room! The sight made Marinette feel ill.

"But Alya, Ladybug is always saying how she wanted to keep her identity a secret. Why would she suddenly start exposing herself, while Hawkmoth and Mayura are still at large?" Marinette held out her hands, trying to get Alya to see some kind of reason.

"You know what? I can't believe you're being this selfish right now. Honestly, this is the biggest story I've ever released and you're trying to ruin it!" Alya threw her hands up, catching the attention of a few of their classmates.

"Alya, we're best friends! Please, I just-" Marinette began,but was cut off again by Alya jabbing Marinette in the chest with a finger.

"Exactly, which is why best friends call each other out when they're being unreasonable,when they're making a complete fool of themselves! Look at you, you aren't even looking at the facts, Marinette, this jealous vendetta you have us ridiculous!" Alya snapped, then turned on her heel and stormed away. Marinette was left standing by her desk, her stomach coiling into a nervous ball.

Adrien entered the class not long after, a wide smile on his face. Before he could say anything, he caught Rébecca's eye. The girl stopped talking and abruptly got to her feet and rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as the two shared a passionate kiss.

Marinette felt her heart fall to the floor and shatter.

"Whoa, dude, didn't you two just meet yesterday?" Nino looked confused, as did the rest of the class. Inside, Lila was seething with rage, but she maintained a small smile.

"It may seem like that, but.. We've known each other for so much longer. I've been in love with Ladybug ever since I first met her. And it turns out, she felt the same way." Adrien beamed, lovingly kissing Rébecca's cheek.

Marinette began running before she realized she was doing it. She ran passed Alya, who gave her a look that screamed 'you took too long to confess, this is what you get', a confused Adrien, and a grinning Rébecca. She ignored the shouts for her to come back as she ran and ran, the tears streaming from her eyes.

She didn't have the proof, because the last time she had outed a lie as Ladybug, it had had disastrous consequences. And nobody believes her! No one saw the truth!

Marinette ran from the school and kept running, her lungs soon burning, her muscles soon aching, before she found herself into one of the small parks, which was completely deserted.

Marinette fell to her knees beside one of the fountains, burying her head in her arms as she rested against the basin, crying so hard, she soon passed out.

[bqstqnbruin]

4 times he wanted to come over + one time he did

Ok, we’re going to ignore several things here, like the fact that this was an 8 page Google Doc that I put together in a few hours, the fact that said document had been blank since June, t y p o s, and the fact that it’s nearly three am and I have my first day of classes technically today (aka at 2 pm).

But here I am, with my second fic of the day? IDK but since classes are starting, my posts are going to be a lot less frequent, so hopefully you guys like this! -------------------

one

Your apartment was finally put together just the way you liked it; all your stuff had its place, it was decorated just the way you liked it, you even had a pantry full of food, a rare feat when you were in college even with living with three other girls. Your first morning in your new, fully set up place was going to be celebrated by yourself. You had planned to make yourself breakfast that would probably last into lunch, order Chinese food later that night, drink coffee and watch Seinfeld on Hulu until you felt like going to sleep. There was no better way to break in a new place than by just relaxing in it. 

You turn on your TV, setting your coffee and plate down on the table in front of your couch, and walk over to the huge windows you were lucky enough to have in the apartment. It was a picture-perfect day, and the sun shined right into your apartment, not a single cloud in the blue sky. You felt like you were in a movie like someone had curated the scene and that with the touch of a button, the green screen would be gone and so would the magic. 

Sitting down, putting your feet up on the table, you dig in. This was actually perfect for you. Your new job was going to be stressful and you knew it. The more you could find ways to relax in your home, the better the job would be. 

After three episodes and nearly spilling your coffee all over you twice, you decide to get up and move around. You were drawn back to your windows, still in awe at the scene on the other side of them. Across the street, it looks like someone was doing the same in their apartment. He was tall, handsome, shirtless, and covered with tattoos that you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

He waves at you smiling in a way that made you melt. It took everything in you to wave back and not do something stupid, mentally thanking yourself that the pajamas you had been wearing were athletic shorts and a tshirt from your sorority, and not something more embarrassing. 

You go back to your couch, knowing that he could still see you and probably what you were watching. You couldn’t focus on the episode, feeling as if he were still there watching you. You tried to force yourself not to steal glances at him but failed, every so often seeing him mirroring your actions, watching TV on his couch. You didn’t know that the entire time, he was also stealing glances at you. He couldn’t help it; never before had he seen someone look so naturally beautiful, so in their element and carefree while just sitting and watching TV. 

“Fuck it,” you say to yourself, pausing mid-episode and getting up to find the paper, markers, and tape you know you had stashed somewhere.

Messily scrawling ‘I just moved in, nice to meet you,’ on a piece of paper, you tape it up on the window, praying that you wrote it big and dark enough that he could see it.  Sighing when he wasn’t still on the couch, you get back on your own and press play on the TV again. 

Where could he have gone? And why were you more invested in the handsome stranger on the other side of the street than you were in the show about nothing that you had grown up watching? 

Your stomach growls, not quite late enough to order dinner, you wander into your kitchen to get a snack, looking over to the window of handsome man to see that he had left a note, presumably for you. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Pierre-Luc’ was written in print messier than that of a doctor’s. Thank god your best friend growing up had the world’s worst writing, having to ask him to rewrite it would have been demeaning and embarrassing. 

And so it began: you would write a note, watch an episode, then check to see if he left you anything back. He always did, 

His name was Pierre-Luc and he played hockey. After a quick google search, unbeknownst to him since you were assuming he couldn’t see what was on your phone, you found that he was a professional hockey player, player for the Blue Jackets. Great, as if he weren’t already being sweet, asking you questions, leaving you charmingly flirty messages on his window for you, now he was an athlete? Quite possibly one of the sexiest types of men in your opinion? Great. Amazing. 

‘What’s for dinner?’ he leaves on his window, disappearing somewhere into his apartment. 

‘Ideally Chinese food, where do you suggest?’ is what you leave for him, scrolling through Uber eats to see what was cheapest and nearby. You look up, seeing him writing on a notepad his answer, taping it to his window before sending you what you could swear was a wink. 

‘Best place to eat out is here at my place,” you read, bursting out laughing. Confident, this one. 

You roll your eyes, leaving a cheeky message about sticking to Chinese food and just ordering it from the first place that came up. 

The night went on, you not realizing you had spent the whole day flirting with a window stranger. He had liked talking to you, too, but it was pretty bad for the environment to be wasting all this paper when he could clearly see the phone that was in your hand or on your table. Writing his number on what he hoped would be his final piece of paper, maybe you would invite him over. Or he could invite you over. There was something about you that he wanted to spend time with you, not flirt with you while a city street separates you. Taping the paper up, he can see you, fast asleep on the couch, your TV screen asking you if you were still there. 

Closing his curtains, he hoped that you would use the number soon so you could actually spend time with him. 

 Two

You had been feeding that cat every morning for over a month. You loved that stray cat; there was a weird sense of satisfaction in feeding her even though you knew your apartment building wouldn’t allow you to take her in as a pet. But of course, the day you had your friends coming over for dinner was the day you had to run to the store to buy more cat food because you ran out the day before and forgot to get some yesterday. You didn’t know who put food out for the cat at night, or even if anyone did. 

You go to the bowl sitting in the alley way, seeing that it was empty, confirming your suspicion that no one else fed the poor cat. You would have to start feeding it at night, too. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to do this,” you hear someone say behind you. You get up to see him, the man from the window. 

“Pierre-Luc? Why don’t I have to do this?” 

“Because I’ve been doing it.” 

“No, I have,” you argue, knowing that this would lead to a never-ending circle of ‘me, no me.’ You had been texting each other for a few weeks, constantly trying to figure out when you could spend time together, but much like you and your best friend during senior year of college, your schedules never matched up, going a year before finally seeing each other. 

“When?” he asks, a cocky smile dancing across his face. 

“Every morning before work, what about you,” you ask, getting closer to him. You text relationship was flirty, you were sure of it. Every time you passed by your window when he was home, he made a point to check you out, he winked at you, he smiled. He exuded a welcome confidence that you weren’t used to.

“Every day when I get back from practice.”

“What about the days that you’re away for games?”

“I figured someone would feed him for me.”

“The cat’s a girl,” you say, the little feline coming up to you. “You would know that if you didn’t just assume other people were doing what you set out to do in the first place.”

“Well, my assumption was correct, wasn’t it?” he says, a devilish twinkle in his eye as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. 

“You know what they say about assuming,” you tell him, breaking your eye contact to put out some food for the purring animal.

“What’s that?”

“It makes an ass outta you and me,” you tell him, looking up at him towering over you as a laugh leaving his lips. Given his demeanor, you wouldn’t expect him to look as, what’s the right word, jolly? As he did. 

“How come you’re feeding her now if you usually do it in the morning?” he asks, bending down to help you.

Feeling your phone buzzing in your pocket that signaled your friends were already there waiting for you, you tell him, “I ran out of food yesterday and didn’t have the chance to get more until after work. Plus, I needed to pick some stuff up for tonight, anyway.”

“Tonight?” he asks, his head snapping up. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, ran through his head.

“Yeah, my friends are coming over for dinner. It’s the first time they’ll be seeing my new place.” You pause for a minute. He was here, obviously with some free time, but did you want his first time over your place to be surrounded by your nosy friends? They knew you were talking to an attractive neighbor, but you knew they would say things to him that would mortify you and send you running before he got the chance. 

But like the night you first moved in, fuck it. “Are you free tonight? I would love for you to come over,” you tell him, the smile on his face disappearing as soon as you asked.

“I have a game tonight, I can’t. I was actually about to change and then leave,” he says, looking sad. He wanted to come over, and as soon as you said you were having friends over, he knew that you were going to ask him. 

“Oh, that’s fine. Now I have a reason to watch a game, though,” you tell him, smiling. You had to admit, you were a little bit upset, but again, it was probably for the best that he didn’t meet your friends just yet. 

“If the game ends early enough, I’ll stop by, yeah?” he suggests, running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” 

Three

“Babe, you’ve lived here for like, what? Almost six months? You have a hot as fuck neighbor who you actually talk to, and he hasn’t come over yet? Why haven’t you asked him to come over?” Amy says with food in her mouth. Your friends were over, again, this time to hang out before they went out to the bars. You were originally going to go, but you were too exhausted, and having already promised to host the pregame, you weren’t going to back out now. 

“You call me babe more than any guy I’ve met, you realize that right?” you ask her, getting up to go over to your window. You knew he wasn’t home; you had the Columbus game against the Flyers playing on your TV, Pierre-Luc was on the ice as you absentmindedly went over to the window to see if he was there. “Plus, our schedules never work. Look, Aimes, he’s literally on our TV, meanwhile as soon as all you hooligans leave, I’m going to bed. 

“Come on, stay up for the man,” Jeff said. The only male in your group of friends, he always entered the girl talk, encouraging you to get with a guy just as much as the others. 

“I’m going out to breakfast with you guys in the morning, how cranky do you want me to be, Jeffy? You know I will not hesitate to throw a potato at you,” you say, the rest of the group laughing even though they know you’re serious. You have thrown stuff at him and only him during breakfast before, him never thinking you’d have the guts to cause a scene in public, but doing it anyway. 

“We all know you’d be less cranky if you got laid,” he says through a mouthful of food. Why did everyone talk with their mouths open?

“Tomorrow I’m ordering two breakfasts; one to eat and one to throw at you.” 

You tune out your friends for the rest of the night. You only paid attention to the hockey game, your eyes trying to stay focused on Pierre-Luc every time he was on the ice. You did really want him to come over, but again, the first time couldn’t be with your friends, not when they were full psychopaths when it came to any boy that you were talking to. What would you have done if Pierre-Luc was there when Jeff commented about you being cranky and needed to get laid? 

Why did the cute guy have to have such a complicated schedule? Every time you were free, he was to jet off somewhere in the country for a few days for games, then he would come back, sleep, go to practice, and then go to a game. From what you could tell, he never stayed up past maybe 10 pm on the nights he didn’t have games, he napped nearly every day after practices, and he really was only home to eat.

Not that you were stalking him. Or memorizing his schedule. You two talked all the time, having evolved from notes in the windows to texting, from texting to calling, from calling to him falling asleep before you while on Facetime. He was one of your best friends, and you had never actually hung out with him at your or his apartment. 

“So how long will it take for him to get home now that the game is over?” Amy asks, snapping you out of the trance that you didn’t know you were in.

You didn’t even know that the game was over; the Jackets beat the Flyers 2-1, the game apparently ending about five minutes ago. You never timed how long it took between the game being over and him getting home since it was different pretty much every night. You think. Again, it’s not like you were stalking the boy. “Uh, I don’t know, half an hour?” you guess, giving them what you hoped was enough information for them to not ask you more.

“So has he sent you any like sexy pics?” Tanaka pips in, you nearly choking on the water you were drinking. 

“What the ever living fuck?” you nearly scream, all your friends laughing at your reaction. “There is no way I would ever tell you. Guys, we’re friends. Yes, he’s cute, hell, he’s fucking hot, but we’ve never physically spent time together, so can we just drop it?” 

They change the subject, going back to the conversation from this afternoon that involved them trying to get you to go out. You loved your friends, they were your found family, but dammit they wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Wait, sorry, which apartment is his again?” Jeff asks in the middle of you telling them yet again why you weren’t going out with them. 

You all snap your heads to the other building, the one directly across from you now with lights on. “That one,” you say, Pierre-Luc appearing in the window, all of your friends running up to go wave to him. This was mortifying. Your phone started buzzing on the table, and with Pierre-Luc having his phone out for his friends to see, they knew it was from him.

“What did he say!” Tanaka yells, trying to grab your phone from you. 

“He said get your creepy friends away from the window,” you lie. If you told them he was asking to come over, they would steal your phone and make him come. “Guys, shouldn’t you be going by now? It’s almost 11, the deal at the bar ends at midnight and all of you are still sober,” you point out, praying that it would work.

“Let’s get drunk!” Amy says, grabbing her bag and marching out the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“Yep, I’m going to sleep. Text me when you’re all alive!” you say, pushing them out the door.

Your phone buzzes again, Pierre-Luc asking again if he could come now that your friends were gone. You wanted to say yes, but you knew that as soon as he came over, you would be asleep. Plus he just came from a game, there was no way he wasn’t also exhausted. ‘I’m about to pass out, I’m sorry. We’ll hang out eventually, I promise’

Four

You should be back in your apartment by now. You had told Pierre-Luc that you would be home by 11 pm. You had an early day the next day and staying out late wasn’t something you wanted to do, no matter how good your date went or how attractive you thought the guy was. 

Much to Pierre-Luc’s dismay, you had told him that your friend Amy had set you up with someone she knew from school. You were going out with him tonight, you Facetiming Pierre-Luc while getting ready. He should have just been over there, watching you get ready. No actually, he should have been the one taking you out, but at this point in whatever the hell relationship you had, the first thing that you were going to do in person with each other, besides that one time you fed the alley cat, was hang out in each other’s apartment. 

He was pacing, checking his phone to see if you had sent him anything about your whereabouts. You should have been home by now, why weren’t you home? If you weren’t home in ten minutes, he was going to call the police. No, they wouldn’t do anything. He would figure out how to hack your phone, try to find Amy on social media, something so that he would know you were safe. 

Sitting down on his couch, he positioned himself so he had a direct view of your apartment. As soon as you walked in the door and turn on the light to your living room, he would know. He needed that light to go on right now. 

‘Maybe I should go over and wait outside her door? Would that be creepy?’ he thought to himself, ‘I could say that I was just checking on you, which would technically be true. It’s not like you were going to bring the guy home, right? But what if you did and then I was there sitting outside your door. I can’t ruin things for you.’ 

Why has it taken him so long to even get over to your place? Or for you to come over to his? He hated that your schedules were just different enough that you couldn’t meet up. You were always running out the door when he was just getting home and vice versa. He couldn’t even fathom what he would do the first time he saw you in person.

He should have just kissed you when you were feeding the cat. He knows that he wants to date you, how could he not someone who was sweet enough to do something like that for a random cat but also unafraid to chirp him like his teammates? 

Your light goes on, him doing everything in his power to not jump up and go to his window, but that doesn’t stop him from watching what was happening.

Your date went well; you and David had really hit it off, leading to making out in the elevator ride up, stumbling into your apartment with your lips practically glued to his. You look across to Pierre-Luc’s apartment, him sitting there. You make eye contact with him, smiling because of David. David comes up behind you, starting to kiss you down your neck. You send a thumbs up to Pierre-Luc, closing the curtain as you let David do as he pleases.

Pierre-Luc sits on his couch, dumbfounded by what he just saw. That should have been him. He should have been the one in your apartment with you right now. 

+one

Saturday morning, sitting on your couch, watching Seinfeld. A cup of coffee, your phone, and a plate with some fruit on it, much like the first full day when you moved in. The sky was cloudless and blue, but you weren’t admiring it in the same way as you were that day. You were out with David last night, one month after your first date. You thought everything was going great, until he told you that he wanted to see other people. You shouldn’t have been surprised, he had been saying that he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt when he officially broke it off with you. 

‘You’re crying,’ a message from Pierre-Luc pops up on your screen. For a moment, you forgot your curtains were open, giving him a full view into your apartment. 

‘Yep,’ you reply back, not sure what else to say. He could see you, it’s not like you could lie to him. 

‘Need to talk about it?’ 

‘I don’t want to Facetime right now.’

‘Got it,’ was all he said. You look over at his apartment, just in time to see him shutting the door behind him. What the hell was he doing that he could ask you to Facetime and then leave right after? You let out a sigh, deciding to focus on the TV and try to force yourself to eat the fruit. You weren’t going to feel any better if your hunger turned into hanger, so you might as well eat the food that was in front of you. 

You didn’t know where your phone ended up; somewhere in the couch cushions maybe? On the floor? You didn’t even care, you just wanted to wallow and be dramatic for the day. What you weren’t expecting was the knock on your door, interrupting your favorite episode of the show. Getting up, not expecting anyone, you debated even opening the door when you hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/N, it’s me, open up.” You see Pierre-Luc standing there, a bag from the donut shop down the street in hand, a bunch of take out menus in the other.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, him pushing past you and plopping down on the couch, obviously already knowing the way around. 

“You were upset so I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says, taking out the donuts, putting them on the plate with your fruit, popping a piece in his mouth. “You don’t have to talk about it, but at least this way we’re finally hanging out in person.”

There was something about seeing him sitting on your couch that just felt right. He looked so at home, his feet already up on your table in the way you sat pretty much all the time. He had already started up the episode, replaying it from the beginning so he could see it when you sit down beside him, tucking your feet underneath you. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching his arm out. You cuddle up next to him, your head on his shoulder as he plants a kiss on the top of your head. It felt so right. So much better than with David, so much better than with any of the other guys you had been with. 

“He dumped me,” you tell him, even though you were sure that you had already texted him that last night when you were on your way home. 

“He didn’t deserve you,” you hear him say. He mumbled something else, something you couldn’t quite make out. If he wanted you to hear it, he would have said it louder, you figured.

“He said I play hard to get?” you ask, unsure if that was true or not. Were you hard to get? You slept with the guy on the first night, Pierre-Luc had seen the beginning of it through the window. 

“No, you’re not hard to get, you’re hard to earn. Any guy would be lucky to have you. If I had you, I’d,” he stops himself, mentally kicking himself for opening that can of worms that he really didn’t want to dive into yet. You hadn’t even been out on a first date. If anything, maybe, this was your first date. 

“You’d what?” you say, sitting up, hoping he would continue. This was his first time in your apartment. Something you had both thought about a lot. You wanted to hear what he would do if you were together, hoping whatever he said would actually happen. 

“I’d feed the cat with you in the morning and then do it by myself in the afternoon if I didn’t have a game or something,” he starts, laughing, “I’d go out to breakfast with your friends even if we didn’t go out with them the night before. I’d even hang out with them whenever you did, even though they are a little crazy. You love the people around you, the animals that aren’t even your own pets. You deserve someone who will love you back the way you love everyone and everything.” 

You sit there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I should have been the one that night in here with you, not him,” he says, finally admitting it out loud. 

“Do something about it now, then,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks, stunned. 

“Forget that night you saw me with David, and do something now,” you insist. You had wanted this just as bad as he did, so why were either of you waiting?

He starts slow, sweet, his hand on your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. His lips move with yours, his tongue swiping your bottom lip as his other hand snakes it’s way around you back, picking you up from the seat next to you and placing you in his lap. Your hands go through his hair, your mind blank. This was what you had been waiting for since you first saw him.

He pulls away, his cheeks now red, a smile on his face, “I really hope I’m the only one who ever looked through your window.”

“If anyone else is looking then at least they get a little bit of a show,” you say, kissing him again. 

[jessbakescakes]

random prompt: donna’s niece/nephew has to stay with her for some reason and josh drops by her apartment randomly so they all end up spending the day together :) thanks!

This took me an age and a half, but here it is. Let’s call this sometime post-snowballs, pre-finale Season 4 Josh/Donna. Also, it got ridiculously long and I have no idea why, but... yay?

Josh tries to be productive on his first Sunday off in recent memory. He gets a few things done around the house, and then he finds himself feeling bored. That feeling is rare; he hasn’t been this bored since he was recovering from his injuries after Rosslyn. There’s no shortage of things to do in the office, but Leo has banned him (and Donna) from the property for the day after a 38-hour shift. Soon the feelings of boredom propel him out of his apartment, and he finds himself standing outside of Donna’s place about fifteen minutes later without a plan. There’s a part of him that wonders if she’d even want to hang out with him on her day off, but all the other people he would invite are at work. 

So, Josh knocks at the door. 

They could always go to the movies; Donna’s been mentioning a new movie she’s been wanting to see. The thought of the two of them sitting in the back of a darkened movie theater while she gets invested in some sappy chick flick isn’t exactly his idea of fun, though, so his mind wanders to other possibilities. 

The plan is almost formulated in his head when she opens the door, but it all goes out the window when he notices a little girl run toward the door and wrap herself around Donna’s legs. “I can’t come into work today,” Donna insists.

“Hi, Josh, it’s so great to see you,” Josh says in his sarcastic ‘imitating Donna’ tone.

She sighs. “Hi, Josh. You shouldn’t be going into work, either.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask you to come in today. Who’s this?” he asks, glancing back and forth between Donna and the little girl, who looks like a miniature version of Donna, but with brown hair instead of blonde.

“This is my niece, Caitlin.”

“Francesca’s daughter?” Josh confirms, ensuring that his memory of Donna’s conversations about her nieces and nephews was correct. He vaguely remembers Donna telling him something about a political argument that her sister Francesca got into with another parent while she was chaperoning a trip for Caitlin’s kindergarten class a few weeks ago.

Donna nods. “She had a last-minute meeting with a client she’s trying to land for the D.C. branch of her company. So Caitlin and I get to spend the day together. Caitlin, this is my friend Josh.”

Caitlin gives Josh a toothless grin and a giggle. “Hi.”

“Hey, Caitlin,” Josh says to Caitlin, giving her a wave. He turns his attention to Donna. “I was thinking about how I owed you a new shirt after the coffee catastrophe. Figured I’d come by and ask if you’d like to collect on that today. But...”

“Well, you can help me babysit, and we’ll call it even,” she says, motioning for Josh to come into her apartment.

“Your sister won’t mind?” Josh asks, crossing the threshold and taking off his coat.

“She’s met you,” Donna reasons. “You work for the President of the United States. I think you’ll pass muster. And besides, I’m here for when you inevitably screw up.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he sighs. 

He looks toward Caitlin, who has abandoned Donna in favor of what she’s working on at the coffee table. There are art supplies everywhere; markers are scattered across the table (and a few have rolled onto the floor), a pair of child-sized safety scissors sits on the corner next to some tape, and tubes of glittery glue in several different colors are gathered in a pile in the middle. “What’s your favorite color, Josh?” she calls, without lifting her gaze from her project.

“Uh… blue, I guess,” Josh answers, approaching the couch and taking a seat.

Caitlin reaches for a blue sheet of construction paper and begins to cut an unrecognizable shape into it. She pauses after a moment, then lifts the paper and wraps it around Josh’s wrist, attempting to ensure that the piece she has cut is big enough. “I’m making a superhero bracelet,” she declares, making a face when she realizes it’s too big. “You can shoot stuff out of it and get the bad guys.”

Josh glances toward Donna, suddenly conveniently busy in the kitchen, and then back at Caitlin. “Sounds… interesting.”

He’s never been bad with kids. In fact, kids seem to like him, as a general rule. He’s just never been entirely sure what to do to replicate that experience from one kid to the next. This is Donna’s niece, so there’s a little extra pressure to seem impressive and interesting.

Donna is a natural with kids, at least from Josh’s perspective. Working in the White House doesn’t really give them a lot of opportunities to spend time with kids, of course, but the few times he’s seen her interact with them, it seems to come easily to her. They’re drawn to her in an inexplicable way.

Caitlin returns to her work. “This can be your bracelet. I made Aunt Donna a crown. Wait! Do you want a crown or a bracelet? Boys can wear crowns, too. They can be princes.”

“I’ll take the bracelet,” Josh says, motioning to the mangled piece of paper she has in her hands. “Did you say you made Aunt Donna a crown?”

He says the last part loud enough for Donna to hear in the kitchen, so Donna looks up at him and shrugs. “I’m a princess, apparently.”

“Don’t you think you should be wearing it?” Josh teases.

“It’s drying,” Donna says, motioning behind her to the counter, where she’s placed a crown made of pink construction paper covered in glitter.

Josh darts into the kitchen and gingerly lifts the crown, poking at various spots with his index finger. “Hmm, seems dry to me. What do you think, Caitlin, should she wear it?”

“Yeah!” Caitlin agrees enthusiastically. 

“You want to come in here and put it on her?” Josh offers, holding out the crown.

Caitlin shakes her head. “You do it.”

Donna slides a finished grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate and turns around. “Don’t you dare squish it on my head,” she warns under her breath, her arms crossed. “If you get any glitter in my hair…”

“Donnatella, this isn’t my first coronation,” Josh huffs.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling at him. “Where was your last one, Burger King?” 

“Medieval Times, actually,” he says, gently securing the crown on Donna’s head. “There.”

Donna reaches up and pats her head. “He didn’t give me a bump in my hair, did he?” she asks, turning around to allow Caitlin to check.

“Nope,” Caitlin confirms, approaching Josh with his superhero bracelet and about a dozen long pieces of Scotch tape. She attaches it to his wrist and steps back to admire her handiwork. “Now you both have something!”

“We certainly do. Come wash your hands and we can have some lunch,” Donna instructs.

Caitlin, Josh, and Donna chat over grilled cheese and tomato soup. When they finish, Donna clears the table while Caitlin pulls Josh into the living room to clean up the crafting supplies. Caitlin is entertaining to talk to, as far as six-year-olds go. Of course, she’s not about to debate the intricacies of domestic policy with him, but she asks questions about the President - she seems primarily interested in the idea of him being funny. Caitlin also wants to know if the President has a dog (she seems disappointed when Josh tells her he doesn’t) and if he intends to get a dog (she seems even more disappointed when she hears this answer). 

Soon there’s a lull in the conversation. Caitlin seems to be focused and hard at work, slowly gathering the art supplies to clean up. 

“Your Aunt Donna told me that you went to the aquarium a couple of weeks ago,” Josh says tentatively, unsure of what topics are interesting for six-year-olds, but making an effort anyway. 

“I got to pet a stingray. You do it like this,” Caitlin explains, holding up her index and middle fingers together and sweeping them in the air.

“Oh, yeah? That must have been cool. What did it feel like?”

“He was kinda slimy. But there was an otter that was swimming up near the spot where I was standing at the otter place,” Caitlin says, shoving some markers into their box. “I love otters.”

“Oh, really? Otters are nice. What do you like about otters?”

“Otters… the otters hold hands while they’re sleeping so they don’t float away,” Caitlin explains as she clears the last of the paper off of the table. “Then they would be sad and all by themselves.”

“That’s smart of them,” Josh answers. “Don’t want them to be lonely.”

Josh discovers that Caitlin knows a lot about otters. She explains that she checked out several books from the library about otters after her trip to the aquarium, and has done some extensive internet research. By the time the living room is clean, Josh has been informed that otters have the thickest fur of all mammals in the animal kingdom, and baby otters are not able to swim on their own. 

Caitlin is about to explain the ins and outs of keeping a baby otter safe and secure while its mother goes out hunting when Donna enters the living room with a bowl of water in one hand and a Ziploc bag in the other. “What are we up to in here?”

“Otter discourse,” Josh says, stacking the newly collected art supplies in a pile. 

“They hold hands,” Donna says with a knowing nod, as though she’s heard this piece of trivia before. “Okay, Caitlin, you wanted to look through my stash of tattoos, right?”

Caitlin nods and takes the bag from Donna’s hand. She dumps out the bag and looks through the temporary tattoos that Donna has acquired. There are flowers, hearts, butterflies, and various animals and characters to choose from. Caitlin flips over each tattoo, grouping them by color as she deliberates. 

Josh looks to Donna. “Does this sort of freakish organizational skill run in the family?”

Donna pokes him in the arm and Josh yelps, rubbing the spot as Donna moves to expedite the process by flipping over the tattoos. 

Caitlin finally selects several different tattoos, sliding one in front of Donna and another in front of Josh. “Those are for you,” she says.

Josh shoots Donna a look, but Donna rolls up her sleeves. “Where should I put mine? On my hand, or on my arm?”

“Hmm,” Caitlin says. “Your hand.”

“Do you need help with yours?” Donna asks. 

Caitlin nods. “The last time Mommy and I did these, mine got all messed up ‘cause I pulled it off too fast.”

“Oh, well we can’t have that,” Donna insists, dipping a washcloth in the bowl of water. “Josh, start thinking about where you want your tattoo.”

“I think he should do it right here,” Caitlin says, tapping the inside of her forearm.

“You think so?” Donna asks. 

“You have to do it on this arm though,” Caitlin says, grabbing Josh’s left hand. “That one has your superhero bracelet.”

Josh sighs. “Do I get a say in this at all?”

“No,” Donna insists, turning his arm over so his palm is facing upward. She grabs his left hand in hers and pushes up the sleeve of his sweater with her right hand.

“You’re holding his hand. Kind of like the otters,” Caitlin points out.

Josh is certain that what Donna was doing was entirely platonic, operating on instinct under the watchful eyes of an observant kindergartener. But he wonders if she can feel his pulse hammering the same way it did outside her apartment in the snow a few weeks prior. 

“Well, we wouldn’t want him to float away, would we?” Donna teases before letting his hand go and removing the plastic cover of a purple butterfly tattoo.

Caitlin approaches them and supervises as Donna applies the temporary tattoo, impatiently waiting for the reveal. Donna is about halfway through peeling the paper backing away when Francesca walks in the door. 

“Mommy!” Caitlin shouts, launching herself at Francesca.

“Looks like I’m interrupting the makeover portion of the afternoon,” Francesca says. “Hey, Josh, it’s good to see you.”

“Hey, Francesca,” he says. “It’s good to see you too. I didn’t know you were coming to D.C. this weekend, or I’d have given Donna a chance to spend some time with you.”

Francesca waves her hand. “It wasn’t planned. I had a thing come up, and I was going to leave both the kids with Chris, but Caitlin heard me mention D.C. and all bets were off when she remembered that’s where Aunt Donna lived.”

“I made Josh a superhero bracelet,” Caitlin says. “And Aunt Donna has a crown.”

“I see that,” Francesca smiles. “Why don’t you and I head back to the hotel for a little bit? I’ll take you swimming at the hotel pool before dinner if you want.”

Caitlin darts across the apartment, gathering all of the things she brought over earlier in the day. “Can Josh eat dinner with us?”

Francesca grabs Caitlin’s pink backpack that’s sitting by the door and turns to Josh. “You’re welcome to join us, I was taking Donna out to dinner as a thank you for spending some time with Caitlin while I was in that meeting.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll let the three of you spend some time together,” he says.

“Next time,” Francesca says. “Caitlin, what do you say to Aunt Donna and Josh?”

“Thank you!” she says, nearly knocking Donna over with a hug and climbing onto the couch to give Josh a hug with equal enthusiasm.

“Thank you again. Both of you. Six-thirty?” Francesca asks Donna.

Donna nods. “Perfect. You don’t have to run off, though, I don’t mind --”

“No, no, I know,” Francesca interrupts. “It’s totally fine. We’ll see you at dinner.”

Francesca helps Caitlin get her coat on and Donna sees them out. As Donna says goodbye and Caitlin and Francesca leave the apartment, Josh can hear Caitlin chatting to her mom.

“Aunt Donna was holding Josh’s hand, like the otters.”

Donna shuts the door and turns to look at Josh. Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes dart to the floor. “She really likes otters.”

“I gathered that.”

“Probably should have warned you about that.”

Josh laughs. “You could have warned me that I’d be peeling pieces of tape off my arms, too, but you just threw me to the wolves.”

“Hey, now. You survived!”

His forearm is still stretched out as the temporary tattoo dries and becomes less sticky and more prickly-feeling. “I also wasn’t exactly planning on getting a tattoo today. Or… probably ever.”

“Not a tattoo guy, huh?”

“Why, are you a tattoo girl?” Josh pushes his sleeve down over his forearm.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Donna says, a hint of teasing in her voice. 

Josh stands up from the couch. “Want me to, uh…” he gestures around the living room, not sure where to dive in to help clean up.

“I think I can manage,” Donna says. “Thanks for today. Caitlin had fun.”

“Yeah. It’s no problem. Just remember that next time when Aunt Donna isn’t the favorite anymore and she goes on and on about how great Josh was,” Josh teases.

Donna crosses her arms and lets out a laugh. “Like that would ever happen.”

“You underestimated me before,” Josh points out. “You’ll see how popular I am when Caitlin asks you about me at dinner tonight.”

“And you think if she did, I would actually tell you about it?” 

“I know when you’re lying, Donna. Your mouth does this weird thing.”

“A weird thing?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but I know it when I see it,” Josh insists, putting on his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Donna says, opening the front door for him.

Josh stands there for a moment before he leaves, looking at Donna. The pink crown is still on her head, and her shirt has spots of pink glitter on it, presumably from aiding in the decoration of the aforementioned crown. For the briefest of moments, he wonders if this can’t be their future - if it can’t be their kid who tapes a superhero bracelet around his wrist with too many pieces of tape or insists on giving him a butterfly tattoo.

He pushes the thought out of his mind until later in the shower when he attempts to scrub the tattoo off his arm. He’s had more moments like this since he took a cab to throw snowballs at her window -- or more accurately, ever since Commander Wonderful and his thirteen buttons showed up. The images, oddly domestic compared to most of his fantasies, play on a loop in his brain.

He knows he can’t indulge them, can’t enjoy these fantasies. She’s his assistant; he’s her boss. They’re friends, and that’s all they can be for another four years. Of course, that’s assuming that some gomer doesn’t sweep her off her feet and give her what Josh can’t, at least not yet. But he doesn’t know how to stop them, and they’re coming with more frequency than the nightmares he’s grown accustomed to having.

The idea that she could have all this with someone else is more terrifying than the nightmares.

[unholyhelbig]

We Sold Our Souls | 001: Beca

Summary: A small-town rock band continues to play even smaller venues well past high school graduation. Aubrey, Beca, Emily, and Chloe struggle with newfound fame and the long bloody road to get there.

[Based off of "We Sold Our Souls" By Grady Hendrix"]

Read on AO3 | Dt to the amazing @ifionlyhadmorepaper

Beca’s fingers were split and callused where Chloe’s were warm and protected. They were covered in bandages of all shapes and sizes, little adhesive papers that browned at the edges from dirt or from blood that hadn’t been dabbed away. They were wrapped, lacerated where she had pressed too hard on the velvet cords of her guitar. Beca Mitchell would play until rustic oozing syrup covered the face of the instrument.

They stung, sometimes, but right now she leaned into the numbness that the temperature in the office provided. She wanted to spread them in an equal motion over the glass of the desk so each finger lined up with a toe in her Doc Martins. Instead, she placed them calmly in her lap and stared at the silver pen that rested next to the contract.

She picked silently at the ace bandage that she had strategically wrapped around her pinky finger. It had been the newest slice; a wound still fresh to the sterile room. She was sure it would drip one, maybe two drops of red on the white linoleum.

Beca glanced up from the writing utensil and saw nothing but a suit, a slate and dull grey that blended perfectly with the rest of the room. There were no photos on the wall, nothing but a bland black leather sofa and a glass coffee table that matched the same desk they sat at now. She wanted to look through the floor to ceiling windows but saw nothing but white. Everything was white.

She was the darkest thing in the room.

Her boot tapped against, a low and thumbed rhythm. She waited for him to say something, to say anything. But she realized quickly that he may be darker than her. She could stare into the abyss that was his face, into the shadow but it would mean nothing. There were no defining features other than a crisp, business-like smile.

She had switched from pulling at the dressing of her wounds to picking at the frayed edges of her black jean jacket, littered with patches and permanent marker. Beca traced a signature that Chloe had drawn on one drunken night.

They had popped a bottle of champagne and the bubbles made the cuts on her fingers burn something fierce. But she let the golden liquid slosh onto the carpet of the hotel room, and bubble up in her throat until she couldn’t quite hold it between her lips anymore. Chloe kissed her and she tasted like weed and cherry.

It was the first night that their song was played on the radio.

The four of them huddled around a radio, its antenna stretched to the ceiling of that dingy room. The lights buzzed as much as the static, and it was close to three am; too late for the bar handlers to be heading home, and too early for the suits to be warming up their cars. But they played it- they played it.

They could quite possibly be the only four people in the entire world to hear the first song from the DEMO that Beca slid under the studio door.

When she leaned forward, the leather her pants made an ungodly noise. She didn’t’ want to read through the stack bound with a thick black clip. The first page was highlighted where she needed to initial and bolded at the most important parts; the parts that distracted her from what really mattered.

Her father was a stockbroker before he was dead, and he would tell her every single time he brought home a new contract, that they make the glittery things darker. That’s not what she was supposed to read; she was supposed to look at the little pieces of text that had stars next to them. People liked to trick you with shiny things.

Beca moved her finger across the large stack; the paper was cool to the touch and caught on the adhesive of her ace bandage. “What exactly are you offering me here?”

Summer 1985

It took her four whole months to save up for the old white Charvel that sat at the back of Shawl's pawn shop. There were bars strapped across the windows and an ugly neon orange sign that let Beca know when they were closed and when they weren’t. She would cling to those bars when old man Shawl would tell her to buy something or get the fuck out.

He stared at her even harder when she emptied the shoebox of change and crumpled up bills stained with sweat and sticky substances onto the glass counter, but even he couldn’t turn down a profit. She waited for ages while his liver-spotted hands counted the money carefully. Then he pursed his lips and pulled the beat up guitar down from his perch above his shoulder.

In later years, Beca knew she didn’t have nearly enough, and she thanked him silently for taking pity on her and passing it over anyway. She was driving all of his customers, she reasoned, by sulking on the hot sidewalk in front of the shop, letting banana flavored popsicles drip onto her fingers until it was nothing but a stick left.

She had fastened the worn leather strap around her chest and straddled her jet red bicycle. Beca had never peddled so fast in her life. The Mid-August heat clung to every inch of her was humming with sweat by the time she skidded to a stop in front of her house. She let the bike drop and got an instant hit of relief when she crossed the threshold into the open garage.

Beca scooted past the dusty Monza that barely fit in front of the door leading into their kitchen. Her mother had bought it off a stranger that came into the diner back in 78’. There were questionable stains in the backseat and an odd scent of Clorox that they could never get rid of. But it ran back and forth, and that’s all they needed.

She pulled open the honey blossom fridge and grabbed the closest thing they had to a cool drink. Beca drank tang straight from the pitcher, letting it drip down her face and soak into the collar of her shirt. She was noisy when she drank, and oblivious to her mother watching her from the archway as she tied her apron around her waist.

“We have glasses, Bec’s”

Her mother didn’t’ comment on the guitar strapped to her back. She figured that her daughter had picked up another hobby. Last year it was basketball, and the year before that she begged and begged for a set of baseball cards from the local hobby shop. After they were shoved under her bed she was told to fund her ventures on her own.

Beca swallowed the last of the orange flavoring on her tongue and took a savoring breath to fill her burning lungs. She turned to the woman and smiled “That would just dirty two things instead of one. Besides, you don’t drink this anyway.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Her mother wrestled silently with the faux pearl earrings that matched the beaded necklace against her collarbone. The soft blue tone of her uniform washed out her skin and made her look pale despite the summer heat that lingered well into August.

Beca placed the glass decanter back into the bottom half of the fridge before she mock saluted her mother and wandered back out to the garage. Her skin instantly became slick with sweat. She pulled an empty milk crate a few inches from the line of the setting sun.

She finally pulled the old Charvel from her back and situated it in her arms. It was far from a perfect fit. She reached over the neck and felt the way the side dug into her ribs uncomfortably. The strings were frail and sounded rough as she dragged her thumb against them.

Beca had only learned the start of one song, the first few cords of Black Sabbath’s Tomorrows Dream. They had printed the cords on the back of the record sleeve, each specific note highlighted in a comically large dot. Beca would breathe in the dust of the garage and listen to the record on a constant loop, pressing her fingers down against the notes.

She took a deep breath and started to follow the instructions that she had completed a million times over. The strings were too tight and it sounded choppy, sharp, and thick all at once. She cringed at her half-hearted attempt and the way the cords cut so deeply into her fingertips they stung.

She ignored the old car pulling out of the garage, and the way she had to squint at the darkness after a while. There was still the sour taste of orange on her tongue and sweat dripped from her nose. But she played and played, and played until there was blood against the white face of the instrument and tears pinching at her eyes. It sounded somewhat like Black Sabbath.

“You like metal?”

Beca jerked her hand back quickly and drew in a sticky warm breath of air. She had been so wrapped up in her task that she hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone anymore. A girl stood in the dull light that leaked from the garage and into the pavement. She didn’t’ quite pass the threshold- instead, she lingered.

A certain chill had invaded the air and the girl folded into herself. Her wild mane of orange hair fell around her shoulders and ghostly blue eyes lit up optimistically at the sight of a guitar.

“Uh,”

“That’s a Charvel, right? I begged my parents for one last Christmas but they got me an acoustic instead. Hooked me up with lessons from Miss Jensen. I learned one country song and started pocketing the fifty bucks a week instead.”

“Yeah,” Beca swallowed hard “It’s a Charvel”

“That’s cool,” she rocked back and forth on the souls of her sneakers. The cold didn’t’ seem to get to her much anymore. Beca tried to place her. Her ears were ringing and her fingers hurt. The crickets were hissing their own song. “You go to Kennedy don’t you?”

“I’m second year”

“I’m third.” She beamed “I live right next door, I’ve seen you around.”

Beca lifted her chin; she had seen the girl around too. It usually followed loud screaming and slamming doors. She would sit on her stoop and stare at the way her cassette player would turn. Beca had seen her flip a tape four times once- still like a statue until the music stopped and hat to be reset.

“Listen, I uh- don’t want to intrude, but maybe we could play together sometime?”

“Yeah, I would like that.” She found herself saying, the orange drink in her system making her stomach churn. She nearly felt bad, felt a pang of sadness for the girl. “I’m Beca.”

“Hi, Beca. I’m Chloe.”

Winter 1994

Beca let the case fall shut a little too loudly. The acoustics on the small stage seemed to catch all the wrong things. She couldn’t get her voice to carry earlier in the night, but the fur-lined box that they housed their amp in bounced all the way to the entry of the little venue in Portland.

She blinked hard, trying to ignore the harsh red lights that covered every single inch of the place. There were bumper stickers covering the spotty paint of the walls and a bar that was more piss and peanut shells than anything. Emily gulped down warm beer and struggled to keep it down momentarily. She didn’t look up at the noise, her stare trained on a coaster, and the crumbs that lie next to it.

Beca leaned back on her heels and pulled in a thick breath. She smelled like sweat and blood and alcohol. Her little stunt had drawn the attention of Aubrey, the woman wrapping the cord to a different amp around her forearm and palm. She narrowed her unripe stare.

“This was fucking shit,”

“I’m doing my best”

They spoke at the same time. She knew that Aubrey’s anger was buzzing, it was festering until it finally burst. She looked pale under the red lights, the same tattoo they had all gotten two years ago stretched under her tank top and down to the gap between her jeans.

She knew what Aubrey was going to say. Her best wasn’t good enough, and it never was; they had been doing this for years, eight long years and they were still playing the shit-stink venues in even shittier towns. They barely had an audience tonight, and it had all been Beca’s fault. The whole room was thinking it, but no one had the balls to say it other than Aubrey.

Chloe moved from the corner of the room, “We’ll get a better place, Bree.”

“Yeah? When? I’m tired of giving my all to an audience that doesn’t’ fucking exist. We’re not kids anymore.”

“We’re shit broke.” Emily turned in the creaky barstool, swallowing the foam at the bottom of her glass. “I don’t even think we have gas in the van.”

“How much from this gig?” Chloe asked.

Her hair was matted with sweat and her thumb pulled at the chain around her neck. It was fastened with a marbled red pick, one from their first real venue ever. She had nervously wiped away the gold lettering and now the smooth plastic was all that was left. Beca hated disappointing her, and she did it often these days.

“Five hundred.”

“Five hundred? Beca that’s barely enough to cover the hotel rooms.” Aubrey let the wrapped cord fall back to the stage “We don’t break even on this. It’s not fucking worth it. It never was and it never is.”

They all knew what came next. Emily stared down a coaster she had begun to shred. The remaining foam on the glass culminated at the very bottom of the glass and she knew she couldn’t muster enough change to order another one. So she sat with the sour taste in her mouth and festered.

Aubrey would mention Julliard.

“I could have had everything.” She hissed instead.

Beca didn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, she leaned down and pulled the amp up with nothing more than a grunt. Instead, she walked out into the cold Portland air and let it make her skin tighter. She blinked away the red light and searched for the keys in her pockets. She had left them inside.

[littlemissagrafina]

Comfortember Day 4. Anxiety

we're just sunflowers waiting for a sunrise

@comfortember

Read on AO3

The first time he had seen it out of the corner of his eye, Tony had thought that maybe Peter had gotten a tattoo or something, possibly some of the rebellious teenager that Tony knew still lay inside Peter somewhere wanted to make a show.

Tony hadn't noticed entirely at first, had caught glimpses under Peter's sleeves, over his hands or wrists and even near his socks but when Peter would come back for his next lab day, those flashes of colour or shapes would be gone. And so the tattoo idea was dismissed.

Tony started keeping a close eye though, watching discreetly when Peter lifted his arm for something Tony knew would let his sleeves slide or when he would lift his legs and sit criss cross applesauce on his workbench stool. The older man was still baffled at how he sat that way on a stool but put it down to Peter's weird spideryness.

Throughout his watching and observing, Tony finally saw that the drawings, for that's what they had to be, would appear and disappear at random. Some days they would be there and other days not. As would they be large and more bold or more subtle and contained at times.

The only thing that Tony saw in connection with the drawings was Peter's fidgeting and jumpiness. Whenever those were increased more than Peter's usual energetic behaviour, Tony knew he would find drawings too.

Eventually his curiosity and slight worry became too much for the man and he had to ask about it. That time came to be during a movie night that he and Peter were having when the kid stayed for the weekend.

"Hey, Pete?" Tony's voice rang softly from where his chin was propped on top of the head resting on his shoulder.

"Hey, Mr. Stark?" Peter answered back, not moving.

Grasping Peter's hand from where it was tucked into his waist while they cuddled, Tony gently pulled it free and turned it over, careful to watch for Peter tensing or stiffening. "I noticed these appearing a while ago." Tony's thumb subconsciously brushed over the edge of a green shape curling just around the bottom of Peter's wrist and palm. "I was just curious about it."

"It's embarrassing." Peter mumbled into Tony's shirt.

Instead of pushing like his curiosity wanted him to, Tony spoke back quietly. "I'm sure it isn't but if you don't want to talk about it then it's okay, Pete. Please don't make yourself speak about something that you aren't comfortable with talking about."

Peter was silent for a while and Tony could practically feel his mind turning.

"MJ likes to draw." Peter eventually said, his voice quiet and nervous yet open in a way that Tony hadn't heard before.

"She says that it helps her feel calm and happy when something stressful is going on." Peter hesitated slightly here. "I was really… anxious at school a while ago and she told me to try drawing but all the paper I had was for my classes so I couldn't use it and I didn't wanna ask MJ Flr some of her's– uhh sorry. Rambling. So I just started drawing on my hands and stuff and the motion is really calming and soothing. Especially the feeling of the pen or marker. So, yeah." Peter finished a bit awkwardly but Tony didn't mind. He knew that Peter struggled with talking about his anxiety and other tendencies at times. Knew because he still struggled himself at times.

"I'm really glad that this is something that helps you, Bug. It's really awesome that you found a healthy way to cope with it." Tony said to him, his voice oh so gentle and full of pride.

Peter looked up at him, slight confusion swirling in his eyes. "You are? Isn't it lame? Ya know, that drawing like that is what helps?" He didn't think that Tony would be against it obviously, he just hadn't thought the man would have thought it was the best because of the way it implicated that Peter still struggled with his self destructive tendencies.

"Of course I am!" Tony smiled at him. "This is so much better and healthier than so man alternatives and I'm really proud that you found something that works for you so well. And it's not lame or anything, not at all.

Peter smiled bashfully at him and answered by ducking his head back to Tony's shoulder and cuddling into his side again. He subconsciously fidgeted with his sleeves, the cotton sliding up to show more of the colourful green vines curling around his wrist. Noticing Tony's curious but respectful glances, Peter took a deep breath before offering him his arm.

"You can look if you'd like. MJ sometimes does it for me but I did today's one." Peter said and Tony looked at him as if silently asking if he was sure. When Peter didn't move his arm away, the older man carefully tugged the sleeve higher and was met with bright yellows and greens drawn across Peter's arm.

It was a sunflower, and an exquisite one at that. It's leaves and stem curling and twisting behind and over the vibrant yellow petals.

"It's beautiful." Tony said quietly, his words drifting into the comfortable silence that had grown around them.

"Thank you." The words came equally as softly.

---

A couple weeks later, Peter was sitting at his workstation in the lab, trying to do homework. Or rather, fidgeting and twisting at it. He couldn't sit still, but he couldn't move. Couldn't calm the tingling feeling of his anxiety from where it was centred in his chest.

Tony eventually stopped what he was doing and rolled his chair next to Peter's. "You okay, kid? I can feel your anxiousness from my desk." There was concern in his eyes that cracked the part of peter that usually brushed things off, saying he was fine.

"I can't calm down. I dunno… today just hasn't been a great day. I'm sorry."

"Hey, shh. You're okay, it's fine." Tony tried to soothe him. "You do your breathing exercises? The 5 things countdown?" At Peter's nod he spoke again. "And drawing? You do that yet?"

Peter shook his head miserably. "My hands are a bit shaky. I don't like doing it while they're like that and MJ wasn't at school today."

Tony hummed to himself. "Okay. If uh, if you're comfortable with it, I can draw for you? I mean, I won't be as good as MJ or you but I'm passable. I've sketched enough graphics and designs over this to be pretty decent at it." The older man rambled slightly, sounding similar to Peter when he rambled.

The trembling yet still blinding smile he received from the teenager was more than enough to calm Tony's own slight nerves at his sudden offer.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course. I'd do anything for you." Whoops. Too much, Tony. Don't scare the kid away dammit.

Peter pretended to ignore the man's latter words, seeing the slight panic on his face after saying it. It still made Peter's heart feel happy that his dad- mentor cared for him so much.

"I have some markers in my bag, I can go get th-" Peter started saying before Tony interrupted him.

"No need, bud. I have a couple packs lying around somewhere." Yeah, cuz Tony Stark just has packs of Sharpie lying around. Sharpies that you conveniently bought the day after Peter told you about this.

In a few minutes, they had migrated up to the living room, sat together on the couch with Peter slumped against Tony's side and an arm resting on his lap.

Markers next to him, Tony nudging Peter. "What do ya want, kid? Are we feeling something Picasso or Van Gough?" He snickered at his joke.

Peter turned uncharacteristically quiet, and Tony could feel a weight in his next words. "Can you draw a sunflower?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

They fell quiet and Tony felt a subtle shift between them when he drew the first of the yellow petals. And as he drew, the flower bloomed, it's petals and leaves growing, brightening as it came to life.

Placing a cap back on the final marker a while later, Tony tilted his head and carefully studied Peter's face. The teen was marginally calmer than earlier, his tremors gone and his shoulders relaxed.

Suddenly he turned his head and looked Tony in the eyes. "The last person who drew me a sunflower was Uncle Ben." He blurted and Tony was momentarily stunned.

"He used to paint a lot, and his favourite thing to paint was sunflowers. I still remember the first time he started teaching me about art. The way he showed me how to layer the petals. It just brought it back a bit. Thank you for bringing a piece of him back to me." Peter whispered.

"Thank you for letting me." Tony whispered back. His heart bursting at what Peter had just told him, what Peter had trusted him with.

It was funny how things worked that way, how sometimes as small as a sunflower could hold such meaning.

Something changed with Peter and Tony that day, something shifted and brought them closer. A part of Peter that had felt empty ever since the night that he and May lost Ben finally felt as if it was being healed.

Peter's uncle would always have a place in his heart, would always be special to him, but another place in Peter's heart had grown. That place was Tony's.

Tony knew that Ben was, and still is, important to Peter. A part of him that was still so strong. Tony promised that he would help Peter keep that part of him alive, help it to grow and not be forgotten on the days were the flowers were deprived of sun. Benjamin Parker would be a part of Peter as long as time still passed, Tony was adamant of it.

Ben would be found in the curling of a sunflowers petals, in the twisting green of it's leaves and stem, but Tony, well, he was becoming the sun that helped it thrive.

[beerecordings]

Umm is it possible to ask for different ipliers/septic egos accidently walking in on a Jim Jim religion meeting?

hahaha okay okay a goofy piece for a funny prompt. credit to the anon who suggested that the Jim twins would think JJ stood for Jim Jim, an idea which then progressed into us all joking about the twins starting a JJ-based religion (posts about it are tagged Jim Jim Jameson lol). so here’s a slightly crack fic but still a funny and sometimes cute look at the way the Jims interact with the others. a quick piece, slightly ridiculous hahaha <3

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

“Burgers? Who wants burgers and who wants hot dogs? Cheese? Who wants cheese? You know what, Derekson, just get me a list of everybody and what they want.”

“Wilford, sir, that’s not a spatula.”

“No? Then what is it, my dear boy?”

“Looks like somebody’s Wall-E DVD, Wil.”

Chase chokes on his soda and tries not to laugh aloud, though all he ends up doing is spitting Dr. Pepper out of his nose.

“Chase!” gripes Marvin, shoving his lawn chair away. “Gross!”

“He’s out of his fucking mind,” wheezes Chase, trying to keep it down.

“They all are,” hisses back Marvin, but he’s laughing too. Chase can see it in the shine in his eyes.

“Hey, shut up, man,” laughs Bing.

“You shut up,” shoots back Marvin.

“No, you.”

“You are two to one here, Bing-a-ling,” teases Chase, grinning.

“Aw, come off it,” chuckles the robot, sitting back. “Pass me a beer, will you?”

“You can’t drink liquids, Bing.”

“I like the aesthetic!”

“Wilford!” Edward is boxing Wilford away from the grill, trying to keep him from using Eric’s glasses as his second impromptu spatula. “I am grilling, you are absolutely one hundred percent banned from anything involving fire.”

“Now, see here, Bim,” growls Wilford.

“I’m Edward, Wilford. Google, tell Wilford he’s not allowed on the grill!”

On the other side of the space between the three houses, a head with shining black hair turns only slightly, and a smooth voice sounds.

“Wilford,” calls Google. “I have yet to see the darkness. Do you think he is in pain, stuck in his room?”

Wilford’s eyes flicker, distracted, even a little unnerved. He puffs himself up after a moment, dropping Eric’s glasses into the grass as if they were never in his hand to begin with. “What, my blackbird, stuck in his bedroom? I shall carry him if I have to. And we will sit on the grass and drink this cocaine soda everyone is always raving about!”

“For the last time,” groans Edward. “There’s no cocaine in Coca-Cola anymore!”

But Wilford is already hurrying off towards the house behind the peach trees, whistling to himself as he goes.

“Thank you, Google,” calls Ippy, sighing deeply, and across the yard the android raises a hand in silent acquiescence, his attention still on Jameson’s rapid signing. Something about American tea, as far as Chase can tell. He laughs and sits back against Bing’s legs, sprawling his own boots out in front of him and finishing his soda with a quiet sigh. There’s beer for his brothers but, like the residents of these three houses, he won’t have any. He’s supposed to be happy while they’re visiting this mess of a – would you call it a family? – and he won’t let old habits get in the way. He casts his eyes quietly around the yard, almost sleepy with the comforting laziness of the little vacation. Jackie is the center of Shep and Host’s attention, telling an enthusiastic story about a burning building that turned out to be a drug front he busted back in Brighton, Henrik is exchanging a birdie back and forth with Bim as they wait for Ippy and Eric to come back for doubles, and Marvin is right here, kicking Chase’s foot for fun while Google discusses Earl Grey in a monotone behind them.

“This is weird,” says Chase.

“Yeah,” says Bing.

“But not so much in a bad way,” adds Marvin, and they exchange grins over sodas and beers, warm in the sun and the scratchy California grass.

“Okay, I got everybody’s order, right?” calls Ippy, flipping a burger. “Host, you – oh, no, here you are. The twins, where are the twins? Hey, who knows what the twins want? Where are they?”

“I saw them going down into that little, uh, door?” says Chase, pointing at a pair of wooden doors sticking out of the earth by the third house.

“Oh, yeah, an old shelter,” sighs Ippy. “They hang out down there sometimes. I should get them, maybe, uh – ”

“Aw, no sweat, doc,” says Chase, clambering to his feet. “I’ll see what they want. You focus on getting the meat just right.”

“Thanks, Brody.”

Chase tweaks Marvin’s ear teasingly as he passes and steps towards the doors across the way, setting his feet and pulling them gently open. He steps down into the concrete basement and finds that it’s actually been decorated quite nicely for an underground bomb shelter – thick rugs are layered across the floor, leaving a little patch of space in the corner for a heater, and a pair of electric camping lanterns surround the twins where they’re sitting in the middle of the shelter, working on –

“Um,” says Chase. “Is that Jamie?”

Both twins let out shrieks of surprise and the first leans hurriedly down to blow out the candle of his lantern. It is, however, still electric. He groans in despair and flops down onto the rug, hiding the papers and pictures that litter the floor in his arms.

“Intruder!” wails the second, covering his eyes with his hands. “Jim’s fortress is breached!”

Chase is too distracted to reply by the pictures of his brother, which he now sees are not just littering the floor, but also covering the walls. Some of them are hand-drawn, hurried stick figures with mustaches and black hats, while others have been printed off from the internet, showing Jamie’s smiling face in sepia brown or grey and white.

“Uhhhhhh,” says Chase. “I, uh. What is this?”

“Nothing,” promise both twins, grabbing each other for support.

“Chase! Chase!” Feet patter down the stairs, bringing wild laughter with them, and Jackie and Shep appear with Jackie’s hands wrapped around the biggest toad Chase has ever seen, struggling in his hands. “Look at this fucking toad!”

“He just snatched it right off the ground,” howls Shep, who has always found anything Jackie did to be hilariously funny.

“I thought you’d appreciate more than Henrik, who slapped me for trying to make him pet it,” giggles Jackie, shoving it into Chase’s face. “He’s perfect and he – what the hell is all this?”

Shep and Jackie go just as quiet as Chase did, staring around the walls.

“Did you marker a mustache onto your puppy?” asks Shep, pointing at the stuffed animal in one of the Jims’ arms.

“Why does your computer have a livefeed of Jamie eating a hot dog?” asks Jackie a little more dangerously.

“Okay, fine, you have caught Jim!” cries the first one. “Jim is celebrating the great Jim Jim with knick-knacks and cute pictures.”

“His name – ” Shep pauses to sigh and smack his own forehead. “Boys. We have talked about some of these obsessions. The last thing you ‘celebrated’ was that three toed-sloth you saw on Planet Earth.”

“She was perfect!” howl both twins in sync. “Perfect, she was perfect! She just wanted a mate, Silver Jim, she just wanted a husband! She could swim, Silver Jim! She was a sloth with three toes!”

“Are they going to like, uh. Hurt and/or kidnap Jameson?” asks Jackie, touching Shep’s arm.

“What, the twins? No. They’re harmless. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, not on purpose. They once tied a string around one and then it died because they didn’t know how to feed it and they cried until Eric brought them popsicles, but that’s just the twins.”

Jackie steps politely over the babbling twins and carefully turns off the livefeed of Jamie.

“Jim likes JimJim!”

“Why is he leaving tomorrow?”

“Freedom of worship, Silver Jim! America!”

“Okay, okay,” cries Silver, waving his hands to quiet them. “Sh, boys, it’s okay, hey. Don’t fuss. Look, Jackie found a toad!”

The twins sniffle and turn their attention to the toad, instantly excited again.

“Oh! Like in Frog and Toad!”

“Like in Rango!”

“Like in the Princess and the Frog! But a toad! Can Jim have it, Mr. not-quite Jim Jim, please?”

Jackie shrugs and hands them the toad. “What are you going to call it?”

“Jameson!” cry both twins at once, happily petting the toad’s head as it croaks.

Jackie, Chase, and Shep exchange glances.

“Well, we’re heading out tomorrow,” says Chase.

“And I’m driving back to my apartment in the city,” adds Shep.

“Pretend we never saw this?” Jackie suggests.

“Yep,” answer Shep and Chase together, and the three of them turn and head right back up the stairs, passing a confused Ippy with two plates of hot dogs, who gives them one odd look and then continues down.

“Boys!” he hollers a moment later, and Chase, Jackie, and Silver all burst into laughter and hurry away, sitting down around Jameson, who wants to know what exactly is so funny?

“Nothing,” they all promise, ignoring Google’s eyeroll and Jamie’s indulgent smile. “Just another obsession of the Jims, haha.”

“Well, they go through three of those a week,” sighs Google. “Don’t get too excited. Whatever it is, they’ll be over it in a couple days.”

Perhaps that is usually true.

But not this time.

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

“Okay,” says Ippy, surveying the room besides the kitchen, blinking slowly. “This has officially gone too far.”

Host laughs rich and low, covering his mouth and leaning against the doorway, apparently endlessly amused by this newest interest of the cameramen’s. Eric giggles weakly, glancing around, but there’s a light of alarm in his eyes too, and it only makes Host laugh harder when he senses it, halfway collapsing against the doorway.

“Why is typewriter Jim laughing?” complains the second Jim, pasting another picture in a scrapbook labeled ‘the greatness of JimJim.’

“Is this a fucking cult?” asks Host. “I’ve seen worse but this one is certainly the cutest.”

“Jim is not cute!” protests the second Jim, while the first asks, “Oh, Jim, would you like to join Jim?”

“No, honey,” laughs Host, striding away. “I leave more patient men than I to deal with this.”

“Host,” grumbles Ippy, before sighing and turning his attention back to the Jims. “Boys, this isn’t a cult, right?”

“What’s a cult?” asks the second.

“Jim thinks the word doctor Jim is looking for is religion,” pipes up the first helpfully.

Edward turns around so he can swear without them hearing. Eric laughs again, relaxing the more he looks around and stepping over to sit down with the twins.

“Come on, Ippy. They’re just having fun.”

“Worshipping Jameson is not an appropriate way to have fun,” protests Edward.

“They’re scrap-booking.” Eric holds up the little book, which is, admittedly, rather well-made for a Jim project.

“And making a documentary!” exclaims Jim, holding his computer out to Eric, where iMovie is open to several very shaky shots of Jameson sitting on the couch or talking with the others or, on one screen, cooking omelets and turning occasionally to smile at the eagerly narrating twins.

“And making a documentary,” repeats Eric fondly, ruffling his hair. “It’s just arts and crafts.”

“There’s a poster of Jameson made out of sticky notes on the wall!”

“And look how good they did at putting the notes together!”

“Thank you, sweater Jim,” say both the twins politely, smiling.

“Eric, it’s creepy. They don’t need to learn to be obsessing over other people.”

“You let them stalk Mark for two months.”

“Oh, yeah, cause that was hilarious,” laughs Ippy, throwing his head back. “He was so confused. Fuck Mark!”

“Fuck Mark,” repeat the twins eagerly.

“No! Don’t swear, guys, I know you’ll start doing it at work if I let you do it at home,” sighs Ippy.

“Jim would never swear in front of the petting zoo animals!” cries the first Jim.

“And Jim would never swear while helping with the news!” adds the second, indignant.

“See how responsible they are! Ip, let them be. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get too creepy. Like, uh. The hairs in this scrapbook aren’t actually Jameson’s, are they?”

“Yes, from Jim Jim’s mustache,” answer both twins, beaming.

“Well, why don’t you let me have that,” suggests Eric, carefully unstapling the plastic bag with a few stray dark hairs at the bottom.

“You two will be the death of me,” says Ippy, shaking his head.

But they do look damn sweet when they’re smiling that big.

“Okay, but no filming Jameson when he’s not looking anymore.”

“Okay, doctor Jim,” promise the twins.

“Jim will do it when Jim Jim and doctor Jim are both not looking,” whispers the second.

“They’ll never suspect it,” agrees the first in a hush. Eric laughs, tidying their scrapbook materials a little.

“You could even learn BSL like Jamie, maybe,” he suggests.

The twins light up like fireworks.

“BSL!” repeats the first one, clapping his hands together.

“JIM CAN SPEAK AS THE GREAT JIM SPEAKS,” screams the second at the top of his lungs, and this is enough to startle Bing, who was about to ride his skateboard down the stairs. He yelps in alarm as his board slips beneath him, and a moment later he comes crashing hard down the stairs and lands in a heap of sparking parts at Ippy’s feet.

“The death of me!” repeats the doctor furiously, waving his finger around accusingly. “All of you! This whole house! This whole clearing! I’ll die at thirty-four! You’ll have to bury me! Have fun with my funeral expenses, you complete bastards.”

“Bastards!” repeat the twins.

“Look bastards up in BSL!”

“Look Jim up in BSL!”

“Look everything up in BSL!”

Ippy has the distinct feeling he’s being made fun of, just a little, but even Bing is laughing, and all he can do is try not to smile as he heads back out the door.

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

“Can’t you move a body a little more quietly?”

Wilford hauls the heavy tarp across the pathway and grunts, flicking a little blood off his fingers. “Well, you could help!”

“Why would I do that when I have you to do it for me?” purrs back Dark, following him down the pathway towards the car.

“You just like to feel like you’re manipulating something,” scolds Wilford, pausing just to boop Dark’s nose. In protest, Dark vanishes back into the void and leaves Wilford with nothing but a sulking shadow drifting around his feet.

“And now you’re a smoke kitty,” coos Wilford, dragging the body farther down the path.

“Just hurry,” says Dark, re-appearing in a masculine form this time. “You know I prefer for the twins to stay sheltered and I don’t want them catching us again.”

“Catching what?” asks Jim, standing in the trees with his camera.

Wilford swears colorfully and Dark dissipates back into shadow on instinct, spitting out curses of his own.

“Now, see here, Iplier,” says Wilford. “It’s quite rude to be sneaking up on a fellow.”

“That’s Jim, Wil.”

“Oh. What in the name of Burt Reynolds are you two doing out here so late at night?”

“Oh! We’re filming for a documentary for Jim Jim.”

“They mean Jameson,” Dark tells Wil.

“Who’s Jameson?” whispers Wilford.

Dark sighs very deeply.

“He is the great Jim!” cries the second Jim, rising from the bushes like a Peanuts character on Halloween.

“The great Jim,” repeats the first Jim solemnly.

“He’s that little old-fashioned…” Dark waves his hand, trying to find the right word. “Jackson. You’ve met him.”

“Oh, I know who you mean. The British chap with the truly excellent mustache. But he’s not even out here, what are you filming?”

“Well, he is not here. But Jim has heard is very fond of hedgehogs. So Jim is trying to find some!”

“Are there hedgehogs in America?” whispers Wilford.

“Fuck if I know,” answers Dark irritably.

“Would you like to join Jim in the search for hedgehogs and ultimately the eternal worship of the great Jim Jim?”

“Don’t look so hopeful, you little miscreant, you know I avoid engaging with you at all costs,” growls Dark, but the twins just giggle.

“They used to be afraid of you,” teases Wilford.

“Shut up,” snipes Dark. “I could make them afraid in about two seconds.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“But you won’t.”

“The real question,” interrupts one of them – Dark can’t tell them apart. “Is what are Dark and pink Jim doing out in the forest late at night? Jim is a very good reporter, you know. Jim uncovers mysteriousnesses.”

“I think you mean mysteries,” says Dark. “And we’re, uh.”

Wil and Dark glance at the body in between them.

“Returning a lamp to the store,” finishes Wil.

Dark closes his eyes. His exasperation has set in so deep he can feel it in his broken spine. He’s going to kill Wilford. But then again, he thinks that about three times a day and never seems to make good on his threat.

“A lamp,” says Jim.

“A lamp,” repeats his brother.

They stare down at the wrapped corpse.

“That checks out,” says the first.

“Jim is an investigative journalist so Jim can tell,” agrees the second.

“Just get out of my sight,” snaps Dark, advancing on them with shadow cloaking his set shoulders, and the twins shriek in equal parts fear and excitement and go darting back into the underbrush.

“You’re it, Mr. Dark!”

“Run, Jim! Run!”

Dark crosses his arms over his chest and turns to glare at Wilford.

“I could scare them if I wanted to.”

Wilford just smiles and picks up the body again, pausing only to give Dark a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I know you could, little ghost. Hey, should we be worried they appear to be worshipping Jacksepticeye?”

“Should I be concerned you told me you worshipped the Pillsbury dough boy while you were drunk last week?”

“Oh, no, the body is slipping! Let me just – ” He picks it up and slings it over his shoulder, sprinting towards the car and away from any further questions. Dark rolls his eyes and drifts back into the shadows, following peaceably after him.

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

Google blinks awake to a pair of eyes staring back at him.

Check that. Two pairs of eyes.

“Boys,” he says levelly. “I’m charging. This had better be an emergency.”

Jim and Jim exchange looks.

Carefully, they push a crumpled pamphlet with Jameson’s face drawn on it in crayon beneath his nose.

“Join our religion?”

Google gets out of bed in one swooping motion, drags them both out of the house, and, ignoring the shrill cries of “why, cruel computer Jim?” and “persecution! Persecution! Persecution!” dumps them both bodily into the lake.

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

Everybody gets to hear about it at one point or another. The Jims’ amicability for JJ, taken a little too far, is occasionally annoying, but nevertheless remains largely harmless. In the name of the great JJ, they pick up more than one of his hobbies – taking care of injured animals, painting with watercolors, dressing in black and white – and develop rudimentary BSL that actually turns out to be really helpful on the days when the twins are distressed and won’t talk out loud. Most of them learn to tolerate it with amusement, though Host never stops thinking it’s one of the funniest things they’ve ever done and Google makes sure they learn the consequences of being too irritating. Bing and Eric bring them craft supplies and trinkets from the store that remind them of JJ, while Ippy entices them to eat their vegetables and sit still through examinations with made-up stories about how tough and healthy Jameson is. On Christmas Eve, as a reward for being good all year, Ippy asks Jameson to Skype with them for a little while, and he’d never seen the twins so excited and yet so well-mannered at the same time, even managing to use first-person pronouns for themselves once or twice, eager to impress JJ.

“Good signing,” he congratulates them, looking soft and snuggly in the Christmas Eve pajamas he and his brothers all exchanged for the night.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” sign the twins eagerly, and Ippy chuckles, blowing on their hot chocolate to cool it before he brings it to them.

“You must have been dedicated,” says Jameson, and when they don’t understand, he substitutes the word “good.”

“Good!” chirps Jim, clapping his hands together. “Good! We have! We have!”

“You will tell Santa to bring us gifts, then?” asks his brother eagerly. Ippy smiles and takes a sip of the chocolate, checking the temperature carefully.

JJ laughs. “How will I tell him? Did you write letters?”

“Yes, we did. But I bet he will believe it if Jim Jim puts in a good word for us!”

“That’s sweet,” chuckles JJ, keeping his hands slow. “But I think he will listen to you too! I’m just little old me.”

“Yeah,” says Jim cheerfully. “God.”

Ippy spits the hot chocolate out and races over to slam shut the computer before he can see Jameson’s reaction.

“Boys!” he hollers. “Too far!”

Iplier hears a thud as, up the stairs and narrating this story to himself, Host laughs so hard he tumbles right out of his bed.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter Twelve (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 3k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The second that you stepped foot off of the hovercraft, all you heard was the distant sound of gunfire. The peacekeeper gave you a bitter reminder of your due date, and then kicked you off the ramp almost instantly after. You waited a moment to make sure that the hovercraft was long gone, and then you went straight for the noise.

You know that they would want you to head straight to your house, which is the exact reason why you chose not to. They probably have something there waiting for you. A note, a bunch of roses, your house being trashed, bloodstains--maybe it’s been set on fire! It doesn’t matter to you all that much.

You’d much rather know what’s going on in the heart of the district, than take a shower and get a change of clothes. Plus, you only have two weeks until your evaluation by Snow, which means you have to act fast. And this is all under the assumption that there won’t be people checking up on you every couple of days.

You came up with a plan on the way here, as any sane person would. The basis of the plan being; you’re not going to follow Snow’s directions in the slightest. You’re not going to calm the people down, you’re going to add fuel to the fire. 

Snow threatening to kill Tanith is the last fucking straw. Him threatening to strap you to a chair and torture you like Peeta and Johanna is one thing, but bringing Tanith into this, when she has nothing to do with it, is a whole ‘nother ring of hell. If he thought for one fucking second that he’d get away with a statement like that, he’s wrong.

You’re not going to fuck up your life twice, especially not because of what Snow says or does. 

You weigh the necklace in your hand for a second, staring down at it. Then, you unclasp it, and bring it around your neck. Once it’s not tangled in your hair, you let it rest against your chest.

The entire district seems to be barren--at least that’s what you’ve seen on the way. All houses have their doors shut, but windows are broken and porches are in splinters. The shops are basically the same way, though it’s much worse. Some are burnt down, others are void of all things that were once inside. 

It looks like a tornado blew through here, and had no mercy. Everything that could have been ruined, is. It’ll cost thousands of dollars to fix the damage done on these places. Buying a whole new house or store would be much easier than to restore what it looked like before.

“Approaching civilian!” Someone yells above you.

Covering your eyes, you look up to see where they are, since this is the first person you’ve come across the entire walk. The second that your eyes adjust, you’re met with a gun pointed at your face.

“Point that away from me!” you snap.

“Who are you, and how did you get back here?” a different voice asks closer to you.

Lowering your hand and whipping your head to where it came from, the situation isn’t much better. There’s a man with an automatic rifle pointed at your chest, finger near the trigger as if he doesn’t know if he should pull it or not. Not to mention all the people behind him hovering, and having the same intentions as him.

You should pick your words carefully.

“My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, victor of the sixty sixth hunger games, tribute of the Quarter Quell.” What a hell of an introduction, “And I walked.”

He lowers the gun a bit, “You’re alive?”

Your first reaction is to scoff, “It’ll take a lot more than the Capitol to kill me, am I supposed to be dead?”

“That’s what we were told.”

“Hell of a shock, then.” you resume walking, “Who’s in charge of District Two’s rebellion? Like, who’s organizing the attacks against the loyalists?”

“Lyme.” A girl answers, “She’s also a victor.”

Lyme… well, you definitely recognize the name, and you can hardly remember what she looks like. Tall, likes to exercise, short blonde hair. She’s always been more modest and rebellious, it doesn’t surprise you that much. She’s older than you, almost twice your age.

“Take me to her.” you tell them.

“You’ve got it.” the boy says.

It’s a long walk, as you’re told. The only good news he had to offer was that you wouldn’t have to fight your way through gunfire to get to the Capitol building--where she’s at. They’ve pushed back most of the loyalists into the train tunnels that run through the mountains. Everyday they gain new ground, but they don’t really dare to go inside of the tunnels. It’s the loyalists’ territory.

“So, where have you been?”

“The Capitol.” you say, following the boy around the corner, “Unconscious and recovering from venom. I’m not easy to get rid of.”

“How’d you get here?” 

“Snow organized a personal hovercraft to drop me in the abandoned part of District Two, near Victor’s Village. You should probably get some people watching over there in case it happens again, so the peacekeepers won’t be able to sneak up on you as easily.” 

They don’t say anything else after that, even though you mentioned Snow pretty boldly. Of all things they could have asked you about, they ignored the one that would give them the most answers on why you’re here and wanting to see Lyme first.

“I’m going to check to make sure that it’s clear.” the girl says, the rest of you wait for minutes on end, and none of them seem antsy about it.

When she does show up, she tells you that you’re clear to head up, but they’ve got to go back to parolling. She says that you should mention the abandoned thing to Lyme, since she’s more likely to listen to you, and then they walk away.

You take the easiest path you could possibly take to approach the Justice Building. It’s also the one that will put you in the open, allowing the people standing out front to get a good look at you. If you snuck up through the shadows, they’d likely be more distrusting.

You hold your hands up even before you’re out from around the corner. They turn their guns on you quickly, but you don’t stop walking, “I’m here to speak to Lyme.”

“Stop--!”

“I don’t have any weapons on me, put your guns down before you shoot me by accident.” you head up the stairs, “My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, and I’m here to talk to Lyme. I don’t have much time, so let’s leave the formalities for another time.”

“We should go get her--” 

The second you turn to look at him, he stiffens, “Open the fucking door and bring me to her, or you’re going to be added to the graveyard.”

His eyes slowly drag to your arm, which is very clearly presented thanks to the short-sleeved shirt.

No words come from him as he opens the door and heads inside. You follow behind him, and from how new your shoes are, they sound like heels against the tile floor. You’re surprised that they aren’t squeaking as if you’ve just come in with water on the bottom of them. You guess that you should be grateful instead.

The guy brings you up the staircase, “You don’t have any weapons on you?”

You have a hundred snarky things that you’re willing to say to him, but you settle for the simple, “No.”

He brings you around a corner, and knocks on a door a couple times. He makes you wait out of sight while he opens the door, “You’ve got a guest.”

“We’re busy--”

“She insists.” he says, and then he allows you to come over.

You don’t wait in the doorway, you head straight inside, “Scram, runt.” 

He tries to stand his ground, but the second you force the door to shut, he removes his fingers. After that, you go up to the table to see who’s standing there.

Lyme, as you expected. But there’s a strangely familiar face standing near her, finger still pointing out a place on the map. When she realizes that you see the place she’s pointing at, she retracts her finger into a fist.

“Who are you?” she asks.

You laugh, crossing your arms as you get closer to the map. There’s a bunch of lines drawn in pink marker, and considering the amount of space left behind the line, you’re guessing that’s the rebel’s side. As for the loyalists, they’re marked in red, like they’re the bad guys.

You place your hand on the free space, “Just letting you know, since this entire place is abandoned, the Capitol can sneak right in.” you look up, they’re puzzled, “The Capitol had enough room to drop me off and leave without anyone noticing--I walked for miles until I finally came upon one of your scouting groups. If you’re not careful, they can drop peacekeepers off behind you guys, and you might as well be extinct after that.”

“You’re from the Capitol?” Lyme asks, one of the guys by the window reaches for something in their belt, you can take a solid guess on what it is, even without the sight of it.

“I’m a little disappointed that you don’t recognize me, but I can point you two out even if your guys’ hunger games were ten to twenty years before mine.” you remove your hand from the map now, “As I’ve introduced myself a hundred times now, (Y/n) Rosecelli, District Two’s tribute for the Quell.”

Lyme’s face lights up, “I thought I knew you. You were in the Capitol?”

“Snow took Peeta, Johanna and I out of the arena. While he was ordering people to torture Johanna and Peeta, he put me in a ‘medically induced coma’.” you use the quotation marks, “Because of the spider venom in the arena. Today is my first day back to life, and I’ve experienced more than my fair share of shit today.”

“Welcome back.” Paylor says.

Paylor is a victor from District Eight, like six years or so before your games. She’s young, and really fucking pretty. You’re just a little dumbfounded on why she’s here in District Two, rather than ordering around her own district.

“Thanks.”

Lyme shifts on her feet, “You don’t look too bad.”

“I’ve got scars all over my body, they’re just not visible above the waist.” you shake your head, “And the only reason why I’m even in good condition, is because Snow wants me to calm down the rebels.”

“But you’re not going to.” There’s an edge to Paylor’s voice.

“No, I’m not. Instead, I want a ride to District Thirteen. That’s where Katniss and Finnick are, right?”

Lyme nods, but her face is scrunched up, “I can’t send a hovercraft there because I don’t have any. You’ll have to wait until Coin sends one here with supplies.”

“Coin?” 

“President Alma Coin.” Paylor answers, “She’s the leader of District Thirteen.”

Great, another dictatorship.

“Alright, when’s the next supply drop?” you shift on your feet.

Paylor and Lyme share a look, clearly thinking.

“We got one a week ago?” Lyme asks.

“Not even that, a few days ago,” Paylor shakes her head when she looks back at you, “You’ll have to wait at least a week, maybe more.”

You laugh, but nothing about this is funny, “You do know the state of Peeta and Johanna?”

“We know about Peeta, he’s been televised a few times.” A guy says.

“Alright, well take the last time that he was on air, and worsen that by ten. They’re fucking torturing them, you realize that? Johanna had her head shaved and she was drenched in water, like they were waterboarding her.” you lean forward, “We need to get them out.”

“We don’t have an opening for that, much less know where they’re keeping them--”

“The training center.” you say, “And I know how to get to them, I was a door away from them, Peeta and Johanna saw me.”

“That’s the heart of the Capitol.” Paylor says, “Even if we did get the volunteers to do it, we wouldn’t be able to go.”

You raise your eyebrows, “You’re telling me that Beetee hasn’t tried to hack into the security already? Didn’t he work on it for them? He would know some secret window at least.”

They share another look, and Lyme tilts her head, “She has a point.”

“And then what? You think anyone would actually want to go in?” Paylor asks, “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Listen to me,” you lean forward on the table now, they look at you, “I have two weeks--maybe not even that. If Snow finds out that I was lying or keeping information from him, he’s going to come for me and I’ll end up like Peeta, Johanna and Tanith. And if I don’t help the loyalists, he’s going to kill Tanith.

“I am working on a strict time frame, and you guys bickering about this, isn’t helping. Contact Alma Coin or whatever, at least present the idea, and if she likes it and asks for volunteers, you put me at the top of that fucking list. I will lead as many volunteers as she wants to the others. The only thing I ask in return is a free ride to District Thirteen.

“If Tanith is out of his hands, and I’m in thirteen, Snow can’t do anything to me.” you raise your eyebrows, “He won’t be able to use anyone as leverage anymore, and you’ve gained another foot in the rebellion. But all that can’t happen without you at least suggesting the idea to your supreme leader first.”

Lyme rubs her forehead for a moment, before saying; “Get Coin on a call.”

“Want to sit?” someone asks, pulling out a stool.

“Thanks.” you sit, crossing your legs.

You watch as they set up the entire call and as it pends. You spend most of the time fiddling with the hemming on the bottom of the shirt, ripping the stitching out, and then pulling on the string.

Paylor goes back to what she was saying with the map and all before you came inside. She writes down that she needs to add people to scout behind her lines, and then plans the ways that they can get into the tunnel. You want to chime in some way, but you keep out of it.

You can help as soon as Tanith is safe. You need to get Tanith out of the Capitol first, because if you’re even taped being around Lyme and Paylor with no argument going on or anything, you’re going to be fucked. Snow doesn’t have any morals, as much as he hates to admit it. He’s heartless.

“The call’s gone through.” the one by the computer says, “Plutarch’s answered.”

He projects it onto the large blank wall in front of you, but Paylor has to turn around to see him.

“Plutarch… Heavensbee? The gamemaker?” you ask, “Why?”

“He’s the one that helped organize getting them out.” Lyme tells you.

Plutarch has a smile on his face, “(Y/n), it’s nice to see you healthy.”

“You got Katniss, Finnick and Beetee out of the arena?” you ask.

Plutarch nods, “With the help of Haymitch, yes.”

“Fuck you.” you spit, “You fucking left me there! I was right there--you could have gotten me and you let me be taken by the Capitol! You’re the reason why the Capitol has had me for the past couple of weeks, you asshole--”

“Calm.” Lyme comes over, placing her hand on your shoulder, “You can yell at him later, keep on track.”

“Whatever.” you shrug her hand off, crossing your arms.

Paylor picks up where you didn’t start, “She’s been in the training center with the other tributes. She knows how to get to them, and we’d like to try and revisit the idea of a rescue mission with the tributes.”

His face says no, but his words say otherwise; “I wish it was my decision, but Coin has already decided that now isn’t the time. Especially not after we were just attacked by the Capitol.”

“When?” Lyme asks.

“A couple hours ago, we haven’t gone to the surface just yet to make sure that it’s over.”

Your mouth drops open a little bit, “I was on that hovercraft.”

Paylor nearly breaks her neck from how fast her head whips in your direction, “You were?”

“Yeah--I thought it was odd that the space was filled with… bombs. I was expecting them to attack two almost immediately after I hit the city, but they just flew off, away from the direction of the Capitol.” You shake your head, “Before you ask; no, I didn’t hear anything while I was in there.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Paylor sighs, “Where’s Coin?”

“Making sure the systems are still running, I sent someone to get her, so she should be here soon.”

“Good.” you slide off of the stool, “Because when she gets there, you’re going to do everything you can to convince her to consider the idea.”

Plutarch raises his eyebrows.

“She means--” Lyme tries.

“I mean what I said.” you lean against the table, staring at Plutarch’s face, “If you were just attacked, they’re going to be expecting some sort of retaliation. So, you attack their defense systems using Beetee’s knowledge. You get them down long enough, and that’s when the hovercraft slips through. Beetee stops, and then when the hovercraft is heading back, he starts again, or whatever.”

“That’s not exactly how things work…” someone in the corner mumbles.

“Well, they need to make it work.” you stand again, “Because I will be getting them all out of the training center. Even if I’m the only volunteer, I’ll do it.”

Plutarch laughs, “Not hellbent on killing them anymore?”

“They’re strapped to chairs being tortured like animals. Even I know when enough is enough.” you back off after that, “If I come back in here in an hour, and her answer is no, you better start fucking praying, because I am much worse than the Capitol.”

[joontier]

“One-Love”| CH. 3 - Wealth in Volumes

–> Summary: Love translates to zero in the tennis scoring system – the only thing keeping the scoreless player on the court is his love for the game.

–> Pairings: jung hoseok x female reader; kim seokjin x female reader

–> Rating: NC17

–> Genre/warnings:  FLUFF ASDFASJLDKF; a day in the life of a rich ass family basically; your cliché teenage crush feels; swearing; y/n forgetting her own period sksksk; Hobi being a slight perv; suggestive language; 

–> Words: 6.7k

–> A/N: good lord this hasnt been proofread bUT MY IMPATIENT ASS COULDNT WAIT; dunno how i managed to poop out 6.7k but here ya go i guess

“One-Love” Masterlist

Chapter 3: Wealth in Volumes

A sigh escapes your lips when there’s nearly no space left from the condensation that has formed on the container lid from all the patterns you’ve drawn for the past few minutes. Hoseok has never been this late before and neither did he miss a day at school. First period is starting soon and you’re starting to worry if something came up.

Hoseok arrives exactly two minutes before first period. The boy looks disheveled with unkempt hair and the top button of his uniform left open to complete the look. Hiro Yamada lets out a loud whistle the moment Hoseok steps in class. “Damn Hobi, never knew you were the kind to take quickies this early in the morning!” The boys snicker at Hiro’s comment while the girls vocally express their disgust towards the crudeness of it all.

“Seems like a tempting idea, whatcha think, _______?” Nadia whispers from behind, chortling louder when you miss at your attempt to smother her with your book. Hoseok seems disinterested by Hiro’s remark, but his lips curve into a small smile as he replies, “Jealous?” as Jimin and the others lose it at Hoseok’s response.

The daily classroom chaos continues, only ceasing when Ms. Chamber enters the room and greets the class a good morning. She’s a substitute teacher that will temporarily take over your Business & Management subject while your actual teacher, Mr. Santiago, is on his sick leave. It’s eerily quiet when she steps in, but your class is usually like this with relatively new teachers.

“Mock research paper.”

Three words is all it takes before a collective groan erupts from the class, complaints and protests, easily drowning out Ms. Chamber’s gentle voice. She taps a whiteboard marker against her desk. “Hey! I know, I know…” she sighs, resting against the table. “Try to think of it this way, you’d have additional reference for your papers next year, plus you have three months to accomplish this.”

The rest of the class continues to groan in objection. “On the bright side, I’ll let you work with partners. Go and take your pick.” Exhales of relief are heard throughout the room. Turning around to face Nadia, you wriggle your eyebrows suggestively. No spoken words are needed to express your intentions of choosing her as partner. She declines though, much to your surprise. You raise an eyebrow when Nadia nods her head toward Hoseok who’s sitting quietly beside you. Then she points to the Tupperware on your lap. You sigh. “Besides, I’m sick of your useless ass! I’m not flanking this subject because of you.” “Hey!” you cry indignantly at the accusation. She shrugs you off, giving you a double thumbs up before standing from her seat to approach someone else.

‘It’s now or never’, you think, contemplating on how to approach your seatmate. Without much thought put into planning, you place the container on his desk. He looks at you with wide eyes then onto the Tupperware in front of him. “Be my partner?” His eyes turn into small crescent moons at your proposal. Before he tries to look at what’s inside the container, your hand stops him.

“But before anything else, I didn’t get to say thank you for yesterday…”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah, for your cheering and all… I don’t think I would’ve survived the game if it weren’t for your support. It really helped me. A lot.”

“______. Listen to me. You survived and won because you’re you, okay? You are a smart player. And besides, like I said, if it were easy, I would’ve done it instead.” He snorts, those tiny dimples above his mouth peeking out to say hi.

“Now what do we have here?” he asks, trying to look through the condensation on the lid. “It’s bibimbap. I’ve heard once that it was your favorite. So I made it for you this morning… It’s probably gone cold now and I know you don’t like eating food that’s gone cold so I can just take this back if…” your hands are slowly creeping up the container, and this time it’s he who stops you.

“______ it’s fine. You really didn’t have to but I truly appreciate this. Thanks.”

;

“Wow.”

No other word comes out of your mouth but the monosyllabic expression. You probably should’ve been used to it at this point, after staying long enough at Thames. The subtle normality of everything for them that is extreme to you is something that will most likely take some time to get used to. The expensive cars, the more extravagant hobbies…hell, the tuition fee alone was enough to make your knees turn to jelly.

You and Hoseok both agreed to start the paper as early as possible so here you were on a Saturday morning, trying to figure out the maze that is Hoseok’s residential village. To your luck, Hoseok suggested that you come over to his house to talk over your assignment, else he would’ve lost himself in the mess at your home.  

“Which street was it again? Your father asks, diverting your attention from the mansions lined up along the street. “Uh, it was Harrison I think…” you recall, grabbing your phone to check the address. “I’ve been here a few times before for Hobi’s training but the clubhouse was just a block away from the village’s entrance. Now, I’m not even sure if we’re still in the same country.” Your lips press into a firm line at your father’s lame attempt at a joke, but you also had a hunch that you had driven yourselves out of the village, or worse – straight to another one.

Your father rolls down his window to see the street signs clearer, also on the lookout for potential help. Driving over to the side, your dad puts the blinkers on as he tries to assess the directions that Hoseok had previously given you. “I’m pretty sure we followed it,” he mumbles, taking another glance outside the car’s window.

Before you offer to try calling Hoseok, a van behind you honks and stops beside your car. When they roll their window down, you instantly recognize the pair, Tita and Adit who both work for Hoseok’s family. “Sir Hoseok told us you were nearby. We figured we might see you on our way home.” Tita says, waving at you while Adit tells your dad to tail them.

A street and a relieved sigh from your father later, your dad finally drops you off in front of the house and a black steel gate slides open at your arrival, revealing a contemporary wonder of a mansion. “Remember to always be on your best behavior. I’m sure the Jungs are nice and all, but don’t take advantage of it. Please don’t touch anything, god knows what sort of eccentric antique they might’ve spent their money on. And no funny business!” He repeats your mother’s endless reminders that by the time he finishes, you’re already standing outside the car, fingers tapping against the car door impatiently. “Yes dad, I knowww-“ His eyes squint at you, “Fine, but don’t come home crying when you’ve accidentally broken something worth more than our lives combined. You’re selling your own kidneys, kid.”

With a curt wave, he rolls the window back up and drives away. Tita waits by the gate to walk you to the front door. Suspicions confirmed, this house spoke wealth in volumes. She chuckles at you as you take your time with every step, pebbles crunching underneath your weight while your eyes marvel the alluring abode. Waiting for you by the threshold, she beckons you over with a wave. “Sir Hobi has been waiting for you all morning.”

You quicken your steps, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She must’ve thought it strange to have you gawking all over the place. You’ve gone to Nadia’s place a few times, but there really wasn’t anything to compare since she lived at an apartment, albeit a luxurious one, it was still different having an actual house and property. Considerably, foreigners didn’t exactly have rights to own residential property in the country which is why it came as a surprise to you that Hoseok lives in this elite village, more so when you realize he resides in an actual estate.

The mansion is beautiful beyond description. With the interior looking like an actualization of a designer’s 3D floor plan, your eyes take a good sweeping look at the place while Tita asks you to take a seat as she calls for Hoseok. You wonder how lovely it is to come home to this every day. It’s spacious enough to practice a floor exercise yet somehow it feels homey with the serenity that comes with the place, despite being situated at the heart of the city. You notice a perfectly mowed courtyard outside the glass walls and the glistening water of the swimming pool at the far edge.

A lady carrying a glass of water and something else wrapped in a plastic bag. Placing the glass on the table, she kneels to where your feet are rested and unwraps the bag. She pulls out a pair of disposable slippers, slips them on your feet and takes your shoes away before you could get a word out.

“_______!” Hoseok calls from above before scurrying down, his own slippers flicking against the staircase noisily. His arms reach out for a hug but pulls them back just as fast, realizing it would’ve been too awkward this early in your friendship (that he secretly hopes will blossom into something more). You don’t put much thought into it, waving at him in greeting instead. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” You give him a nod in reply.

“Oh…you should eat breakfast again then!” You decline his offer, assuring him that you just had a heavy breakfast. Okay, you may or may not have grabbed a single sandwich off someone else’s plate on your way out, after spending too much time trying to look presentable. Hoseok won’t have any of your protests, so he drags you to the kitchen by the hand, “Hobi!” There’s a slight chill that runs through you when his skin touches yours, his slender fingers enveloping your short ones.

Hoseok leads you to the dining room where there’s enough food prepared for a family of ten. He checks each container then back at you, inspecting your features like he’s morphed into Gordon Ramsay. Hoseok is still holding your hand by the time he brings you to the kitchen and quite frankly you don’t want him to stop.

Another lady in the identical scrub suit greets him as you both enter, her lips forming a small smile when she sees your hands together. Her eyes meet yours when she asks Hoseok if he needed anything. “Just wanted to see what ______ wanted to eat.” Your head shakes to say ‘no’ but Hoseok sees this as the complete opposite. “She’s just shy.” You send her an apologetic smile when he drags you once more around the marble countertop to face a four-door fridge that towers the both of you easily.

This damn thing is a whole supermarket! The stored food could make up the whole color wheel. He points out five different cheeses, fruits cut into bits and stowed away in containers, multiple bottles of water, milk, and juice. Hoseok even lets you inside their pantry, where stacks of food and beverages make up at least seven full shelves inside. To Hoseok it seems like he’s just offering you food, but to you it feels like he’s taking you to the grocery.

The curious voice at the back of your head is telling you to give in to the temptation but your mother’s voice appears out of nowhere, her voice ringing in your ears – “They’re nice, but don’t abuse their generosity.” Your stomach grumbles, voicing its opinion so you settle on a compromise. “Um, there already seems to be plenty of food at the table and unless they’re for someone else…” “Are you sure? Mom felt homesick so she cooked all of those this morning. Although I doubt you’re familiar with Korean food – they can be a bit spicy. I know you don’t like spicy food.”

Your heart warms at the thought of him remembering the little things but then you recall how his mother made all those just because she felt homesick – your mom won’t even cook two dishes for dinner and Mrs. Jung is out here cooking a whole feast for no one in particular just because she wants to lift her spirits. “I don’t like spicy food but it doesn’t mean I can’t handle it,” you start “and I’m sure you mom’s cooking is lovely.”

“Breakfast it is then.”

You agree on Mrs. Jung’s specialty – her kimchi fried rice while Hoseok asks the lady for bibimbap. She nods curtly, returning to the kitchen to reheat the food. When the lady serves Hoseok the steaming bowl of his favorite dish, Hoseok consequently whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell them, but I like yours better.” He follows that with a roguish wink. You blink owlishly in return, unsure whether your cheeks are burning because of the steam from the bowl in front of you or because of Hoseok’s comment.

The lady serves Hoseok a steaming bowl of bibimbap, to which Hoseok consequently whispers in your ear, “Don’t worry I like yours better.”

;

Hoseok tiredly rubs at his eyes, deeming he’s done enough schoolwork for the day, taking a turn on his swivel chair. When you check the time displayed on the upper right corner of your laptop, it’s been three hours since breakfast with Hoseok. And, surprisingly, the amount of schoolwork you’ve done is twice as much as you achieve when you’re partnered with Nadia. You’ll have to rub this in her face on Monday.

Hoseok’s habits had prevailed over your cramming and you’re glad that time had passed in productivity. Then again, you had been too shy to open up about other topics when he’s right beside you, typing away furiously the whole time. When you take a glance on his screen, it seems like he’s already written a whole page while you’re stuck with a paragraph that screams disappointment.

“_______, you okay?” You hadn’t realized you’ve been staring at your paragraph of shame for so long.

“Uh, yeah, of course.” Closing your laptop quickly before he gets a peek, you move your own chair away from his desk, stretching out your limbs. Suddenly, you feel an all-too-familiar ache in your lower abdomen and you panic, checking the mini calendar on Hoseok’s desk. Damn, how could you not have realized it’s the last week of the month? And on top of all that, you had to be in another person’s house of all days, wearing a bloody dress! (pun may or may not have been intended)

“Um, can I use your toilet for a minute?”

He looks your way and nods. You panic a little bit when his eyes never leave yours, ensuing a staring contest between the both of you. A beat passes and he shrugs at you, returning his attention to his phone.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding in your breath when he door finally clicks behind you. Twirling in your dress, you search for any stain. There’s a small one, perhaps a few inches long, the red taint an obvious contrast against your yellow dress.

Grabbing a roll of tissue nearby, you place a few sheets under the water until it’s wet enough. Hastily, you rub it against the stain until the tissue tears into pieces. You repeat the process, jumping in victory when the stain starts discoloring. You even squeeze a dollop of liquid soap on your dress in the hopes of making the stain go away.

All your efforts prove to be in vain when the stain doesn’t lighten any further than the very visible brownish spot at the back of your dress.

Your hands are turning red from all the scrubbing and your chest is heaving with painful, ragged breaths that come forth. The tissue breaks apart for the nth time now and you try to grab more sheets but your eyes are already blurry, wet, fat tears coating your cheeks.

God, you’re so fucking stupid. How could you not have foreseen something that happens to you on a monthly basis?! All the tell-tale signs were there: abdominal pains, ache, sensitivity… you feel yourself sliding down the wall in embarrassment, an unwanted loud sob escaping your lips.

You hear footsteps padding along the wooden floor of Hoseok’s bedroom. No, please. “________?” You don’t answer. You don’t want to answer. Another sob escapes your lips. “_______, I’m coming in, okay?”

Hoseok instantly crouches down when he sees you sitting on the floor. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You still don’t answer; instead, you look away as you fiddle with your fingers. “You know you can tell me anything right?” He adjusts his legs, now fully seated on the floor. You both stay there in silence, before Hoseok pulls your head to rest on his shoulder, he can’t see your face like this, what could’ve possibly made you so upset, so he just holds you there, his other hand blindly reaching your face to wipe at your cheeks.

Figuring there’s no other way out of this, you gather up your courage. “I-I am on my period…” Your voice is small, yet it reaches Hoseok’s hearing perfectly clear. He still doesn’t get what’s possibly made you cry while on your period. Some girls tend to be more emotional than usual, perhaps, head tilted to the side as he recalls his lessons on human anatomy.

You can practically feel the clogs in Hoseok’s head so you give him a little more detail. “On my back, there’s…something. And I don’t have any extra clothes – gosh, this is beyond embarrassing. You must think I’m gross” Hoseok finally catches on, body stiff at the realization. It wasn’t like he was disgusted (because that would be totally immature) but it was more of lack of knowledge on how to approach situations like these.

He asks if it’s okay for him to call Tita so you can tell her what you need but not before reminding you that such natural process of life was nothing to be ashamed of. “Besides, better late than pregnant, right?” He scurries away afterwards, informing you that he’s going to be picking a nice outfit for you because you’re both going out to meet his mother for lunch at one of his favorite restaurants.

;

You both decide to sit on a nearby bench as you wait. There’s room for at least four people yet Hoseok decides to sit right beside you, your thighs touching, the proximity not lost on you. Surprisingly enough, you don’t feel any awkwardness lingering around, instead, you feel more secured with him beside you like this. Both basking in comfortable silence, save the buzz of the people walking around, Hoseok notices an elderly couple stand close by and he stands abruptly, offering the seat to them. The old lady gushes over him and praises how courteous the young man was. Hoseok stands by your side and looks around the area while the same lady closes the distance between you two. “He’s a keeper,” she whispers, sending a wink your way. Opening your mouth to clarify that you two are just friends, a loud ring from Hoseok’s pocket startles you.

“Hi mom! Yeah, we just arrived…she’s here beside me…what? Okay hang on…” He pulls the phone away from his ear as he presses on the speaker button on the screen. “You’re on speaker now, mom.”

“Oh, hi! _________, sweetie are you there?”

“Hello Mrs. Jung!”

“Great. Um, I’m really sorry about this darling but I really really need to finish this meeting. Hopefully it’ll end in less than an hour though, I hope you don’t mind. I really wanted to take you kids out to lunch today, but if you’re really hungry you can go ahead…I’ve already made reservations at Samwon under Hobi’s name…”

Your eyes widen at her proposal, head shaking vigorously to say no. Surely, it’d be rude to not wait for the person offering you a free meal right? “I really don’t mind waiting Mrs. Jung. Besides, we’ve had plenty of your lovely kimchi fried rice this morning so…”

“Ah, it’s really nothing love, well, at least, if you compare it to my brother’s restaurant. But anyways, I have to get back to the meeting now. How ‘bout I’ll have Hobi treat you to some ice cream or froyo or a something to snack on while you wait, alright?”

“You really don’t have to Mrs. Jung!” Your protests fall into deaf ears.

“Oh shush, darling. Don’t worry about it! And please, call me Auntie from now on, alright?”

“O-okay auntie.” You’re unable to control the slight tremble in your voice from the pet names she’s used and on making her call you auntie. You’re even surprised that she even apologized for not being able to make it on time. Hoseok ends the call soon afterwards. “Come on, I’ll treat you to my favorite frozen yogurt.”

There’s a sudden increase of mall-goers so Hoseok’s hand reaches out to grab yours, another wave of electricity shoots up your arm. Jesus. You’re pretty sure you’re old enough to not lose him in a crowd like this, so all this hand holding isn’t exactly necessary. Not that you were complaining though. You just hope, this time, you’re reading the signs right. The last time this happened, you ended up heartbroken and friendless, and you weren’t willing to go through the same pain again – not with Hoseok who’s genuinely nice and smart, and all the good things you can think of.

You cling onto his hand nonetheless, the crowd increasing because of lunch time. On the bright side, with your heartrate rapidly increasing, you get to miss out on cardio.

Arriving at a small outlet with ‘Sour Sally’ written on top of the shop, Hoseok pulls out a chair for you to sit on while he ponders on the menu plastered on the wall. What in god’s name have you done in your past life for him to torture your poor heart like this. You gaze at Hoseok, he seems unperturbed by his actions while you on the other hand… you internally applaud yourself for maintaining such calm demeanor but in reality, there’s a raging turmoil of emotions inside your head.

Following where his eyes are glued at on the wall, you try to distract yourself from the dangers of a brooding crush. God, you can’t possibly like like him because he opened the door for you, or pull out a chair for you, right? Were you really this…deprived? Just thinking about it gives you a headache. But then again, Hoseok is everything every woman could ever ask for. He’s polite, funny, courteous, smart, and he absolutely adores his family. Admittedly, he’s fucking wealthy too on top of all that but you don’t stick around him because of his money. Then again, it’s the 21st century and life isn’t getting any easier. In case you have a family in the future, it would be nice to know you’re children will be secured for quite some time. Wait, why are you thinking about families in the first place??

You barely notice Hoseok waving a hand in front of you. “Hello? Earth to ______?” he chuckles, his brackets shining under the lighting. “Oh yeah sorry!” you squeak. “You’ve been spacing out since morning, you sure you’re okay?” He bends forward a little, your faces merely inches away from each other. “You know you can talk to me right?” Searching for any doubt in your eyes, he tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

Fucking hell.

Does he even realize what he’s doing to you?! Your cheeks are practically on fire right now. You’re falling way too deep at an alarming pace. “You know you can talk to me right?” His words echo in your presently empty brain now, unable to think about anything rational. How are you supposed to talk to him when it’s him you want to talk about?

“Do you want anything from the menu? I’d personally recommend my own usual, but I’m really not sure about your froyo preferences…”

“Um don’t they have anything smaller than these?” you ask, pointing to the cups display for size references. “Nope, none really. I guess we can share if you don’t mind, I’ll just get one of the bigger sizes…”

“Good enough for me.”

“You have any particular flavor or topping in mind?”

“I really haven’t been to this place. So I guess I’ll have what you have.” You reach for your purse, grabbing cash amounting to half of the frozen yogurt. “What are you doing?” Hoseok points to the bills you’re holding. “Um, paying for my half?” The boy in front of you shakes his head in refusal, pushing the money towards you.

“It’s on me, _______. No more arguments. Consider this a da-“ Hoseok chokes on his own saliva purposefully, unableto finish his sentence. “A-a day in your cycle right? Don’t girls usually eat ice cream when its that time of the month? I mean this isn’t exactly ice cream, but it’s still frozen right? Ha ha ha. Okay, I’ll just place an order now.” He turns around abruptly, feet quickly moving towards the counter.

Rendered speechless, you just nod in reply. Seconds after he left, you’re still nodding thinking about what just transpired moments ago. He couldn’t have meant it as a date, did he? He did point out about Aunt Flo making a visit today. Perhaps, he meant dare? Who knows if he had been dared to treat someone out? You know you’re blindly grasping at straws here so you just try to divert your attention, and of course, you fail miserably at that as well.

Hoseok takes his wallet from his back pocket and hands a black card to the register. With a few nods, the staff swipes the card through the payment terminal and hands it back to Hoseok. ‘Sugar daddy Hoseok. What a fucking sight.’ Your shoulder devil whispers, drawling out every syllable like her final words. She has your shoulder angel in a headlock, arms flapping around attempting to remove the vice-like grip on her neck.

Thankfully, you manage to get ahold of yourself before Hoseok returns with a large cup with two spoons on either side. “This is the best froyo ever!!” He exclaims, buzzing with excitement. You oblige when he tells you to take the first scoop. You’ve only had the dessert once before this and after that incident, you were totally unwilling to have it for a second time. The first froyo you had was so bad which pretty much clouded over any positive review the dessert had.

Surprisingly enough, Sour Sally’s wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, it looked unappealing at first with the amount of toppings Hoseok included but you reckon it wasn’t so bad after all, plus it looked like a healthier option than ice cream. Hoseok chuckles at your sudden interest and takes his phone out, pretending to respond to someone’s message but he quickly presses on the camera button, snapping a photo of you enjoying the frozen dessert.

He smiles when he goes over the photo, saving it as his home wallpaper.

;

Once you finish the final scoop of the yogurt, Hoseok asks if you can both visit a store he’s been meaning to drop by. There’s really nothing else you wanted to do anyways so you say ‘yes’, resulting to Hoseok excitedly clapping as you exit Sour Sally’s.

You both walk towards the opposite end of the mall, the area prominently less crowded than where you came from. You don’t wonder why. You just passed by Gucci, Versace, and Louis Vuitton on your way and now you’re greeted by Hermes, Alexander McQueen, and Balenciaga when you rounded the corner. You’re not even surprised at this point. In fact, when he told you that he wanted to shop for new shoes, you had already expected this was where you were heading when he made you wear a full Chanel two-piece ensemble that his sister “barely” wears.

Hoseok makes a beeline to Balenciaga. Of course - the boy was basically its brand ambassador. When you enter, some of the staff greet him by his name. “Mr. Hoseok, welcome back!” They astonishingly greet you with the same level of enthusiasm with Hoseok. You figure it’s probably courtesy of Hoseok’s fashion choices. He tells you to look around while he approaches someone who looks like the store manager.

The manager and Hoseok already seem to share the same brainwave and without talking, the former leads to Hoseok to a corner where the sneakers are displayed. Realizing you were probably looked awkward, standing stiffly by a display, you let your feet move you around, stopping to look at a few hung clothes.

While carding through the clothes, you discreetly check the price tags, your stomach dropping every time. 1,500 dollars for a bloody jacket?! They had gold sewn into the denim perhaps? Or diamond - encrusted collars? A girl’s voice startles you from your supposedly ‘discreet’ inspection. “Can I help you with anything, miss?”

“Oh, I’m just looking. It’s my friend who’s doing the shopping.”

“Oh, okay. By the way, I’m not sure if I should be doing this, but you seem so nice and approachable compared to the other girls that usually visit our shop… I really like your outfit and I think you and Mr. Hoseok look really cute together,” she squeaks before walking away to tidy a few displays. When she meets your eyes again, you send her a small smile and you see a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

You hear Hoseok call you over, colossal shoes occupying both his hands. “Which colorway should I pick?” You do a double take at the pairs he’s holding up. They honestly looked like a stack of pancakes that toppled over. Undoubtedly, they definitely looked striking, like a rebellious fashion statement. He holds up his left hands, clutching onto a brown pair with shades of blue and red and his other hand holding another with hues of green and white.

Choosing the one on his left hand, Hoseok nods in agreement mumbling something about how great minds think alike. He tells the manager to get him one in his size. The manager complies and, in the meantime, Hoseok brings you to a display near the one you were checking out earlier. He asks you to help him pick out an outfit to go with the shoes. It doesn’t take much for Hoseok to decide on choosing the clothes. You tell him your honest opinion that he would literally look good in anything, resulting in a rosy-cheeked Hoseok heading to the register to check out his items.

Soon after Hoseok collects his purchases, his phone dings, so he puts down the three bags before fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Mom says she’ll be there in five. Shall we?”

Three floors and a long walk back to another of the mall’s annexes later, you finally arrive at Samwon Garden. “Hi. We have a reservation under Hoseok Jung.” The maître d goes over the list, brows soon furrowing in confusion. “I’m really sorry Sir, but the table reserved for you had been given to another customer an hour ago. We only allow an extra of fifteen minutes when your name gets called. If you’d like, I can write your name on the list again, but that would probably take another thirty minutes before you get seated.”

“Oh, really? I guess…”

“Mr. Hoseok!” A man in a suit approaches you with hurried steps. “Mr. Hoseok,” he repeats with a breathy laugh. “I truly apologize for that. Please come with me, your private room is ready.” The man lets you take a few steps forward as he momentarily stays with the maître d. “That’s not how you treat the nephew of the owner of this restaurant, unless you want to lose your job today.” He whispers harshly, and your eyes widen. You’re unsure if Hoseok heard that but he seems too preoccupied with the other staff that welcome him to the restaurant.

The manager rushes forward after scolding the maître d. He offers to carry Hoseok’s shopping bags and leads you two to a secluded area. “Your food is already being prepared Sir,” he bows, setting the bags down and pulling out the chairs. “Is there anything I can get you miss?”

“A glass of water would be nice, please.” “Of course, Ma’am. Would you please excuse me.”

Hoseok’s mother arrive a few minutes later. Once again, she apologizes for making you wait. The three of you don’t waste any more time, going straight to eating. “I love your outfit, dearie,” Mrs. Jung compliments, flipping the searing meat on the grill. “Um Hobi actually made me wear this.” Confused, she looks at her son for an explanation. “She uhh…Her um…she had to change, lady problems…” Her mouth forms an ‘o’ in realization, thankfully picking up quickly. “Are you okay sweetheart? Do you take painkillers? They have great ice cream here; I’ll have it served for dessert later.”

She bombards you with questions that you don’t get the chance to answer all of them. You assure her though that you’re fine, that Hoseok has helped you plenty earlier this morning. She beams at her son, even teasing him that he’ll be the best boyfriend any girl could ever wish for. Hoseok turns crimson at his mom’s teasing, stealing the slice of meat she’s been cooking as revenge.

The three of you continue eating and sharing stories like that for almost an hour. For the most part, she’s mainly told you of Hoseok’s most embarrassing moments, sharing at least ten years’ worth of blackmail content. Hoseok, who’s sat beside you the whole time continues to crumble in his seat with every story. Your stomach was aching so much, both from laughing and eating. After the ice cream dessert Mrs. Jung promised you, she calls for the bill. Trying to stop your eyes from bulging out of their sockets, you look away from the receipt – 400 dollars staring back at you in big, bold numbers on the narrow sheet of paper. You wanted to cry.

Mrs. Jung says she doesn’t intend to stay any longer for she has another meeting to attend to today so she leaves you both with a kiss on the cheek and a reminder to drive back home safely. “Shit, I think I ate too much!” Hoseok sighs, rubbing at his tummy and letting out a loud burp in the process. Both of you stare at each other for a second before bursting into peals of laughter.

Yours seem to die down far longer than Hoseok’s and he takes the time to truly take youin today. He was nervous for the most part, that he had to admit. He tossed and turned in his bed last night, seemingly unable to sleep when the thought of you coming over has preoccupied his mind. He’s even tried drinking two glasses of warm milk, read a chapter from his history book, and in complete desperation, he’s even counted sheep, literally. It doesn’t help either that he woke up incredibly early today, only acquiring three hours of sleep the previous night.

He’s cleaned his room when he came home from practice yesterday and he’s cleaned it again this morning, not that his room needed cleaning anyways. He also asked his mom if she could help him cook breakfast this morning to which she happily agreed. So, the whole ‘homesick’ thing was only half a lie. Well, it was because she was homesick that she made way too much, but the idea was initially Hoseok’s.

He wasn’t supposed to drag you to breakfast that morning but the treacherous grumble of your stomach told him you were still hungry so he held your hand and showed you around the kitchen, asking you what kind of breakfast you’d prefer. Hoseok particularly enjoyed having your hand in his and he knew he was talking too much earlier that day but he had to divert his attention to prevent his hand from trembling.

When he heard you sniffle in the toilet earlier, he panicked; worried that something might have happened to you out of the blue. You wouldn’t take your eyes off the floor from embarrassment and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around yours. It wrenched his heart to see you sob like that, so he just kept you close until you finally told him your dilemma.  

He totally understood that it was a natural occurrence for girls and even reassured you that it was totally nothing to be embarrassed about. He didn’t ask you for any word after that, immediately sending one of their house helpers to help you out. He didn’t have the guts to go through his sister’s toiletries so he left that dilemma with someone who could handle the situation better aka Tita. He did pick out an outfit for you to wear though, going through endless hangers of Dawon’s clothes.

Picking something comfortable and warm, he pulls out this Chanel turquoise wool tweed two-piece and a white top to go under the blazer. ‘This’ll probably look cute on her,’ he thinks, carrying the set to Dawon’s beloved vanity mirror and spraying an adequate amount of her Estee Lauder perfume all over the clothes. When he grabbed the ensemble, he was thinking something along the lines of a fluffy-cute-girlfriend style going on but when you came out of the bathroom, he found it impossible to take his eyes off you.

Turns out, the white top he gave you was a crop top, the garment exposing a little bit of your midriff. And those shorts! Jesus! He’d taken a mental note to spoil you with Chanel if…when you become his. He’s already seen you in shorts during practice before but he really didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty of it all. Your skin contrasts beautifully against the bluish-green wool, and it’s hem is enough to display your toned thighs and calves in all its glory. Years of tennis had definitely done you well.

He turns away, internally scolding himself for his behavior. He feels sick for having perved on you like that, pushing away all the indecent thoughts before they consume him whole.

His heart was soaring the whole time you sat next to him inside the car, the whole scene making him giddy. You were quiet at first, Hoseok being able to steal glances during red lights. Moments later, when Celine Dion came in the radio you were belting out the lyrics to “My Heart Will Go On” with notes he’s never heard before. The boy even pulled over just to capture this iconic moment with his phone, not long before you goad him to join you as you both scream like lunatics inside the vehicle. His voice teacher will be disappointed, surely, but it all worth it just to see you this happy.

Hoseok knew he was falling in deep. Being with you just felt…right. Even with you doing the most mundane of tasks, he found you incredibly endearing. It was driving him close to madness. He wanted to ask you to be his, to make him the happiest guy on earth, for the rest of his life. Most times it felt like he was crazy for thinking about this while you both still had a life ahead of you - that it was too serious to think about for a teenager, but then he ponders on his cousin’s wise words. “What’s the point of being in a relationship if it’s not going to end in a wedding?”

“What are you thinking about Hobi?” you question, putting him out of his thoughts.

It was your turn to ask him this time as you can’t tell why been staring at you for the past minute. “Nothing,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “Ah! Which reminds me, wanna check out the new laser tag place they opened last week?” You’re unsure about this, after having eaten like a starved caveman, but with Hobi looking at you with a pout, you can’t say no.

“Come on,” you give in. “We gotta burn everything we ate for lunch!”

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 33 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Hello darlings! We’re almost caught up with the reposting! Click here for previous chapters. xoxo!

Chapter Summary: School begins, and our favorite besties have hit quite a rough patch.

Chapter 33: Friends Don’t

COURTNEY: Why won’t you talk to me?

COURTNEY: I can see you’re home, answer the door.

COURTNEY: Dory.

Shoulders sagging, Courtney leaned on the side of her house, wondering how long she would have to wait for Adore to answer her. It had been almost a week since Adore had stormed out of her bedroom, and she missed her so much that sometimes it hurt to breathe.

Roy had been exceedingly patient. So much that it ended up compounding Courtney’s guilt about the whole situation. She’d betrayed him - and for what? Because she couldn’t keep her confusing feelings for Adore to herself anymore? But what made her feel even more guilty was that, had Adore responded differently, she couldn’t really be sure that she’d have stayed with Roy.

She loved him - she hadn’t stopped loving him - but her feelings for Adore were just different. She felt like she had no control over them, or how badly she wanted to be closer to her best friend. And though it was painful that Adore didn’t return her feelings, the worst part - the part that made it feel like Courtney’s chest was cracking open - was that she wouldn’t even talk about it. Rejection would have sucked, but she’d have gotten over it in time. This stonewalling was just unbearable.

With one final sigh, Courtney slipped into her back door, swallowing hard, hearing her mother’s laughter from the living room. Ever since Karen had the brilliant idea to move Grandma Muriel into Kim’s bedroom, it was like she’d been spending every moment catering to her very ornery mother. Courtney loved her grandmother, but she wasn’t super excited about sharing a bathroom with her, or conforming to her ideas about how she should act.

She pulled the phone out of her pocket, checking it one last time. No answer. It wasn’t surprising. Her only consolation was that school was starting tomorrow. There was no way that Adore would be able to avoid her then - they always had at least a few classes together. She smiled slightly to herself, touching one of the charms on her bracelet and thinking about the inside jokes she could bring up to make Adore laugh.

Pretty soon, this whole mess would be behind them, and they could go back to being best friends--and this time, Courtney would just keep her hands to her fucking self.

-

Adore remembered when the first day of school was exciting and fun. When she’d prance through the hallways of her elementary school, a set of brand-new markers in her Britney Spears backpack, holding a thermal bag packed with blue GoGurt and her favorite Lunchables - the kind where you get to make your own little pizza. The smell of freshly sharpened pencils would fill the air, and best of all, she’d be holding hands with her very best friend.

As Adore stepped into physics on the first day of her junior year, she felt a pang of sadness. Nothing felt new, or exciting, including the new hair color that she’d originally been so psyched about. This year wasn’t the fresh start full of promise that she’d been hoping for. No, it was just another year in the same shitty high school. With her now ex best friend sitting smack in the middle of a sea of desks.

In typical defiance of the dress code, Courtney was wearing low-slung cutoffs and a baby pink crop top with straps crisscrossing the back. If Adore tried to wear that kind of outfit, she’d get detention for a week, but she had no doubt that Courtney would get away with it. Because Courtney always got away with everything.

Despite everything that had happened, Adore’s traitorous heart leapt at the sight of the blonde, fading quickly into a kind of sick feeling as all of the memories she’d been trying desperately to avoid came rushing back. How dare she look so perfect, so normal, so much like the girl to whom Adore was still helplessly drawn? But Adore knew now that that girl was not the person she’d always thought she could trust. That, if given the opportunity, she would continue to toy with her and never allow her to have any kind of closure.

Courtney stood up immediately when she saw her, giving her those pathetic doe eyes that made Adore’s heart pound. She took a step towards her, but Adore turned away quickly, sitting down in the front row and tossing freshly-dyed turquoise hair over her shoulder.

Adore cringed to herself, wondering if the whole year would be like this. What an utter fucking nightmare.

Of course, they had US History together, too, and 5th period Trig. By the end of the day, after hearing her whine for hours, Pearl suggested a solution in PE: why not just change around her schedule?

So immediately after getting dressed, Adore marched down to the counselor’s office and sat with Ms. Patterson, shuffling things around and leaving with a small modicum of satisfaction. At least for now, she didn’t have to share any classes with Courtney Jenek.

Mission accomplished.

-

“She still mad?” Roy asked, fingers toying with Courtney’s blonde hair, lips brushing against her forehead.

“Yeah,” Courtney answered, voice small and soft.

Roy had figured out by now that Courtney’s fight with Adore was the one topic about which his girlfriend didn’t want to chatter endlessly. And to be honest, he wasn’t that bothered, personally, that they were spending some time apart, after everything that happened between them. The details of which he very happily still didn’t know. But he also knew that until she had her best friend back, she was unlikely to return completely to her bubbly, confident self. Even though she seemed to be getting pretty good at faking it.

“Hey! Can we go to Six Flags this weekend? Like, before the year gets too crazy?” Courtney flashed him a brilliant smile.

“That sounds great. And we still have a few guest passes. Maybe we should invite Bob and April?”

“Maybe...or maybe it could just be the two of us?” Courtney hugged him around the waist, burying her face in his neck.

“Sure, babe, whatever you want.”

“Thanks.” Courtney breathed in deeply, and then as the bell rang, let out a groan, murmuring “Do I hafta go to class today?”

“‘Fraid so,” Roy chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “Come on, I’ll walk you there.”

As much as she was not looking forward to another day of the cold shoulder, she was even less prepared for Adore to be missing entirely from the classes they shared. Was she ditching? But Courtney saw her at nutrition break with Willam, and on her way to lunch, she saw her emerge from the science wing with Trinity - on the opposite side of the quad from where she should have been, in their history class.

She watched as they headed for their usual lunch spot, catching up to Violet and Pearl on the way. Willam trailed behind, flirting with some guys on the basketball team.

For a few moments, Courtney stood there just staring at her, laughing with her friends and strolling along as if everything was normal. Just another day. Courtney swallowed back the lump in her throat and charged forward. This shit was getting real old and Courtney needed to do something about it.

“Hey!” Courtney yelled, louder than she intended, and the girls all turned slowly.

“What the fuck do you want?” Violet asked, but nothing the brunette could say to her was as bad as the steely, hard look in Adore’s eyes.

Adore inhaled slowly, using all of her willpower to keep her face impassive. The last thing she needed was for Courtney to see her sweat. To see the cracks showing, that she could wriggle into and pry open until Adore caved, as always. Adore pressed her lips together, glaring at the blonde with as much indifference as she could muster.

Courtney’s confidence faltered and her next words were quieter, spoken directly to Adore.

“Did you...did you change your schedule? You’re supposed to be in Physics and History with me, and-”

“Quelle surprise! As always, you’re 30 steps behind!” Violet snapped. “Get a clue, you idiot. She doesn’t want to see you, or talk to you, so why don’t you go...” she trailed off as Adore, with one final glare, turned and continued to walk to their lunch spot, dragging Trinity along. Violet gave Courtney a victorious sneer and sashayed away in Adore’s direction.

Only Pearl lingered behind for a moment, giving Courtney a nod that was almost friendly.

“Maybe you should let this one go, Courtney,” Pearl suggested, and then waved to someone behind her, and Courtney stood there, blood rushing through her ears as Fame sailed by, linking arms with Pearl, both of them abandoning her.

Her vision blurred slightly, the world shifting on its axis, as she realized that this wasn’t just a fight. Adore wanted nothing to do with her. At all. She couldn’t even sit in the same classroom together.

Tears filled her eyes as she absentmindedly fingered the charms of her bracelet, hating herself more than she ever thought possible.

“Hey cheerleader! Cute dress!” Willam chirped, patting her on the ass.

“Thanks,” Courtney whispered, turning around and fleeing, straight by Darienne and Roy, mind focused solely on finding a place where she could cry without anyone looking at her.

-

“Can you believe the nerve of her?” Violet scoffed, digging through her lunch bag. Adore shrugged, wanting to remain completely indifferent to the situation.

Pearl settled down in the spot beside Adore; Violet watched Adore scoot closer to Pearl, leaning into the girl’s slim frame. With furrowed brows, a snarky comment sat at the tip of Violet’s tongue. Only fading when Trinity’s hand snaked into the bag of strawberries in her lap, distracting her.

“You know, there’s this thing that people do. It’s called asking,” Violet raised an eyebrow, but allowed Trinity to take another red berry from the bag.

“You’re so generous,” Trinity said, mouth full.

“But back to what I was saying, like, who does she think she is?” Violet started up again, wanting Adore to say something, anything. She hated the way Adore was always so passive when it came to Courtney. And she knew that something must have happened for her to be this mad, but so far, no one had informed her of exactly what that was.

“Who cares,” Adore replied monotonously.

“Uh, yeah, let’s talk about more important things. Like, the fact that Ms. Alvarez already assigned a three-page essay on ‘The Crucible,’” Pearl butted in, brushing a strand of Adore’s hair back, wanting to change the topic.

As Adore gave Pearl a soft grateful smile, Violet took the hint and let the two win. Not saying much of anything, but carefully watching the girls interact; wondering if what she had told Courtney over the summer held some truth.

Has she been blind to what was right under her nose?

-

Roy finally found Courtney behind one of the portable buildings, curled up in a ball. He approached tentatively, sitting beside her and waiting for her to speak.

“I don’t understand why she’s still mad. I said I was sorry a million times,” Courtney hiccupped, cheeks red and stained with tears.

Roy nodded and took one of her hands.

“We’re supposed to be best friends. Why can’t she just…”

Roy wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “I’m sorry, babe. You wanna ditch fifth period and hang out?”

“Yeah, right,” Courtney scoffed, sniffling. “As if you’d ever ditch anything.” She wiped her eyes on his sleeve.

He cupped her face and looked into her eyes solemnly. “I’d do it for you.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

She leaned in and kissed him gently, sighing.

“Also, I have a free period after lunch,” he admitted, dimples appearing in his cheeks.

Courtney smacked him, laughing through her tears, leaning a head on his shoulder.

-

COURTNEY: I’m sorry, okay? Seriously sorry. Please forgive me.

COURTNEY: Dory. I need you. Please!

COURTNEY: I’m not giving up.

-

Courtney was used to zoning out when her friends went on and on about SAT scores and AP calculus and college applications and whether UCLA or Berkeley had a better political science department.

She’d been friends with these guys practically her whole life. It was a given by now that their intense interest in resumes and scores and academic competition was something that Courtney would never share.

When they were younger, she and Adore used to joke that they were the dumb ones in the group. But lately, Courtney wondered if that was really the explanation. Every conversation was so focused on grades and scores and status and it was just the least interesting part of school to her.

No one else seemed to care about the deeper questions: why were they learning these things? What is the point of it all? How will any of it help them become better people? She had detention this week for asking what her elderly history teacher called “insubordinate questions” about the Declaration of Independence. (He obviously had no sense of irony.)

She missed the feeling of boundless curiosity that she used to have in school, filled with questions and excited to learn new things. It seemed like every year, teachers got less and less patient with her habit of challenging the material, and thus her interest had waned to the point where she wasn’t even sure that she wanted to go to college. And she knew that if she voiced that feeling, she’d be attacked from all sides. Going to a prestigious university was the most important thing to her friends, and her doubt would certainly not be tolerated, much less understood.

So Courtney shoved everything down, tuning out the endless humble bragging and fretting about numbers, and just focused on the sound of leaves rustling in the oak trees nearby, the feeling of cool grass against her thighs. She wrapped her hands around Roy’s arm, nestling in beside him, nudging his shoulder with her face. He glanced over at her, a smile on his face, and pressed a tender kiss to her temple.

“Roy! Santa Cruz is not a safety school!” Darienne exclaimed, exasperated.

“Maybe not for you,” Roy replied with a smug wink. “And Irvine is my other safety.”

“Ugh. You are so full of yourself.”

“So? What’s your point, Dar?”

“My point is that...whoa.” She stopped talking abruptly, eyes fixated on something across the grass.

“What?”

“When the heck did Adore dye her hair blue?”

Bob began to laugh, nodding.

“I know man, she looks crazy. It’s been like a few weeks, I think, right Courtney?” He nudged her shoulder.

Courtney’s whole body was tense. So far, the only person she’d told about Adore’s silent treatment was Roy. She was hoping that they’d make up and go back to normal before she had to tell anyone else.

“April and I think she must be having some kind of mental breakdown,” Bob continued. “But maybe she just likes looking like a freak-”

“Don’t speak for me!” April cut in. “I think it’s cute.”

Courtney dug her nails into her palms, trying to take a deep breath. She felt Roy’s hand on her thigh, and glanced up at him gratefully.

“Yeah, I don’t hate it, but it’s just like...whoa,” Darienne said.

“Courtney,” Bob said. “Please settle this. Has Adore gone full psycho? Or is she just finally embracing her weirdness?”

Heart racing, Courtney cleared her throat.

“She’s...she’s fine. It’s just hair dye. Don’t be a dick.”

“Well, excuse me for being concerned about the mental health of my friend,” Bob said, rolling his eyes. “I guess the rest of you just don’t give a shit, huh?”

Courtney gave him a hard glare, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Shut up, Bob.”

Because of course the truth was, Courtney had no idea if Adore was fine. Or when she’d have the chance to ask. All she knew was that she missed her, and wished she had a time machine to go back and keep her stupid feelings to herself.

-

A purple pen twirled between Adore’s fingers, while somber eyes burned into the pages of her journal. Teeth pressed into her bottom lip, Adore grew more and more frustrated with herself.

The chicken scratch scrawled across the page matched her thoughts; random and fragmented. She didn’t want to think too much about it, telling herself that she’d worry about making them into coherent lyrics later. She didn’t want to think about a lot of things these days.

The creaking of her bedroom door caught her attention, and once greeted by the face of her brother, she frowned.

“Uh Adore, Ma said come set the table,” he said, then cocked his head to the side. “You alright?”

Adore glared back at him.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Whatever. You still need to come down. I’m only in town for another week. So, you know. Family time.”

“Fuck,” Adore muttered, rubbing her eyes.

“Sorry, kid. You’ll be rid of me again soon enough.”

“Just...give me a minute, okay?”

Adrian opened his mouth to shoot back what was probably a sarcastic comment, or dig about her appearance, but then at the last second, thought better of it.

“‘Kay. Don’t be too long.” He flashed a sympathetic smile.

As the door closed, Adore’s heart lurched. Somehow, her brother’s pity was even worse than his mockery. She slammed her journal closed and fell back against her pillows, eyes flicking to the window unconsciously. From her spot on the bed, she could almost see into Courtney’s kitchen. She sprung from the bed, snapping her curtains shut.

-

Courtney lay beside Roy on her bed, reading, as he studied for a calculus test. She wiped a tear from her eye, sniffling slightly.

Roy turned his head towards her.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“This book...it’s just sad.”

He looked at the cover, brow furrowed in confusion. “The Scarlet Letter? Hawthorne is making you cry?”

She sighed. “I just feel really bad for the little girl.”

“What little girl?”

“Pearl! Hester’s daughter! This asshole, Dimmesdale, refuses to admit that he’s her father and so she has no dad? Because, what, he’s worried about people judging him? He’s a fucking coward.” Tears burned her eyes.

“Well, yeah, that’s kind of the point. Although...I mean, I think that the kid is sort of more a symbol.”

“Well, kids aren’t symbols, they’re humans, and you don’t get to abandon them, people are not just disposable, and this book SUCKS!” Courtney threw it across the room, crossing her arms, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Roy reached up and brushed some tears away, one hand resting on her cheek. “Babe…”

She buried her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I’ve always thought Hawthorne was overrated, anyway. So pretentious and long-winded...”

Courtney nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to study.” She wiped her eyes.

Roy kissed her softly.

“I have a confession to make. Uh...I don’t really get much studying done when I’m with you. I do the real studying after I get back home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He continued to kiss her, slipping the straps of her dress down off her shoulders. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you’re like...distractingly beautiful.”

A smile finally spread across Courtney’s lips, and so Roy kissed her again, so soft that she let out an involuntary sigh, thighs falling open.

“Courtney!”

They sprang apart as Grandma Muriel flung open the door.

“Hi Grandma,” Courtney said, attempting to straighten her dress, shrinking under her intense, judgmental gaze.

“Is your friend staying for dinner?”

“No thanks, ma’am,” Roy answered, clearing his throat. “I actually have to head back to school soon for Mock Trial practice, so-”

“Very good.” Muriel nodded, walking away and very pointedly leaving the door wide open.

Courtney collapsed back onto her pillows, sighing, throwing an arm over her eyes.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Thank god she didn’t open that door like...a minute later.”

“Why, what was gonna happen?” Roy asked, pressing a teasing kiss just below her ear.

Courtney turned to her side, suppressing a smirk.

“Well, ya never know…Ugh, I just remembered that I having to finish reading the fucking Scarlet fucking Letter,” she groaned.

“There’s always Spark Notes,” Roy offered.

“Good idea,” Courtney replied, letting her eyes fall closed.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Like it Never Happened: Chapter 3.

This is a post ink-hell story, and contrary to its title, a major theme in it is that a return to normalcy is an uphill climb, often requiring one redefine what normalcy means to them.

This chapter focuses on Thomas Connor and Allison Pendle. It deals with some of the mechanics of how the trapped souls are making it out. There may be a fourth or possibly fifth chapter, but I’m not sure.

Jennifer Adams, one of the soldiers tasked with the rescue of the dozens of people whose souls were locked within the sketch dimension, had fucked up big time. To be more specific, she’d shot Allison Angel.

Not that shooting ink creatures in general was a big deal- you couldn’t collect an ink creature’s soul without killing them- but in Allison’s case, she and her partner, Peter Felman, should have been making a good rapport with her. While they were free to capture the souls in any order they found them, their first priority was to locate and bring back the soul of Thomas Connor, a mechanic who had been indispensable in designing and building the machine, and would no doubt be a valuable source of information on it. In Jennifer’s defense, another Alice had broken her last partner’s arm and put him out of commission just days before, not to mention all the trouble she’d caused back when they were solely tasked with finding the souls of lost ones, as the government research branch only recently discovered how to bring back those who were transformed into cartoons.

Right after she’d shot her, Peter had instinctively taken out the seeing tool in order to see her soul, and had snatched it up and put it into a small glass jar. Then, realizing whose soul they’d just snatched, he opened the jar and let it flow back to the ink machine, as all souls did down here.

All Jennifer could hope for now is that they could get the angel to speak using torture. She and Peter had been waiting by the ink machine for a few hours, playing cards, when it finally gurgled to life.

The two soldiers got up from their card game, Peter taking a rope with him. Allison came out slowly- it was almost like seeing a person be 3D-printed. Peter was incredible with knots, and her calves (already kicking!) were tied together within seconds of their appearance from the machine’s nozzle. Half a minute later, she fell to the ground, and Peter was tying up her arms as Jennifer held her down.

“Let me go! Why are you doing this?” she yelled, still struggling against the ropes, teeth gritted.

“Sorry about this, but we need to make sure you won’t run away or attack us. We aren’t here to hurt you. We are soldiers working for the US military, and we are the reason why there are no lost ones in this world anymore. We released them all. They are currently living outside this dimension, in a better, safer world. We understand that you’re very close with a Boris named ‘Tom.’ Is that true?”

“Why should I trust you or tell you anything?” Her tone was more curious than anything. At very least, she’d calmed down surprisingly quickly.

“I’d like for you to do that because we’re offering you a way out. But if you want to do things the hard way, we can.” Jennifer took out her handgun and pointed it to Allison kneecap.

“Wait-” Allison interjected, “What is that?”

“A gun.”

“No... I mean its colour. It’s like black, but lighter, and... and cooler somehow. I think Henry told me about this once. Is it blue?”

Jennifer kept the gun trained at her knee. “Yes. Now are you talking or are we going to have to make you talk?”

“I’ll talk. I don’t know how I didn’t see this before! You’re so detailed... and your hair almost matches my skin- just like Henry. You must be from the outside. Whatever you need to know, I’ll tell you!”

“Where is Tom?”

“He’s probably in our safehouse. It’ll be easier if I show you.”

Jennifer looked over to her partner, and they silently agreed to untie her legs. They followed behind her, guns still drawn, her sword still confiscated, her hands still bound.

“Do you mind if I ask a few more questions as we walk?” Allison asked.

“I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to answer them, but go ahead,” Jennifer replied.

“Well, I know that you’re letting everyone go, but aside from Tom, there’s one case that I was hoping you could focus on. You see, one of the people turned into a cartoon character is... well, a 17-year-old kid. Tom and I found the book he wrote. We tried finding him a couple times, but came up empty. I hate to think about him, all alone in this dangerous place. If I give you the book, can you promise me to try and find him quickly, and to let me know when he’s revived and reunited with his mother?”

“Well, not all of that is my directive, but I can promise you that I’ll try to find him, and that I’ll ask the appropriate people about the rest of that stuff.”

Allison’s whole face lit up. “Thank you! Oh, thank you. And for releasing us, too. I would be hugging you if I weren’t walking you through dangerous territory with my hands tied up!”

Jennifer smiled. She’d had a lot of encounters with ink creatures, but she’d never been thanked before. She’d never even been able to explain their aims before.

“Next question: am I poor? Buddy made being poor sound pretty bad. But, I don’t remember anything about the life I had before this. I... did have one, right? It seems like all toons did... right?”

“Well, almost all- and trust me, you’re not an exception. Memory loss is extremely common among ink creatures- they have ways of getting everything back. You’re Allison Connor, the wife of Thomas Connor. I don’t know anything else about you- I was just told enough to get through this mission. But I imagine that his work puts you above the poverty line, anyhow.”

Allison had apparently forgotten all about matters of poverty and spent the rest of their short trip gushing about being married to Thomas.

Once they reached the safehouse, Allison kept Tom from tearing their throats out and told him the good news. The room was quickly filled with feelings of celebration and camaraderie. They handed Jennifer a book entitled, “Dreams Come to Life.” Then, when their inky backs were turned, Jennifer and Peter filled Tom and Allison with bullets and collected their souls. It had been nice to be honest for once, but they couldn’t have been too honest about the process of coming back to life. Afterwards they immediately headed back to the surface to hand Thomas Connor’s soul over to the researchers, as had been their protocol.

---

A day later, Thomas Connor fell out of the ink machine, landing on his feet. The blue mat he’d fallen onto told him what had happened before he could even look at his detailed, brown, ungloved hands. Thomas collapsed to the floor, overwhelmed with relief.

Over the next few hours, Thomas filled the researchers in on everything he knew about the machine. They told him plenty as well- for starters, that Allison would come out of the machine the next day and would be entirely restored and ready to go home, and that they would immediately see about contacting Buddy’s mother. They found him a place to sleep for the night, handed him a pamphlet on his new body, and he was on his way.

Everything was fine now. Thomas had spent over a decade stewing in guilt over what damage his machine could have possibly caused, and he’d spent a year and a half seeing it first hand- the lives cut short and locked in this hellish landscape. That was over now. The damage was going to be repaired the best it could be. Who knew- maybe the government would even find a beneficial use for the ink machine: bringing back endangered species, making prosthetic limbs... there were obvious bad uses for it, too, but hey, none of it would be his fault. The ink machine was no longer on his shoulders, and soon, he and Allison would be back in their lovely California home, going back to their mundane, contented lives.

Then, the phone rang. Thomas picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Thomas Connor?” The voice sounded sympathetic. Bad sign.

“Yes.”

There was a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid I have two pieces of bad news. Firstly, Buddy’s mother died several years ago. He has no living family members.”

“Okay,” Thomas said, voice low. Well, he knew that not all the damage he’d done could be undone. The kid had lost the time he could have had with his mother. Fair. “What’s the second part?”

“We won’t be able to bring back Allison’s memories. Usually disentangling the individual from their other presence- in this case an Alice Angel toon- brings everything right back. Well, we did, but she still doesn’t remember anything from before her sacrifice. Her memories weren’t stored away where she couldn’t find them- they’re gone like erased marker off a whiteboard. I’m sorry. We have social workers who could hook her up with a living relative, if you want. Do you still want to take her home with you?”

“Of course I do!” Thomas yelled, furious both at the situation and at the question. “She’s my wife! She was my wife in the sketch dimension, and she’ll still be my wife now!” With that, Thomas slammed the phone down. Of course Joey would have taken this from him. He was sure that it was nothing personal- he had a sense that Allison had known things even he didn’t about that machine. Still, it hurt.

But, all they could do was try to carry on. The next day, Thomas watched Allison emerge from the ink machine. He was the first thing she saw in the real world.

“Hey, Allison. This is Tom.”

Allison stared at him a moment. “You aren’t Tom. I would remember my own husband- I don’t know who you are.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. You aren’t getting your memories back. I’ll explain why later. But anyhow, let’s go home.

It had been too long since he’d seen her true form. And Allison seemed to like it, too. The two of them flew back to California soon after. Thankfully, Allison did at least seem to remember most things about how the world worked- perhaps due to Alice, who’d had her memories of living in her cartoon world to draw on. What’s more, their house was still waiting for them- apparently Allison’s relatives hadn’t or had only recently given up the hunt for them. Eighteen months of dust covered all the surfaces, and the plants in the garden had all either overgrown or died, but Thomas was still grateful that they had been gone more briefly than most and could pick up their lives more easily. There was so much to do- relatives to call and say, “hey, I’m alive!” to topped the list. But that could wait until tomorrow. Today, it was late. As the two settled into bed, Allison said,

“Hey. I know this is going to take a lot of patience from you. But I’m going to try to be just like Allison was, alright? Tell me about her tomorrow. She has a nice body, and good taste in homes and husbands. That’s a good start.”

Thomas laughed a little. “Sure. Glad you like what she has, since you can’t exactly trade. I’ll do my best, too, with the readjusting. That’s a promise.”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Off Day: Fourteen

It had taken some convincing. And some bribery. And a promise that you could paint whatever you wanted as long as it looked cool and not too girly, but Nat had gotten you to agree to paint a wall of the clubhouse. An accent wall. A mural. Whatever but, you were doing it, even if you were still currently drawing out your designs.

Keeping busy was apparently your secret. Being busy and taking your medication which Bucky could respect. You’d politely declined therapy, stating that if you ever went to a therapist, they’d probably just throw you in the dumpster and inform your family to just start over. Still. You were steadily gaining back some healthy weight and had the energy to do things. It was a start.

A good start, Bucky reflected as he inspected the trail of love bites you’d left on his chest. He shook his head. You could be such a brat on your good days, pouty and mischevious. It made him itch to turn you over his knee and spank your bottom until it was the perfect shade of red to suit his mood. Still. He was happy that you were stable. That you were coping with things.

It didn’t mean there were no bad days, where all your depression and anxiety and pain were so loud that all you wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry yourself back to sleep. On those days, he was thankful for Salem. She’d stand on your back and scream until you got up to feed her. Or fill the water bowl she knocked over. You’d let yourself go without food or water but you’d never do that to your cat. He’d learned to let you get up and do it. Once you fed Salem, it was a shower. Once you showered, you got dressed. Once you dressed it was coffee, and by then, you felt alive enough to be on your feet. Routine helped, he realized. And having him there. He spent more time at your house than he did at his anymore. Not that he minded. Your bed was more comfortable.

Bucky changed his shirt and walked back out to the front. It was abnormally quiet. Nat had turned the Jukebox down and everyone appeared to be waiting for something. “Nat what-” he asked, looking to where Sam and Clint had subtly posted themselves near you as you worked, momentarily oblivious.

Nat shook her head and quietly indicated where Char and her Posse had rolled up, clearly intending to cause trouble. Char was still sore that her plot to Baby trap Bucky hadn’t worked. And more sore that the new rumor in town was that he moved in with you because he’d knocked you up and was going to help take care of the baby. The only explanation the biddies at the beauty shop could come up with for the sudden healthy flush in your face and a little bit of weight gained. “Jesus Christ,” Bucky groaned, “Nat, can’t you throw them out?”

“I could. But honestly, I don’t wanna miss the show,” Nat said smirking.

“Nat, Y/N’s never been in a fight.”

“Yeah she has,” Nat snorted, “Just because she doesn’t advertise it doesn’t mean she can’t fight... I mean Char runs her mouth all over town and hasn’t realized that if you break your hand throwing a punch you probably did it wrong.”

“Fuck me,” he sighed, starting over to you, “I can’t-” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence. Char’s perfume clogs his nose and he has this sense of impending doom in the bit of his stomach, “Hey, Buckaroo,” she purred, “Looks like your pet psycho is out of the looney bin still, and it paints. How sweet.”

Bucky can’t even answer. Before he can blink you’re standing between them. You might have to look up a Char but there’s no doubting that you’re not intimidated. “Nat,” you ask, “Did you pull the string on her back? I didn’t know the new line of Prosti-tots came out.”

Char reared back to hit you, her girls whipping out phones in the background and Bucky can’t do anything. There isn’t time. She gets a hit in. A bad one. It misses because you turn your head to deflect it, reaching up while she’s angry. Distracted. And grabbing the back of her head. Faster than Bucky thought possible. You bounce her face a few times off the bar and shove her backward over the nearest table, “Any of you come near him again and I’ll show you psycho, you stupid cunt. He said no. That’s it. It’s over.”

One the floor, Char is mewling and screaming and her girls are struggling to get her off the floor. They yell a bunch of inarticulate things about you going to pay and you bing a bitch but you don’t speak as they’re escorted out. You don’t have to. You didn’t throw the first punch.

Nat wordlessly hands you a Shirley Temple and you take a sip, “Thanks.”

“Any time,” she snorted, “Just don’t fuck up my face.”

“Please. Her plastic surgeon fucked that up long before I got to it.”

Bucky looked from the makeup smeared on the bar back to you and pulls you against his chest, kissing you hard. You make a soft surprised noise against his lips and he pulls you closer with a soft growl, ignoring a chorus of whistles and people telling him to get a room. He doesn’t care. He needs to tell you how fucking hot that was. How fucking scared he’d been. A visceral, knee jerk reaction to someone that had actively tried to ruin his life to make him stay with her. Being with you. Someone who really loved him had made him realize how fucking abusive Char was. She didn’t feed him shots at the bar so he'd have a good time. She did it so she could control him. All her demands and mood swings and tantrums were meant to keep him on the line. Craving approval she’d never really give him. He’d assumed relationships were supposed to be that exhausting. 

Until now. Until you showed him what mutual affection and respect was supposed to look like. Even on your worst day. Even when you felt like dying. You made sure he had what he knew you loved him. You’d bring him a coffee or send him a picture of a cool ass bike you saw online. Smudge sleepy kisses against his lips when he tucked you into bed. Hell, doing the dishes after he made supper. 

When he finally pulls away, needing to breathe before he throws you over his shoulder and sets you on the nearest flat surface to fuck you stupid, you look up at him wide-eyed and breathless. “Thank you,” he murmurs, rubbing your kiss swollen lower lip with his thumb. 

“Anything for you, handsome,” you answer, kissing his thumb.

Bucky doesn’t have to explain. You know what abuse looks like. How it feels to long for approval and never get it. How it feels to be with someone you love and still feel alone. How easy it is to tolerate the abuse you believe you deserve, because how could You. You of all people ever deserve better. Your reaction to the look on his face had been instant. You’d heard him in the quiet. And Her. When you turned and saw the hunted, anxious look on his face at the corners of his eyes and in the shape of his mouth, you just couldn’t sit back and let Nat do it. He didn’t belong to Nat. He belonged to you. He was Yours and you’d be damned if that woman was ever going to touch him again.

“Come watch me work?” you ask, wanting his company but not wanting to keep him from his friends. 

“Can I heckle?” he teased kissing your nose.

“Only if you make it up to me later,” you tell him grinning.

“Deal.”

____________

“Buck,” Steve asked later, when you were sitting at the bar, very intently drawing on the arm he didn’t need to drink his beer, “What the fuck is she doing?”

“Designing a cover up for the bullshit tats you didn’t talk me out of.” he answers.

“Why?” he asked.

Bucky shrugged, trying to keep his arm still.

“Bucky stop moving,” you scold.

“It tickles right there,” he protested.

“Clients,” you grouse.

Steve walks around the stool to peer over your shoulder, “Hey, that’s not bad,” he said, “Y/N you do tats?”

You shrug sitting up to stretch your back and push your glasses up, “I did an apprenticeship but didn’t stay with it. The shop stole a shit load of my art. Then tattooed it. Badly.”

“Ever done any pin-ups?” Clint asked.

“I’ve drawn them,” you tell him, “I toyed with the idea of putting one over all the scarring on my thigh but couldn’t work out how to incorporate the scarring and make it look right.”

Clint nodded, “Would you do one on me?” he asked.

You shake your head, “Bucky bought me a new kit but it’s been a long time since I tattooed skin. I’d have to do some work on pig skin before I’d feel comfortable tattooing anyone.”

“Hell,” Nat said taking a pull of her beer, “That alone means you’re probably a better artist than the scratchers in this hell hole.”

You shrug, “Probably but, I’d just feel more comfortable with some time to practice before I mess with someone’s skin.”

“Where do you even buy pigskin?”

“Butchers,” you answer, inspecting your work on your boyfriend's arm and nodding to yourself, uncapping a green marker. 

Bucky makes a mental note to track some down somewhere, He’d love it if you’d put a tattoo on him. Even if it isn’t a big one. Maybe just a little something somewhere. Lip prints on that spot on his thigh that made him giggle when you brushed your lips across it. A morning-glory, your favorite flower on the inside of his wrist. Something to remind him he belonged to you, even when he didn’t feel good enough. Even if people stared at him when he took you out for dinner. The big scary biker that smelled vaguely of oil and gasoline no matter how hard he scrubbed. It clung to him. The calloused hands that were almost never clean enough to not make him feel like he was going to leave dirt on the table cloth. He felt awkward and out of place while you looked clean and fresh in a blouse and cute skirt. He’d like the morning glory idea. He’d have to have you draw one on him so he could get it tattooed properly. He liked having a reminder where he could see it. 

“Baby girl?” he murmured, “You got any room left to draw something for me?”

“A little,” you say, pushing your glasses up, “Got something you wanna take on a test drive?”

He smiles a little and kisses the end of your nose, “I just want a little flower,” he said, “A morning-glory.”

Your cheeks heat a little and you go through your bag of sharpies for the colors you need. “Where’d you want it? You don’t have much real estate for me to work with.”

“Right here,” he said pointing to a spot of bare skin on the inside of his wrist. You nod and start drawing. “You know this won’t stay on there right?” you remind him.

“I guess that just means you’ll have to keep drawing it on for me. Least til you actually want to bust out your kit.” he hums, leaning down to kiss your hair.

Clint made a noise suggestive of gagging and Nat smacked him in the back of the head, quietly trying not to giggle. This was possibly the cutest thing to ever happen in her bar and she was really, really thankful she got pictures. Your kids some day were gonna need to see their dad look at you like he was right now.

Tags: @lancsnerd @etherealwaifgoddess @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @stevieang @wellfucksorrymum