#that day i just doodled with paper and pens i was given until i was ready

[iridescentis]

Interesting mental thing I've been thinking about recently:

I figured out that if I can't talk, my brain is distracted by finding alternative ways of communication and the uncomfortable sensation of suddenly not being able to talk, so it reduces the overwhelming feelings I'm dealing with and brings me out of a breakdown, so at some point I started essentially tricking myself to believe I can't talk in those situations. I just got myself an A5 whiteboard book thing I can take with me anywhere but I've used notes apps and whiteboard apps to communicate in the past and it's weirdly a really good way for me to feel better? Like I can go from feeling awful and painfully overwhelmed to chill and cheerful just by shutting up?? I don't get it! Now, it's not always a choice, I would say it's 50/50 intentional or subconscious, but I still see it as a coping mechanism whether I do it on purpose or not 🤷‍♂️

I also used to do the same thing with freezing, I would get overwhelmed and subconsciously get stuck and unable to move my legs, which distracted me with something completely different to overcome and work around. Those were completely unintentional and very annoying at the time but in hindsight it was definitely my brain giving me an out, which is kinda cool!

I do feel bad sometimes because I feel like if it's not involuntary it might come across as a selfish inconvenience for other people but it is genuinely the only thing that works other than letting myself have a full on breakdown which is much less pleasant and far more humiliating for everyone involved 🤦‍♂️😭

[miguelhugger2099]

Punk!Miguel who’s proud of his tattoos. At least most of them. He has some professionally done and others were stick and pokes from when him and Gabriel were younger.

Punk!Miguel who watches you with a smile when you touch up and down his arm. He hides the shivers down his spine when your perfectly manicured pink and green nails rake across the art decorated on him.

“What’s this one?” You poke at a terrible done smiley face, it was a little blobbed but barely noticeable with the much nicer ones done around it.

“One of the first tries my brother did on me when he was starting out.”

“And you kept it?” You tilt your head with a scrunch of your nose. Miguel laughs.

“Sentimental value.”

You scoff. “No way.”

“Yeah, way.” He takes your hands and pulls you closer, lugging you forward onto his lap where you belonged. Getting yourself comfortable you placed your hands on his chest.

“Are you just gonna have them on your arms?” You ask, tugging down his shirt for a peek at any new ones. Miguel smirks and stops your peeking by tsking and shaking his head—a knowing look on his face.

“Course not but tattoos cost money, babe.”

“You should get one of me.” You pout your lips, crossing your arms that makes you seem snobbish.

“What? Like get one of your face?” He laughs and leans back on his hands.

“No! Like—I dunno! Something sentimental about…me?” You look away, feeling the prickling embarrassment crawling up your neck. “Never mind!”

“Oh, so you want to be on my body, huh?” He teases, taking your hand and sliding it under his tank top to feel his warm stomach, faint dips of abs.

“You know what I mean!” You whine, feeling frozen with him holding your hand in place. He can’t help but find you adorable. Letting go of your hand to come around your waist as he leans up again, one hand coming down to cup your ass. He swallows your squeak with a kiss, unable to stop himself from biting into your sweetness.

Punk!Miguel who—even if he teased you about it—actually adored the idea of having a tattoo of you on him.

Punk!Miguel who thought day and night of what could represent you. Flowers he felt was done often, your name was cute but basic and anything else could very well be mistaken for something else. He wanted something that was obviously you.

Punk!Miguel who was rearranging his room again, bustling through various boxes for some spring cleaning.

Punk!Miguel who found his box of memories from when you two first began dating. It had been filled with all your gifts and letters you’d given him—every last piece saved securely in the corner of his room.

He smiles as he opens the box up again. Some pieces of papers falling out and the little broken keychain you got to match with him until it snapped when he accidentally sat on it.

He sits at his desk, flipping through the pages and tiny plushies you’ve given him. His heart swelling at the swirls in your writing with blue ink—the bunny pen you always wrote with.

The smile on his face continues as he reads through your words of love for him—words that you often found too difficult to say. He slams his forehead on the desk, blush coating his cheeks and ears while he groans loudly.

Each letter you’d given him ended with a print of your kiss mark at the very bottom. Some of it was a matte red, others was a faint glitter stain, but most of it was a soft pinkish color. The kind that was glossy and gave you just enough color that it looked tinted and natural.

His finger grazes the mark, an idea popping in his head.

Punk!Miguel who goes to a tattoo shop he was very well acquainted with, with an artist he knew extra well.

He slams his arm on the counter where a man was behind it, sucking on a lollipop and doodling in his sketchbook. The guy raises an annoyed brow.

“Do you have any space open for a walk-in client?” Miguel asks with a smirk.

“I don’t have space for annoying ones.” He sighs and puts his drawing pad away.

“I have money this time, Gabri. Plus, family discount.”

Punk!Miguel who is both afraid and excited to show you what he’s done to himself. He feels his heart hammering while he preps himself to show you. He’d done the aftercare as precisely as possible, taking extra care of it because this was no ordinary tattoo.

Punk!Miguel that lets you take off his shirt when he tells you he’s gotten a tattoo of you.

Punk!Miguel who smiles with amusement when you gasp and hit his arm that you were joking before! That tattooing is a permanent thing! He tells you that he knows.

His heart stills when you eyes land on his chest. On his left side, where his heart would be was your kiss mark. Just like the ones you left on the letters you used to give him.

You touch your lips subconsciously, your other set of fingers hovering over his lifted skin. You look up for permission and he nods, brining himself closer.

You marvel at the piece of work that replicated your lips. “Oh, Miguel…” You sigh, blinking back tears.

“Are you getting emotional?”

“No!”

He brings you to his chest in a tight hug, your hand still resting beside your kiss mark now permanently etched on his person—a permanent reminder that he is yours and that he loves you.

[satanghulu]

Thnks fr th Mmrs

✦ PAIRING: barbatos & reader (no romantic relationship but you can read it as such) ✦ SUMMARY: A collection of photos throughout his life. ✦ WARNING: FLUFF!! Tooth-rotting fluff to be exact; one use of MC instead of Y/N ✦ WC: 1.8K ✦ tagging my fav barbatos stan @romcomeon huehue, hope u enjoy it!! also huge thanks to lupe & kelo who had to sit thru my rambling while i talked abt this fic 🧍‍♂️

| MASTERLIST

══════════════════

For a demon who has been there since the beginning of time, Barbatos has never seen the need to be captured in history – he is not the kind of person who has photos of himself in his D.D.D. He doesn’t see the need to. His gallery is filled with pictures of paperwork, the young master in all sorts of situations, sometimes Lucifer makes an appearance along with the other demon brothers. But regardless, there are hardly any photos of himself.

That is until the exchange program happened.

Lately, his gallery seems to be filling up – he has been taking pictures of his baked goods with Luke smiling proudly in the background, (he keeps this photo close to his heart. In a way, this reminds him of the young demon prince.) and he even has pictures with the other angels when there are events organised in the Demon Lord Castle. 

Luke sends him pictures of himself – he saves all of them into a folder on his D.D.D. and sometimes, he pulls them out if he needs a pick-me-up. But most of all, his gallery has been recently populated with pictures of you. Of course, the Demon Prince would be the first in terms of photos in his gallery but following close behind, he has amassed a collection of you.

They’re not even anything special. They are just photos that you have sent over during conversations with him. He categorises them into folders – there is a collection of your selfies, food photos that you send over, photos that reminds him of you, and another one of your daily life.

Maybe it’s the age catching up with him, but he thinks he is becoming softer.

Lucifer tells him so as well.

(“You’ve been smiling at your phone more often nowadays.” Lucifer says. The conversation was unexpected, coming out of nowhere as the two of them were buried deep in paperwork in the Student Council Room.

Barbatos nods, hands paused mid-air in the middle of checking his notifications. 

“Luke sent me photos of Simeon, MC, and him going on a picnic.” He replies instead. His hands were busy moving to place the D.D.D. back into his pockets. To be exact, both Luke and you had sent him photos but saying it in front of Lucifer felt like losing, an uncertain feeling in his stomach.

Lucifer stopped and looked up from his document, tired eyes wide open in surprise.

“I see.” He says after a moment of silence, turning back to his stack of paperwork. The grating noise of pen scratching paper fills the air again.

 “This expression is a good look on you.”  

Barbatos blinks in surprise, mulling the sentence over in his head.)

.

He has a recent new favourite – it’s a photo of the young master, you, and him in a selfie together. It was taken after an expedition to the human world with you being their guide. (There was honestly no reason for you to be the guide but both the young master and him insisted on your help.)

You’re in the middle, face squished in between his and the young master’s. The three of you are wearing accessories; a huge bow headband in matching colours, squeezed into the small photo booth. The demon prince and you had given him puppy eyes to convince him to wear the headbands and it didn’t take much for him to give in.

You’re also holding a huge teddy bear plushie, bestowed by the young demon prince who had wanted to repay you for your time. The maroon teddy bear had taken up most of the space in the photo and is blocking half of your face, but the genuine happy expression on your face is clear as day. 

The picture was adorned with silly doodles, courtesy of both the young prince and you. He places the picture behind his D.D.D – no one knows it’s there, he uses a simple black cover that Luke had gotten him when the little angel had realised he hadn’t changed his case in decades.

The young master has it proudly framed in the office and Lucifer’s eyebrow twitches a little every time he comes into the room. Barbatos finds it funny, really. But he doesn’t comment on it for the sake of the ever-growing stack of paperwork.

.

The young prince was currently on an excursion with the Avatar of Pride and hadn’t wanted him to tag along. Thus, Barbatos had busied himself with assigning the Little D’s chores and re-training them on the basics. Really, he hasn’t been taking care of them much lately and their skills had deteriorated. It seemed that he would need to be stricter in his future training.

From the corner of his eyes, his D.D.D flashes with a notification. He slowly took his time to walk across the room to check on the message. (The Little D’s would beg to differ. They would say that a gust of wind almost sent them flying when Barbatos got up to check on the notification.)

Surprisingly, it was a message from you and not Lord Diavolo. 

.

[02:14PM] You: barbatos, would u be free right abt now? could you stop by HOL? i need ur help with something :<

[02:20PM] Barbatos: I am free right now, thankfully. I’ll head over to the HOL in a minute. 

He’s curious as to what is the issue. It is a given that you have become independent due to the harsh settings of the Devildom and it’s almost unheard of for you to request help, especially from him and not the demon brothers.

.

The doorbell rang, a long chime of an anime song that rings throughout the house. Levi had installed it a few months after moving in and none of them had figured out how to change the tune.

He patiently waits.

The door swings open. He is greeted by the sight of you, eyes bright and wide open as you huff loudly. It seemed that you had run down from somewhere in the house to not keep him waiting.

“Hello.” 

He bows his head slightly as a form of politeness. You stand there, hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath. His lips twitched in amusement but he fought to keep it down. Finally, you cleared your throat and straightened up.

“You’re here! Come with me.” You turned on your heels to walk off, leaving Barbatos in your wake. This strange behaviour left him even more puzzled, yet also entertained. 

He follows behind you, noting that the house seemed quieter than usual. As far as he knows, only the young prince and the firstborn should be out of the house. But he digresses. It’s not his responsibility to keep track of their schedules.

Lost in his thoughts, he only realised that the final destination was your room. He watches as you knock on the door and then immediately pushes him forward to open the door handle. Bemused, he did exactly as you motioned.

“Happy birthday!”

Multicoloured confetti fluttered in his vision, twirling to land around his feet. He stares at the air for a while, the stark contrast of the rainbow-squared paper against the wall somehow made his throat develop a lump.

A tug on his coat caught his attention. He chances a glance down to see a mess of blonde hair sprinkled with colourful paper, bashfully holding the end of his tailcoat.

“Luke.” He says, hand automatically landing on the top of his head to pick out the confetti.

The small angel pushes a gift into his arm, before quickly scuttling away to Simeon’s side. It was a box of macarons and a limited-edition baking cookbook from the Celestial Realm. It was truly sweet how much the little angel catered to his preference.

“The gifts are from Luke and I.” Simeon chuckles, as he pushes Luke in front of him. He arched an eyebrow towards Barbatos, gloved hands placed on the shoulder of the younger angel.

“Thank you.” He said, hands wrapping around the gifts tightly. “I will prepare something for your birthdays next year as well.” The older angel smiles at him peacefully, gesturing for him to turn around.

You stand there with a beam, a present clutched in your arms. He badly wants to pick off the confetti in your hair but he knows it isn’t appropriate.

“We know it’s earlier than your birthday but we wanted to do something for you too.” You pipe up, offering the vaguely book-shaped present to him. 

“Luke and I need to head back to the Celestial Realm on your actual birthday.” Simeon quips in, fingers picking out all the confetti that Barbatos had missed earlier. “And Luke also really wanted to celebrate with you.” Barbatos couldn’t help but find the miniature pout on Luke’s face cute.

“Anyways, open it!” With excitement evident in your voice, you dragged Barbatos to sit on the bed. Dimly, he notes that the teddy bear that the young master had gotten for you was taking up almost half of the bed. (Maybe for the sake of your quality of sleep, he should magic it down.) He carefully tears the wrapping off, and what’s inside makes him let out a soft appreciative noise.

“Do you like it?” You gave him a big toothy grin, eagerly pointing at the book. “I noticed how much you liked the photo we took together during our trip in the human world.”

Barbatos stays silent, staring blankly at the book. The moment everything sinks in, he looks up at you with eyes wide and searching.

“I pulled some strings and went around collecting photos from everyone.” You continued bragging, tugging the book away from him. You flipped through the pages to point at each picture, the two angels crowding around the bed to listen intently.

“I had the most trouble collecting this particular--“

“--Thank you.” He says once. “Thank you all.” He speaks out louder again, feeling like his heart was laid bare for all to see. In retrospect, a photo album and a cooking book are considered nothing in the larger scheme of things but the thoughtfulness behind the gifts makes it feel…different.

Most of his usual composure has been lost due to the embarrassed flush on his cheek but no one in the room points it out. Instead, you smile softly at him as you reach out to tap him on the shoulder once for reassurance.

“Picture?”

Simeon brandishes a camera, a model that Barbatos vaguely recognises from the Celestial Realm. You squeeze up beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist as you push Luke to sit on his other end.

“You can add this photo to the album too.” You whisper into his ears as if you were telling him a top-notch secret. “I left some slots blank so that we can fill it up in the future.”

He ponders your words in his head even as the timer goes off and the resultant flash blinds his vision for a bit.

We, huh?

He supposes that it has a nice ring to it.

══════════════════

a/n ▸ i’m of the agenda that barbatos adopted luke as his nephew/son or whatever but i just know he showers luke in love (as he should) also the photobooth photo is just because im a huge huge sucker for photobooths. I love wearing headbands and taking silly photos <3 also, first barb fic. do not perceive me too much. im struggling. /j ;; also can this be accepted as a very late barbatos birthday post

[aajxs]

always and forever , SATORU GOJO !

the one where you're gone and satoru is reminiscing.

pairings - satoru gojo x fem!reader

contents - angstttt!!! , hurt/little comfort , mentions of death , mentions of blood , satoru gojo is bad at feelings , maybe ooc gojo (??) , arguing , idk what else to add so lmk if I missed anything

w/c - ???

a/n - the highly requested part two to 'meant to be'. I didn't really know how to end this but I hope it turned out okay 😭

masterlist , part one .

SATORU WAS ASKED the same question a lot. 'Is there anything you don't have?' He'd laugh this question off, give the person a cocky smirk and continue with his day. If he could, he'd give an entire list of things he doesn't have. Your name would be at the top of the list every time.

Satoru couldn't stand the atmosphere around jujutsu high now that you were gone. He used to sleep well knowing you were only a few rooms down peacefully sleeping, bundled in blankets and hugging whatever stuffed animal you had chosen out of your large collection that night.

Satoru always teased you about it, but that never stopped you from buying new ones. You had given him one of your favorite stuffed animals awhile back, and even though Satoru let out a laugh when you handed him the bear, he treated it with the utmost care simply because it was yours.

Before your room was emptied, Yaga allowed Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko to go through your belongings and take something to remember you by. Even if it was probably against the rules, he knew the four of you were close. The distant look in Satorus eyes said everything, and Satoru Gojo was never distant.

"Try to make it quick," Yaga said, patting Satoru on the shoulder as he walked out of the room. Your walls were littered with posters and polaroids, your nightstand had a book on it, your bed wasn't made, and everything felt so natural. Satoru knew that Suguru and Shoko would probably want some of your polaroids, so he only took the ones that had the two of you in them.

Your closet was still full of clothes. Extra uniforms because you always somehow ruined yours on missions, comfy clothes for when you weren't in your uniform, and the occasional t-shirt or pair of sweatpants that you had stolen from Satoru (He let you have them, but he always swore you took it simply because he liked being petty).

A part of him didn't want to take any of his stuff back, but he knew that if he didn't it'd probably be thrown away. Satoru went through your closet and grabbed anything that belonged to him, throwing it over his shoulder. When he was done, he turned around and strode towards your nightstand.

Satoru squatted down and opened the drawer to your nightstand and rummaged through it for a moment. There were notebooks that were mostly empty, and then sketchbooks filled to the brim with drawings. Satoru always saw you doodling whenever you got ahold of paper, and couldn't help but get curious. He would peer over your shoulder when you weren't paying attention and look at your little drawings.

He always thought it was cute how you'd keep a small notepad and a pen on you at all times just so you could draw. Whenever you and him would walk together to meet up with the others, you would occasionally stop to sketch the scenery.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Satoru questioned as he loomed next you, peeking curiously at what you were drawing. "Doing what?" You ask, glancing up at him for a moment before returning to your sketch. "You keep stopping to draw or whatever, why?" He asks again, this time a bit closer to you. "Well," You started, "It's easier than waiting until later when I don't remember all the details." You quickly explain, not caring to go into depth.

Satoru hummed and continued to watch you sketch. "I try to sketch out the base when I first see it, then make a better drawing later." You add as you glimpse at Satoru again. "Well hurry it up, we're gonna be late again." Satoru commented with a small smile, making you grin at him.

Satoru put down the notebook he was once skimming through, and grabbed one of your sketchbooks. He skimmed through it, most were of scenery, but there were a select few that caught his eye. There were a few drawings of Shoko and Suguru, and enough drawings of him that he couldn't count it on two hands.

Satoru blinked and a few tears he didn't know were welling up in his eyes fell onto the page. It was a drawing of him, it wasn't clear what he was doing in the drawing, but his face wasn't fully visible but from what he could see he looked focused. It was as if somebody snapped a photo of him and slapped it onto the page.

He cursed under his breath before picking up the notebook that he had put down earlier and placed it back inside your nightstand. After wiping his eyes, he closed the sketchbook in his hand and stared at it for a moment.

It wouldn't hurt to keep it.

Satoru took a deep breath as he stood up, taking in your scent one last time before exiting the room. Yaga was leaned against the wall, patiently waiting for Satoru to finish up. "What's with the clothes?" The teacher asked without thinking, slightly raising a brow in the process. "What do you think is with the clothes?" Satoru snapped, giving Yaga a look before trudging off to his quarters.

"Are you alright Satoru? You've been avoiding me and Shoko all day," Suguru voiced as he sauntered over to Satoru, who was sat under a large tree that was somewhat close to the school. "I'm fine, jus' been thinking, that's all." Satoru chirped back, sliding something into his pocket.

Satorus jacket was laying next to him, leaving him in his white button up. Suguru soundlessly made his way over to Satoru and sat down next to him, "Seriously, Satoru, what's up with you?" He asked gently, giving his friend a concerned look.

"I'm fine, Suguru–" Satoru began before getting cut off by a scoff from his best friend. "No you're not, tell me what's been going on." Suguru said, his voice stern. "Don't push it!" Satoru snapped his head towards the man next to him, an evident scowl on his face. Suguru visibly flinched away from Satoru.

"Ever since Y/N, you've been an asshole to everyone." Suguru said as he stood up, "She wouldn't want this." Before Satoru knew it, he was on his feet and Sugurus collar was bunched in his hands.

"Don't you dare try to tell me what she would want! You don't know her like I do!" Satoru yelled, his grip on Sugurus collar tightening by the second. "You're right, I didn't know her like you did," Suguru says, somehow keeping his composure, "And maybe I don't know you like she knew you, but I do know that this isn't you." He says while gesturing to Satoru with his hands, making his grip loosen slightly.

"I know it must hurt, but you need to understand that the rest of us are grieving too. Don't be selfish." Suguru says, and Satoru hesitantly removes his grip on his collar. "Me? Selfish? It's like I'm the only one here who actually cares!" Satoru curses, throwing his arms into the air in frustration.

"Y/N died in my arms! I came back here covered in her blood! It's almost like I'm the only one who actually gives a shit around here! Ever since the news broke, you assholes have acted like everything's normal! Like everythings not fucking ruined now that she's gone!" Satoru yells, shoving Suguru away from him, "Don't you dare try to call me selfish, you weren't there, Suguru." Satoru breathes shakily before snatching his jacket off the ground and walking off, leaving his best friend stunned.

That was the first time since your death that Satoru openly admitted that you were gone. Out of touch, in a place where not even Satoru Gojo can reach you.

After the incident with Suguru, Satoru tries hard to make it seem like he's okay. Like he's slowly getting over you. Over your death. In truth? It felt like it was getting worse. Satoru didn't eat or sleep, and he didn't have the energy or stimulation that his cursed technique required to be at its full power.

To a stranger, you and Satoru were simply best friends. Two people that understood each other through and through, even if there were a lot of ups and downs. To people close to the two of you, you were the only people who didn't realize the feelings the other had, and it caused a lot of problems in your friendship.

To Satoru, you were like his emotional support person. Better yet, his person. You were there for him when Suguru or Shoko couldn't be, you witnessed (one too many) of his breakdowns, you knew Satoru like the back of your hand. You were his and he was yours, even if neither of you realized it. Losing you meant he had one less person to lean on when things went bad.

Maybe Satoru was a little selfish after all.

The more Satoru thought about it, the more he realized your death could have been prevented. They should've given you a partner, they should've sent him or Suguru with you. If he got there a little earlier, maybe he would have been able to save you.

Satoru knew he would have to learn death sometime in his life, but if he knew you would be the first lesson, he would've let himself die a long time ago if it meant he wouldn't have to suffer the loss of you.

Satoru stared blankly up at his ceiling, recalling moments that reminded him of you.

Him and Suguru were walking in town earlier that day, and he caught a whiff of the perfume you used to wear. He froze in place and turned to look at the woman who was wearing the familiar scent, images of you flashing quickly through his mind. After that small moment, it felt as if Satorus mood had deflated like a balloon for the rest of the day.

Then, Satoru had taken off his glasses for a few minutes while in a large crowd, and a splitting migraine quickly formed. He recalled that there were many times when you two would be on the subway together, and maybe he had forgotten his glasses that day. You would drape an arm over his shoulder and cover his eyes with your hand.

You knew that his six eyes became overwhelming at times, and when he forgot his glasses it was hard for him to not look like he was in pain. You would always remind him that he needed to keep them on him at all times, and even convinced him to buy an extra pair to keep inside the pockets of his uniform just in case.

"Satoru, you can't keep forgetting them," You'd say as you held your hand over his eyes. At first he'd flinch away, and you would apologize before taking your hand away from his face. Then it'd be Satoru apologizing and grabbing your hand to place it over his eyes again, his lips curving upwards slightly at your sweet gesture.

It would always be you, that was something Satoru embedded into his mind. Even when he's older and has students of his own. Even when he's the strongest jujustu sorcerer in the world and has many people after him. Even when he's beginning to forget your face and what it felt like to hold you.

It would always be you, whether he wanted it to be or not.

© AAJXS

[castielmydarling]

Suptober 2023-Day 5: Portrait

Pencil to Paper-456 words on AO3 or below Summary: Dean has time to work on his favorite subject, Cas. A sequel of sorts to days 3 fic pen to paper

“How’s it coming?” Cas says calmly. 

“You can’t rush greatness.” Dean glances up from his sketchbook to look at Cas, sitting in the armchair. 

Cas rolls his eyes. 

“Hey, none of that.” Dean chides.

“Dean, I’ve stood and watched humanity pass by for decades at a time. I have no problem waiting. I waited over twelve years for you, didn’t I?” He teases, amused. 

Dean blushes. “Hey, don’t pin all that on me.”

“Anyways, I was simply inquiring how it was coming along.” Cas continues. 

“Sure you were.” Cas talks big but Dean knows he can either be ‘Mr. I’ll wait here then’ or ‘Mr. How long is this going to take.’. He looks over his drawing. “About three quarters done. Maybe another hour?” He guesses.

“Can I see?” Cas shifts as if to get up. 

“You stay there.” Dean scolds. “No peeking. You know the rules.”

Sometimes hunts were boring. They involved a lot of stakeouts and waiting around. Dean took to doodling on whatever napkin or scrap of paper he had handy to pass the time. It wasn’t until Cas died at Lucifer’s hand that Dean found his favorite subject. He thought drawing him would help keep him alive, help him cope. It didn’t exactly help much but after Cas came back he kept at it. Cas was gone too much for his liking so drawing him was a way to keep him close. And it helped. A little. 

Dean rarely did full body portraits, mainly sticking to simple quick sketches. Once or twice Cas caught him sketching him while he slept. Dean told him he had no room to complain given the years Cas spent watching him sleep. 

This was the first time Cas was posing for him. Awake and knowingly, anyways. Dean was nervous he wouldn’t be able to draw properly. Sometimes Cas’ gaze could make him feel like he was under a microscope, in the best way. But once he started he found it surprisingly easy. It was relaxing to know they had time to do this. He wasn’t just doing a quick thing in a motel room before leaving to kill some monster. No. Now they had time to sit around in silence while Dean worked. And Cas was more than happy to sit around and watch him do it. 

“I think I know what’s taking so long.” Cas says, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’m wearing all these clothes. I’m sitting in this big armchair. Maybe next time we stay in our room, eliminate some items.” He says nonchalantly. 

Dean’s hand slips. He works to fix the huge line now cutting across the page. “ Uh, yeah. We could try that.” He says tyring, and failing, to keep his voice steady. 

[infinite-protagonist]

>[A little crow was just standing on the side of your window. It had a collar with a letter in it, and there's a big package that the crow is standing on. You opened the package and inside is a rat plush, a camera, a chrysanthemums bouquet, and a letter on a pink paper.]

Hi Elliott! I hope you're feeling better. I'm sorry on what you've been through, I'm really sorry that I wasn't there by your side like I promised but I will make it up to you. I will be gone for a few days but I'll be back really really soon! Please rest, don't work yet because you are recovering, and don't forget that I love you very much. If you want to reply, just write a letter and burn it. Ok, seriously, I have to go. But I still miss you and love you"

- Zelda Blight 🩷

((OOC: I hope you're feeling better, dude. Pls don't forget that there are people who care and love you!

- Rian (Ri-yan) 💜

>[He reached over to his window, which was luckily right not to his bed. He looked puzzled, but when he opened the letter, he began to smile faintly. As much as he appreciated her contacting him, he was having trouble identifying his feelings recently.]

>[He sat up, wincing. He moved the plush rat to his bedside table along with the sweet treat the anon had given him a few days ago. He put the bouquet beside it, and the camera beside him. Lastly, he reached into his bedside drawers, digging through them and pulling out a pen and a piece of paper. It was slightly wrinkled, but it wasn't that bad, and it was the only thing he could reach.]

“Dear Zelda,

I've missed you a lot. I'm in so much pain, I wish you were here with me. Thank you for the gifts. I promise I won't go into work, not until I'm better. I'm sure the Boss will understand why I haven't showed up. Thank you again. Stay safe out there.

Much love, Elliott.”

>[He quickly drew a few doodles of mice and rats one the outside of the writing on the letter, along with a few hearts. He took the lighter he kept on the table next to his bed, and burnt the letter. Hopefully that would work.]

(thank you!! im feeling better for now. honestly i sometimes doubt anybody cares about me, but ive been getting so much support since my return, itll be hard to doubt it again haha)

[scxttershot]

21. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

22. How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Honestly, he'd probably start drawing. Nothing specific, just doodles in the way that some people run a pen idly over the leg of their pants. Just something to occupy his hands, nothing more. Better than constantly cleaning his guns even when they really don't need to be cleaned.

Floyd's very much a "shove shit I don't want to see around every day in my closet and forget about it" kind of guy. It's not really being organized so much as clutter stresses him out; the clutter is just somewhere else now. As things stand, he doesn't want to acknowledge a lot of issues until they're proverbially staring him in the face re. the fact he will one day have to come to terms with how he's not often romantically attracted to women and is borderline homoromantic, what having a family means to him, etc. He's not really great with words either.

[kloofspeaks]

Oblivion | A Bradley Bradshaw Fictional Work

Words: 4054

Summary:

He threw his dreams down deep in his heart to focus on his failure, to him the world slowed down so he could catch up but it was starting to go faster the more he aged and the more he didn’t change. He had been stuck in this flooding stronghold since he was given the memory of his father dying, when his mother got fed up with his childish questions and finally told him. 

“The ocean took him from you.”

Chapter list can be found : here

Tags: @notyoursbutlewis, @bayisdying, @callmemana, @viothewolx

The water was calm, the scent of salt water stinging the noise hairs of Maverick as he was resting on the sand that was just mere-feet away from the deck of the bar. There were surfers spread about, kids speaking to their parents about their masterpieces that they made in the sand and then there was Maverick. He seemed to be watching every change in the water, how the foam changed after each wave, how much it curled, how it danced in the low light of the warm summer sun.

Who knew that something he found so beautiful would take two of the most important people of his life? He never knew the answer behind Bradley’s intentions that one fall evening he fell witness to the disgust of the ocean. Maverick wasn’t ever terrorized by the ocean even after Goose’s death, but Bradley seemed almost hooked up by a needle when it came to the water. 

Maverick didn’t know why..

but Bradley’s journal seemed to spill the truth behind it. 

Usually, the pages were used to relieve stress, the random doodles and complaints seemed to share how he felt. Bradley seemed to vent to paper rather than an actual human being. He wrote heartfelt comments, some were dated of his father’s death anniversary and they were always about the ocean and written in a deep red pen and a blue accent to the pages. He would ramble on about how the water seemed so beautiful this one summer night that he could remember it for days. 

The only page that was touched on the day of his disappearance was page 95, it only had the date written in the worn abused corner of his journal, the cover was peeling, the book mark that was engraved was worn and fraying. Bradley had used this journal up until the day he didn’t need to anymore. There was a little piece of Bradley on each page, Maverick sometimes didn’t even know where to look for answers so he went to the book when he was straying away.

And finally he found it after years of flipping through the same journal over and over again, the handwriting changing each time till he realized that the 50th page was stuck to the backing of page 49. Maverick’s heart sank when he read the page, it was filled with descriptions of living up to expectations, even Mav was mentioned a few times but the most noticeable thing that would claw at Maverick forever was the use of the word; ‘Fear’

‘It felt like it was piercing my skin, it was cold, I was filled with mass amounts of fear.’

‘I was fearful of telling Mav about my dreams. I was afraid of the disappointed look I would be greeted with at his door, so I didn’t say a word.’

‘I only tried to get over it twice, they both ended with a state of terror I couldn’t ever describe.’

Bradley was afraid to tell Maverick about the struggles of his life. He walked around writing about the haunting of the swirling water swallowing him whole. He had tried to fix everything alone. 

Maverick remembered the night they played dog fight football, after all the cheering and celebrating over Bob everyone had either gotten in the cold salty water to cool off or grabbed a beer, except Bradley. Bradley was the only person not to get in the water that day, he sat on the sidelines and watched like a stray puppy. 

He wished he paid more attention to Bradley,

how he felt, 

what he saw.. 

what he feared out there. 

Instead, he was greeted with a page. 

A page too late,

Bradley had already faded into Oblivion. 

—

Phoenix and Bradley were sitting in Maverick’s old hangar going through his father’s old stuff. He had just repaired his relationship with Maverick so they were all on break after the most recent mission. Phoenix was trying to make small talk while they put most of his father’s things in a box, “Remember that one time we got stranded out on the road,” there was a snicker after her sentence Bradley assumed she was thinking of what kind of expression Bob gave her when she stated they were goners.

“You scared the living daylights out of Bob.” Bradley pointed out, grasping his father’s helmet in his hands as he placed it in a box labeled ‘Keepsake.’ Phoenix had her tough stance fade when Bradley reminded her even more about Bob’s worried expression.

“I wish I took a photo of that,” She laughed.

“No you don’t, because then it wouldn’t be as funny.” Bradley was speaking out of his ass at that point, he knew they would laugh at it every time they saw it, photo or not. “You better not tell Bob you came down here just to make fun of him while he’s getting new glasses.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling a lick of anything to him.” Phoenix said smugly, grabbing some of the photos that Maverick sat out for Bradley to take home with him since he didn’t have many of his father. 

One of them was Bradley's family on the beach, they were in the water smiling like a small trio of dorks with their accents and colorful swimsuits. “Good, don’t hurt his pride, Hangman already does that enough-” Bradley froze in place when he saw Phoenix staring at the beach photo.

“When’s the last time you went in the water, Bradshaw?” 

“Couple years ago,” Bradley shrugged it off, believing she wouldn’t question him more about it.

“I would’ve seen you in the water if it was a couple years ago, we never separated.” Phoenix was right. She hadn’t ever seen Bradley in the water when they went surfing or just spent a free day at the beach. “Is there something you want to share?”

Bradley looked at her with a twisted expression on his face, he had no clue what she was trying to hint here unless she was trying to get him to explain why he didn’t go in the water. He knew the excuse ‘I don’t like swimming’ wouldn’t pass Phoenix as normal when he seemed to love it as a kid.

“I don’t think so,” Bradley wasn’t going to fall for her antics of trying to get information out of him, it took her at least two years to make him spill what happened to his family. He wasn’t ready to deal with her when he had to share about his fear of the water that surrounded the state of California. 

“Okay…” She came off wary, her eyes still on Bradley. She could read him like an open book, it was the way he expressed himself that made her realize he was hiding something. 

He always came off tense when she asked about his parents all those years back, the discomfort that would make even his stern voice crack. He didn’t like speaking about his weaknesses even when Hangman was around he was as silent as a bat. Phoenix would pick and pry till he finally cracked and spilled all his secrets to her but this one topic wouldn’t even budge. 

The asking started when he refused to go in the water after he yanked back on Bob so harshly that his glasses fell and cracked on the pavement. Bradley went from being filled with dread to repeating the same apology till Bob blamed himself for trying to force him into the water. Bradley was just afraid of the actions that Bob had pulled, he just grabbed his arm and led him out to the wispy waters.

One glance at the ocean made Bradley defend himself. 

He had to move, 

Yank, 

Yank back

“Shit, I’m sorry, Bob.” Bradley bent down picking up the other’s silver rims, “I cracked them.” He whispered to himself as Bob was just standing there staring at Bradley with a look of worry.

“Are you okay?” Bradley froze from Bob’s words. 

He just broke Bob’s glasses and the other was asking him if he was okay? It made him ponder what sort of look he had on his face that made Bob ask such a weird question though he had to answer, he couldn’t just stand there awkwardly holding Bob’s glasses out like it was a disease.

“I’m fine?” He furrowed his brows in a confused arch, letting Bob take his glasses from his hands. “I’m still sorry about your glasses.”

“It’s not a problem, they’re replaceable.” Bob snickered at the small crack in the corner of his lenses, he knew they were pricey to replace but he wouldn’t mention that to Bradley. 

The look on Bradley’s face was something that could haunt Bob forever. His eyes hollowed out like an old oak tree, his body flinching back and causing Bob to be pushed back. He was looking right at the water, the one thing Bob had been requesting to hang out with Bradley in and that’s when the rumors started. 

“Roo? Afraid? Pftt,”

“Not our Rooster.”

“He’s our fearless bird, how would he ever be scared?”

That’s when the looks on his friends' faces changed from worried to curious. Bradley was standing in a dim room, he could see their dark silhouettes staring back at him, he couldn’t make out anything but their eyes. 

Bob’s glasses were cracked, just like that day. He was awoken by the same dream.

He sat in a dim interrogation room, he could hear the sounds of waves that came from a seashell but more intense. There was a wall of clear see-through glass, his friends staring right into him as if they were blaming him. It was a silent dream but Bradley felt like he could hear them chattering, speaking about his fear.

How come someone so brave could be so afraid?

“Earth to Roo-” Phoenix waved her hand in front of the stached dirty blonde, “You good, buddy?” Phoenix tilted her head, her brows lifting with worry.

Bradley stared at her for a moment, he had zoned out, standing there in the middle of the small stashed away room of Maverick’s hangar, gripping in his fingers was his father’s dog tags. He had gotten carried away thinking about the event that happened that even led to Bob having to get his glasses fixed.

“I’m fine, just thinking.” Before he even got his words out his voice cracked, he couldn’t find the words to escape his mouth as he would’ve escaped that room in that moment. 

“You were thinking like a dead guy for about five minutes, are you hot?” She raised her hand to his forehead, she knew that day in California was a harsh one. The sun felt like needles to such a light skin. “You feel fine.”

“That’s because I am fine, Phoenix.”

“You never zoned out that badly before, it used to just be a few seconds. It seemed like the mention of water triggered it.” 

Bradley felt like her words were the embodiment of her pointing at him and accusing him of all his wrongdoings. “I was thinking about my childhood, the photo was just a lot.”

Phoenix’s worried expression disappeared. “Sorry, I must’ve been the reason you were gone for so long, that day must’ve been a fun one, huh?” She lifted the photo up to his face again. ���Look at you little roo-roo with a big ol’ grin on his face.” She had this teasing tone that sounded much like a tone that someone would use towards their dog. 

Bradley hated it, she always did it because of his stern dad expression that would come across his face. “Can you just put it in the box and we can both forget this happened?” 

Bradley felt as if he had his journal he would be stressing away about his failure to reach even Phoenix and Bob’s own expectations.

“Yeah, sorry. Should’ve given you some space before I even thought about teasing.” She waved it off laughing slightly. 

Bradley had a small fake laugh as he went on to grab the rest of his father's things. “It’s alright, you were worried.” 

After that the room fell silent aside from the small noises Goose’s things would make when placed inside the cardboard box. Soon, Bradley was left there when Phoenix decided to call it a day. He was sitting on the coach Maverick had out, his eyes on the taped up boxes resting in the open trunk of his Bronco. 

His eyes felt sore and cracky, his hands grippy and rough. He was thinking again… thinking about his father. What would he have done if he had such a pain striking fear struck into his heart? Would he have conquered it already and had the same small grin Bradley had on his face when he was little or would he have.. never won over such a fear?

That’s the kind of questions Bradley used to ask his mother till her time to fade away in the air space of time. She would always try to give the best answers because of Maverick leaving them both, she couldn’t always find one that would please Bradley’s childish brain but it was enough to get by such a busy bee such as Bradley. 

“What would you have done?” He asked the thin air, his breath grasping, his eyes drooping from exhaustion. 

He would reach out and try to just feel something.. Anything at all. There was no one he could tell, no one’s expectations he could ruin. He knew he already met his father when he got accepted into the Navy, especially TopGun. 

“I would go home and rest.” 

Bradley flinched up and stared bug-eyed at Maverick, he wasn’t supposed to be here till eig- Bradley’s eyes flickered over to his watch, it was 8:30. Had he been sitting there for two hours? There was just no way, Phoenix hadn’t left that long ago and he swore that time was 6:30.

“Zoned out again?” Maverick knew his antics, the two hour zone out seemed to be one of the many things he started doing since the mission. It made Maverick ask him if he was struggling with PTSD from the crash. 

Bradley wasn’t struggling with PTSD from the crash, he was struggling with the memories of his dead father. “Yeah, I was thinking of what to do with all my dad’s stuff.” 

He lied, straight to his father figure’s face. He couldn’t break Maverick’s heart and tell him he was afraid, he had heard the rumors, the spread of ‘lies’ from the other pilots… nobody believed a single sound of those.

“Put it around your house is one thing,” Maverick sat down on the chair a couple feet away from the love seat. “Or put it with your mom’s stuff.”

“I’m sure mom would’ve wanted me to put the photos of him everywhere, she left them to you after all.” Bradley wasn’t shocked that she left all of his father’s things in Maverick’s hands. 

Bradley was off at college after his first rejection letter hit the fan, he didn’t have time to see his mother as much. He did remember the last visit he had though, he was wearing his worn work clothes when he stopped by. Her eyes were still filled with love and life, her smile brighter than the stars. 

She reached out

Her hand small and wrinkled in places,

Her eyes carrying small barely noticeable bags, 

Bradley reached out

His hand gripping hers,

“You’re going to be okay.”

Bradley cried in her arms that last night, the first time he broke down was in her arms. He couldn’t carry the weight of her death and everyone else’s hopes on his teenage shoulders, he shattered and then there was Maverick sitting there mere-feet away speaking of her like a distant memory.

“Do you think she would want the photos of your dad in the house?” He asked.

Bradley was quiet as he thought, “I.. would have to find some spots to put them, I believe she would’ve wanted them around the house before she got ill.” Maverick nodded standing up from the chair, heading over to his camper.

“I would head home before it gets too dark,” He threw his keys to him, “Snatched those while you weren’t looking.”

“Very funny, Mav.” Bradley gave him a tired smile before waving one last goodbye.

The brunette was right, he did need to get home. He needed to work on some things before him and the rest of the dagger squad got transferred again. He pushed his trunk back into the locked position and pulled himself up in the driver's seat. 

He took one last glance at the few photos he left up on the wall of Maverick’s things, there was the photo of him and Maverick looking at each other with victory spread across their sweaty faces and sparkling eyes. For once in his life, Bradley didn’t feel afraid of the water they flew above, he felt right at home. 

His greatest enemy was his best ally in that moment and Bradley wanted nothing more but to feel that freedom again. 

Freedom from a burden. 

—

The second time Bradley attempted to conquer his fear it was when he was fifteen. He dragged his feet in the grimy sand, his eyes staring at the water with a sort of bravery he could never grasp in his late thirties like he did that one night. 

Every moment was written out in detail in his rusty journal, the amount of steps it took till the water dragged him underneath it’s grasp, the feeling of his lungs tightening when he went under. He got out as quick as he stepped in, he couldn’t do it. 

It felt like he was drowning on air when he stepped out, his lungs pulsing, his fingers flinching, his body shifting left to right in a daze. He was trying to step back towards the rental they had in Cali. He was struggling to breathe, it hurt to even do something that he barely thought of out of his whole life. 

He thought he would’ve never passed out in the sand, but he did. He fell flat on the crisp sand of the beach only to be found by his mother when she got back to work. When he was asked what happened he gave her the white lie of not remembering even when he knew everything crystal clear in his mind. 

That’s when he took the journal he normally used to talk about his life and opened up a page that would change his life forever, page 50, the page Maverick would read over and over again.

He was once so worried about expectations, the dreams that haunted him of the dark figures of people he called his friends. They always gave him a glare of hatred, the whispering filling his already clouded head. 

There was one page that went over this dream that always repeated once a month, it was of his dad looking down at him and telling him he wasn’t good enough, he didn’t reach where he wanted Bradley to be. He woke up in tears that night, he had to conquer this fear- either that or he was going to drown in his mental stronghold.

He threw his dreams down deep in his heart to focus on his failure, to him the world slowed down so he could catch up but it was starting to go faster the more he aged and the more he didn’t change. He had been stuck in this flooding stronghold since he was given the memory of his father dying, when his mother got fed up with his childish questions and finally told him. 

“The ocean took him from you.”

He didn’t cry, he just looked at her differently, his eyes growing cold till she fell ill, till she turned sweet and apologized for treating him that way. Bradley couldn’t accept it till he trusted the water again. Till he could go out to the water without shattering his friend’s glasses to bits. 

Without his lungs filling with air and feeling like his chest was going to explode. 

Without the expectations pointing and laughing around him in a taunting circle. 

He was the reason the Bradshaw name was going to die if he didn’t win over this fear. He would beg and plead with it everyday, it always brought a new loss, the loss of being able to even stare at water, all he could think about is what he overheard Maverick and Carole once speak about when he was younger. 

“I couldn’t let him go, he’s just too valuable.”

Bradley could picture the accident, his dead father in Maverick’s arms while the brunette cried out his name. He had heard the incident every time he joined a new squad. 

“You’re Goose’s kid right?”

“You two both share the name, Bradshaw!”

“And Maverick was there when his old man-”

The amount of times his fist had hit another pilot's face would be one and it was a guy he barely remembered, he just had it coming, he mentioned his past too much. Picked at Bradley like a dead bird used for dissection. He got fed up and snapped like a twig.

He was soon transferred. 

That’s when he met Hangman. 

Through Hangman he met Phoenix and she’s the closest he’ll let anyone get to him, Bob was at about the same arm’s length. They both were people that he could trust, both people that kept their mouths shut even with how much they wanted to spill every secret Bradley had behind his failing heart. 

Bob knew some things Phoenix didn’t and Phoenix was the same way, even though they worked together they kept his private things to themselves and only shared when they both knew it was safe to. 

Hangman wasn’t a person that Bradley would be open with, his tough stature and demeanor threw Bradley off, he wasn’t a man that could hold a single thing behind his texan tongue, he would spill it much like dynamite and light his hopes and dreams up with a toothpick of a match. 

Though they were more rivals than anything, they looked at each other with their eyes ablaze with competition. If Bradley were to share his weakness was the ocean, Hangman would use every lick of that information to use against him. Even with Bradley being taller than the accented blonde, he still felt underneath him. 

He felt like there was more to life than just being an asshole that knew how to fly, but maybe Bradley was wrong. Maybe, the life that Hangman lived was something Bradley needed to look at or not since Phoenix and Bob hated his guts with a burning passion only a Phoenix bird could withhold, he didn’t want to leave his only friends in the dust either. 

He was at home but there was a person tapping on his shoulder at every waking moment reminding him of what happened to his father, the haunting fear of water that remained as a figure that walked with each step he took. He wore it like a necklace, it wouldn’t leave unless he took it by the throat himself and he was too afraid to make such a commitment. 

Instead of mourning his mother, he was terrorized by her face when she used to tell him all about the ocean and how his father died with a small smile on her face. It wasn’t that she was happy he was gone, just the memory of him brought a weak smile on her face, she was blessed with this cursed smile that appeared even when speaking of his worse moments.

Bradley could remember the moments his father would pick him up above the crowds, he could see the world from his father’s shoulders. 

He was safe in sound in those bear-like hands of his.

Bradley was still stuck in that moment, looking up at his father like an idol. He could remember the summer sun and how hot it felt to be pelted upon by it, the slashing waves, his mom laughing at his father’s jokes that made her smile like no tomorrow. 

He wanted those fearless days back.

[clikere]

The Best Writing Tools for Students

Introduction

Since the beginning of time, humans have been using pens and pencils to express their ideas. The best pen and pencil notebook increases students' performance.

Pens - Pencil - Notebook

Pens, pencils, and notebooks are necessary tools in the classroom. Students can use them to take notes, draw pictures and practice writing skills. Pens make it easy for them to write down their ideas while pencils help them practice how to use a sharpener so that they don't have any complaints about having broken pens or pencils.

Having these three essential items in your classroom will help improve student performance by giving him/her a chance to doodle after taking notes on important topics like math problems or science experiments. These activities also encourage creativity because most kids love drawing; this is why we recommend using different colored pens like red pens as well as blue pens since these colors match each other perfectly without looking too obvious but still provide enough contrast between each other so that your students won’t get bored quickly when using one color all time around just because there aren't any variations within those two shades which would normally be seen if someone were given only black ink instead of both red & blue ink together

Pens

Pens are an important part of school life, and they can be used for writing and drawing. There are many different types of pens available these days. Like gel pens, Fiber tip pens, Fountain pens, and Roller pens

That makes them easier to use than other ordinary pens.

Pens come in a variety of colors and styles including gel pens, Fiber tip pens, Fountain pens, and Roller pens - These types of pens make it possible for you not only to write but also to draw easily because they won't smear on your fingers once applied to surfaces such as whiteboards etcetera...

Gel Pens

Pencils and pens are important tools for students. They help improve your handwriting, help you focus in class, and can make a difference between success and failure. Pencils and pens come in many shapes, sizes, and types but the most important thing is that they have to be comfortable to use.

To find the best pencils or pens you need to know what type of writing utensil suits your needs best:

If your goal is an easy-to-carry option then gel pens would work better than liquid ones since they're lighter weight yet still provide great color contrast between lines drawn by hand 

Notebook

A notebook is a great way to keep track of ideas, notes, and other information. It can also be used as a tool for improving productivity by providing an organised place for students to write down what they need to do next.

There are many kinds of notebooks available online today, but some are better than others depending on your specific needs and preferences. See different types of pens, notebooks, and collections on clickere.in

Share your good experience

Let's start with the basics. Pencils, notebooks, and pens are all great tools for students to use in their classrooms.

Pencils can be used to mark work on paper or board, draw pictures and write down notes.

Notebooks are used to write essays and other assignments that require more than one page of writing time.

Pens are useful when you need to make notes quickly

Best pen pencil notebooks increase student's performance

The best pens or pencil notebooks to increase student performance is the one you like. The best pencil is the one you can write with. The best pencil is the one that works for you.

The reason why I say this is because we all have different styles of writing and drawing, so what works for me may not work for someone else! So, if your students struggle with their pens or pencils, try out some different ones until they find something comfortable enough to use every day without having any problems with it falling apart or breaking easily when dropped on hard surfaces such as cement sidewalks outside school buildings during recess periods where children play soccer games after lunch break ends at noon (if there are no other activities planned inside).

[hopewritcs]

handwritten wounds.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

word count: 3k

request from @scoopsahoyharrington: Can I request a Steve Harrington x reader fic that’s a soulmate AU where you can see the red string of fate when you close your eyes that will lead you to your soulmate or soulmates can write of their skin and it shows up on the others arm?

notes: i love soulmate aus sm, they’re some of my favorite things to write. so this one is set a bit of a mix of canon and pre canon / canon divergent timeline as well, a little time jumps here and there. for now, no s4 spoilers as it’s a bit more canon divergent than the actual timeline of the show, but everything else is explained in the fic. 

stranger things tag list: tba ! ( i’ve refreshed my tag lists. if you want to be added, please send me a message ! )

Soulmates. It was a term that you learned as soon as you could comprehend language. The word had been ingrained in your memory as soon as humanly possible. From what you understood, you could communicate with your soulmate on your skin. 

Were you supposed to write to them first? How did you start that conversation? You’d been thinking about it more and more, about actually striking up a conversation with your soulmate. You felt almost bad, you were a doodle on your skin while bored kind of person, and your doodles weren’t always great ( mostly scribbles or stars or half finished flowers ) so whoever they were they’d be walking around with those marks too. 

It didn’t help that your soulmate seemed to be writing answers to their tests on their skin. You’d wind up with homework due in english or math test tomorrow on your hands as early as fifth grade. 

By seventh grade, you almost thought your soulmate had forgotten that you existed. Then again, maybe they thought you forgot about them too. Neither of you were actively communicating with each other, but you could still tell there were marks on your arms. So, you decided to finally say something directly one afternoon. In the midst of what seemed to be your soulmate studying ( there were marks on your wrist for equations ) you took the pen you’d been using for homework and decided to write. 

Do you really need to study on your arm or can you use a piece of paper? 

You didn’t know what to expect, but the fact that there was no response bothered you. You wanted to pretend like it didn’t, but it definitely did. 

Though, the study notes seemed to stop too. Which you were a bit thankful for, though you missed seeing the writing on your arms every day. It was kind of a sad moment, because you wished maybe your soulmate had said something back to you. But instead, there had just been no response and instead they’d totally just not responded.  

You’d almost given up hope for hearing a response to anything when you finally saw a note from your soulmate, and it was directed at you. 

Were my notes really that annoying? Or is it just my handwriting? 

You looked down at your arm and smiled. Finally, you thought. It was about time to hear back from your soulmate, thinking you’d blown it all. A laugh fell as you looked at your hand, as a preteen, you felt yourself feeling all sorts of emotions just by having a simple communication with your soulmate. 

It’s distracting, I’m not about to be accused of cheating. How can I explain that my soulmate is the one writing those things? 

You and your soulmate had begun talking by then. You learned many things about each other. He, you had learned that he was a boy but you had both not yet told each other your names, played basketball and lived in a small town in Indiana. 

You had said it was unfortunate that he lived in Indiana, as you lived one state over in Illinois. Or maybe that was fate trying to give you something to work for. 

You spoke every few days, it was enough that you knew about each others lives but it wasn’t like you could learn that much over short messages. 

However, you both promised not to tell each other names until you were ready to meet for real. It was more interesting that way. Though you wondered what his name was, especially as time went on. 

Once the two of you were in high school, things seemed to be different. No longer did you write notes to each other frequently--still, you talked, but it was sporadic at best. It was like he didn’t have time for his soulmate any longer. 

Instead, the most you saw were once again the scrawled notes from studying and tests coming up. But also a few notes that looked like they were written by somebody else. 

You couldn’t dare ask about who it was, but one day you got the news.

Sorry, I have a girlfriend. 

You could feel your heart break. Your heart was breaking for a boy you didn’t even know his name, and yet it was breaking all the same. It was difficult to explain. But you had to write back to him, to let him know that it was alright. Because, it should be alright, right? You weren’t able to think of words for a long time. Finally, you figured out how to reply. 

That’s good. I’m happy for you. 

And you meant that in the loosest of terms, that you wanted him to be happy. 

After that, your conversations stopped. You could tell that he, whoever he was, was trying to keep himself from writing on his arms when he took to studying. One of the worst parts of it all was the way he would be writing on his own skin, how it would appear on yours, and then suddenly a quickly scrawled apology would appear. 

You tried to follow suit, doodle less. But it was an absentminded motion that happened when you weren’t thinking. Did he mind? He never wrote back when you were doodling, so what did that say about your relationship with your soulmate?

It was just after graduation when you left your city for the first time. You’d gotten a job at a small paper in a state over. It was a photography gig, a bit of fact checking, sort of internship. But it was all kind of interesting. 

You hadn’t heard from your soulmate in some time. You wanted to reach out to him, to talk to him about graduation and ask about his life. But what if he hadn’t reached out for some specific reason? Like he was still with his girlfriend or if everything wasn’t going well.

You knew he was alive. He marked up his arms every so often with notes during finals time, and you had written a small good luck message on your arm just in case he needed it. 

He wrote you back a small, you too. But that was the last time you’d heard from him. 

Your first day of the job, you met this couple who was around your age--Nancy and Jonathan. She was an aspiring writer and he was a photographer. You didn’t know what you wanted to do just yet, but you had wanted to see what life was like outside of the place you’d grown up. 

Something about what you said made their faces turn, like they were hiding something from you. But you didn’t dare ask about it. It did make you interested in everything about the small town, though. 

One minute you’re hanging out with Jonathan and Nancy trying to help them work on a story and the next, somehow, you’re dealing with monsters and otherworldly creatures and things that don’t seem real. 

Yet they’d just been chasing you through the hallway of a hospital, so that was pretty real. You couldn’t fight with everything you had just witnessed. 

Once you got to the store with everyone, while you were all trying to help get El back to her feet, you were looking for a pen or a marker or anything to write on your arm. 

“What are you doing right now, Y/N?” Lucas asked, turning to you as he walked down the aisles with you and Max. 

“I’m trying to find a pen.” You replied, as if it was an obvious answer. 

“But...why?” he repeated his question.

“’Cause of something on my mind.” You answered, finally finding a pen and uncapping it before turning to look at the two of them. “Any other questions or is that it?” 

Lucas and Max shrugged at you, continuing down the aisles and left you to write a message on your arm. You hadn’t planned on this right then. You’d hoped that it would come one day after talking for a long time to your soulmate. But you’d really just figured out that life was too damn short to wait for that perfect moment. 

Hawkins, Indiana. I want to meet you. Please don’t tell me it’s too late. 

And yet, you got no response. But it could be a while before the answer comes, you have to remind yourself. So you focus on everything else going on, trying to put it all out of your mind. The mark of your own handwriting still the only note on your skin whenever you notice it. 

You’re at the mall with everyone, focusing on what was happening and not even remembering what you wrote on your arm until later that night when everything is over and you’re sitting by one of the ambulances with the younger kids. 

El is the one who points out the mark on your arm. 

What a coincidence, I’m in Hawkins too. 

When Jonathan and his family moved, you were somehow part of the going away party. Having been inducted into the whole friend group during the events of the summer. It was nice to think that this was a place you could have made friends. 

“So, is this a going away for Y/N too, she’s going back at the end of the summer right?” Will asked, turning to look at you when you were all standing at the car and the moving truck saying a final goodbye. 

You shrugged your shoulders as you looked at everyone, “Well, I don’t think I’ll be working at the Post, given what happened this summer. But I might want to stick around a bit. I don’t know how I could...go back home after all of that.” 

“It’s hard to say goodbye to this place.” Joyce said softly, looking around at everyone. 

“But, it’s not forever.” Jonathan added quickly, giving Nancy’s hands a soft squeeze as he looked at his girlfriend. 

“We can make a plan.” Joyce nodded her head. “Breaks for school and everything. We’ll talk about it once we settle in.” She said it so simply, like it was the truth. Like she promised it and meant it all. 

Saying goodbye to people you’d just met, people you became friends with so quickly was difficult. But it was hard to do it still. You didn’t know what to do. Your internship was up at the end of the summer, but you didn’t want to say goodbye to this town. To these people.

To the fact that your soulmate was among the people in this town. You just hadn’t met him yet. 

Or maybe you had. 

You never left Hawkins after that day, not for good anyway. But you still hadn’t met your soulmate. 

Somehow you managed to convince the Hawkins Post to give you a full time job--you still didn’t know what you wanted to do with everything in life, but you wanted to stay here and this was one of the better ways to do it. Plus they, unfortunately, had some openings with staff moving around after deaths and disappearances over the summer. 

You were, however, talking to your soulmate a lot. 

How is it that you’ve been in Hawkins since the summer and we haven’t met yet? 

You laughed at the comment on your arm as you were in the office and shook your head. Been busy, only just moved into my place. You can blame that.

I think you’re just hiding from me! Or maybe you don’t exist. 

If I didn’t exist, who’s been doodling all those horrible flowers on your arms all these years? 

Hey! Don’t say that. I love those flowers. 

When we meet, I’ll make sure to do one in person. 

You spoke a dozen times like this, but still, you hadn’t met him in person. Maybe it was just bad luck. Maybe it was fear that was keeping you from meeting him and setting a real time to meet up. But it was all difficult. 

When will that be?

It was like he was reading your mind. 

Soon. 

You promised. 

You walked into Family Video that night expecting to see Robin behind the counter, because she’d told you she’d be working. That she had some movie picked out that you just had to see. That you would love. But instead, when you walked into the store you saw Steve and Steve alone behind the counter. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Steve said, looking up at you when he heard the noise of the door opening. 

“Hey Steve. Robin here? She said she had some video she wanted me to see?” You said, walking up to the counter and leaning on it, peering around as you did to see if you could spot your other friend. 

Steve shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, “She’s on break, I think. You can hang out for a bit if you want. I’m not sure what she wanted you to get.” 

“Alright.” You nodded your head and looked around the shop, tapping your hand on the counter and looking over at him. “So is there a place I can hang out or should I just stand here?” 

Steve nodded, gesturing for you to join him behind the counter. “Come on back, I guess.” 

“Thanks.” You took a seat on the stool behind the counter and turned to look at Steve, facing him. Of all the people in Hawkins, you hadn’t spoken to him as much as everyone else. You wondered why that was. “So, how are you doing?” 

“You mean after this summer?” Steve asked, his voice softer as he turned to look at you while he continued working. “Fine, I guess. Not every day you’re taken into a Russian bunker and given truth serum.” 

You shrugged your shoulders, “Yeah, I don’t think many people can say they’ve seen what we have. It’s hard to open up to people without thinking about keeping that part a secret.” 

“It’s definitely hard.” You commented, pulling a pen from your purse--you always kept one on you at all times just in case you needed to either take notes or wanted to talk to your soulmate--and began doodling a small flower on your wrist. “I think about, like, one day meeting someone and having to explain all of this.” 

Steve wasn’t really paying much attention to the motions you were doing, because he was busy making sure tapes were getting rewound properly. But he nodded his head. “Right? At least we’ve got everyone to talk to. Our friends, I mean.” 

Nodding you replied, “Yeah, but say one day we meet...I don’t know, our soulmates, or whatever. How do you plan on explaining all of this to them?” 

“I’d have to meet her first.” Steve said, shrugging his shoulders as he turned back to glance at you. “Have you met your soulmate?”

You shook your head, “Not yet, but I’ve been told he lives here in Hawkins. So maybe I’ll meet him soon.” You put the pen back in your purse and dropped your hands down to your side. Not really looking for anything, you looked around and that’s when you saw it. 

Steve’s wrist, there was something on it, under the sweater he was wearing. 

“Speaking of soulmates, I think you’ve got a note from yours.” you pointed out, gesturing toward his wrist with a small smile and a nod of your head. 

Steve tugged his sleeve up and you watched as he did, but turned your gaze up to look at his face. He lit up at whatever was on his wrist. You hoped that wherever your soulmate was, he looked just as happy whenever he got a message from you. 

“What’s she saying?” you asked softly, hoping you weren’t disturbing the moment for him. But you were curious. 

“Just a doodle.” Steve answered, showing you his wrist and speaking. “She does that sometimes. But they just remind me that she’s real. That she’s out there, y’know?” 

That’s when you saw it. The small flower you’d been doodling just then. 

“Steve.” you couldn’t think of whatever else to say, trailing off after that, still staring at the flower on his wrist. 

He glanced up at you, having only been looking at the flower on his wrist and looked a bit confused, “Yeah?” 

All you could do, was hold up your wrist for him. Because what words could you even find in that moment to say anything right. What if you messed up, or said the wrong thing. Or what if he was upset by it all. It just seemed too real. Too surreal. 

You both looked at each other, at the matching marks on your wrists right then and then back at your gaze. 

A smile broke out on his face and on yours as well. You didn’t know what to do, but Steve moved closer to you and you moved closer to him. Neither of you spoke right away until you were standing close enough to touch. 

You spoke first, “So, are you happy I finally made it to your small town?”

“I’m glad you didn’t leave it when you had the chance.” Steve replied. 

“Without meeting the soulmate I’ve been talking to since seventh grade?” You laughed softly, shaking your head and looking at him. “Like that was really going to happen.” 

“I can’t believe I’ve known you all these months and I didn’t know.” Steve said quietly, looking at you with a smile. 

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t know either. But I’m glad it’s you.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded your head, and then before giving you a chance to answer, Steve kissed you softly. And it was everything you’d ever thought it would be, kissing your soulmate for the first time. It was the best first kiss you could have thought. You dreamed of it off and on since you were in the seventh grade, and this was real. It was someone you knew and trusted. And the best part? You really liked him too. 

Neither of you noticed the door opening, Robin walking back in and laughing, “I knew it. Soulmates.”

[writing-funsies]

OP characters with artist s/o P.2

p.1 | p.2 | p.3 | p.4 | p.5 | p.6

pairings: Marco x reader, Ace x reader, Thatch x reader

warnings: none

Marco

he finds your talent interesting

I feel like this man could draw a straight line no problem

or even a perfect circle

but he wouldn't know how to make those things into a picture

so seeing the way you put all of the pieces together

is always so satisfying to watch

he likes listening to your pencil scratch against the paper while he works

you spend a lot of time sketching him hunched over his desk with piles upon piles of paperwork stacked above him

maybe you exaggerated your art a bit

but it's basically the same as real life

he doesn't find it as funny when you mindlessly draw him as a pineapple

he finds it even less funny when some of his crewmates get ahold of those sketches

politely asks you to not draw him like that

though his smile is a little strained

and threatening

best to keep the hyperrealistic Marco the pineapple drawing a secret

you doodle on his paperwork sometimes

which Pops finds amusing

but Marco does not

but he's not going to tell you that

if people wanted crisp forms

they shouldn't have given all of them to Marco

whenever the two of you go on dates 

he plans for you to get some sketch time in

so he always takes you to the prettiest spot on whatever island you've stopped at

though he always says that you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen

you might do a small self-portrait to give him for his birthday

just so he can always have you and your art with him

Ace

first things first, he begs you to design a tattoo for him

he's seen your skills

and he loves your art style

so if you really love him

you'll do it

and you do draw one

it could be the worst thing in the world

and this man would still get it tattooed on him

he has a bad habit of accidentally burning your pictures

fire and paper don't really get along

so you have to use specially treated canvasses or sketchbooks

or you might work with clay

if you create sculptures

Ace would happily bake them for you

he'd probably have to

Thatch thinks your skills are cool and all

but he really doesn't want to take the chance of poisoning the whole crew

Ace loves to pose for you

he just has to pick a pose he can fall asleep in

like Luffy, he does get a little stir crazy

he needs to move around so he doesn't get too hyper

but he'll sit by your side for hours on end

just to watch you work

he makes sure you take breaks and drink some water

it's not good to stare at one thing for days at a time

and you need to stay hydrated

these breaks always allow you to gain some new insight for your piece

so if you were getting frustrated because you weren't sure what your art needed

the break gives you time to refresh and look at the whole composition with new eyes

Thatch

he wants you to draw him 

all

the 

time

you took it upon yourself to make his hair bigger each time you do

but only slightly

so it wasn't that noticeable until you were like 20 sketches in

he loves when you sit with him in the kitchen while working

as long as you're not in the way

he doesn't want to ruin those pretty little pictures of yours

Thatch would be the type of person to hang your art everywhere

it doesn't matter if you think it deserves to be on the wall or not

he'll hang them in his room

on the kitchen walls

on the fridge

in the showers

in the hallways

on Pop's chair

okay, maybe not that last one

but I could see a type of challenge between him and the others to put your art there

he loves your art

he loves everything you make

he also loves to make the cringiest puns about it as well

by any sketch of the imagination

good things come to those hue wait

beige magnet

ready pen you are

Thatch adores how focused you get sometimes

but you still need to eat

so he'll make you your favorite food

and drag you away to get some fresh air

how are you supposed to keep drawing amazing things if you never take a break?

he's your biggest supporter after all

[mlmxreader]

Biggest Fan | Black Noir x m!reader

@lluvin asked: I spent literal ages looking through my followings because I remembered seeing that you wrote for The Boys, and there’s barely any fics on here for it, so literally tysm for that!!

I have literal Black Noir brain rot 25/8, would you be able to write for Black Noir x Male Reader who isn’t apart fo the 7 but he’s like a big fan, and getting to meet Noir at a signing event. He actually brings him a gift that no one would really expect but the reader somehow found out about how he likes to draw and brings him a large sketchbook with a few art supplies to go with it. Just Noir being silently suprised because people don’t usually bring him gifts, well not really these types anyways. Reader is just a fanboying mess and is a bit embarassed by his reaction because he thinks he may have been given wrong info about Noir online, but turns out they were actually right! Sorry if this was too much but you’d probably write it better than what I can think of 😭.

summary: your friends get you tickets to finally meet Noir, but when you do, it turns out to be a little more than you'd expected.

tws: n/a

You were a big fan of Black Noir for years, despite hating the rest of the Seven except Starlight and Maeve, you always remained a fan of Noir; he was absolutely your number one celebrity crush, and you had dreamed of the day you would ever meet him, you dreamed about it so much - just being able to shake his hand in person and tell him how much you admired him. It was just a shame that, usually, ticket prices for events that the Seven attended were way out of your budget; you would have had to have saved up for at least a year to be able to even afford an event - let alone to take a picture with him or to meet him.

A lot of people stated that he liked to draw, snapping pictures of him at press conferences and events with a little notebook or some scraps of paper, absentmindedly doodling away while everyone else spoke; so you bought a notebook, a pen, and some other art stuff that you could give to him if you ever met him - for a while, they stayed in a little bag in the back of your wardrobe, at least until the day that your friends had announced that they bought you a ticket to meet him. You were so excited, even though your friends wandered off while you were waiting in line, you could feel your pulse racing and your palms start to sweat a little as you started to shake.

Waiting in line, you could see the tips of his fingers as he signed various things for other people, gripping onto the bag tightly as you wondered if he would like it; maybe social media and the papers were wrong, and he didn't actually like drawing at all. Maybe he just got bored sometimes and that was the nearest outlet for it, after all, he was expected to sit at things like this for hours on end; maybe he just got bored and he actually hated art.

But then you finally approached him, clearing your throat as you lifted the bag up. "I got you this, I, uh, I saw that you liked to draw a lot and uhm..."

Noir took the bag, sitting it on his lap gently as he peered inside for a moment before setting it down and quickly scribbling something on a notepad; he flipped it around so that you could read the words, "thank you :) I actually love to draw. What's your name?"

"(y/n)," you said quietly, rubbing the back of your neck as you let out a nervous laugh.

He scribbled on the notepad again. "(y/n), nobody ever brings me things like this. Can I take you to get something to eat, as a thank you?"

"Oh!" You all but yelped, grinning as you nodded. "Yeah! Uh, sure!"

Noir extended his hand, shaking it for a moment before he dared to stand up, making sure to grab the bag and gesture for you to follow; he couldn't say it, but he was shaking a little. No one had ever brought him gifts, at least, not ones specifically meant for only him - some brought gifts for him to pass along to other Supes, some brought gifts for them all to share. But you... you were the first, and Noir wanted to thank you properly.

But as you followed him, your nervousness only grew, especially when he took you into a more private area, grabbing some packeted snacks before sitting down at the table with you and scribbling something on his notepad again.

"I can't thank you enough, you're a kind man. I actually love the notebook."

You were smiling like an idiot, your features hot to the touch as you struggled to open one of the packets with shaking hands. "It's... it's no big deal, really - I'm a huge fan and I just... yeah."

Something that sounded almost like a laugh left him as he nodded, his hand must have hurt from having to write all day. "Can I put my number in your phone?"

"Yeah!" You cursed yourself for sounding so fucking eager, passing the phone to him after you had unlocked it. He handed it back after typing in his number under Irving. "I'll text you so have mine, hang on."

Noir nodded, looking at his phone until your text went through and quickly saving it to his contacts; he texted back, though. "It's a pleasure."

"Yeah," you said quietly. "Yeah, it is..."

"Won't your partner get jealous?"

You shook your head. "I'm not anyone's boyfriend yet."

"If you like Rammstein, I have a spare ticket," came the reply, making your phone buzz in your hand. "If you'd like to come with?"

"I'd love that!" You nearly shouted, laughing nervously as you sank into your seat. "I mean, I'd like that... a lot... sorry, I'm such a mess, I just..."

"It's okay :) it's kind of cute 🖤"

You hung your head as you bit the inside of your lip. "You're amazing, Noir."

[dangus-doo]

I draw a pen doodle every day until I forget

Day 95: Minicon Sparkplug (Transformers Armada)

So today I was reorganizing doing a little maintenance on the transformers on my cool boys shelf, and I got to my unicron trilogy figures. I have a couple of heavy hitters like Cybertron Optimus and Energon Ultra Megatron, but my favorite little dude to mess with is Sparkplug! He’s just a little guy! You can transform him as fast as you can make the “Tsc-Che-Che-Che-Che” sound under your breath.

I’ve also tried to practice a little at conveying transformation on paper. I know I can kinda do it via animation, but trying to do it like a comic is… hard…

I think it would be much easier if I could rough it out via pencil first, but given that this challenge I locked myself into allows only pens and other permanent tools, I have to make do. Ah well, it must mean that I need to practice more, which I’ll get back to ASAP!

[bowiebond]

Across The Dirt Road - Chapter 5

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39774222/chapters/99579741

Relationships: Eddie Munson/Billy Hargrove,  Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield.

Summary: They found Billy in the Upside Down. Now the dust has cleared and Billy has returned to their small town of Hawkins, ready to finally make things right with his sister. The only concern he hasn’t rolled around his head a million times while in that hellscape is the one where he just can’t seem to figure out what his new neighbor from across the dirt road’s deal was.

CW: Blood mentioned briefly, Billy and Eddie have parental issues (though there is no physical abuse in regards to Eddie)

Words: 3.6k

It took Billy five days to bother cracking open the book Eddie gave him. He hadn’t seen much of the man outside of breakfast two days prior. He left the house once around noon, his guitar on his back and lacking his iconic leather jacket. He was wearing flannel, red and black, and Billy thought it looked nice with the white tank and low hanging ripped jeans. Billy toyed with the collar of Eddie’s skull print shirt, another borrowed article of clothing the man had insisted he take once the kids left, just until he worked past his pride to ask Susan for money and ventured out a get his own clothes. She was busy though, always busy, and the idea of asking for anything other than food on his plate and a roof over his head made bile rise into his throat. Neil had given him an allowance, but he worked for it. Chores got him enough cash for gas and cigarettes, and if he was sparse with it, he managed to save up to buy something for himself that was entirely for his own pleasure. Like more cassettes, a new bottle of hairspray, drugstore eyeliner and cheap gloss that he didn’t dare wear around his father.

Small things that made him happy.

Now he was penniless and earning his keep by cleaning the trailer, even if Susan insisted he didn’t need to. But being out of work, without a car, school far behind him, was fucking boring. In the past, he would have hopped in his car and found something to entertain himself with, but he was shit out of luck in that department. They had one car and Susan used it to get to and from work.

So that brought him to Eddie’s book. Which, when he took a proper look at it, wasn’t even a book. It was a flimsy black journal with a creased spine and water-damaged bottom right corner. He frowned and cracked it open to the first page. Where it declared who it belonged to, Eddie’s name was written in quick, block letters that conjoined faintly. Like he didn’t have enough time to lift his pen from the paper. Billy worried his scarred lip and flipped the page.

‘An abstract artsy way to get my Uncle off my back and prove I know how to deal with my shit in a ‘healthy way’.’ was scrawled in the middle of the lined page and Billy huffed in amusement, wishing he had a pen to fix Eddie’s missing comma. His writing was legible at least, if barely. Billy breezed through the pages to see where the entries ended and found it was back to front, filled with ink.

“Dedication.” Billy had never been able to complete a journal. The notion of one had been ridiculous to him. Why would he want evidence laying about of how pathetic his life was? He had never needed pen and paper, he had screamed lyrics, fucked hard and driven too fast to get his frustrations out. Hell, maybe a journal would have done his teenage years some good. If he had lost the plot entirely as a kid, he was sure a psychologist would have told him to do so with condensation in their tone.

He went back to the first few pages and allowed his eyes skim over the words. It was marked five years prior.

I'm gonna be like you, dad. You know I'm gonna be like you.

"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when."

"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when."

It's sure nice talking to you, dad.

He’d grown up just like me. You knew I was gonna be just like you.

Billy furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes at the doodle of a a cartoon phone, lines to indicate someone was speaking through it, but nobody was holding it. It was just dangling down the page, sad and ignored.

Billy flipped to the next page.

‘Lord of this world Evil possessor Lord of this world He's your confessor now’

Eddie seemed to like drawing, Billy found, and below the block letters was a man taking a mugshot, his face and name scribbled out so harshly it left a dent in the page. Billy had a feeling Eddie really meant it when he said Dad’s were shit. He wasn’t sure if Eddie had meant to pass this particular book on, if he thought reading it would help Billy, perhaps create a bridge between them, one of understanding and vulnerability, but Billy felt like he was intruding upon something he never should have seen. Where he had kept his fathers abuse close to his chest, behind closed doors, Eddie was opening his door wide open and beckoning Billy in, gesturing to the gallery of hurt he had accumulated over time.

‘Well, I don't want no preacher telling me about the god in the sky No, I don't want no one to tell me where I'm gonna go when I die I wanna live my life, I don't want people telling me what to do I just believe in myself, 'cause no one else is true Just live your life and leave them all behind.’

Billy was starting to realize that most of these inserts would be music, songs Eddie has listened to and resonated with. Visualized to his mind, latched onto in a desperate attempt to deal with his issues. Billy knew that feeling well, tracing over the outline of Jesus on a cross, detailed beyond the skill level Billy had assumed from Eddie’s other doodles. There was a figure before the cross, staring up at the son of God, but Billy couldn’t tell who it was, dark hair fluffed around their ears.

He flipped through a few more pages, finding more lyrics, some seemed incomprehensible, some cheerful, depending on the day.

The first time he saw words that weren’t lyrics, it was dated Christmas Eve, 1983.

‘I went to visit Mom today. I told her. She said to leave and never come back. I can’t tell if she meant it this time or not. She always says the same stuff. I think I’ll bring her something sweet tomorrow. She’s nicer when I bring her things.’ Beneath his words was the doodle of candy canes and a teddy bear with short curled hair, ears sticking out.

When he flipped the page, it was dated the day after Christmas.

‘She meant it. She really meant. She’s always meant it.’ The page was littered with scribbles of the word ‘idiot’ and Billy clenched his jaw, turning the page to escape the anguish that dripped from the pages and soaked into his own chest, his own mother’s face appearing in his mind.

‘Mother, you had me But I never had you I wanted you You didn't want me So, I just got to tell you Goodbye’

There was a jump between entries, a whole three months.

‘My name it means nothing, my fortune is less My future is shrouded in dark wilderness Sunshine is far away, clouds linger on Everything I possessed, now they are gone You just left when I begged you to stay I've not stopped crying since you went away.’

Beneath was a flower, one he knew he had seen before, but hell if he knew the name of it. He didn’t know a thing about flowers. He wondered if Eddie liked them, or just this one. He turned the page and found himself surprised to find an actual poem this time.

'I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you Nobody too? Then there's a pair of us! Don't tell! They'd advertise you know!

How dreary to be Somebody! How public like a Frog To tell one's name the livelong June To an admiring Bog!'

This sketch was colorful, filled in with markers and the lines slightly smudged from ink meeting them. He recognized Eddie with ease despite his ridiculously puffed out outfit, a strange guitar in his hands - round at the base and thin along the shaft, fewer strings. He was smiling in this one, notes around his head like he was singing, shoulder to shoulder with a fluffy haired man in red armor and a pointed feathered hat. A drumstick was tucked behind his ear, freckles stark and grin mischievous. A heavyset guy was wearing thick, bulky silver armor and wielding a heavy sword, carrying a dark skinned boy on his back. The piggy backer had a bow peaking past his shoulder and pointed ears, wide smile directed at Eddie and the boy he was singing to.

He didn’t understand the context, but he had a feeling it had to do with Eddie’s fantasy obsession, something he had tacked onto pretty quickly from how everyone spoke about him.

Slowly, he found himself finding more poetry, quotes, along with the lyrics.

‘The individual who rebels against the arrangements of society is ostracized, branded, stoned. So be it. I am willing to take the risk; my principles are very pagan. I will live my own life as it pleases me. I am willing to do without your hypocritical respect; I prefer to be happy.’

There was specks of dried blood on the page, streaks where it had been attempted to be wiped away, and Billy’s gut clenched. He couldn’t tell if the feeling was dread or anger.

‘Lost in the wheels of confusion Running through valleys of tears Eyes full of angry delusion Hiding in everyday fears So I found that life is just a game But you know there's never been a winner Try your hardest, you'll still be a loser The world will still be turning when you're gone’

Dread won out as he traced the thick black lines of a coffin peaking out from the shape of the paragraph, E.M printed along the front. It had been dated the previous year.

‘Once I no longer exist as I am, out of what consideration then should I forgo anything? Should I belong to a man I don't love simply because I used to love him?’ A shadowy figured laid behind the bars of a prison cell and the hairs on Billy’s arms stood up on end.

‘I was me, but now he's gone

No one but me Can save myself But it's too late Now I can't think Think why I should even try

Yesterday seems as though It never existed.’

He recognized the lyrics from the last Metallica album he had brought, the same album that had resonated with him enough to keep him afloat in the Upside Down. He flipped through the pages quicker, nearing closer to the end and his heart thumping harder.

‘Venus in Furs has caught his soul in the red snares of hair. He will paint her, and go mad.’ A drawing of the back of a head, a girl with a ponytail and oversized cardigan.

‘It's no use Mother dear, I can't finish my weaving You may blame Aphrodite, soft as she is she has almost killed me with love for that boy.’

It was drawn like Eddie was remembering it from his own point of view, the delicate chain around a thick neck, broad shoulders adorned in frills, lips that had been smeared across the page along with the lead of his pencil and the shadow of a mustache above the cupid bow.

Billy choked on his breath, staring at the page until it blurred, unable to focus back to the jumble of letters that felt a little too much, clenching his teeth. He forced himself forward, the gap between thumb and pointer thinner than ever as he stared upon the last poem.

The previous poem had been dated January 1st, 1986, the 1st day of the year, but this one did not bear a date.

'When spring is pouring wild and winter long forgotten I rejoice in your tranquil beauty and sleep on your longing breast I dream of your lips so tender as upon my body they caress lovingly, lovingly, lovingly... Your sweet-sounding voice wakes me and your lips, ever hungry, part in kisses of inhuman ecstasy. "Have you dreamed of me, dear?"'

An eclipsing moon peaked from the bottom corner of the words, a square lighter flicked open below it, burning it in it’s flame and Billy traced it with his nail. He shuddered and snapped it shut. With the cover glaring back at him, Billy pressed the closed book to his chest and let out a shaky breath, staring up at the ceiling.

They were quotes. Some would not reflect entirely how Eddie felt about things, but their must be truth to a lot of it. The art revealed so.

Billy raised a hand and scrubbed it down his face.

Why had Eddie given this to him? Did he know?

God, did he fucking know?

Billy didn’t want to think about it. Tucking it away under his pillow, Billy laid his head back and decided he’d rather take a nap than keep thinking about a single word in that journal. His mind still lingered on the question though. How alike were he and Eddie deep down in their center?

Were they to be reflection of Demian and Sinclair, the reflection of one another and their deeper senses of self?

----

He was beginning to feel gross by the next morning, having worn the same clothes for three days. Max had made a remark and Billy had given her the middle finger, but figured he would ask Eddie for something fresh. Somehow, asking Eddie for things was a lot easier than other people. Eddie was just so...willing to help. All the time. He could have an attitude, be a bit grumpy or rash, but he had never made Billy feel bad for needing a hand. He had offered his help the first day he got back and stuck to his word. Even took charge to offer Billy shit; books, food, clothes. Eddie seemed to love sharing, even if he put up a front.

When Billy had made his way over, his trailer too empty and too quiet - the quiet was starting to get to him, the Upside Down had always been quiet too before shrieks would ripped through the air - he found Eddie already tugging the door open, before he could even raise his knuckles to it.

“Woah! Hey, Billy, what brings you over?” Eddie beamed at him, looking a little better than the last time he saw him. Still tired but less pale.

“I can only wear an outfit so much times before Max starts bullying me.” Billy drawled, avoiding asking outright. Asking meant the answer could be no. Insinuating was easier to recover from if the other person didn’t get it.

“Oh shit, yeah, come on in.” Eddie beckoned him inside. He was wearing his leather jacket and Billy couldn’t help but ask.

“Were you heading out?”

“Oh, yeah, but I don’t have a deadline or anything.” Eddie waved it off, rifling through his wardrobe, into his dresser. “You know, I should just give you a few sets, it would probably be easier for you.”

“No.” Billy said quickly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “There’s no need. I’m gonna go grab my own shit soon anyway...” He didn’t want to admit it, but he needed the excuse to come to him, a reason to seek Eddie out. He knew he wouldn’t do it on his own. There weren’t - close. Friends. Billy’s not sure what they were, but he had read Eddie’s journal full of secrets and family bullshit, yet he wasn’t confident enough to just waltz up to Eddie’s door and demand they hang out because they weren’t friends but they seemed to understand each others hurt and Billy didn’t know where to go from there.

He had never had a person like Eddie infiltrate his life like this before. He wasn’t sure if he hated it or not.

“If you say so.” Eddie shrugged. “Honestly, I need to do my laundry, so take this.” He tossed a white shirt with black sleeves at him and Billy snatched it with one hand, looking it over.

“Hellfire Club?”

“It’s my club shirt, but I- uh...I probably won’t need it much longer. The school called me an hour ago, told me they’d be willing to sit me down for my last final. If I pass, I graduate. Honestly, I think they just want me out of their hair at this point.”

“You’re still in school?” Billy frowned. “Aren’t you like twenty?”

“I...got held back. Never was amazing at school but I, uh, really fucked up in ‘84. And kept fucking up.” Eddie smiled down at his dresser, bitter like he was disappointed in himself. “Doesn’t matter, I’m gonna get that diploma this time, and I’m never going back.”

“I’m sure you will.” Billy encouraged softly. Eddie laughed, tapping his dresser drawers as he went down them, crouching and tugging the large bottom one open.

“You’re one of few who do not doubt. Though, you also haven’t seen my marks.” Eddie looked up at Billy for a long moment before he rested his forearms on his knees and grinned. “Hey, you wanna come with me into town? I’m thinking of renting a movie or two, shacking up for the evening.”

“If this your attempt at asking me out a date, handsome?” Billy purred and Eddie laughed, shaking his head as he rifled through his pants.

“Come on, I know you’re probably crawling out of your skin, being trapped in that trailer. Plus, you’ve missed all the new releases this past year!” Eddie insisted, pulling out a pair of jeans. “See if these fit you, jeans are almost impossible to trade. But better than wearing sweats out in public.”

“I could make sweatpants a fashion statement if I fucking wanted to.” Billy scoffed, snatching the dark blue jeans from his hand. “I’ll come, but I will rip into your shitty taste in movies. Because I have no doubt that you have the worst taste.”

“Ouch.” Eddie placed a hand to his chest and rubbed his heart, hissing through his teeth. “The Boogeyman was good.”

“Oh my god.” Billy muttered with a roll of his eyes as he dipped into Eddie’s bathroom to change. By some miracle, the jeans did fit, even if they were a tight fit. He had to cuff the bottoms since Eddie had longer legs, but he could appreciate the give the rips in the front gave his thighs. Without them he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to squeezed in. He slipped the shirt on over his head and tucked it in, giving a judgemental look to himself in the mirror. He prayed he didn’t look like a nerd because he’d rather die than be labelled one. The shirt was a tad baggy around his front, but it fit his arms nicely, covering up most of his scars.

He wondered if Eddie would let him borrow a light jacket to tie it together.

“You done in there?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than wait on me?”

“Not really, I was ready to leave when you got here so I’m good to go.” Billy tugged the bathroom door open and shoulder checked Eddie, almost friendly.

“Quit whining, lets go then.” He made his way towards the door and realized Eddie wasn’t following. He turned back around and quirked an eyebrow up at Eddie’s glazed eyes. “What?” Eddie blinked and seemed to shake himself out of his daze.

“Hm? Nothing. Lets go.” He clapped his hands and slipped past Billy, keys jingling in his hands. The van hadn’t been there the morning they had pancakes, but it had appeared the next day, newly reestablished Chief Hopper delivering it personally with another cop. Eddie had looked relieved to have it returned.

Eddie rounded the front and unlocked the van, Billy jumping in and inspecting it curiously. It smelt like weed, dust and sweat. Not the most appealing, but he did notice a car air freshener hanging from his rear view mirror. Black Ice.

“You’ll have to give her a moment, she’s an old girl.” Eddie chuckled, starting her up. Billy pursued his lips at the sound of her.

“She could use some work.” Billy admitted, distaste obvious on his face.

“Yeah, well, my Uncle knows more about car repairs than I do, and he’s busy enough. Plus moneys tight, always is.” Eddie shrugged, looking at him like he’d understand and Billy did. “I’m more of an unrepair guy when it comes to cars honestly.”

“So you’re accident prone.” Billy filled in and Eddie snorted.

“I learnt how to drive young, but the only real lesson was ‘go fast and don’t crash’.”

“Sound advice.” Billy drawled.

“Except I made my own version of the rule because I’m not the best driver. ‘If you hit the gas and crash, just don’t die.’”

“How’s that working for you?”

“Peachy.” Eddie grinned and reversed too quick, startling the blond. Billy whipped his hand up for the safety handle, which wasn’t there. “Oh yeah, she’s missing bits.”

“I think I should drive.” Billy decided with an inkling of apprehension in his voice, reaching for his seat belt as Eddie spun the wheel.

“Don’t worry, big boy,” Eddie turned to him, leaning in with a maniac glee in his brown eyes. “I got you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Best clip up then.” Eddie winked with a click of his tongue and smashed the play button of his radio. Rainbow In The Dark filled the van as Billy’s buckle clicked in and the dark haired man tore out of the park.

Billy had never been motion sick before, but this might just tip him over the edge.

[thatslikely]

lined-paper confessions - s.s.

lined-paper confessions - stiles stilinski x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of fighting (scott and jackson predictably), strict teachers

word count: 1.5k

a/n: head full of stiles rn... requests for our favorite sarcastic boy are open right now so send some in!

Why is every teacher at Beacon Hills High the absolute worst?

Mr. Harris had just rapidly climbed your (highly opinionated) mental ranks to number one: your new least favorite educator. Giving you after-school detention, for doing nothing but watching with horror plastered on your face as Scott McCall, Stiles’ best friend, threw punches left and right at a topless, water-drenched Jackson, who reciprocated every strike as if he were nothing but a reflection. Seriously?

Previously, you had simply been sauntering down the locker-lined hall, Stiles on your right, passionately ranting about some unnamed problem that had him on edge for the past few weeks. You two turned down the empty, cinder-block-walled athletics corridor as he continued to agitatedly let off steam; the setting was decidedly unromantic given the unshakeable scent of overly pungent deodorant and mildew that was all too familiar. 

You clung to every word emitted from his mouth with an almost comical frown like it was a mug of steamy hot chocolate on a bone-chilling winter day. To your disgruntlement, however, his ramblings were stopped mid-sentence when Scott and his wealthy rival Jackson tumbled out from the dingy boys’ locker room, hands clenched in fists and eyes flaming with fury.

Stiles bent down in a rush, poorly attempting to conclude the boisterous brawl with furrowed, concerned brows, but he looked not dissimilar to a toothpick compared to the two burly teammates. 

“Detention for all of you!” Mr. Harris spat venomously as he dashed to the scene, his voice ringing above the grunts and slams that came from the fighting co-captains of the lacrosse team. “Detention now, Stilinski, McCall, Whittemore, Argent, and Y/L/N! Come on!”

You were dragged by the ear to the vacant library, a place which you often resided in whenever you studied with Stiles (often about mythical creatures, to your confusion). Posters that looked commonplace in an elementary school lined the walls, vibrantly encouraging students to pick up a book, or pen works for a writing contest of some sort.

Golden strips of fleeting sunlight peeked through the slatted blinds, and three gum wad-dotted tables were beckoning for the group of you to sit for the next two hours, or until Mr. Harris would finally decide that your soul had rotted away enough to release you.

You were sternly directed to the uncomfortably stiff chair opposite Allison’s, whose eyes shot daggers wherever they glanced. You flashed her an almost unregistrable smile, as if to say ‘hello.’ Slinging the loose straps of your backpack over your seat, your gaze flickering through the pin-drop silent room immediately locked on Stiles’ figure.

Boy, was he perfect.

The unbuttoned flannel over his shoulders speckled with mud from some vaguely mentioned adventure, his soft, tousled hair, that always had a lock out of place, his freckled face, that always bore some goofy expression, all of it. You couldn’t get enough; nothing would satiate your innermost desire for your lips to meld with his’, for your hands to intertwine through the hallways before class, after class, whenever, wherever. 

One eyebrow-cocked, knowing look from Scott in your direction sent Stiles’ umber eyes to meet yours’, an almost confused look swimming through them. He opened his mouth curiously, surely to ask a question, most likely something along the lines of, ‘is there a stain on my shirt?’, but before he could, Mr. Harris seethed, “Take your seats, now.”

Stiles whipped around, not wanting to anger Mr. Harris any further, and he took his seat. The room was quickly conquered with suffocating silence, which the snotty chemistry teacher was bent on ensuring.

You unsheathed a doodled notebook from your backpack, eventually indenting its pages with inky black strokes of various weights and thicknesses. Your habit of penning loose sketches, vague outlines, began one day in math when the clock seemed to tick aggravatingly slow, and every word from the teacher became drawled further and further until they dissolved into the hum of the air conditioning and the chewing of gum: the rhythm of the classroom.

The unconscious lines eventually formed to a familiar portrait: Stiles. Some would be tempted to call him your muse, your kindling of an elegant flame of creativity. You’d always nod your head in complicity more than agreement, for the smart, albeit rebellious boy meant eons more than that to you.  

You had just hit your stride, your wrist’s movements thoughtless and easy, when someone- rather something, hit the back of your head lightly with a small crunch. It was a small, scrunched piece of loose-leaf paper, ripped at the edge. 

You turned your head to the direction that the projectile was tossed at, but both Scott and Stiles appeared to be very, very engrossed in a hushed conversation, neither of their postures attempting to suggest anything suspicious.

You smoothed out the paper of the angular fruitwood table in front of you, attempting to read the almost unintelligible handwriting.

Hey :)

(this is from stiles, by the way)

Your mood lightened a smidge, a grin bubbling onto your face. You tore a piece of paper out of your notebook along the perforation.

Before you threw it in an arch in Stiles’ direction, you penned a response to his note.

Hey ;) how’s detention treating you?

(This is from y/n, by the way)

Crunch.

not great, as expected. I think I saw harris pick his nose. do you have any bleach to douse my eyes in by any chance?

You chuckled a little, a small smirk glimmering on your face for the first time this excruciatingly long afternoon.

Sorry, I’m all out. used it all after I saw Jackson shirtless. how do you survive in the locker room every day?

A smile lifted on Stiles’ face, one so inflated with abundant excitement (and hormones), he might have burst at the seams.

“Man, you’re down bad,” Scott simpered, nudging his best friend’s forearm.

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed with an eye roll.

just keep your head down and you should be fine. one time, Greenberg looked at him a little too long and he nearly turned to stone, like jackson’s abs were medusa or something.

“Passing notes, are we?” Mr. Harris queried with a malicious scowl, his knuckles white from asphyxiating a helpless ballpoint pen. He slinked over to the tables you and Stiles rested uncomfortably in, raising his brow in heavy suspicion. 

Stiles’ deep, dark chocolate-colored eyes widened in worry. “No, sir.”

“I’m keeping my eye on you, Stilinski. You too, Y/L/N.” 

As soon as Harris was out of sight, perched back at the desk and typing furiously, another wad of paper tapped your occiput. 

hey, y/n, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you for a while.

The note, while its contents wouldn’t usually spark too much concern, was subtly unlike the few ones you had previously received. The lines of each letter were neater, more methodical. The small blots of ink resting at the conclusion of every stroke were larger, deeper, as if the nib of his pen had rested in the liquidly black pool for a second too long.

Your face scrunched with confusion, and upon noticing your shift in emotion, Allison nimbly tapped your wrist and mouthed, ‘Is everything okay?’

You nodded with wrinkled brows while shakily scratching a reply.

what is it?

Your knee bounced up and down reflexively, clicking from your rapidly retracting pen echoed through the idle shelves and arrays of desktops. It felt like years, centuries even, before a reply finally tumbled at your feet.

do you like me?

(circle one)

yes? or yes? 

Your jaw nearly fell to the carpeted floor in shock as if gravity had been multiplied; your speedily thrumming heart was doing flip after flip in the cavity of your chest. Without a second thought, you quickly circled both of the ‘yes’es as if there were no friction under the ink-dispersing tip of your pen. Before cupping the piece of paper, you scribbled out an additional little note.

wanna go out this saturday?

Stiles’ anxious gaze bore into your hunched-over figure as you giddily wrote your reply. What if you rejected him (even though the page lacked a ‘no’ option, meaning that you would have to add one, which was even worse)? Was it possible for him to ask to go to the bathroom and just never return? Are there any secret werewolf abilities that Scott could use to make him disintegrate on the spot? 

But his overthinking was soon alleviated when he received your response, this time neatly folded into a paper heart instead of a crunchy ball. Each crease was crisp and thoughtful; he didn’t have to unfold your expert origami to know which option you circled (or lack thereof).

He grinned goofily like an idiot as his chocolate eyes glazed your response a million times over, taking in every letter, every stroke, the dot in your ‘i’ or the question mark ending your simple but heart-rate-escalating proposal.

Crunch.

stiles stilinski/teen wolf taglist:

it’s a date then. i’ll pick you up at 6? passenger seat’s already reserved for you ;)

@loulouloueh @when-you-wish-upon-a-starrynight @ronbrokemyheart @dylobilysmomg

if your name is crossed out, that means I couldn't take you! check your visibility settings so I can @ you next time!

fill out this form to be added!

[lpwrites]

Scott Appreciation Week Day 5

The Hottest Girl

I've been sitting on this idea since Scottuary, but heaven help me I am too much of a cog in the capitalism machine to have time

It's pretty straightforward though: everyone (except Scott) is in a competition to see who can make him blush/flustered the most

Stiles starts it, because someone makes a comment about how easily flustered Scott gets, and how he does that little happy bounce that just brightens up the room

Allison says she could beat Stiles, and that just gets everyone else in the competitive spirit

A lot of fluffy compliments, a lot of little touchy stuff

(I'm picturing all of them sitting at the tables outside making up the rules and setting up a system to make sure no one cheats or adds points because there has to be a process to it)

They see Scott coming and Kira just! bounces up (they haven't even really started yet but she got excited because she saw Scott), and she pulls out a sheaf of papers from her bag, explaining that she saw his guitar and she had asked her dad for his old music because maybe it could be of some use to him?

And Scott is a little taken aback because someone thought of him selflessly and he gets a little red as he takes the music sheets even though he's barely touched his guitar since he got the Bite, but the fact that she even thought about him makes him feel all warm and fuzzy and he blushes a little as he thanks her

The table is Furious she got him so fast lmao

Stiles is a lot of over the top compliments, which mostly make Scott laugh because he's being silly, but he gives Scott a big hug when they get their tests back and he's passing, and Stiles looks so damn proud of him that Scott flushes and scrunches up a little with his ears burning red

Lydia sits with his homework at lunch and goes through it with a red pen, and Scott feels his heart sink because why would she be marking it up so badly unless he's completely fucked up, but when she hands it back it's just comments of how well written certain paragraphs are, or what a good analogy he made based off the reading, praising him for his work and how much he's improved and coming from Lydia that's high praise, so he beams as he puts his paper away to print clean later

(oops I might have given Scott a praise kink now oh well)

Allison leaves him little notes in his stuff, and it's a game within a game because Scott can't even catch her when she leaves them, but it's little doodles with silly affirmations and observations that make him smile fondly and it doesn't matter that they're not dating anymore because even if they're not Together she still means the world to him, and he tucks them all into his binder to keep them safe. (And don't think about him finding them after she dies, little reminders that he can do it, and that he should smile because someone could be falling in love with him, reminders that he's loved that get a little smudged with water :) )

Isaac is at a loss throughout the day because he's not really an affectionate guy and he doesn't have good Role Models when it comes to positive interactions much less Affection. Stiles is probably making fun of him, until someone (maybe a team member? or just someone being shitty) makes a comment about Scott that rankles Isaac just enough and he's ready to go teach them a lesson about talking Shit about his Boy

Scott swoops in and eases him back, concerned at first because if it got Isaac pissed enough to fight it must have been pretty serious right? But Isaac just says they were talking shit about Scott and he looks a little startled at first

"Hey, it's fine, it's not worth getting in a fight about." He says, his hands still on Isaac's arms, like he thinks Isaac's still gonna shoot past him.

"It's worth it to me," Isaac huffs.

Scott takes a second to process what he said, and blushes bright red, because Isaac's always been punch first ask later, but the fact that he thinks Scott matters enough to be worth the trouble and punishment that would come with it? For something as silly as someone talking shit? He's not ENCOURAGING violence but it does make a feel guy feel a little warm inside

For funsies, Malia's in on the game (because fuck continuity) and decides she's gonna win, so she corners Scott and just. Stares him down. Face an inch away from his, staring very intently making Scott feel really confused because all day has just been Strange

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to make you blush," Malia says, matter-of-fact. "Is it working?"

Scott sputters, and hears a chorus of groans nearby. "Wh-- make me blush? Why?"

"Because I want to win the game." The duh is unsaid.

(The Malia part doesn't have to be included, I just think its silly.)

But yeah! end of the day Scott is warm and fuzzy but confused because everyone's been so nice to him and it's not something he's used to

He catches them at the same table tallying up points and arguing about semantics and he basically catches them red-handed. Everyone's a little bit embarrassed at being caught, but Stiles is defensive like "No! You deserve it anyways! It doesn't matter who won or if it was a competition because we all won in the end."

Silly squabbling, a lot of affection for Scott, maybe even a group hug :) soft pack ending because Scott deserves it