#why did i spend so much time on the second doodle what is WRONG with me

[finn-doodles]

So it's been a few months since i last posted .. so i did the most obvious thing and drew some horses :) Crappily :) but i had fun so now you get to see them too

[evereinefaust]

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 ࿐ྂ

Pairing: Senku Ishigami X afab!Reader

Synopsis: So, how did MC, an average student, get personally tutored by the genius scientist in school? In math lessons, nonetheless.

Word Count: 4,220

Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...

​​​​You block out the white noise that encompasses the entirety of the classroom; the white noise being⁠—in your vocabulary⁠—your Math teacher, Mr. Ishikawa. You couldn't be bothered to listen to his discussion anymore, seeing that you've been so lost in thought for at most the initial 15 minutes of his class that you practically cannot catch up with the rest of the students. So why not spend the remaining hour doodling and watching as the clock hand goes by? And that, you did.

The middle-aged teacher had noticed your aloofness from the corner of his eyes. He knew that you weren't paying any attention to the lesson at hand, not to mention that you were in contrast to the sea of students who had their heads buried deep in their textbooks. Your [e/c] irises were blankly staring at the wall clock located at the front of the class, just above the board. If others were to observe, they would be convinced that you were paying attention to the mathematical equations scribbled on the chalkboard. In a nutshell, you stuck out like a sore thumb.

The man sighed, easing his headache by gently massaging his temple. The midterms were coming right up, and he feared that his students wouldn't have enough time to prepare and study for the test. To say that he's slightly concerned is an understatement; he's anxious for them. The majority of students had problems with the Math lessons this semester, and he couldn't blame them. Imagine having to memorize more than 10 formulas and being expected for to stay with you until you use it on exam day. And that's not all, you also have to familiarize yourself with the terms used and avoid confusing it with another.

He knew that his students would pay attention to the lesson and try to catch up as much as possible, but what he didn't expect was you be absentminded and have your head up in the clouds in his subject: Mathematics. Mr. Ishikawa never doubted your intelligence as a student; you are averaging and have no problems with Math, though a bit confused at times, but nothing that you couldn't get your head around. However, at a critical time like this, he can't help but reprimand your behavior later.

Ding... Ding... Ding... Dong...

Finally, the awaited hour at last. The school bel⁠l's chimes resonated around the whole campus, enveloping the students and faculty members alike with its gentle, relaxing tune. A sigh escaped your pink lips as you glanced at the time for the last time. 3:15 in the afternoon, meaning, the dreaded period has ended and you can finally go on to your merry way. Mr. Ishikawa stood up from his seat and faced the students, addressing his concerns about the upcoming exams. After, he had dismissed your class.

​​​​You immediately fixed your belongings inside your black shoulder bag⁠—not that you have a lot to return inside since you zoned out from the last period⁠—and stood up from your seat. Bringing the strap over your shoulder, you watched as your classmates headed out from the back door, leaving only a few, you included, inside. You were about to take a step towards the exit when a stern voice called you.

"Miss [L/n]."

You visibly flinched at the tone of his voice—serious and firm. It was the usual setting between student and teacher, although the way that it was delivered to you made you unsettled. It's like you've been caught red-handed by your parents, only this time, you didn't even know what you did wrong.

You whipped your head back to the older male at his table, dark blue eyes boring holes into your soul. You were tense but still decided to wear a convincing confused front, masking your anxiety effectively.

"Yes, sensei?"

"Please come here for a second. I need to address you about something."

The way that he motioned you over or the fact that he had his finger on his temple didn't look like it was going to be good news of some sort. You swallow a small lump in your throat as you saunter to where the teacher is. You surely didn't get into trouble, right?

"What it is you wanted to talk about, sensei?" You cautiously queried, becoming more anxious than you already were.

"Miss [L/n], I know that you're a hardworking student and your grades in Math aren't that bad. However⁠," Mr. Ishikawa spared a glance at his student, observing your bodily cues. "⁠—it seems that you weren't paying attention in class today. Is something the matter? I know that lessons this semester are quite difficult, but please be aware that midterms are approaching. I don't want your grades to be in danger, especially in my subject."

You pursed your lips at his words. You didn't hate him or his subject in any way. Although Math has given you quite the difficulty⁠—no, wait, scratch that⁠. It is literal hell⁠—you still manage to bring your grades up even just a bit. You consider yourself as just average in the subject, not that smart to constantly have an achievement, nor dumb to fail. It's just so-so, enough to let you pass. However, it seems that your grades are suffering and on the verge of failing.

You weren't so sure what the cause might be, or if you were to blame in this situation. Nevertheless, the news is certainly not good for your ears to hear. You glanced at the oakwood floor for a while, before returning your attention to the teacher.

"I'm sorry, sensei. There's nothing wrong. I just feel overwhelmed with the subject that I tend to space out," giving a sincere bow, you explained your reasoning.

Mr. Ishikawa's calculating gaze didn't leave you for a bit, making you shuffle slightly in your spot. He then let out an exasperated sigh, his hand waving dismissively. "No matter, it doesn't change the fact about your grades and midterms. If things were to continue like this, you'd surely fail my subject. I'd recommend that you have someone to tutor you in the meantime, in that way, you won't fail."

The male before you gave you a knowing look. You weren't quite fond of having a tutor, to say the least, especially when if it's someone you don't know. But, what other options do you have? It's not like you want to fail in your second year of high school. So with a squeamish heart, you spoke, "...Alright."

"Great. I'm sure that Mister Ishigami won't mind tutoring you," with that said, Mr. Ishikawa flashed you a smile as he fixed his books.

Pink flushed across your cheeks at the mention of the student. Sure, you and the leek-haired genius were friends for like, years. But just pondering about the thought of him tutoring you sent you into overdrive. You secretly had a crush on the male since but didn't have enough courage to confess the feelings. Just acting normal was tough when every time, you're being assaulted by your hormones to do something intimate to him. So spending time with him tutoring you was something you haven't imagined, even in your wildest dreams.

The sudden screech of metal against the wooden floor broke you out of your trance. Facing the teacher once again, he patted you on the shoulder and stepped out of his seat, pushing the chair further into the work desk.

"I'll be leaving now. Be careful on your way home, Miss [L/n]. And please don't forget our discussion, alright?"

You bowed your head. "Yes, sensei."

"Good," a smile etched on his aged face.

Your gaze trailed upon Mr. Ishikawa's back as he walked out the front door, probably heading back to the faculty room. You let your eyes linger on the closed sliding door, before releasing a huff of annoyance. Gripping your bag strap, you trudged over the aperture and exited the classroom.

The hallway was seemingly empty, considering that your earlier discussion took more than five minutes. Your [e/c] eyes observed the surroundings as you walked⁠—cream-colored walls, wooden oak floorboards, metal plaque located above each room to indicate the room name, and sliding doors with windows. You muttered in each room as you passed by them, boredom lacing in your tone.

"Class 2-2, class 2-3, literature club, library..." An exasperated sigh escaped your lips after, noticing that there was no more classroom by the end of the hall.

Your feet immediately turned a swift left into another hallway, only this time, you were met with a familiar person. You recognized the skinny young man with his iconic anti-gravity leek hair with two locks that drape over his face. He had his hands in his pockets while staring at the floorboard, seemingly lost in thought⁠—you noted. Yet, despite him not noticing you, just the sight of the teenager made your face flush.

Eventually, the student turned his gaze to the front, landing on nothing else but you. The surprise was written over his expression, but he nevertheless smirked at the sight of his best friend. "Well, isn't this a surprise? I was 10 billion percent sure that you're on your way home right now."

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, stopping just a meter from your best friend. "Well, apparently, your calculations were off since I'm here right now."

"Let me guess, waiting for me?" the male said, placing his hand on his chin as if thinking. Though the smirk on his face never left, making your blush redden.

"Sorry, but I wasn't boy genius," you let out a scoff, crossing your arms as you tried to cool down your cheeks. "I would be delighted if that's the case since you're nowhere to be seen during the last period. Speaking of which, where were you during Math?"

"Since the school's Science competition is nearing, every teacher gave us, the Science club, permission to spend the last period preparing for the competition," Senku explained, placing his hands on his hips as he did so. "So being the club president, I was at our club room for the hour."

You nodded in understanding. But soon, your lips contorted into a pout, eyebrows creasing to accentuate your hidden indignation. "How nice. I wish I could escape the Math period as well."

"Silly," without warning, Senku flicked your forehead which earned him a surprised yelp. "You know that you can't just skip the subject. So tell me, what makes you upset this time?"

Despite Senku's remarks and occasional forehead flicking, you knew that he was genuinely concerned about you, especially your studies. Sure, he would appear arrogant and overbearing, often annoying you about your oh-so-average grades, but there isn't just a moment when he didn't help you improve. Not to mention that he's so observant about you that he can point out your cues and even know what you're feeling at the moment. That's why you admire the boy so much.

A frown replaced your pouting lips at his words, slumping your shoulder a bit. "I was held back to discuss something with Ishikawa-sensei."

"And that is?" he quirked a brow, prodding you to explain further.

"Ishikawa-sensei told me about my grades, and apparently, it's suffering. So for me to pass the upcoming tests, he advised that I should get someone to tutor me in the meantime," an annoyed sigh escaped your lips after that statement. 

"If that's your concern then you don't have to worry about it too much. Overthinking might lead to losing more brain cells."

"Hey!" you shouted at him, offended by his sarcastic remarks.

"No need to shout at me, [Name]. Geez! I was only joking," he pulled up his hands in surrender. "Besides, you already have me. Who else helps you study, silly?"

Your [e/c] hues stared at the male's face, still not quite convinced. A pout graced your lips while your cheeks were red in embarrassment. Eyebrows still creased up, indicating your agitation. Senku didn't bother to move an inch under your heated stare. The boy knew all too well about your tendencies and antics, and this one of them.

The moment lasted for another minute when Senku broke your trance with his iconic smirk. This made you blink in surprise as realization fell on you; you'd been staring at your best friend's devilishly attractive features for too long. You instantly flared at this, moving your head back while averting your gaze somewhere but him.

God, couldn't you be a little more cautious around him? You're ogling him in front of his face! Isn't that super embarrassing? Whatever excuse your head came up with, you couldn't justify your earlier action by any means. So instead of speaking, you decided to remain silent until he spoke first. Damn, your teenage hormones.

"What? Too embarrassed to have me as your tutor?" Senku mused. Despite you being unable to see his face, just hearing the teasing tone of his voice is enough to know that a smirk was still on his face.

You were close to snapping back at him, but you held your tongue back at the realization. It dawned on you a moment after his claim that he was volunteering to tutor you in Math. You were beyond baffled. Sure, the two of you occasionally spend time reviewing and studying, but that was way too long ago. Considering that he's always busy in his club and studies, you concluded that you should just leave him be⁠—not bothering to ask him to help you study.

"Wai⁠—w-what?" you whipped your head back at him, face covered in a red hue.

Senku just sighed. "You told me about your grade problem, right? So to help you study, I'll be tutoring you starting today."

Your eyes widened at his claim. Surely, your mind isn't just making up the scenario, right? Admittedly, due to your annoying hormones, you once imagined being tutored by this leek genius at school in private⁠. And not only that, but your dirty mind also added another scenario following that. But we'll never speak of it any further.

"Can't it be tomorrow?" you whined, pleading him with your puppy eyes to at least let him save you from further embarrassment. Who might know? Your hormones might initiate something you wouldn't want to happen.

"No, the earlier, the better," he retorted, grabbing your hand and dragged you inside an empty, unused classroom. "You will improve quickly this way, I'm 10 billion percent certain."

You just swallowed a lump in your throat as he led the way, nervous sweat rolling down from your forehead as your heart sped up. Your head was swirling with dirty thoughts and different scenarios. Once the two of you entered the room, you shook your head, ridding yourself of those thoughts, and tried to focus on the situation at hand.

Your eyes observed the classroom⁠—even though it was unused, it wasn't overall bad. The room had a total of 20 desks with five chairs in each row, a rather small chalkboard on the front, a shelf that stores personal belongings at the back, and a storage cabinet at the farthest corner. You sat on an empty chair in the front row as you were instructed to. Taking out a notebook, the Math textbook, and a pen, you then set down your belongings on the table while placing the bag on the ground.

A frown made unto your face at the idea. Sure, you wanted help with your current problem, but you aren't that obliged to start the tutoring session right away. You thought that maybe you could have a day or two without worrying about your brain exploding from information overload. Though it seems that Lady Luck has long abandoned you.

A comfortable silence settled between you two. Senku scanned the vicinity to find⁠—what you guessed as⁠—chalks while you were watching him. You hadn't noticed it earlier, but now you knew that the male wasn't wearing the usual uniform, nor his iconic lab coat.

"Why aren't you in your uniform, Senku?" you asked, trying to spark up a casual conversation before getting down to studying.

"We made a miscalculation with the project, and then one thing leads to another, then kaboom⁠—" the leek-haired replied, rummaging through the storage cabinet and found the item he's looking for. "⁠—We're all covered in dust that's why I decided to change."

"Oh."

"Anyways, let's start," Senku announced as he made his way to the front. "I'm guessing that the lesson is still about 'Estimation of Parameters', right?"

You nodded in reply, opening the textbook to what you assumed was the last lesson discussed. "Ishikawa-sensei discussed 'Calculating the Confidence Interval', I think. I wasn't listening."

Your best friend let out a disapproving sigh. "No wonder you need a tutor."

"Eh, not my fault that Math's scummy and difficult to understand," you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

"No, it isn't. You're just not paying attention during lessons," he deadpanned.

"No. And yes, I'm paying attention. Why do I even pass the exams if I wasn't?" you quipped back.

"Who knows? Maybe it's just your abundant amount of sheer luck," the male shrugged before facing the board. "Anyway, I don't have even a millimeter of interest arguing with you. So please listen to me as I review the basics of this unit. We don't want you to fail now, do we?"

The deliberate side glance Senku gave you made you huff in annoyance. You were about to resort to another snappy remark earlier if it wasn't for his immediate interruption. You two knew all too well that once either of you started something, it wouldn't be the end of it. So instead of a peaceful study session, it might've ended up in a full-blown squabble between you two. Slumping deep in your seat, you watched as Senku scribbled formulas and definitions on the board with a blank look on your face.

Senku started to re-discuss the lesson shortly after, with you trying to catch up with his explanation and take some notes as he continued. The male would often pause or slow down his speech as he waited for you to comprehend the lecture. He would also approach you and inspect your progress, checking out any errors that you've made and aid you with some tips for the solution. At first, it didn't seem so bad, until you came to a certain point where your brain could not grasp the new information anymore.

It didn't take you an hour to zone out from the seemingly long lecture. The fact that the young scientist was busy writing down the next sample problem gave you the spare time to take a trip to fantasy land. The scraping of the white chalk against the wooden board was the only sound that you could hear.

"First, identify the variables before substituting the formula. It's crucial to know which is the mean, standard deviation, and the sample size," the teenage male instructed, writing down the solutions with his left hand resting on his hip.

You began to tune out his voice by this point, boredom was visible on your blank [e/c] irises that were staring downward. You propped up against your right elbow on the table, resting your cheek on the base of your palm. Holding up the pen in your left hand, you let your thumb graze the tip before pushing it down.

Click! Click! Click!

Senku turned around at the soft sound that distracted him, his crimson hues landing upon the female he was tutoring. He noticed that you've let out a disinterested sigh, continuing your small ministration. Senku's eyebrow twitched a bit, silently face-palming—you will surely be the end of him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps echoed inside the room as a certain male trudged over to where his best friend sat. Once he's in front of your desk, he gently—but still making sure to produce enough sound to alert the girl—slammed his right hand on the wooden table while the other made its way under your chin. Placing his thumb below your parted lips and folded index finger below your chin, he slowly lifts your head, forcing you to make eye contact with his mesmerizing ruby jewels.

Your cheeks heated up at the unexpected intimate gestures; your eyes were wide as saucers as you willingly stared at Senku, your soft lips were parted out of shock, your heart racing inside of your chest, while your brain could not comprehend the situation at hand. Senku's face was just a few inches from yours, making it accessible for you to observe his flawless features; the stray locks of greenish-white hair that gently draped over his face as his eyebrows were scrunched up in a frown, crimson orbs contained disappointment and concern. You could've sworn that you weren't even breathing at this point due to the unexpected turn of events.

"[Name]..." he started, voice gentle as he chided you. "How can you pass the upcoming exam if you don't pay attention to me?"

You could've sworn that your brain interpreted that differently. Surely, he only meant about him explaining the lesson, right? But then why did the red hue across your cheeks darken? And most importantly, when did he start to sound so concerned about you? If you could remember correctly, never did he ever do this kind of thing to you. Like ever. So why the change? Honestly, your mind was brewing a lot of questions that you're pretty sure wouldn't get answered at all.

The two of you stared at each other's eyes for another minute before you broke the interaction by shyly averting your gaze away. You pursed your quivering lips, the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Senku disregarded your initial reaction and decided to pull back. He isn't an idiot; he knew that you were a bit uncomfortable and flustered at his action.

"[Name], you need to pay attention when I'm teaching. Or else you won't pass the midterms," the male sighed, pulling a nearby chair and setting it beside the girl, sitting on it after. "Maybe it's better if I teach you this way."

However, you didn't respond to his remark, feeling your face flush red at this proximity. Senku resumed tutoring you—his whole attention on you and your notes which you found embarrassing. You didn't hate this setup, however, it made it difficult for you to focus on the lecture when your [e/c] hues kept stealing glances at your crush.

An hour later, the young genius eventually ended the session. Both of you prepared to go home—you fixed your things while Senku erased the writings on the board. After that, the two of you exited the room and walked in a comfortable silence through the halls. Your [e/c] hues glanced outside the window, witnessing the sun descending behind the horizon. The palette of orange, yellow, pink, and violet decorated the evening sky, providing you a sense of warmth and serenity. Your mind wandered back to earlier events, a slight scarlet hue spread across your warm cheeks.

Letting out a contented sigh, you gaze back on the front. By this time, you've noticed that you and your best friend were out of the campus and heading home. Once more, you stole a glance at the male beside you. Senku was facing forward, his ruby orbs intently locked on the path both of you were heading. The way that the yellowish-orange rays adorned his features gave off a gentle glow. You didn't notice a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips at this sight.

"Well, this is home," you chirped once the two of you arrived at your street.

Senku halted at your announcement, his eyes landing on your petite back. You stayed standing for a moment before turning around to the male and stepping closer into his personal space. Senku closely watched you as you leaned in, pressing your soft lips against his pale cheeks. It happened so quickly that when the male finally registered the occurrence, you were already on your heel and ran away from him. His cheeks bloomed to a shade of scarlet at your bold gesture. Surely, he wasn't expecting this interaction to happen.

A smile adorned his handsome features, soft crimson hues staring at your faraway silhouette. "Well, this is exhilarating."

[bluegekk0]

Your art is very good, but it seems that you make it quite fast(I could be wrong though, sorry for assuming). How do you do that? What does your usual uncleaned sketch look like and how do you achieve such clean and beautiful lines?

hi! thank you so much! ❤ and you're correct, i do draw quite fast. it's a mixture of being hyperfocused on it, and the 10 or so years of digital art experience. the downside is that i have to really get in the mood to draw something, otherwise i pretty much abandon it and never return to it. because of that, doing something in one sitting is the best option for me, though there are some drawings that i spent multiple days on, either because they were complicated (such as the painting pinned on my blog) or because they involved a lot of individual drawings (the grimm cloak doodle page is a good example of this). most of my "lower effort" drawings usually take me a few hours max, so i can do them in one go quite easily

i will say that i did have some conflicting thoughts about for a while, as in, i was worried that my art might appear as "fast food quality" - low effort, fast produced and same-y. i still sometimes worry about it, especially since they do seem a bit repetitive, at least from my perspective, but at the same time, there's no point in forcing myself to spend a longer time on art if there's nothing i can add to it. and i am happy with my current style for those quicker drawings, it's relatively easy to do and i like the final result, so why worry, right? yeah...

as for the process, it depends. sometimes it only takes a quick sketch i'm happy with and i can go straight to lineart, other times it takes me a lot of sketching to get the result i want (since i have aphantasia, it's almost like carving a good looking sketch out of the incoherent mess using a vague idea of what i want it to look like, rather than trying to replicate what i see in my head, if that makes sense). so as a result, a lot of the sketches look messy. in those cases, i make another sketch layer, one that's a bit cleaner and easier to work with. i usually delete the early sketch layer so it doesn't clutter the layers list, but one of my recent drawings still has it so i can illustrate what i mean

(turning myself in to the art police and admitting that i used a stock image of a couch in place of the base sketch, that's why it looks a lot cleaner in both screenshots hahah)

the second sketch layer isn't "final" either, i often end up making a lot of corrections while doing the lineart. the brush you see in my drawings is the basic mechanical pencil brush in clip studio paint, and i use it for both the sketch and the lines. so in a way, it's almost like a third sketch layer, with the most detail put into it. if you look closely, there are some imperfections, it's not completely clean, but i think it adds to the pencil-like effect so i'm usually not too bothered by it

then at the end i color some of the inner lines to finish it up and make the outlines pop a bit more, and it's more or less done

i hope this was what you were looking for, i'm pretty bad at explaining things, but hopefully you find it helpful!

[narbevoguel]

Hello guys. It's been a while since I made a post like this, but today I wanted to talk about my art. I haven't posted something proper in forever, and to say I haven't spent this entire time at least doodling a thing or two would be a lie, but there's a reason why I haven't been posting much and just keeping my art semi private, or multiple, let me explain (I'll have a TLDR at the end if you don't wanna bother with this, but written awfully):

First, I believe you guys deserve more than some stupid sketches. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy sketching, aesthetic aside, drawing multiple sketches a day is how I pushed myself to experiment new things and just get better overall, plus I draw them fast, so I could pull a bunch of sketches in the time it takes me to color just one, so I could spill one silly idea after the other. I don't know why or exactly when I started to feel like this is just not worth it for you guys, that you deserve more from me than what I put out, that maybe I disappoint you immensely. This isn't even about reach, I don't care about that, this is about me showing something worth to see.

Second, is how I chose to spend my time. Last year was a very busy year for me overall, my job became increasingly demanding at times, lotsa personal issues that stressed me out immensely, which resulted in me using my remaining free time doing other activities, including spending time with people I shouldn't have been so permissive with (except my gang, that's why I made it a New Year's Resolution to annoy you guys more, you know who you are), it became a thing where I was even afraid to say no to them in favor of my art or other me-activities in fear of them taking it the wrong way, which, in a weird way, ended up happening anyway and resulted in long term passive aggressive conflict, and well, all of this negativity and then some, especially combined, made me reluctant to pick my pen up most of the time, which leads me to my next point.

Third, not drawing as often made me lose my momentum considerably. I could draw stuff comfortably without much artblock, if at all, or something I thought looked ugly. It just came out naturally, sometimes without even using references, it was crazy, but I feel I lost that momentum; don't get me wrong, I don't think my art looks worse than before, far from it, I did a comparison a couple of days ago and I noticed that despite all these issues, I have indeed improved a lot, thing is, I still feel it doesn't look good, I can't seem to know where I want to go with it, or what I want it to look like, I have no idea how to describe this feeling of "I hate immensely what I've been doing", maybe I'm beating myself up too hard and this is a result of not sharing anything with you guys, but I want to be comfortable with the characters I always draw before I bring them out again (although for some reason Purah's perfection always makes my doodling easier, she has become my ultimate comfort character it seems, hah).

All that said, I want to change things this time. I'm not sure if I'll post more like I did before, or if I'll post less than I used to, but I want to post things again. Maybe won't start soon, but will definitely do it. I've even been stocking up on traditional materials to pick the pen back up in other ways as well (haven't done this since my college days, so I'm a bit excited), I don't want to make promises I can't keep (you guys know I'm terrible with keeping up with stuff lol), but I will try my hardest to post more finished pictures and less sketches. It might result in me posting less art and/or jokes as before, but we'll see where that leads me. I'm still not sure if I'll continue to keep the sketches to myself or not, but one step at a time, step one is to just stop beating myself up, turns out my negativity knows how to throw hands. If you read ALL to this point, my most sincere thanks, I know it isn't easy to put up with my crap, and if you didn't it's fine, I still love you, in fact, I'll sum it up for you below.

TLDR: I'm a stupid piece of crap that didn't know how to manage my free time which resulted in me developing a very serious case of imposter syndrome and I'm throwing hands back in hopes, no, in expectancy of walking out of it a victor, for my sake, and for you guys as well.

Anyway, thanks for reading, short or long version, and remember, a Purah a day, keeps uh, the heart happy and brain mushy, or something like that.

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[magniloquent-raven]

(pt1 here)

billy grew up afraid of finding his soulmate.

when he was eight his father caught him trying to wash nail polish off with soap and a hand towel.

he’d heard girls at school saying it was what you did when your soulmate was a boy. you were supposed to paint yourself up all pretty and find the person who matched. and it was easy enough to sneak into the vanity and steal a bottle of his mother’s nail polish. but once the paint dried he realized it would be impossible to hide from his father, and he panicked.

his mother showed him the bottle of nail polish remover after neil left. dabbed some on a cotton ball to rub at the thick layer of paint. she was silent, kneeling on the floor in front of him cradling his sprained wrist while he sat on the edge of the tub and cried.

they both had questions, but neither of them got answers.

it took billy months to work up the courage to try again.

he wasn’t sure why he was bothering, at first. he knew he couldn’t look for his soulmate the traditional way. and he was constantly terrified that his father would find the supplies he’d started hoarding. it seemed like more risk than reward, and yet. he couldn’t stop himself.

every time he was allowed to wander off in a store alone he’d slip something into his pocket. a tube of lip gloss. a compact full of shiny powders. he wasn’t even sure what some of it was, he just liked the colours. liked the pictures they hung alongside the displays. he wanted to look like that. beautiful.

and in his heart of hearts, he wanted the boy who was out there waiting for him to know he existed. whether they’d be able to find each other or not.

he’s more careful with this than he was with the nail polish. his father works saturday nights, and his mother always visits their neighbour while he’s at work. despite having the house to himself he locks his bedroom door.

the first thing he tries is the watermelon lip gloss. it’s sticky, and the wand doesn’t fit in his hand comfortably, but once he’s smeared it on he feels...good. he likes the way it catches the light. likes the way it smells. he looks at himself in the mirror and likes seeing something different.

the high doesn’t last long, it inevitably gives way to paranoia, anxiety that has him glancing at the locked door every thirty seconds, heart pounding, wondering if just maybe his father will get home from work early, and he jumps at every sound, hearing boots thudding on the porch and car doors slamming and anything that could be neil coming through the door.

cleaning himself up is hard. panic makes his hands shake, his eyes well up. he drops everything on the floor when he tries to tuck the bag away. and he has to spend twenty minutes with his back to his bedroom door getting his breathing under control when he’s finished.

but he does it again the following saturday. and the one after that.

for five months he does this. locks himself away with his stolen treasures and lets himself live a little. it gets easier as time goes on. and his mind wanders sometimes. to a future where he gets to share this with someone. the boy out there who’s supposed to love him one day.

it’s a small bubble of a dream. one he doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on. not when there’s neil’s voice in his head, telling him that no one could love a fucking freak, ‘cause fags don’t get real soulmates anyways.

he wants and he wishes, but the more he thinks about it the more he doubts. he’s never gotten a mark from his soulmate, and even if he did some day, what if his father’s right, and his “soulmate” doesn’t want him or makes him miserable or...worse.

so he does his makeup for himself.

until, like all good things in his life, his father ruins it.

he never found out what set neil off initially, something going wrong at work maybe, or the martial strife of the week getting to him. whatever it was that started it, neil eventually decided billy should bear the brunt of the fallout.

so he went through his things. said billy’d been acting cagey lately, and he was going to find out why.

and then found the makeup bag stuffed into an old sweater in his closet.

it was ugly. the things neil said that day would play on repeat in billy’s head for years afterwards. the scars his belt left on billy’s back were nothing in comparison.

the next saturday came and went. billy spent the evening curled up under a blanket not bothering to wipe away the tears dripping down his face.

by morning he’s resolved to forget the whole thing. to put it behind him. because it was stupid, and risky and childish and maybe his father was right. he’s almost convinced himself. and then he notices ink on his arm, as he reaches up to rub his eyes. messy scrawl, i bet you looked pretty crookedly written up his forearm.

he didn’t think he was able to cry any more, but he manages it.

for the first time his soulmate isn’t just a concept, or a what-if, he’s...a person. he’s a real person out there somewhere. someone who doesn’t even know billy and still wanted to reach out, to offer comfort. it’s more than he’s gotten from anyone else. even his mother. who he knows loves him, and she does her best to protect him, but when she found out about his makeup stash she just looked sad, and she’s said nothing to him about it.

but his soulmate…

can never, ever meet neil.

the thought hits him right in the chest.

whoever he is, he cares, he’s good. and neil breaks good things.

billy falls asleep that night tracing the empty space where his soulmate’s message used to be, wrapped up in worries and dreams, and terrified for someone he’s never met.

the doodles that come and go over the years are terrifying and exhilarating and billy manages to hide every single one from his father. they only ever show up during the day, and they don’t linger. something billy is both grateful for and resentful of.

sometimes he’ll watch other boys’ hands in class. check them for drawings. he thinks he’s being careful, but a girl in his chem class, becca, catches him. she says it’s only because she knew what to look for. they share a cigarette under the bleachers and she tells him about a girl who likes green eyeshadow and writes homework reminders on her wrists using stars instead of bullet points.

it takes billy six months and a couple shots of tequila to tell her about watermelon lip gloss and bet you’re pretty and they both cry when he starts to wonder if his soulmate will be disappointed that he isn’t a girl.

on a rainy april afternoon she asks him to go to a gay bar with her. he tells his father he’s going on a date. she tells her’s that she had to reschedule a tutoring session and it’ll run pretty late.

they wait til it’s dark and get ready in a dingy gas station bathroom. when she’s smearing on her eyeliner she catches sight of his face in the cloudy mirror. he wasn’t going to ask her for anything. he wouldn’t have brought it up. the twinge in his heart and a hollow feeling of longing aren’t anything new, he can deal.

he feels and empty kind of rage every time old, well-meaning relatives give max girly lip gloss kits and eyeshadow pallets and shit normal preteen girls who care about finding their soulmates actually appreciate. she always rolls her eyes and throws them away. susan will fish them out of the trash sometimes, and leave them under the bathroom sink, like if max just sees them there she’ll suddenly give a shit and start using them. like them being there does anything but taunt billy with what he can’t have.

neil watches him like a fucking hawk every time that shit comes into the house. and max doesn’t fucking care. doesn’t notice.

but becca offers.

and.

he’s not about to say no.

he should’ve said no.

it feels good at first, like it used to, it feels like freedom and he likes what he sees when he looks in the mirror, and he kisses a boy for the first time and it isn’t fireworks but it’s something, and he thinks maybe it’s going to be a good night, but then…

neil is waiting on the curb outside becca’s house. they were heading there first, because her parents wouldn’t notice, she said it would be fine, she has makeup remover he can use, he can clean up and head home and everything was supposed to be okay, except. it wasn’t.

it’s the last time he sees becca. neil tells her parents what was actually going on, and she isn’t allowed to visit him in the hospital.

and then six months of rehab, one rushed wedding and a big ugly sold sign later, neil carts them off to hawkins, indi-fucking-ana. as a “family.”

billy was certain this town would be nothing but a prison. it’d be somewhere he’d never find a place to be himself, neil would make sure of that. there wasn’t a single thing to like about this place and its bullshit small town sensibilities. for all the open space it might as well have been stone walls and steel bars.

except.

except...here was a boy with soft eyes and nimble fingers, who gets a little wrinkle between his brows when he concentrates, and is always moving, fidgeting, fiddling with zippers and touching his elbows and looking at him makes billy itch. to touch, to soothe, to take, and…

things get complicated when aimless blue waves scrawl up billy’s arm. when steve follows him out into the parking lot. calls him pretty to his face. and suddenly billy’s eight years old and realizing this shit is real. terrified of what that could mean. spinning fragile dreams like spider’s silk, hard to shake but easy to destroy.

even entertaining the idea of putting on makeup while he’s still in hawkins is stupid and dangerous, but goddamn if he hasn’t risked more for less.

he’s sure he’ll regret it. like he’s regretted every other desperate bid for freedom. but when faced with steve harrington’s smile, he can’t find it in himself to say no.

(edit: pt3 here)

[chickenscript]

Could you write a scenario for each of the turtles where they sneak into to a hospital through the window and visit the reader who is staying the night after they broke their arm?

A/N: i feel like i could've wrote this funnier but hope you enjoy!

Least to say, you weren't expecting any visitors when you ended up bedridden in the hospital.

Well, it wasn't all that serious really. You got a bone fracture in your arm after a little skateboarding incident but, the doctors wanted to keep you overnight for observation and to help ease you through those first hours of sheer pain.

Back on topic though- you wondered why you didn't think that you wouldn't see any familiar faces pop by during your stay considering the company you kept.

And by that you meant they would 100% be the type to break into a hospital just to visit you.

Leo: - You honestly thought he would've tried to sneak in dressed as a nurse knowing Leo and his ideas.

- But no, this time around he had snuck in through your window and did so, so stealthily that he nearly gave you a heart attack when he cropped up right next to your face sudden.

- Thankfully you realized it was him before you could let out a scream that would've alerted a nurse or doctor.

- You laughed the fright off and he took a seat on your bed next to you.

- He started off idle chatter about how you were feeling and the specifics of how you ended up here, and you enjoyed the company as much as you knew he should've waited until you left tomorrow for his own sake.

- You couldn't not appreciate that he had come to check on you.

- You're not sure that you had known anyone before the turtles that would've found a way into your hospital room after visiting hours to make sure you were absolutely okay themselves.

- You made sure to let Leo know that too.

- He smiled sheepishly and ruffled your hair; he'd break into a hospital any day for you. You were one of his best friends after all. (Of which the turtles only had you and April).

- The sentiment made you snort and you smiled back at your goofy friend with a giggely thank you.

- You wouldn't have it any other way.

- Regardless, you had to admit that he probably should've left for the lair before the morning rolled in instead of staying so long into the night getting caught up in nighttime conversation with you that he wound up passing out like you did.

- He had to narrowly avoid being caught by the staff and you tried not to bust out laughing at his "timely escape".

- Which was Leo having to scramble out off the bottom of your bed where he'd sprawled out on so he could launch himself out the window when the nurse came to tell you that you were ready to be discharged.

- The sound of a yowling cat as he landed in the dumpster outside didn't help your case either.

Donnie:

- You...you weren't expecting the impromptu doctor costume.

- Or for him to immediately start out his sudden visit by prodding at your cast the second he was done clambering through your room window.

- Donnie insisted he just wanted to check on the sturdiness of it, but you still had to swat him away so he wouldn't fuss over it.

- With a sigh, you let your arm fall back across your stomach. You didn't have to ask to know why he was here because you had a good guess already.

- You invited the turtle to sit on your hospital bed and after hesitating for a moment, he plopped down.

- He cleared his throat and asked you how you were feeling.

- You smiled and told him that they were giving you plenty of painkillers, Dr. Dee. It wasn't a gnarly break, so you were lucky in that regard and didn't need any heavy duty treatment.

- Donnie nodded with closed eyes and folded arms.

- He told you everyone was worried about you and you poked his bicep, telling him to tell them that you definitely weren't dying or anything.

- Donnie looked down at you and poked you in the nose, telling you that a broken arm still wasn't anything to laugh about.

- You wriggled your nose with a puff. You knew that but you also knew that you would be able to recover just fine.

- Even though Donnie didn't show it like his brothers would've, you knew he had come all this way to make sure you were getting treated properly. (Even though you certainly were).

- After his fussing, you and Donnie played a few rounds of Mario Kart on his switch while chatting. You were sure he was going easy on you because of your arm but you didn't say anything about it because well, who could ever complain about winning?

- When you wrapped up, you let him sign his name in an almost obnoxious purple that glinted neon in the dark on your cast and he told you not to break anything else.

- You laughed and replied that you didn't plan on it.

- The answer seemed to be good enough for him as he left and after the nurse came to turn out your lights for you, you laid back in your bed and stared for a long while at the glow in the dark signature on your bum arm before falling asleep.

Mikey:

- You had to shush him the moment he launched onto your hospital bed.

- He was immediately poking and prodding at you, and asking about whether or not your arm still hurt.

- You laughed softly and shook your head. You reassured him you were doing much better compared to earlier.

- Mikey was happy to hear about that, settling down a bit and sitting down.

- He asked if he could touch your cast and you gave a nod.

- He touched it very gently, wrinkling his snout at the coarse feeling texture of it under his fingertips.

- Then he looked up at your face and asked the question you knew he was probably waiting to since he got there.

- You gave another soft laugh and said yes, he could sign your cast.

- With a wide smile he whipped out some markers he was carrying with him and got work scribbling on your cast.

- You quickly got the feeling that his "signature" was going to be much more elaborate than just that.

- And you weren't wrong as he spent the better part of an hour, chatting with you as he drew.

- Truthfully, you hadn't been able to get to bed at all before Mikey dropped by and having him here was nicer than tossing and turning, waiting to fall asleep.

- Eventually, he's done and you're amazed by the graffiti style doodle now on the corner of your cast.

- Mikey beamed at the look on your face and asked you what you thought. To which you were quick to say it looked amazing.

- You ended up having a chat about art and you two did some doodling in one of your notebooks before he had to go back to the lair so you could call it a night.

- He wished you a goodnight and you promised to be over the next day to spend some time with your favorite turtles, and when you let your head rest on your pillow, sleep found you much easier than you thought it would before Mikey got there.

Raph:

- You were surprised a herd of staff didn't rush to your room as he had to all but force himself through the window and knocked over an IV pole and those little carts that held nurse supplies.

- Of course, a sweet little nurse did pop in to see if you were alright and you told her that a strong breeze must have done it all.

- She bought the story and Raph, who had ducked under your bed and raised it a good foot or two higher, crawled out.

- He asked you how you were doing and whatnot, and you waved off his worries.

- Still, he didn't seem very sated by the look on his face.

- You reached out with your good arm and gave him a pat on his. - In truth, Raph felt bad that he nor his brothers could've been there to prevent your injury; as stupid as that might sound.

- And he seemed to think you would laugh at him as he admitted that to you.

- You didn't think it sounded stupid in the slightest though. A lot of people feel that way when it comes to people they care about, you reassured him.

- You felt the same every time the turtles had altercations with the villainy lurking in New York.

- That seemed to work and you were glad to shake some worry off of Raph's big ole shoulders. He had enough of that while trying to lead the gaggle of turtle brothers.

- You patted the side of your bed and almost regretted the gesture when it groaned in agony at Raph's mass.

- You tried to laugh it off, hoping internally that the bed would turn out okay. You were just happy that it was holding up for now. But, you were surprised that Raph didn't notice the potential problem.

- You two spent a while just idly chatting and Raph recanted the brothers' recent encounter with some villains last night. You eagerly listened and enthused about it alongside the behemoth of a snapping turtle whose giddiness about things always reminded you he was truly a softie.

- After some hours, he got around to leaving once he signed your cast in big, blunt red letters and the hang out session made you feel like you really did have friends looking out for your more than you realized before.

[hiddennerdworld]

MHA Couples Dynamics with art by @leecheedoodles| Too Cool for Skool x Keener (Reader x Iida)

Masterlist

Warnings: none, all fluff stuff

A/N: eeeee I’m so excited about this. I saw this art and immediately was inspired. I would really like to do a series based on these. This is all thanks to leechee doodles here on Tumblr. They are v talented so check them out! I’ve seen others use their art, but if they don’t want me to I can always take it down. Enjoy :)

You and Iida definitely got off on the wrong foot

You guys didn’t hate each other per say, but you annoyed each other for sure

Iida just wanted his fellow classmates to be successful and tried to encourage you as class rep. And you just wanted to only take part in the aspects of hero work that you actually enjoy

In your own ways, you both stressed each other out

Iida would give you lectures any time you ditched class, saying you needed to be responsible in order to be the best hero you can be

You just stood and rolled your eyes the entire time with your arms crossed over your chest

Eventually, one day Iida just said fuck it (he didn’t actually phrase it that way bc he doesn’t use the bad words) and picked you up and carried you to class.

The whole time with you kicking and screaming, which doesn’t affect him bc he’s a fucking tree

This became routine. Iida was with you almost 24/7, keeping you in line. This caused even more tension between you guys

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Well you wouldn’t if you stopped acting like a baby and attended to your duties!” *snickers* “You’re gonna tell me you’re not a baby when you can’t even not laugh at the word ‘duty’?!!!”

The bickering wouldn’t stop and it was driving EVERYONE crazy

So as Aizawa solves all problems, he paired up the duo with pent up frustration for their final exam

You guys were rolling your eyes when you saw you had to work together but weren’t surprised tbh

It seemed like you guys weren’t gonna make it, but at the last second you were able to distract Cementoss and give Iida an in to dash up and capture him

You guys cheered and high fived when you realized you’d passed, the negative feelings towards each other forgotten

Afterward you guys had a talk.

“Good job out there today, Iida. I’m impressed on how you came up with a strategy so quick. I guess studying so much does actually help, huh.”

“Thank you, L/N! I appreciate the kind words, especially coming from someone who has such good control over their quirk like yourself!”

The whole time both of you were staring at the ground, blushing to hard to look at the other person while complimenting them. Iida still did the hand waving tho lmao

Afterwards, Iida still kept an eye on you always bc he thinks you have a lot of potential and wants you to do well

And you don’t find him as annoying anymore, so don’t really try to avoid him

This ends up with you guys basically just hanging out rather than him chaperoning you.

Training, studying, making food, you guys are together a lot

You and Iida occupied a table in the dining area for your studies for the millionth night in a row. The other students know better than to disturb you at this point. Yes, you guys are friends now, but you still bicker like an old married couple.

“I could really go for some ice cream right now,” you said while leaning back in your chair.

“L/N! You know that stuff isn’t good for you! Why do you wish to consume such sugary content?! Why don’t you eat an apple instead?!”

“I don’t think that’s how cravings work. Besides we have training tomorrow and always so I will still be keeping myself in shape. It’s one treat.”

“L/N, we are studying to become the best heroes! We need to be responsi-“

“But that’s just it! We are always going to be working to be the best we can be. You need to be able to enjoy yourself. Life isn’t all about work, you know?” You said standing up and grabbing his arm, “We’re going out. Come on!”

“Absolutely not! It is after curfew! It would be dangerous and-“ Iida lectured on and on until you guys were basically in front of the ice cream place. He tried to get you to stay back, but you were surprisingly strong when you were determined. (Also, he probably wasn’t resisting as much as he could’ve).

You guys went in and ordered. You got cookie dough with some chocolate syrup on top, and Iida got a scoop of vanilla on a cone, only because you insisted he get something. After you got the ice cream you went to a nearby park and sat on a bench.

“Mmmmmm this is so good. Totally worth it.” You say as you take your first bite, eyes closed while enjoying the delicious dessert.

“I’m not sure if it was worth breaking the rules, but as long you are enjoying yourself I guess it’s alright.”

“That’s because you got the most boring flavor. Here try some of mine.” You said raising a spoonful up to him.

This caused his face to go red and he stared at you with wide eyes for a few seconds before speaking. “No, L/N! I appreciate the offer but it would be inappropriate. Mine is perfectly fine and-“

As he was rambling, you shoved the spoon in his mouth, making him blush even harder. “L/N! You could’ve choked me.”

“But was it good though?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He said at almost a whisper.

A shit-eating grin grew on your face, “Told ya so. See, Iida look.” You gestured over to the sight in front of you. There were people scattered throughout the park enjoying their night, and you could even see the glowing city in the distance. “We are a part of what makes this all possible. There wouldn’t be people out here living their lives if we didn’t keep them safe. It may not be too often, but we still get to relish in the world we created too. It reminds us why we do what we do.”

Iida couldn’t help but just stare at you for a hot minute. You looked gorgeous under the moonlight while you looked around in awe. You were more wise than he ever gave you credit for. He had always thought you were carefree, but actually you just had cared about things differently than him and he failed to realize.

“You’re right, L/N. We should be able to enjoy this more often.”

“We?”

“Of course. Why would I do something fun without you?” Now you started to get all flustered. Feeling heat rush to your face, you covered it with your hands and looked toward the ground. “Are you alright? Sorry I didn’t mean to say anything that would upset you.”

“No, don’t worry. You didn’t upset me. I would love to spend some time with you.”

So you guys did. Well you already spent a lot of time together already but now you guys would go out and do something fun if you had free time

Like instead of training on the weekends, you guys sometimes walked around the park.

And every time you’d go, you guys would also visit the ice cream shop you guys went to that one night and try a new flavor

You also were participating more in class. You’re grades were getting better from the beginning of your guys’ relationship, but now you actually were invested.

After a test, you would show Iida your grade and thank him for all his help, and he would be so proud and excited for you

Of course, your classmates started to catch onto you guys being more and more friendly with each other

Hagakure snuck up on you guys one day while you were studying. “Alright, when did you two start dating? We all thought you hated each other but now we know it was all an act to throw us off, so spill the beans.”

“Oh, no we’re not dating.” You replied

“Well..” Iida started to talk and your eyes darted towards him

“I mean now that someone has said it, I wouldn’t be opposed to dating you, L/N. I really enjoy my time with you and think you’re a great person. Could I take you on an official date?”

“Y-yea I would really like that.”

“Awwww that was so adorable! I can’t believe I just help you guys get together!” She skipped out of the room, on her way to tell everyone her accomplishments

“Sorry, L/N, that probably wasn’t the best timing.”

“Call me Y/N”

“O-oh okay… Y/N. I’m looking forward to going out with you.”

“Me too, Tenya.” You said smiling and grabbing his hand.

Barely anything was said the rest of the time, but you guys couldn’t stop smiling and you didn’t let go of each other’s hands. Safe to say no information was retained from this study session

[zarla-s]

Hi, Zarla! I already see your character Jake several times and he seems to me very interesting and nice guy. But I didn't find much information about him. Please tell us about Jake and thank you)

Ah, poor Jake. He’s really a fairly minor character all things considered, he really only shows up in one sidefic and a pwp, but he cameos sometimes in other Vargas things.

I have a doodle of him somewhere that has “dim, but sweet” next to it, and that’s about as quick a sum-up as you can get, haha. Jake’s a friendly, extroverted dude who spends most of his time looking for fun and taking it easy. In particular he loves sex and has had a lot of relationships with men and women alike, some that went well and some that didn’t. He can be flakey at times, likes the idea of being artsy more than actually putting in the work to be so, and he’s not very ambitious or responsible. Kind of a slacker, really... he has vague pie-in-the-sky dreams of being an actor but he never actually pursues them seriously (although he does work out enough to have a nice body) and he doesn’t really have any kind of long-term life goals or plans. He usually hangs out with a bohemian/artsy crowd, although he can’t really follow a lot of their philosophical discussions. He’s very into body modification, thus all the piercings! That was one reason why Edgar intrigued him, he thought the scars on his face were done on purpose as a body mod.

Jake might not really have his life together and he’s not exactly a critical thinker let’s say, but he is very empathetic and attentive, and he’s very kind and patient with others. He tends to be drawn to shy or neglected people - if someone’s in trouble or seems to need him, then it’s hard for him to resist trying to help. This has gotten him into trouble a few times when he’s gotten in WAY over his head and really had no idea what he was doing. Edgar was one of those cases - he felt bad for him since he’d clearly come out of an abusive relationship (well he thought he had, Edgar lied about still being in one. well, two if you want to get technical) and he wanted to make him feel better (with sex). And he did genuinely like him! If Edgar had shut him down or said no at some point during the night, he would have given him his number if he needed someone to talk to and left it at that.

Unfortunately Jake just completely read Edgar’s signals wrong the whole time, he really thought Edgar was down for it. And then when he kissed him, Edgar only got like a few seconds of !!! before Scriabin took over and Scriabin DEFINITELY was down, so from Jake’s perspective everything was fine until out of nowhere Edgar said he was an entirely different (and kind of scarily intense) person, which was way more than he signed up for, haha. He ended up panicking and bailing, which was definitely not a good way to react, but like I said... sometimes he gets in way over his head and makes bad decisions.

The real tragedy of it is that Jake actually would probably be good for Edgar, even if just as a friend. He’s very affectionate and open and honest, and he’d try very hard to make sure Edgar felt safe. Scriabin actually also likes Jake, so they’d have something they’d agree on, and it’s possible Jake would be able to mediate between them, or at least tell Scriabin to stop being a jerk sometimes and have him listen.

Of course, this assumes that Johnny isn’t around to shank Jake, haha. And Jake absolutely wouldn’t want Edgar hanging around with Nny, since he (correctly) thinks their relationship is abusive. I think I mentioned before that thinking about scenarios where Jake sticks around and he and Nny have to deal with each other get really complicated really fast... not to mention the whole waste lock business...

[patreon]

[infernalrevenge]

Okay, so this is a spur of the moment sort of idea, but is it possible to have a headcanon of the four lords with a s/o who has terrible memory loss. And I don't mean forgetful, think more along the lines of Fifty first dates, like she greets one of the lords and they get talking, lords end up coming back cuz they liked their positive attitude, but when they come to visit again, s/o greets them like they've never met. Does that make sense?

Yeah I think I get what you're saying, though I never really watched the full movie HAHAHA I've only seen half of it but I know how it goes down. Hopefully, whatever I've come up with satisfies your idea :P

To stay true to the idea, reader here has anterograde amnesia -- characterized by not being able to retain short-term memories. They're aware of their own condition.

----------

Alcina Dimitrescu

Understandably, she'd be confused, caught off guard that you didn't remember the time you spent with her.

Honestly she might be so confused that she'll forget to be offended -- not that it would have ever occurred to her that she was bad company in the first place. You were so pleasant to be with too, so... what went wrong?

When you explain it all to her, you might actually be surprised at how quickly she gets it. Definitely isn't the strangest thing she's ever heard of. She knows too what it's like to be around someone with terrible memory -- her patience with Moreau is astounding and one she doesn't extend to just anyone.

(But you aren't "just anyone" to her. You were a warm presence, a ray of sunshine in that time you spent together, however short. She wanted to get to know you better, and if that meant putting much more effort into maintaining that connection with you, then it's nothing she can't do.)

She'll creep her way into your mind (and heart) through song. She'll invite you to the castle and teach you serenades and classical pieces, you sing while she plays the piano. It doesn't matter to her if you sing off-key or add your own silly lyrics -- if she's being honest, sometimes she even prefers your versions.

Every now and then, you do forget the notes and the words, but Alcina doesn't have a problem with going over them again if you hear a "new tune" you found interesting. It's a good thing too that she loves music so much.

One day, she might even catch you humming them while you sit with her in a comfortable silence. You may not be sure exactly how you know the song, but you're glad you're able to make the Lady smile by doing so. Maybe you'll try to learn the words next time.

Donna Beneviento

...was she really so unpleasant that you already forgot about her and the day you spent together?

She'll be so embarrassed if you don't remember who she is, thinking that the other day was a mistake and that she was just imagining the connection you two had. Not to be dramatic but she'll definitely run away in tears.

The best way to remedy the situation is to go after her right away and try to explain the situation. She might not even believe you at first, her anxiety initially convincing her that you made all this up as a way of rejecting her, or that this was all a mean prank. But if you're patient enough, she might come to understand it.

In the process of becoming part of your life, she'll definitely make something that will eventually remind you of her, or someone like her. She just wants something that would stick with you, ideally something tangible.

One day she'd gift you with a doll in your likeness, complete with its own clothes and accessories. She might even include a very small doll in Angie's likeness to go with it, to serve as that reminder.

Once you do get close enough, she says that she would rather have you call her "Donna" than by her formal title. Though this frequently slips your mind, it's no trouble at all for her to remind you. Besides, it's quite cute to see you say her name like you're trying it out for the first time, even if it may have been the eleventh. She loves the way you say her name.

And when it finally sticks to you after enough repetition and you greet her like that without prompting? Her heart just flutters.

Salvatore Moreau

Moreau has always known that he has terrible memory, but after meeting you? He's starting to doubt exactly how bad he could really have it.

As a former doctor, he might recognize the diagnosis you give him after explaining it and he goes "Oh.... Oh!"

He'll be so relieved it's not because you wanted to let him down gently by feigning forgetting the memory of what was literally yesterday (but also he'd understand if you did, he almost threw up on you in excitement. Come to think of it, maybe it was best you didn't remember that part.)

Still, he'd be determined to spend a lot of time with you and become a part of your working memory somehow. Though he knows there's no cure for such an affliction, he'll want to make an effort to include some aspect of himself into your routine.

He'll write you little notes and letters, about how wonderful you are and how you make him feel whenever you two are together. He'll give you a journal so you can write about all the cool things you want to remember later on (and part of him hopes you write about him too.)

(And of course you write about him, who would ever want to forget about the sweet doctor fish man who just wants to be loved and a part of your world.)

One day, he catches a glimpse of one such diary entry -- and he only knew that because he saw the cute little doodle you made of him, along with a small heart next to it. He swears he never meant to pry, but he thinks about it for days and days. He's never been happier.

Karl Heisenberg

Oh he'll be mad at first, for sure. He's likely the type to express first and ask questions later when it comes to these matters, but the anger is more out of confusion than genuine offense.

If you try to explain it, he may just think you're lying at first. "If you wanted me to leave you alone, you could just say so," he'd say. But at the same time, there'd be such a sincerity in your voice that it would be hard for him to keep denying it. Fine... maybe you're not pulling his leg then.

You can't tell me that this man doesn't make trinkets in his spare time. He can be a big mean metal worker all he wants but I can also picture him having made a keychain or two in his life. Maybe even a necklace. They're not perfect or polished by any means, but he just likes making little things with scraps left over from bigger projects.

That said, he'll give you some without much of a second thought. He probably ask you first if you want to keep any the first time you stumble upon his messy workstation at the factory. They looked pretty neat, so you took some of them home.

You might find yourself fidgeting with the moving parts of it, trying to rack your head and remember exactly where you got them and how. Was it on a trip? Did you get these as souvenirs? Why did one of them look like an electric fan with legs?

Sometimes you'll show him all this stuff and talk about how cool they looked. Your favorite might be the one that looks like a hammer, but the fan with legs was a close second. You tell him to be careful of the sharper parts though (wouldn't want him to get tetanus.)

He may or may not get a little embarrassed as you gush about your "new" trinkets. You might offer to give some to him that he likes but he insists you keep them, especially since you like them so much.

[septembersghost]

sorry if someone mentioned this before but the "You make me happy" line reminds me of when they both got married, and saul was like "are you sure? i know this isnt what you imagined when you were 12" and. i think when it comes to love he is incapsulated in that innocence, bc no doubt when he said that he was referring to himself as well. this isnt what he imagined, if he ever had the pleasure, marrying kim would be like (man was probably imagining songbirds with ribbons over an arbor tbh) the whole lets get married, lets have a house and host movie nights and work together. its a similar innocence between him and chuck, that big-eyed admiration for his big brother. Him crying the hardest at his parents funeral. I feel like he is just so full of love that is,,, untainted and its his most redeeming quality and yet it is so out of his grasp

anon...i am clutching my heart at this message. this is such good analysis and you're so right, and i am SAD.

i didn't even think of that line of jimmy's when they got married, but there is definitely a parallel there, and jimmy has this sappy romantic (affectionate) aspect to him - those previous two dissolutions, i imagine, were not from relationships that were particularly long lasting or meaningful for him, and we certainly know the second one, uh, did not end well. i don't think he ever loved anyone the way he felt about kim, and that he wished they could've had the fancy wedding with the flowers and the cake and the dance floor. "man was probably imagining songbirds with ribbons over an arbor tbh" CRYING this is accurate. in jimmy's perfect world, i think he would've gotten down on one knee and given her a ring and then swept her off to their ranch house. this man doodled their initials together like a girl with a crush and a glitter pen. he wanted to work in the same office with her because he valued her and never tired of spending time with her. he dreamed of them having a house together, sharing a warm space and a life. seeing her was the highlight of his day, every day. it's why he can't fathom the concept of her being bad for him - i wouldn't even say he unfairly put her on a pedestal per se, because it's not like other women who've gotten that treatment in stories, who maybe aren't seen as whole people, he never undermined her agency. he admired her and felt such happiness with her that it could only be his fault if it went wrong. the one fight where he gets unfairly angry and accuses her of rolling around in the mud with him when she gets bored is total self-loathing projection and grief/guilt-laden chuck issues much less than it is a reflection of how he feels about her. (the saddest part is, that argument, in jimmy's fractured perspective, probably just became true.) the way he looks at her when they get married says everything. it doesn't matter where they are, it doesn't matter that maybe it isn't the fantasy, having her at all is the dream. there is an innocence and earnestness in that. there's a hopefulness in his desire for an office and a home. he yearns for that, for that one safe place.

and he was like that with chuck too! he respected chuck, he craved his acceptance. he wanted to work with him. "big-eyed admiration" totally. :( it showed in how he took care of chuck too, making sure he had everything he needed, defending him to doctors and colleagues alike. (howard making himself the heavy at chuck's behest and getting involved in the middle is part of why this all played out as horrifically as it did.) jimmy has a certain caregiving instinct. chuck rejecting jimmy is damaging in such an acute way that jimmy never even fully processes it. anything from, "you're not a real lawyer!" ... "i thought you were proud of me," to those horrible last words, they scar him indelibly.

wanting to snap his fingers and fix things with his mom in the hospital, crying the hardest at his dad's funeral, all of that is genuine, despite his many faults and mistakes. he may have that inclination to scam and to slip, but his emotions are very real, and the love in him is maybe the realest thing about him. the purest thing. and when there was nowhere else for it to go, he gave it all to kim.

"I feel like he is just so full of love that is,,, untainted and its his most redeeming quality and yet it is so out of his grasp" 100% agree and you phrased this beautifully and it makes for such captivating, empathetic tragedy. what's more human than wanting to be seen for all you are and accepted anyway, to love and be loved? what's more aching than constantly losing it, and losing more of yourself each time it slips away?

[bluejayblueskies]

in the reciprocal

Words: 8.3k

Relationships: Jon & Martin (QPR)

Tags: Season 1, Scottish Safehouse, Light Angst, Queerplatonic Relationships, Gray-Aro Martin, Kiss-Averse Jon, Kiss-Averse Martin

Warnings: internalized arophobia, mild external arophobia, mild internalized homophobia, canon-typical Lonely depression and dissociation, teasing someone about a crush (in a friendly manner), mention of canon character death, Martin briefly pretending like he still has romantic feelings for Jon and participating in a romantic relationship that makes him uncomfortable (this is addressed and resolved)

Ao3 link in source

.

Martin’s relationship with romance has always been … complicated.

He has distinct memories of his early teenage years, when the major topic of conversation had shifted abruptly to who had a crush on who and who had kissed who after school and who had asked who on a date. Martin had never really participated in those conversations, though that could be owed more to the fact that he didn’t have many friends than that he wasn’t interested.

Because Martin was interested. The idea of romance had always intrigued him—a fairy-tale thing where there was somebody who would choose you and love you and never let you be alone ever again—and he wanted, more badly than he knew what to do with sometimes, to be in love.

The world, as Martin quickly learned, was not a fairy tale. No matter how much Martin tried to pretend otherwise. In fairy tales, when people got sick, they eventually got better. In fairy tales, parents always loved their children and showered them with affection. (Or were villainous and cruel, locking their children away in towers and treating them like objects to be discarded. Though Martin was never fond of those stories.) And in fairy tales, love was always easy. It wasn’t something that had to be learned or forced. It was instead like breathing—nearly effortless unless you thought about it too much—and, like breathing, it was something that everyone did.

So Martin couldn’t understand why he was so bad at it.

Just before he’d dropped out of school to work full time after his mother couldn’t anymore, he’d been asked on the first and only date of his entire life. Nino had been his friend for nearly a year and a half, and Martin loved spending time with him more than he loved most things in his life back then. School was growing more difficult as Martin had to take on a second part-time job, his mother was growing sicker and shorter with her temper, and he was quickly coming to the realization that he was … different.

After all, he’d never once felt the same kind of affection toward the girls whose names he attempted to doodle in the corners of his notebooks as he felt toward Nino.

Coming to terms with the fact that his first real crush was on his very lovely, very male best friend was … hard. But one day, Nino had bumped his shoulder against Martin’s as they sat in the library and had said something funny that Martin has long since forgotten, and he’d found himself smiling widely. His heart was a stuttering mess in his chest, his stomach twisted up into knots, and … things hadn’t been so bad, then.

Loving Nino had felt safe. Looking back, Martin is sure that Nino had been able to read all of Martin’s stutters and flushed cheeks and clumsy attempts at affection for what they were, but at the time, it had felt like a private indulgence. Just another way for Martin to spend time with the boy who was gradually becoming the most important person in his life. (Behind his mother, that is. She would always come first.)

What was funny about the whole situation, in a way that was actually not very funny at all, was that Martin was even considering asking Nino out. He liked to fantasize about what it would be like—creating clumsy scenarios in his mind where he would slip a note into Nino’s backpack before they parted ways or blurt it out on their way to the tube or whisper it quietly under his breath in the library so that nobody else could hear it but them. He imagined what it would be like if Nino said yes, his face lighting up with a smile and his hand reaching for Martin’s.

He tried to imagine what would happen after that—the date, the kissing (which he could never quite picture without grimacing and pushing the image quickly away), the hand-holding, the…

Well. He actually wasn’t quite sure what was meant to come after.

(Like breathing. It was supposed to be like breathing.)

It was funny, except it wasn’t. Because when Nino pulled Martin aside on their way home one day, face flushed slightly darker than normal, and hesitantly asked if Martin would like to go to a movie with him in a way that was very clearly meant to be a date, Martin expected to feel happy. He expected to feel relieved, that he hadn’t had to muster up the courage to ask Nino himself, or nervous, that he was finally going to be pursuing a romantic relationship with the boy he cared so much about.

Instead, he felt … stiff. Uncomfortable, like his skin was suddenly just a bit too tight. He felt the sudden urge to hide, or maybe to run, or to vanish into thin air so he didn’t have to be standing here anymore, now desperately trying to avoid the eyes of the boy who had just bared such a vulnerable part of himself to Martin.

Confused, Martin tried to look within himself for that warm, stammering affection that had been there a minute ago and found it transformed into something awkward and tense and devoid of all desire for romance. But that didn’t make any sense, he thought as he stared blankly at Nino, who was becoming increasingly nervous, shifting from foot to foot as his mouth pinched into a thin, anxious line. He remembered liking Nino. He remembered the fantasies, remembered coming up with a thousand scenarios just like this one, remembered stammering and stuttering and wanting so badly to take Nino’s hand in his own.

It was like remembering a story he’d been told. Just a fairy tale.

“You … can just say no,” Nino said finally, and Martin felt a curl of guilt in his stomach at the clear upset in Nino’s eyes. “If you have to think this long, it’s … probably not a yes. Is it.”

Yes, Martin tried to say. It’s a yes—of course it’s a yes, I’m just … surprised. Maybe things would make more sense if they actually went on a date. Maybe Martin would just … sort himself out. He was just surprised, or maybe in shock.

He loved Nino. He did; he knew he did. He just … had to figure out how to bring it back.

He didn’t get the chance. (Though, thinking back on it now, Martin knows that even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have worked.) Nino pulled back slightly, hands going to the straps of his backpack self-consciously. “Right,” he said, sounding terribly embarrassed, and Martin felt himself mirroring the emotion. “S-sorry, I … I guess I was reading things wrong. I—I thought that you … never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Nino forced a smile then, and it lacked all the bright and shining things that Martin liked about it. “S-suppose I’ll … see you in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin managed to say. And then Nino was gone, and Martin walked home alone.

He dropped out a few months later. Nino said that he would call, but Martin has always been good at lying and even better at telling when somebody else is doing so. And Nino hadn’t been putting much effort into it.

That was … probably for the best. At least Martin didn’t have to feel that dizzying, sickening sensation of guilt and awkwardness every time he looked at Nino anymore.

So, there it was. The world was nothing like a fairy tale. His mother only ever got sicker, her affection for him only ever grew more a thing of the past, and love was…

Well, love clearly wasn’t for him.

That didn’t stop him from falling hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Sims.

.

.

.

Martin, as a rule, makes a habit of not talking about his love life. For one, because there is a distinct lack of it (a fact that he much prefers but doesn’t generally feel like explaining in detail). And for two, because Martin just knew it would turn into something like this.

Martin places his head in his hands to hide the flaming red of his cheeks. “Can we not talk about it?”

“I think we’re actually obligated to talk about it now,” Tim says with what Martin is absolutely certain is a cheeky grin. “Given that you’ve just admitted that your not-so-mysterious crush is Jonathan Sims.” He drops his voice to an exaggerated conspiratorial murmur. “Is he the one you’ve been writing poetry about then?”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Martin mumbles into the very clammy palms of his hand.

Tim, fortunately, drops the poetry topic. He unfortunately does not drop the crush topic. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “You’ve got good taste. The whole … sweater vest, ‘disgruntled professor’ vibe is attractive, and he’s funny, you know? In his own way.”

Martin lifts his head from his hands and gives Tim an exasperated look that he hopes screams can we please stop talking about this. Tim must misinterpret it as jealousy instead because he holds his hands up in the air placatingly. “Hey, no competition here. We’re just friends, and I’m not really interested in dating anyone at the moment.” A pause. “Though, I suppose if Jon asked, I wouldn’t say—you know what, that’s not helpful.”

“He is pretty hot,” Sasha pipes in from her spot on the break room couch. “I definitely get where you’re coming from.” Then, after Martin turns that same exasperated look onto her: “Just trying to show our support for the cause, Martin.”

“Yeah, well—don’t.” Martin stands, maybe a little bit too abruptly, and crosses the room to where the kettle sits on the counter. He fills it in the sink and then clicks it on, the blue light reflecting off the countertop and faintly illuminating his hands.

“Hey,” Tim says, leaning against the counter next to him and giving him a surprisingly serious look. “I’m sorry. If talking about this makes you uncomfortable, we’ll drop it.” He mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key. “No questions asked.”

“I’m pretty sure talking afterward negates the ‘zipping your lips shut’ thing,” Martin says, which earns him an amused huff of laughter and a gentle elbow in the side. He finds himself smiling, if only briefly before it falls from his lips once again. “And it’s … fine. I’m not upset. It’s just…” He hesitates, considering, and settles on a suitably vague, “It’s complicated.”

Tim makes a noise of understanding. “Say no more, Marto. Consider the subject dropped.”

“Thank you.”

There are a few moments of silence between them, filled only with the gentle hum of the kettle. Martin reaches for the mugs, and as he pulls four from the cabinet, Tim says abruptly, “So wait—is that why you always bring him tea?”

Martin nearly drops the mugs. “Tim.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim grimaces at him sheepishly. “I’m dropping it.”

Martin nods and pulls the box of tea from the cupboard. As he gets the mugs ready, however, he can feel Tim’s eyes on him, heavy and curious. Finally, it gets to be too much, and Martin sets the box down with a sigh. “I bring him tea because he never leaves his office and at least this way he’s hydrated. If you absolutely must know.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, you know,” Sasha says from where she’s still sitting on the couch.

“Yes,” Martin says tersely, grabbing the kettle as it clicks off, “but it’s better than nothing.”

The tea isn’t related to the crush. It really isn’t. But Martin knows that the more he tries to make excuses, the more it’ll seem like he’s deflecting, which will just be counterproductive. So he prepares the tea and passes Tim and Sasha’s mugs to them. Then, fully aware that Tim and Sasha are watching, he grabs Jon’s mug and makes his way to his office.

He doesn’t knock. He found out his first week here that Jon doesn’t like it when people knock and prefers them to verbally announce themselves instead. It wasn’t because Jon had told him; Martin gets the feeling that Jon is too stubborn to admit to that sort of weakness in front of him. It was because of the subtle tension in Jon’s shoulders every time Martin opened the door after rapping three times on the doorframe; the way his voice sounded ever so slightly pinched when he asked what Martin wanted.

So Martin says, just loud enough to penetrate the thick oak door, that he’s coming in, and then, after a moment, he opens it.

Jon is sitting at his desk, mountains of papers and files stacked on either side of him. His laptop is open in front of him, and he’s currently focused intently on something on the screen, the harsh white light of the LCDs reflecting off his glasses. He doesn’t seem to notice when the door opens, but when Martin takes a few steps closer and gently clears his throat, he looks up from the screen, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the dimness of his office.

“Ah,” Jon says, his gaze landing on the mug. “Right. You can…” He looks at the disastrously cluttered surface of his desk and, after some consideration, pushes a stack of papers to the side to make a mug-sized gap in the mess. “You can place it there.”

Martin does. He doesn’t mean to linger afterward. Even though things are ... better between them now that Martin is staying in the Archives and Jon seems to have softened slightly toward him, they’re not quite at the ‘hold a casual conversation’ stage of their relationship yet. Still, Martin finds himself standing in front of Jon’s desk long enough for Jon to glance back up from his computer, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Did you … need something else from me?” he says, sounding more confused than annoyed.

No, Martin means to say. I’ll be going now.

Instead, he says, “How are you doing?”

Jon stares blankly at Martin, like he doesn’t understand the question. Martin briefly curses his complete lack of a verbal filter at the worst times and purses his lips, telling himself that frantically trying to rescind the statement will only make things worse. “I’m … fine,” Jon says with a hint of incredulity in his voice, like he can’t fathom any reason why Martin would want to inquire after his well-being.

Good, Martin opens his mouth to say. Let me know if you need anything else.

Why he says instead, “I just … noticed that you haven’t been going home lately,” he doesn’t know. He hasn’t had a crush in so long—is this what it was like the last time? God, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Jon still looks bewildered, though there is an edge of irritation to his voice when he says, “There is a lot to do here, Martin. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Right, yeah.” Martin fights the urge to rub his hand along the back of his neck, settling for the inside of his wrist instead. “Just … I know I’ve taken your cot recently, and if you’re not going home at night, I—I would hate to feel like I’m making you sleep at your desk.”

“You are not making me do anything. I can make my own choices.” Jon purses his lips for a moment before saying, more gently, “Besides, you … have more need of the cot than me at the moment.”

Martin can’t help the little shudder that goes through him at the reminder of why, exactly, he is in need of the cot. “Yeah,” he concedes. Then, because it’s only been a week or so and he still feels like he hasn’t said it enough: “Thank you again, for … for letting me stay here.”

Jon’s expression softens into something almost sympathetic, just for a moment, before growing closed-off and shuttered once again. Martin’s traitorous heart thuds in his chest at the sight, just like it had when Jon had listened to his story impassively and then matter-of-factly offered him the cot like it was the only logical thing to do.

(He hadn’t understood why he’d reacted like that—pounding heart, sweaty palms, cottony mouth—until that night, staring at the dark, cracked ceiling of the Archives and running Jon’s words over and over again in his mind. But it wasn’t surprising, was it? Of course Martin would find himself attached to his prickly, no-nonsense boss who kind of hated him the first moment he showed him an ounce of kindness.)

“It’s … really no problem at all,” Jon says, sounding a bit stiff in a way that’s hopelessly endearing, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with Martin’s gratitude. Then, even more stiffly: “You’re … doing all right?”

The tentative concern in Jon’s voice is enough to bring a flush to the tips of Martin’s cheeks that he desperately hopes can’t be seen in the low light of Jon’s office. “Y-yeah. As well as I can be, I—I suppose.”

“Well,” Jon says in a businesslike voice, like he’s delivering a report, “if you need any further accommodations, please let me know. Given that this was a workplace incident and you were investigating the Vittery building on my request, the Institute and I are responsible for ensuring that you remain safe while you’re … displaced from your previous home.”

Martin has always been good at reading people. And for all that Jon wears various masks of professionalism and skepticism and authority, he’s still surprisingly easy to read. It’s easy to control an expression, to control a tone of voice, but Jon’s eyes are always so much more emotive than he probably means them to be. Right now, they’re flitting around the room, from Martin to the floor to his desk to the floor again, like they’re afraid to settle on one place for too long.

It’s easy to identify the emotion as guilt. It takes Martin a few more moments to place what, exactly, Jon is guilty for.

“It’s … not your fault, you know,” Martin says slowly. “What happened with Prentiss. You’re not … responsible for it.”

Martin expects Jon to brush him off—to tell him that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t expect him to say, with a voice that leaves no room for argument, “I am not responsible for Jane Prentiss’ presence in the Vittery building, yes, nor for the fact that she followed you home. But I would be remiss not to acknowledge that you encountered her while following up on a statement, per my request, and that I … was not as cautious as I should have been with regards to sending you on dangerous assignments.” Jon’s eyes are sheepish now, and a touch concerned. “I will be sure to take the appropriate precautions in the future, as it would be unacceptable for you to be injured or … otherwise hurt whilst performing your duties as an archival assistant.”

It’s not a heartfelt statement by any measure. Really, it’s just common decency, and definitely what should be expected from one’s superior in a line of work that is (apparently) much more dangerous than it appears to be on paper. But Jon’s eyes when they finally turn to Martin are softer than he’s ever seen them, even as his expression remains carefully neutral and professional, and it feels like Jon has just said something profoundly kind.

Martin’s heart has some stuttering, skipping things to say about that particular fact.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently. “Th-thanks.” He considers mentioning again that Jon really isn’t at fault for sending him into a building that, for all Jon knew, contained nothing more than a few very persistent spiders. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the little scrap of kindness he’s been given close to his chest, stammers something about getting back to work, and leaves Jon’s office before he says something embarrassing like I like it when you care or you have kind eyes or we could share the cot if you stay too late.

Tim wiggles his eyebrows at Martin as he takes a seat back at his desk, and Sasha gives him a much more subtle knowing look. Martin ignores both of them and busies himself with the statement sitting on the corner of his desk, diving back into the formatting he’s been struggling with all morning.

Jon is his boss. Jon doesn’t even really like him, when he’s not feeling guilty for almost getting Martin killed. It’s never going to work between them.

A bit of the tension bleeds out of Martin’s shoulders. His eyes drift back toward the door to Jon’s office—the golden nameplate outside it, embossed with Jon’s name, the frosted window, the old, warped wood—and he feels something light and comfortable settle in his chest.

Jon is prickly and lovely and blunt and awkwardly conscientious and completely unattainable. Jon is never going to look at Martin with affection in his eyes and ask Martin to run away with him to pursue a romantic, fairy-tale ending, and Martin is never going to feel that intense, awful discomfort that seeps into the gaps where the love once was. He can blush and stammer and imagine holding Jon’s hand and kissing the inside of his wrist and tangling his foot with Jon’s underneath a table, and nothing will change.

It’s never going to happen between them. And it’s better that way.

.

.

.

The car ride to Scotland is quiet. Jon keeps sneaking glances at Martin when he thinks Martin isn’t paying attention, as if Martin will vanish if he doesn’t keep a watchful eye on him. It should be irritating, but … maybe he’s right. Martin doesn’t feel fully here yet. He still feels empty and numb, like all of the emotion and life and things that make him him have been cut away, consumed by the salty fog that had filled his lungs and stung his throat as he inhaled.

Peter Lukas is dead. Martin had felt it happen with a sort of empty detachment—the ripples of fog as Peter disintegrated into nothing but mist and static. Jon hasn’t spoken about it since they left the Lonely, but Martin had seen the tension in his shoulders as they’d returned to their flats to pack and taken the keys to the car from Basira and made their way painstakingly through London traffic.

Martin had wanted to tell Jon that it was all right—that everything was going to be okay. But his throat refused to form the words. It took all of his energy to remain present and solid, and he just … couldn’t. So he remained silent and gripped Jon’s hand as tightly as he was able and focused on not giving in to the Loneliness that still lingered underneath the surface of his skin.

Now, both of Jon’s hands are on the wheel of the car, his fingers and elbows rigid and stiff. Generic pop music spills out of the radio, the signal distorted enough that Martin only catches about half of the song, the rest swallowed by static. Better than him, he thinks absently. Right now, he feels as if he’s only static.

He can’t remember if he was like this before the air opened wide in front of him and he was swallowed whole by the fog, the panopticon gone in an instant and replaced with nothing but endless gray. He was … close, he thinks. Every day, things grew dimmer, his own thoughts and feelings more difficult to get a handle on. It grew harder and harder to remember why he was resisting at all. What his goal was, other than to just … be alone. He thinks he would have forgotten entirely, had Jon not been three floors beneath him, alive and breathing and reminding him that he was doing this—all of this—for a reason.

It had been … lovelier than Martin ever could have imagined, falling in love with Jon. It grew within him like a garden, new flowers cropping up every day. Some were white and delicate, blooming in his lungs when he looked at Jon and felt the all-consuming need to bundle him up in a blanket and make him tea and hide him away from the things in the world that wanted to hurt him. Others were purple and angular, blossoming with every lunch they had together and story Jon told him. And some were red and thorny, roses with waxy petals that made Martin’s cheeks grow hot every time Jon said his name like it was special or treated him kindly or smiled.

So when things grew difficult—when the loneliness crept too close, when he grew too comfortable being invisible, when he had to look Jon in the eye and tell him that he didn’t want to see him—Martin retreated to the quiet garden in his soul. He ran his fingers along the petals and stems and leaves and reminded himself that he needed to do this, or he’d lose Jon again and the garden would shrivel and die.

It had been an easy decision, in the end.

There’s a soft crunching noise, and Martin breaks free from his thoughts to see that they’ve transitioned from the smooth asphalt of the motorway to an unpaved gravel road. It’s bracketed on either side by trees, and though the sun has long since set, Martin can still see the gentle swell of hills around them, outlined softly in the moonlight. He thinks, for a moment, that he sees fog, clustering around the bases of the hills and swirling around in tight eddies, but when he blinks, the image is gone.

“We’re almost there,” Jon says quietly. It’s one of the few things he’s said to Martin the entire trip. Then, after a moment: “It’s … rather nice out here.”

Martin supposes it is. The landscape around them had been a vibrant green before twilight had washed it out into deep blues, and there have been cows dotted around the fields, shaggy and brown and grazing contently. It’s a stark change from the grays and browns of central London, with buildings on all sides and people everywhere and no chance to ever really see the stars. If circumstances were different, Martin thinks he would be cooing over the cows and trying to get Jon to stop so he could take pictures and enjoying his first trip outside of England.

Instead, Martin just nods.

Jon seems to understand. He sneaks another glance at Martin—full of something soft that Martin, in his foggy state, doesn’t quite know how to parse—but remains silent for the rest of the trip. It could easily be a stiff, uncomfortable silence, but … it’s not. It feels companionable.

When did being around Jon become so easy?

Daisy’s cabin is small and squat, nestled between two hills and idyllic in a way that doesn’t match the rough-hewn, steel-eyed woman Martin had known. The inside is dusty and cold, and Jon mutters something about central heating before disappearing down the corridor and leaving Martin standing in the living room, staring at the place he’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.

The place he’ll be living in with Jon for the foreseeable future.

Martin feels something in his chest stir at that—a strange, twisting emotion that’s there and gone before he can put a name to it. He shivers, in a way he doesn’t think is from the cold, and goes to find Jon.

He … doesn’t think he should be alone right now.

They find an old, rusted radiator that miraculously still works, pumping out hot air with a groan of metal. Jon digs a set of musty sheets out of the linen closet and begins dressing the bed. Martin notes the lack of a second bedroom, and he thinks he might object to the implication that they’ll be sharing a bed if he weren’t aware of the fact that he might vanish if left alone for too long. (Or if he were himself enough to feel embarrassed. Or to feel anything.)

He doesn’t think anything shows on his face, but Jon’s always been keen, even more so now that knowledge drips into his mind like water from a leaky faucet. Jon’s hands flutter over the sheets for a moment before he says, “I … hope this is all right?”

Martin tries to find his voice to agree, but the energy required to summon it is too much, so he settles for a shallow nod. He doesn’t think it’s a sufficiently enthusiastic agreement, but Jon doesn’t question it. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then says, “And … you’re all right?”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, really. No, Martin isn’t all right. No, there’s nothing Jon can do about it. No, he doesn’t know when things will be better. Or if they’ll ever be better.

Martin just looks at Jon, eyebrows slightly raised. Jon lets out a small, dry laugh. “Right. I … suppose that was a silly question. I—I meant…” Jon hems and haws for a long moment before finally saying, “Do you feel … safe, here? W-with me?”

That question has a much easier answer.

When Martin nods without hesitation, Jon visibly relaxes. “Good,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “That’s … that’s good.”

They stand there for a moment longer, the silence between them thick and heavy but not uncomfortably so. Finally, Jon clears his throat and says, “Well, I—I suppose we should rest then. We can … talk tomorrow?”

Martin nods and tries to smile. He doesn’t quite manage it, but … that’s all right. For now, this is enough.

Jon retreats into the bathroom, and Martin finds himself overcome with exhaustion. He slips into the soft pajama trousers he’d absently stuffed into his duffle bag, climbs under the covers, and is asleep before the sound of running water from the other room abates.

.

.

.

Martin doesn’t remember what happened in the Lonely. Things had been foggy and disjointed, slipping through his grasp when he tried to hold onto them. He barely remembers what came after, when Jon had led him away from the sand and the fog and the waves, his palm a searing heat against Martin’s. His first few days at the safehouse are spent in a similar fog, like each muscle in his body is frozen solid and he’s slowly attempting to warm them with a matchstick flame.

His third day is … better. His fourth, better still. By the end of the first week, Martin feels more himself than he has in months, if still acutely aware of the fog that now lives in his lungs and creeps out of his throat when he thinks too hard about what’s transpired or when Jon is out of sight for too long.

Martin remembers what it’s like to be happy. He feels it when he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen on their eigth morning in the safehouse and sees Jon standing in front of the stove, hair tied up in a neat bun and eggs sizzling in a pan in front of him. He remembers what it’s like to be frightened. He feels it when he wakes at night, shivering and shaking with the lingering memory of dreams of nothing but endless fog and aching loneliness.

And he remembers what it’s like to be in love.

He remembers it just in time to lose it.

The worst thing, Martin thinks, is that he’d almost managed to convince himself that it would be different this time. He knows, logically, that it’s not that simple. He’d done a little bit of research after what happened with Nino, reading through a few web pages on aromanticism before becoming overwhelmed and closing out of every single one of them. He tentatively returned to them a few years later after realizing that this wasn’t something that he was going to grow out of or move on from.

He had difficulties settling on a label, partly because of the sheer number of them and partly because he … didn’t quite know how to categorize his feelings. How could he categorize something that he’d only felt once before? Gray-romantic seemed the safest option, so that was the one he settled on.

(Not that he ever told anyone that he was arospec. It never seemed important, even when Sasha would needle him about his crush and Tim would make too-loud suggestive comments that could surely be heard through the door to Jon’s office.

… Martin misses Tim and Sasha. He thinks, if he’d had the chance—if he’d had more time—they would have been the first people he told.)

Martin knows that his relationship with romantic attraction is complicated. Yet somehow, he’s still found it within himself to hope that this time, things will be different. This time, when he tells Jon that he’s very in love with him and has been for a while, those words will continue to be true even after they’re spoken. (He ignores the fact that the actual thought of saying them aloud makes his stomach twist and his mouth grow chalky.)

But, just like with Nino, Martin doesn’t get the chance to try. Jon beats him to the punch.

“I … I love you,” Jon says quietly. He has Martin’s hand in his, and he’s holding it so gently Martin might cry. There were things Jon said before this moment—a conversation that has led them here—but Martin is having a hard time recalling any of them. All he can think is no, no, not now, not here.

His skin crawls. His hands are clammy, and he’s sure that Jon can feel it. He has the instinctive need to get away, but he’s also frozen in place, the lump in his throat sealing away all of the words that he should be saying.

He should be saying something.

The silence stretches on between them, the vulnerability on Jon’s face slowly morphing into concern. “... Martin?”

He sounds so confused, and Martin … he can’t. He just can’t. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the moment when that confusion turns to hurt.

So Martin swallows sharply and forces his hand to squeeze Jon’s and says, “I love you too.”

And he does, in a way. He wants Jon here, by his side, eating breakfast next to him and rambling to him about whatever latest thing has piqued his interest and listening to Martin describe the cows he’s seen on his walks. The thought of Jon leaving—of losing him, the same way he lost Nino—makes his stomach twist into knots, because Martin loves him.

Just … not in the way that Jon thinks he does. Not anymore.

And Martin can’t help but feel guilty about that fact.

Jon frowns at Martin for a moment more, like he can tell that something’s wrong but he’s not entirely sure what. Martin breathes out slowly and gives Jon as genuine a smile as he can muster, trying to convey that everything is fine. That nothing’s wrong—why would anything be wrong?

It must work, because Jon exhales slowly, his expression softening into one of the gentle smiles that Martin has grown so fond of. He rubs a thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in a motion that should be comforting but only reminds Martin of the fact that Jon is doing it because he loves him.

Martin thinks that Jon is going to kiss him then—isn’t that usually what comes after things like this?—and dread coils in his stomach. But Jon doesn’t. Later, Martin will find out that Jon dislikes kisses just as much as he does (though for different reasons). For now, though, Martin can only feel relief when Jon squeezes his hand once more before letting go and standing. “I’ll go make us some tea,” he says quietly, then retreats to the kitchen.

Thinking back on it, Martin wonders if Jon knew then. That something was wrong. But for now, he just feels relieved that he has the space he needs to breathe.

.

.

.

It’s their second week at the safehouse, just a few days after Jon told Martin that he loves him, that Jon finally sits Martin down after dinner and says softly, “Martin, am I … am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Martin says, like he has no idea what Jon’s talking about. (Like a liar.) “No. What … what makes you think that?”

Jon wrings his hands together. He’s wearing one of Martin’s sweaters, and Martin doesn’t know how he feels about it. The clothes sharing is fine. The fact that Jon is clearly perceiving the clothes sharing as a romantic gesture is … less than fine.

Martin told himself that it would be okay if Jon perceived their relationship as a romantic one and Martin didn’t. He was good at pretending. And besides, how different could things be?

Very different, as it turned out. In all the ways that mattered.

Jon seemed to take any opportunity he could to touch Martin—a hand brushing against the small of his back when he passed behind him to grab a mug, an ankle nudging against his underneath the table as they ate, a head resting on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side and read. Martin had never been particularly touch-averse or touch-starved; touch was just … touch. He’d liked it when Tim had tousled his hair or when Sasha had thrown her legs across his on the breakroom couch, but he didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything on the days he went without any human contact at all.

Now, it’s all Martin can do not to flinch away from Jon’s touches, knowing that each one is delivered with love and affection that Martin can’t return. Though perhaps he hasn’t been doing as good of a job as he’d thought, judging by the concerned look Jon is giving him now.

There have been other things too—whispered I love yous in the early mornings and soft smiles that seem somehow more and little gestures that are so Jon but also so romantic—and Martin wants so badly to disappear back into the fog in those moments. But that … that wouldn’t be fair to Jon. It’s not his fault that Martin is like this, after all.

(It’s not Martin’s fault either. He knows this, logically. He’d spent a long time hating himself for what happened with Nino, for how he couldn’t just be normal and go on dates and enjoy something that the rest of society seemed to prize above all else. It had taken him years to finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t broken, and he couldn’t be changed. That this was just … who he was.

It doesn’t mean that sometimes, he doesn’t wish that he could be someone else. And he’s never wanted it more acutely than when he stares at Jon’s kind brown eyes and soft smile.)

So Martin lied and lied and lied. And he thought he’d been doing so successfully. But here Jon is, frowning at him, a careful distance between them, and Martin feels his chest begin to tighten.

“I just…” Jon begins, then stops. He looks down at the couch, studying the ugly floral pattern with apparent rapt fascination. Martin doesn’t know what to say, so he waits anxiously until Jon finally continues, “It doesn’t feel like you’re … happy. I know that things have been hard, a-and … it’s all right if you still need time after the Lonely, but it…” Jon swallows. “It feels like some of it may be because of me? W-when I touch you, sometimes you get … tense. And sometimes…”

“Jon?” Martin prompts after a moment, the word strangled by the growing lump in his throat.

“Sometimes,” Jon says quietly, “when you tell me that you love me, it … it feels like you’re lying.”

And the way Jon says it—tentative, with wide, hesitant eyes, like he’s the one that’s the problem—makes Martin’s desire to keep up the ruse crumble away in an instant.

It still isn’t easy to come clean. But he forces himself to do it anyway.

“It’s complicated,” he begins, then winces. Not a good start. Sure enough, Jon’s shoulders grow tense, and he shifts slightly further away, like he thinks Martin wants more space. Because he thinks he’s done something wrong. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Martin adds quickly. It’s not you, it’s me, he thinks wryly. “It’s … not your fault.”

Jon opens his mouth—to say what, Martin doesn’t know. He barrels on before Jon gets the chance to speak, his haste making his words harried and blunt.

“I’m aromantic.”

Jon blinks at him, clearly surprised by the abruptness of the statement. After a long, awkward moment, during which it becomes abundantly clear that Jon is waiting for Martin to make the next move, Martin continues, “My relationship with—well, with relationships—i-is complicated. I-it’s, um … it’s hard to explain? A-and I don’t want you to think that I—I don’t care about you. I want to be here, w-with you, just…”

“Not in a romantic capacity?” Jon finishes softly.

Martin exhales heavily, feeling a bit like a hole has been punched in his chest and he’s slowly deflating. “Yeah.”

Jon is looking at him with soft, kind eyes, and Martin doesn’t know what to do with them. So he buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice coming out muffled.

“Hey, hey.” Jon’s hand brushes against Martin’s shoulder before pulling away quickly, and that just makes Martin feel worse. “You haven’t done anything wrong either.”

“Yes, I have,” Martin says into his palms. “I lied. I let you think that I—I was still in love with you, and … Christ, that was shitty of me.”

“I … do wish you had told me sooner,” Jon concedes. “But … only because I care about you, Martin, a-and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.” He hesitates. “You … do know that I’m not mad at you, right? Th-that I wouldn’t have been mad, o-or upset, or hurt, if you told me that you didn’t feel the same way about me?”

Martin takes a deep breath, then another. “But I did,” he says raggedly. “For … for so long, I did. Ever since Jane Prentiss locked me in my flat for two weeks and you believed me when I told you about it a-and let me stay in the Archives. A-and I didn’t lie, in the Lonely. I did love you, a-all the way up until…”

Martin trails off. Jon lets the silence linger for a moment before saying gently, “If you don’t want to explain it to me, o-or if it’s hard, you don’t have to. But … if you can, I’d like to understand. For myself, a-and for you.” He wraps his hands tightly around his knees where they’re tucked against his chest. “This is important, and … I want to get this right.”

Martin exhales. He picks at a loose thread on the couch between them, focusing on it so he doesn’t have to meet Jon’s eyes and can pretend like he isn’t so extremely exposed and vulnerable right now. “I … I do want to explain. O-or I want to try. It’s … hard, though. Mostly b-because I’ve never had to explain it to anybody else? But also because … I don’t really understand why I’m like this.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know—you don’t … have to comment on that.”

Jon closes his mouth and tentatively shifts so his knee is pressing against Martin’s. Martin waits for the tingling of his skin, the pins-and-needles discomfort, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because he knows that this is an act of comfort rather than one of affection. It’s … really nice.

He presses back with a sigh, feeling a bit of the tension and nerves drain out of him. “I—I get that love is difficult for me,” he says quietly. “I’ve just … always had trouble with the fact that what makes it difficult is that I’m someone who apparently never actually wants their love … requited. And if it is, I just … can’t anymore. It all goes away, a-and I just … fall out of love?”

Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him, inquisitive and searching, but Jon doesn’t say anything. There’s a moment of silence between them, during which Martin tries and fails to collect his mess of feelings and thoughts and emotions into something that he can verbalize. Finally, Martin sighs and says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it. I’ve loved you for so long, a-and I still do, but … not in the way you love me. Not anymore. And now you’re the one who—who loves someone w-who doesn’t … who can’t…”

“Oh, no, Martin.” Jon’s hand is covering his then, and it’s warm and gentle and lovely, and Martin could cry. “I’m not…” He hesitates, squeezing Martin’s hand once. “Well. I am still in love with you. In the … romantic sense. I—I don’t want to lie to you about that. B-but I also love you in … so many other ways. Y-you’re my friend, Martin, a-and you’re someone that I can trust. You … you make me feel safe, e-even when there’s … so much in my life that’s dangerous and unpredictable, and I know that you’ll … always be there for me when I need you to be. I want to be here with you, always. I would … be happy in a romantic relationship with you, yes. But I would also be happy to just be with you. In whichever way you will have me.”

Martin’s throat feels very tight. “Oh,” he says faintly. He feels a pressure at the corner of his eyes and realizes, with a flush of embarrassment, that there are actual tears collecting there. He stares hard at the lamp just behind Jon, trying not to let any of them escape.”You, um … you really … mean that?”

“Of course,” Jon says, like there’s no question to be had about the matter. “You are … such an easy person to love, Martin. In all the ways it’s possible to love someone.”

Martin tries—he really does—to keep the tears back. But it’s just … so much, and Jon is so lovely, and this is more than Martin ever thought he was going to be able to have. So he takes a shaky breath in, and on the exhale, a few tears slip free and trail down his cheek. He brings a hand up and scrubs them away, mutters a sorry underneath his breath, but Jon just squeezes his hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, I’m … I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Jon hesitates. “Provided that that’s … all right with you, of course.”

Martin can’t help the shaky laugh that escapes him. “Yes, it’s all right with me. Of course it is.”

Jon smiles, and Martin aches with it. “Good.” He nudges his knee gently against Martin’s. “Because this cottage would get very dull without you in it. Who would I talk to about all of Daisy’s awful romance novels?”

Martin laughs again, and it chases away most of the lingering tension in his body. “Be careful what you wish for. I’m going to start doing dramatic readings next.”

Jon’s eyes sparkle with humor, but his voice is sincere when he says, “I look forward to it.”

True to his word, over the next week, Martin does increasingly dramatic readings of the worn, water-warped romance novels stacked haphazardly on the safehouse shelves. (Skipping the, quote, ‘unnecessarily erotic’ bits to avoid Jon’s pinched look of discomfort and his own beet-red face as he stares down at words that should really not be used in a sexual context ever.) He bakes cookies, laughing when Jon drops the cup of flour he’s holding and ends up covered in it. He spends the first three walks after their conversation wringing his hands together before finally asking, in a series of nervous stutters, if Jon would like to hold hands while they walk.

“But not in a romantic way!” he hastens to clarify. “You just have very nice hands, a-and I’ve always liked the idea of holding someone else’s hand, but—you know, th-the romantic connotations of it aren’t … great, and … you know, now that I think about it, this was a stupid question, you don’t have to—”

And then Jon takes his hand and squeezes it gently, and Martin feels a warmth spread through him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

That’s been happening a lot lately. He … doesn’t think he minds at all.

Then, a few weeks after their conversation, Jon turns over in bed to face him and says, without any preamble, “Have you ever heard of a queerplatonic relationship?”

Martin has, but only in passing, so he shakes his head. Jon explains, sounding very much like he’s reciting the wiki page for the concept, which is … more endearing than it has any right to be, probably.

“Does … does that sound like something you might be interested in?” Jon says nervously. “W-with me, of course. If that wasn’t … clear.”

Martin nods before Jon is finished speaking. “Yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too eagerly. Then, quieter: “Yeah. I’d … I’d like that.”

Jon smiles then, bright and wide and lovely, and it occurs to Martin—not for the first time, and probably not for the last—that he can have this. That he can be with Jon—maybe for the rest of his life, though that’s a … big thought that he definitely isn’t ready to look at head-on yet—without the dates and the kissing and all the other romantic gestures that Martin always thought were necessary for something like this. That they can be happy, together.

That Martin can have his fairy tale ending, and it doesn’t have to look like he’s always been told it should.

Martin smiles back at Jon, reaching across the bed to brush his fingers lightly against Jon’s. And for the first time in a long, long while, he finally feels like he’s home.

[jiminrings]

what if....just WHaT iF senior y/n started to prepare lunch boxes again?? and shy stem koo is all giddy and happy to see them placed on his desk (gahhh idk if that’s a good idea or if it makes sense at all) as always, thank u so much for writing for us!!

omg ok... can we see when y/n starts to leave “his” lunchboxes again??? 😄

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

stem koo loses in a competition but he wins at the end of the day (kind of)

the universe is out to get jungkook

there's a hit list and he is the only person that comprises the entirety of it

the world is his oyster and it offers him nothing but Ls

he has a guardian angel but the only thing it guarantees is his downfall!!!!

“in 5th place, we have jeon jungkook!”

holy fUCK does he hate any ordinal rank that isn’t the first when it’s next to his name

god his face is being shown in the digital monitor and his eyes are quivering behind his glasses

maybe it’s just him but perhaps everyone in the auditorium could see how fRUSTRATED he is

his pupils keep dancing and he has a curt smile on and it’s physically a pain for him to go up the stage and claim his flimsy little piece of paper

jungkook clearly did not expect to go up on stage this early in time and certainly did not expect to be in fifth place ://

second is beyond embarrassing, third’s actually not that bad, fourth is an odd rank and always unnoticed, but fifth however is just plain-out gAG

the rank makes him shudder as if getting a consolation 2nd rank isn’t bad enough and they STILL decided to have the awards go up to fifth place

“in 4th place, park jimin– come right up!”

://

... naur

hold on a second

there is nO fucking way

don’t get him wrong!!! jimin is one of his closest friends but holy fuck this has gOT to be a punch in gut for jungkook

if he has to be very critical in an academic standpoint,,,

as in annoyingly critical

jimin’s more of a so-so alright :// he just randomly decided to shift to stem because he was getting bored of business!!! IT WAS NEVER HIS FIRST OPTION

he isn’t in much stem clubs like jungkook, doesn’t study as much as he does, always rests and goes out on weekends and takes breaks in between studying, not spending every moment trying to improve himself unlike him.....

u-uh which is normal

bUT JUNGKOOK FEELS LIKE JIMIN ISN’T ON HIS LEVEL

AND NEITHER SHOULD HE BE HIGHER

god does that sound problematic

the fact that jimin is surprised too helps ease the guilt that kook experiences tho

“really? shit, i just guessed half of the answers to the questionnaire LMAOOOOOOO”

...

.....

that’s it.

the world is out to get jungkook

he doesn’t necessarily take his anger out on people because he represses it all but he’s noticeably dull the whole day

and the day after that of course because he pours effort into everything!! and that includes sulking

“you’re worrying about that brat again,” yoongi says through his chewing, savoring every bit of the fish and chips you’ve made him, “the same brat who looked like he was gonna deck me, his senior, on the spot for eating from his lunchbox — which i’m also doing now!!”

he still isn’t over it alright

tbh yoongi kinda admires the kid because he’s smart and all that

and you also like him and he can kinda see why

BUT NOOOOO HE JUST HAD TO DO THAT ://

“i don’t care for him,” you scoff through the same chips you made yourself, wiping the residual oil on yoongi’s denim pants, “i’m just curious.”

“you don’t know?”

sheesh when did yoongi DO all the knowing

“he lost in this stem competition; something like that. anyways, it was our school’s turn to host it and he was one of our two representatives and yeah.... he’s fifth place.”

“he is????”

yoongi nods at your barely-concealed shock, “jimin ranked fourth.”

didn’t you just do a drinking tequila until you have a completely normal resting face competition last nIGHT?!???

:O

you feel sorry for jungkook :((

so much sorry and awed at the same time that you’d sell a lung to see him break into a smile from a corny ifunny.co science joke atleast once

“i have two rest periods in a row, right?” you ask yoongs while you try to gather your things to put them back in your backpack as calmly as possible, eyes not breaking character

“why do you assume that i’d know your schedule?” he grimaces at the concept of being thoughtful to his closest friend, “you have three rest periods in a row.”

“good. i’m just gonna get something back from the dorm.”

that something just had to be a fresh batch of newly-made fish and chips, tucked neatly into his electric lunchbox

jungkook’s about to call it a day because the three-hour lecture he used to find engaging is strenous, about to exit the room with his shoulders sagged when-

isn’t that his lunchbox?

it’s laid on the mini desk next to the exit, the all-too-familiar sticky note with the doodle and his name being stuck on — something he’s dearly missed

you did a good job, jungkook :)

jungkook feels dizzy to hold the lunchbox back in his hands, opening up to see if it tRULY is the deal and it’s with giddiness that he finds that his meal’s still warm

yeah

it’s okay

it’s more than okay

jungkook won this time :)

[cloudywriter]

promposals

rowaelin month - september 1st

prompt: i just realized i’m desperately in love with you 

hey guys!! it’s finally rowaelin month and i’m literally so excited you have no idea. sadly, i don’t have time to do every day but i’ll do as many as i can. i can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with. happy writing/reading! (this is just some straight fluff) 

masterlist, AO3

~~~

The school was abuzz, anticipation hung thick in the hallways during each passing period. It had been that way for a week or so now with prom on the horizon. Everyone was constantly on high alert for the next promposal, most desperately hoping it would be their own. Girls hung around their lockers inconspicuously for far longer than necessary and boys tried to play it cool while secretly fretting over who to ask and how to do it.

Rowan was over it pretty quickly, but he’d likely have to suffer through the next month of promposal after promposal. Today was no different, there was an asking in the parking lot before school, one in his first-period English class, another in the hallway after. He couldn’t escape it. 

Thankfully, Rowan wasn’t quite as grumpy as he used to be due to a certain blonde worming into his life a few years ago but he was still Rowan. Sullen and reserved as ever. That fateful blonde being the only one to draw him from his shell. 

Rowan sighed, aimlessly scrolling around on his phone. It was the passing period before his 3rd-period class, AP Biology, and Rowan was leaning against Aelin’s locker.

Aelin always stopped by her locker after her photography class to put her camera away and then they’d head to class together. It was their routine, the same every day. Not yet broken during their entire senior year which was quickly coming to a close. That was a subject Rowan didn’t want to broach though.

He cleared his head of those unsavory thoughts. Rowan could tell yet another proposal was gearing up, Ilias came around the corner holding a poster board in one hand and a bouquet of assorted flowers in the other. At that moment too, Aelin turned the corner, giving Rowan a small smile as she hurried towards him. 

Rowan’s cold resting face tugged into a smirk as she approached her already open locker. Rowan always took it upon himself to open it for her in advance, Aelin tended to fumble with the locks that required a specific number combination and artful twisting. 

As Aelin stored away her camera and shut her locker door with a thud, a gasp down the hallway had them both turning around. 

Ansel was there, her hand cupping her mouth, clearly unsuspecting of Ilias and his proposal. They both watched as Ansel excitedly agreed to prom with Ilias and took the flowers from his outstretched hand, pulling him into a hug. 

Aelin turned her attention away from the happy couple and began to walk towards their next class, Rowan following suit. They progressed for a bit in silence until Aelin spoke up. 

“I hope Chaol asks me to prom soon,” she confessed. 

Rowan almost choked, that single sentence baffling him. “Chaol?” He asked incredulously. 

“Or Dorian,” Aelin shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her. Rowan was suddenly feeling very panicked, like a fish that had accidentally discovered land, flopping around in search of water in a frenzy. To say he felt confused was an understatement. Rowan hadn’t given prom much of his brainpower. He hadn’t even considered asking anyone. He’d just assumed he’d go with Aelin. Why would he have thought otherwise? They did everything together; he’d expected prom would be no different.

When they sat down at their blacktop table in biology Rowan silently floundered as he tried to think over this revelation. Why would Aelin want to go with someone else? Usually, before class started, he and Aelin would joke around until the teacher told them it was time to reel it in but today Rowan stared ahead, picking at the skin of his thumb. A nervous tick he’d developed throughout high school. 

Should he ask someone else then? He couldn’t even think of anyone else he tolerated enough to spend the night with. Maybe Lyria? She was nice enough, always sharing her notes with him in English when he was too busy with lacrosse to do the reading. She was quiet, soft-spoken. Absolutely nothing like the girl sat next to him. That thought made him frown. Remelle? No, he could barely stand Remelle, but he knew she liked him so at least she’d definitely say yes. 

Rowan was pretty much out of luck. Aelin and his friend group were to whom his time was devoted to, he didn’t branch out much beyond them. 

He thought of Aelin all dressed up, maybe in a golden gown that catered to her love of theatrics. Possibly in a deep green that complemented her bright eyes and skin tone. He imagined her with her hair loosely curled and flowing down her back. The delicate, golden Kingsflame silhouette necklace he’d gotten her for her 18th birthday clasped around her neck. It was easy for Rowan to conjure up that image but he couldn’t picture her looking like that and holding onto Chaol’s arm. It felt so intensely wrong to even consider it. 

It was always him. He always imagined her with him. They were a package deal in Rowan’s mind, but apparently not in Aelin’s. 

Aelin seemed to be catching onto Rowan’s internal dilemma. Throughout the duration of the class, he could feel her watching him out of the corner of her peripheral, trying to gauge what could be wrong. She stayed quiet though and dutifully continued her notes that mostly consisted of a collection of small doodles. Rowan couldn’t help but watch and wonder how she truly felt about him.

For the rest of the school day, Rowan pretty much blew Aelin off. He sat between Lorcan and Fenrys at lunch instead of the 2 seats on the right side of the circular table that always housed Aelin and himself. He told her not to wait up in the stands during his lacrosse practice and to head home on her own instead. He could tell she was confused maybe even a little hurt but Rowan couldn’t bring himself to push aside his mass of feelings that had him acting strange. 

He wasn’t even completely sure what was wrong with himself. The thought of Aelin accompanying another guy to prom shouldn’t affect him like it was; they were only best friends nothing more. She had free reign to go with whoever she wanted and she could get whoever, Aelin was a beautiful girl he wasn’t blind to that. He’d just thought it’d be him. 

All throughout lacrosse practice, Rowan was distracted, missing the ball or the goal when he had it, a stark difference from his usual skill. His coach had already pulled him aside once and asked if he was feeling okay only to be given a grunted yeah before putting him back in. He only grew more upset with Aelin as he pondered the day’s events instead of keeping his head in the game. Some part of him knew it was irrational but he couldn’t help it. Why wouldn’t she want to share one of their last big moments of high school together?  

And that’s how he continued to feel as he made the short drive home with his hefty lacrosse bag weighing down his shoulder and his school bag heavy on his back. When he finally entered the home he sighed, the scent of his mother’s cooking filling his nostrils. Honestly, he’d rather stay up in his room and stew than sit through family dinner right now but he knew it’d only prompt more questions from his parents. So he dropped his things by the door much to his mother’s chagrin and collapsed into one of the dining table’s chairs. 

“Feeling alright, son?” His father’s silver brow rose, already catching on to his foul mood. 

“Yeah, just tired,” Rowan confirmed, taking a sip of water. 

His mother entered then, a dish of pasta cupped between her oven mitts that she placed in the center of the table. “How was practice?” She asked sweetly, stripping her hands of their cover and sitting down. 

“It was fine.”

Rowan’s mother and father exchanged a look between themselves. He was normally much more talkative, always giving them updates on school, on plays they’d done during practice, on Aelin. Rowan chose to ignore their concerned expressions and instead served himself a helping of dinner silently. 

His phone buzzed then from inside the pocket of his shorts. Rowan pulled it out to check the message and frowned at the screen. 

fire-breathing b queen👑 : r u okay? 

He stuck his phone back into his pocket instead of typing a reply and forced himself to eat the rest of his dinner. He only half-listened to his parents’ conversation about their days and what was going on in his dad’s office. Rowan knew he was stewing again, falling into a spiral of uncertainty. 

“Rowan, honey, are you sure you’re okay?” His mother pressed, worry lining her brow. 

Rowan’s lips formed a thin line. No, he wasn’t okay. 

In a split-second decision, Rowan decided he was done dancing around whatever was going on between him and Aelin. “I need to go,” Rowan said suddenly, standing up from his chair that loudly scraped across the floor. His parents looked surprised by his outburst but didn’t stop him as he grabbed his keys from the little table by the front entrance and left. 

Rowan didn’t even need to look at the road to know the way to Aelin’s house. The route was in his bones now and within a few minutes he was pulling up in front of her large white house. He hopped out of his truck, not even bothering to lock the doors before he pounded on her green-painted front door. 

The door opened with a squeak and he saw Aelin standing there in one of her nightgowns that drove Rowan absolutely mad. 

“You’re not going to prom with Chaol,” he rasped, pushing the hair falling on his forehead back with his hand. 

“Huh?” Aelin was clearly confused as to why Rowan had come knocking at her door without preamble. 

“You’re not going with him,” Rowan once again declared, standing his ground, ready to get everything off his chest before he lost the courage. 

“Ro, I don’t get what you’re going on about. He hasn’t even asked me and if he doesn’t ask me I don’t know who’d I go with,” she admitted, her hand still holding the door open and her mouth in a serious line. 

Rowan surges forward at that, gripping both of Aelin’s hands in his own. “You’d go with me, Aelin. I want you to go with me,” he pleaded with her, lifting her hands up to his chest. “Aelin,” he continued, “I don’t want to go with anyone else but you. I want to do everything with you, go everywhere with you. Gods, Aelin, you’re like my reason to breathe, to get up in the morning.”

“Row-” Aelin tried to interrupt, her blue eyes going wide. 

“No, just let me finish, I- I know that sounds crazy and I know it’s so out of the blue and you didn’t expect me to show up outside your door like this and start professing my feelings,” Rowan was rambling now he knew. Everything he wanted to say to her was running through his mind like a freight train so much so he struggled to express it. The words were jumbled in his mind as if they were a bowl of alphabet soup in a blender. He just needed her to know how he felt. 

“I- I just, I thought about you going to prom with Chaol or some other guy all damn day and I hated it. Gods, I couldn’t figure out why I hated it so much, it just it- it felt so wrong. Fireheart, I want you to be with me. Gods, I think I’m so desperately in love with you I’m going to combust or something.” Rowan was getting flustered now, he knew his face was burning and he was sweating, maybe from the humidity or maybe from the sheer weight of what he was confessing to his best friend.  “Rowan,” Aelin started once again, her face contorted in pure shock. 

“I know you might not feel the same Aelin, I knew I came here risking that, and if you don’t feel the same-”

“Rowan!” Aelin said with more force, bringing her hands to cup his face. “Listen to me,” she pleaded. 

Rowan stopped trying to fight her and looked at her. He felt as though his stomach might fall out. His nerves were so intense as he stared into Aelin’s golden-ringed eyes. 

“You’re just so fucking stupid,” Aelin breathed. 

Rowan’s brow furrowed, he certainly hadn’t expected her to say that. “Wha-” he began. 

He couldn’t even finish his thought before Aelin’s lips descended upon his own. She cradled his face in her hands as her soft lips moved against his in a slow rhythm. Rowan’s brain stalled and struggled to catch up with what the hell was happening. 

He just knew this felt right, this felt so gods-damn right. 

His hands were loosely wrapped around her wrists and they traveled lightly over her arms and moved to rest on her back and pull her into him. 

Her body molded against his own. It felt like the final bit of a 50,000 piece puzzle had finally fallen into place after years of pouring over it. Rowan kissed Aelin back with just as much fever, desperate to keep her lips on his own. He brushed his tongue along the seam of her lips and she pulled back. 

They both stood there, gulping down air as they stared at each other trying to navigate this unimaginable revelation. 

“You’re- you’re not going to prom with Chaol, right?” Rowan finally managed to ask. 

“No,” Aelin breathed. “I’ll go with you, I’ll always go with you.” 

Their lips met once again.

~~~

day one down. stay tuned and have a wonderful day, xoxo

[kast43]

[May contain angst, contains mild violence, a total fake scenario because DIOVOLO WOULD NEVER ALLOW this to happen]

For a few weeks now, some witches were giving MC a hard time. MC didn't quite understand why, but if they had to guess it was because of their living arrangement. MC never paid it any mind until one night when they were walking to the House of Lamentation after some errands alone. MC was jumped by 3 of them and roughed up a bit. One witch was so annoyed with MC's demeanor that they went too far and broke MC's arm. MC, not wanting any more trouble would decide to go to Purgatory Hall and ask for help.

💋Lucifer💋

-He got a phone call from Simeon, stating that they had to take MC for medical care for a broken arm.

-Didnt even give an explanation where he was going, but he rushed out of the house to be with MC.

-Was a composed mess; he was worried, angry and protective of MC.

-when questioned about how it happened, MC lied and he knew it.

-"Oh I just tripped and fell on my arm is all." Was not the explanation he believed.

-why would MC lie about this? He had to know.

-he would ask maybe a few more times then left MC alone. He knew he could find out more on his own anyways.

-as far as aiding MC, a perfect gentleman.

-Opens doors, holds bags, even does MC's chores if they were struggling.

-He felt so guilty for this that he would not leave MC's side for a minute...but it would be more comforting than overstepping.

-would be the one to make sure MC did everything they had to heal.

-"Don't forget to take your medicine. Do you need some water? Let me get it."

-"You are not suppose to prop anything on that arm...let me hold it."

-Would stop the brothers dead in their tracks if they tried to do anything that would require MC to do anything physical.

-He would be the type to not actually sign MC's cast, but he would wait until they were alone and draw a little heart in a place only MC could see

-He also low key had been suspicious about what happened and follows MC around to "observe".

-When he does find out what happens....well let's just say those who wronged MC will regret it deeply.

💰Mammon💰

-He might have been out gambling or something when he got the call about MC.

-run boy run

-His first reaction would be frustration of course

-"How could you let this happen??? Humans are too fragile and you need to be more careful!"

-would have never crossed his mind that MC lied about it.

-MC falls a lot, story checks out in his mind.

-Feral Protection Goblin.

-He refused to leave MC's side even for a second.

-He would carry bags and open doors, but Mammon being himself would do it in a very feral goblin way

-VERY protective. Like, No one was allowed to even look at MC without himself shooting a glare back.

-more worried about MC than what was going on around him.

-Absolutly the one to forget about meds

-signs his name IN BIG LETTERS on MC's cast

-May God have mercy on those witches that did this to MC when Mammon finds out what really happened.

🎮Leviathan🎮

-Most likely ignored Simeon's call, but would read his text.

-He does not like to leave his room often, but he will go to pick MC up with little hesitation.

-he will asked what happened, but ultimately he does not care since he can't stop it now.

-poor thing would be too scared to touch MC TBH.

-this reminds him how delicate humans were and he didn't want to make things worse.

-he would be more clingy without making contact.

-for the most part he did anything MC asked, only if they asked tho.

-was actually stoked that MC could actually spend time playing games or watching anime with him since they could not do too much physical labor.

-he would enjoy having quality time like this, but be upset it had to be this way.

-"It's annoying that you can only play games with me when you break a bone. You can come anytime you want you know."

-He would be the first one to sign the cast. Who knows, he might just doodle all over it

-lets say he overheard someone bragging about what they did to MC [since he is the quiet one no demon suspects him to be listening]

-he finds out what really happened...big mad

-seconds from summoning Lotan in the school

-then he finds out *who* did it

-pays each witch involved a visit and summons Lotan in each home

📚Satan📚

•he was simply reading when he got the call

•there he go, faster than light

•he would greet MC with in interrogation

•"MC what happened?"

•"Did someone do this to you?"

•"Where/when did this happen?"

•"You are FAR from 'okay'!"

•MC would just dodge any question regarding what had happened...MC knew that Satan was too smart to fall for one of their lies

•Satan does not know much about broken human bones...but by the next morning he  became an expert.

•He would go about this a lot like Lucifer, but in a more emotional way.

•Satan had become more protective of MC and refused to let them do anything too physical.

•he would follow MC around, making sure they did all the right things, carry bags, open doors, ya know the whole deal.

•took extra time with MC during study time and bed time.

•"I brought your meds...here is some water as well."

•med police

•would draw a cat on their cast

•He loves to read to MC as they fall asleep.

•if he were to find out what actually happened [which he would a lot faster than Lucifer btw] oh no

•oh no

•oh no no no no no

•might as well write those witches obituaries cuz THEY GONE

💋Asmodeus💋

•Picks the phone with Simeon and starts to flirt first off

•as mush as Simeon would love to entertain this, he let's Asmo know that MC had to be taken to get medical care

•Asmodeus rushes to go collect MC.

•he would understand MC was hurt, and at first he would play it off as shit just happens

•especially when MC lied about how it happened

•Honestly he would be low key scared and high key protective

•The one he loved the most [other than himself] was hurt!

•Obsessed with taking good care of MC.

•other than Lucifer, would be the best at making sure MC was taking good care of themselves to heal 🌟Beautifully🌟

•"MC~♡ let's take a break. Come and sit for a while"

•"use this lotion where you can reach, your skin will get dry under the cast"

•"don't forget your meds love, the sooner you heal the sooner we can be naughty~ 😈"

•this brother would be the most clingy out of all of them, but works out for MC.

•goes above and beyond holding doors and carrying bags...would escourt MC everywhere

•He does not only signs the cast, he glues a picture of himself on it

•MC would eventually tell Asmo what really happened...thinking they could trust Asmo not to loose his shit

•He looses his shit, but holds it together in front of MC

•the second he knows MC is asleep...he goes hunting for some naughty witches.

🍔Beelzebub🍔

•he was at practice when it happened, and missed the call

•MC ended in meeting him halfway home

•poor thing does not know what to do

•So sorry he missed the call

•the fact of the matter is, he trusts MC in what MC says happened.

•he was use to injuries with his workouts and sports...but MC was far too fragile...

•he would be the 'scary dog privilege' for MC

•He respects MC enough to give them space...but also watches MC like a hawk

•carries things for MC and refuses to take no for an anwser

•made sure MC was fed at ALL times.

•"Food always makes me feel better, so maybe you will get better if you eat"

•MC attaches themselves to Beelz instead of the other way around

•He would sign the cast, plain and simple. Mc would explain that he could add more if he wanted. [As evident from Mammon signing a new spot every day] so he would most likely draw food or something later on

•When Beelz finds out what truly happened, he would get upset...but not enough to do anything super harmful.

•he could go and eat all their food...or their homes. He would decide in the car.

🥱Belphagor🥱

•Again, Belphie is smarter than he lets on

•he would be aware of the bullies, but not the extent of what they would do

•most likely was asleep during the call

•would notice MC's long absence, then when MC did show up he was shocked.

•asking the usual questions, who what when where...MC would dodge them all.

•Belphie was suspicious

•Would be the most protective of MC, always be by MC's side

•but much like Beelz he would respect MC's space

•until he was sleepy that is

•would rest on MC anywhere and anytime

•would also be MC's 'scary dog' privilege, but shows dominance by laying in MC's lap

•MC didn't mind, they would play with Belphie's hair anyways

•he would doodle all over the cast, and if anything would sign his name under Mammon's every time he signed

•thrilled to bits at all the naps MC and him now have since MC was not allowed to do much.

•"Where do you want to nap today?"

•"MC why don't we go to the attic today, I happen to know Mammon is going get yelled at today...it won't be quiet for long"

•when he finally finds out what happened, and he will find out, he will not hold back

•where his twin would be passive, he would be aggressive...we can leave it at that

[thestarsanctuary]

Hello! I’m not sure who you take requests for, but could I request Midoriya, Uraraka, and Kirishima with an s/o who they think is cheating on them but it turns out they were just playing an otome game? If it’s not too much? Have a wonderful evening!

BNHA CHARACTERS WHEN THEY THINK YOUR CHEATING (but it’s just an otome game)

I accept almost anybody from BNHA, except a fewwww (Overhaul, Endeavor, Kurogiri, that’s probably it tbh) anyways thank you for the requesfksnsksk!

MIDORIYA

Midoriya was on his way to your dorm, excited to finally spend some time with you after a few weeks because he had extensive training with All Might. He was right in front of your door, and almost entered, and right when he cracked the door he heard,

“He’s so cute! Ugh, yes I would love to go out with you!” Izuku’s breath hitched.

You heard a creak and turned to see Midoriya’s head peeking through the door, with his eyebrows furrowed. You smiled and waved,

“Hey Midoriya! I was waiting for you, I was thinking today we could-

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your eyes faltered, taken aback at his rough tone.

“Tell you...what exactly? Was Bakugo talking about me again? Everytime that loser opens his mouth I swear-

“IF YOU DIDN’T LIKE ME ANYMORE JUST TELL ME. DON’T- don’t lead me on like some lovesick dog.” He shouted, tears ready to fall at any second. You looked at him mouth wide open.

“Izuku, I do like you? I love you quite a lot that’s why I’m dating you, what’s-what’s the problem?” You cried, confused at why he was looking so angry with you.

“I heard you! Calling- WHOEVER THAT WAS CUTE, AND SAYING YOU WOULD GO OUT WITH THEM! H-HOW COULD YOU?” He sputtered out, wiping the tears out of his eyes with an aggressive fist. You looked at him and a slight grin began to grow. You walked over to him.

“You mean...this guy right here?” You say as you lift up your phone to show some animated boy on your screen, with the words ‘I will pick you up at 8, my love’ showing up from a speech bubble. Midoriya stepped back, processing what he had just read.

“S-so...you’re not cheating on me?” He said with big eyes.

“No, it’s just an otome game baby, I could and frankly would never. I love you too much.” You whispered, running your hand through the hair on the back of his head and he hugged you.

“Oh...I’m sorry baby, I didn’t realize-

“It’s alright. Let’s just go lay down yeah? I found this awesome movie I think we would like!”

Just like that, Midoriya was back to being your lovesick puppy. Was there something wrong with that?

URARAKA

Uraraka wasn’t one to be too nervous about cheating. I mean, you were hers. Who was there that would even make you think about being whisked away from the bond that you two had? Apparently, there was somebody. And apparently, you didn’t mind.

Uraraka was walking out of the school, ready to go home and get all of her homework over with. Present Mic had no mercy for the kids of 1-A. As she walked she saw you, beautiful you, out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah, he’s the best! I can’t believe how flirtatious he is though...not that I mind” you say as your friends laugh and giggle with you. Uraraka covers her mouth, and for a second she almost thinks about ignoring it.

You and her had something special. She knew it. You knew it. So what was it that she had done that had made you resort to somebody else? Was this her fault? Either way, maybe if she ignored it and tried to be a little better for you, there would be no reason to cheat. But that thought was quickly pushed away as Ochako knew her worth. She stomped over to your group and pulled you away by your bag.

“Woah! Ochako what’s wrong with you? I thought you were going to go home and do Present Mic’s 27-inch tall packet?” You laughed as you faced her. But she couldn’t find it in her to laugh. She couldn’t even find it in her to look at you, so she chose her oh so boring shoes.

“So, who is it.” She states, biting her tongue. Her heart was shattering, but what could she do?

“Who is...who? Did I miss something or are you having short term memory loss.” You joked, smiling at her.

“STOP JOKING AROUND. JUST- JUST TELL ME WHO IT IS AND WE CAN BREAK UP AND I CAN LEAVE. PLEASE.” She yelled, voice cracking aggressively. You stepped back, your smile dropping in an instant.

“Ochako, I don’t know who told you what, and I don’t know what you think you’ve figured out, but I don’t know who you’re talking about or what you mean.” You explain slowly, trying to analyze her anger.

“I heard you. I heard you talking about some stupid guy and how flirty he is and all that and well...I’m not mad...I could never be mad at you. But please, don’t push me to the sidelines.” She begged, tears falling vigorously. Your eyes widened as she spoke. She finally looked at you and seeing her eyes as red as they were broke you the most.

“Ochako...there is no boy. I could never, I would never want to. We’re us remember? There’s nobody out there who could take me away from you but...I think I know what you meant” You said as you held up your phone. She saw the boy on the screen giving you a despicable smirk and the relief washed off her face and she relaxed in front of your intense love-filled eyes. This was all some big misunderstanding. And her sweetheart was just playing some stupid game. And the boy- wasn’t real. She grabbed you arm and pulled you into her.

“I love you. I love you so, so much. Never leave me.” She whispers.

“Where would I find anyone better?”

KIRISHIMA

Kirishima was the type who could be insecure but would never tell you about it. To project his problems and insecurities onto you would be rude of him. They’re his problems, not yours. However today, all would be set free.

Eijiro was walking past your lunch table to go and get some yogurt. Usually you two would sit together every other day because you liked to interact with all other members of the class so you usually sat with a somebody else on days like today. And as you sat with Mina, Uraraka, and Tsuyu, Kirishima heard you say something that could have made him pass away on the spot,

“Guys I’m telling you she’s so hot. Like please come get me, she even asked me out!” You screeched with a grin as the other girls smiled back.

“And what did you say to her?” Mina giggled.

“YES! WHAT WOULD YOU SAY MINA!” You said as you jokingly rolled your eyes. “If God requests I take the opportunity” you all laughed and as you saw Kiri out of the edge of your eye you gave him a smile. The sweetest smile, God he was in love with you. But...did you feel the same? He decided that he didn’t want to make a scene and waved back at you with the best smile he could manage.

Later on that day as Kirishima sat in your room, as you doodled in your notebook he glanced at you and decided to bring up the dreadful fact. That you didn’t want him anymore.

“So what did I do.” Eijiro whispered. It was so quiet but since there was no noise you heard it easily. You looked up at him confused.

“What?” You asked, your eyebrow raising.

“What did I do. To make you find somebody else?” He asked, looking away from you. Eijiro knew that if he looked at you he would cave. He would always cave for you.

“I haven’t found somebody else? I’m not too sure who told you that but-

“STOP LYING. I HEARD IT. I HEARD YOU. TALKING ABOUT SOME GIRL AND HOW SHE ASKED YOU OUT. I KNOW I’M NOT PERFECT, AND I KNOW I AM NOT AS SMART, OR AS ATTRACTIVE AS OTHER PEOPLE BUT I THOUGHT- I THOUGHT YOU COULD LOOK PAST THAT. I THOUGHT YOU DID LOOK PAST THAT.” He yelled, his fists clenching and unclenching when the pain became too much. You couldn’t even answer at first but the first thing you could think was..is that really how he saw himself? Not good enough?

“Eiji...what do you mean you’re not as smart or attractive? Who- where did you even get that from?” You choked out as tears began to build. You couldn’t help it, yelling was never something you could take.

“Does it matter?” He spat.

“Yes! God yes it does. Because Eiji you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are incredibly smart when it comes to hero work, why would I care about some test grade made by old people with no life? And handsome...Kirishima you are so handsome that I stare at you everyday and wonder how you wanted me. You could have anybody, with your personality, your looks, and your talent combined what could I give you? Seeing you now...it hurts Eiji. I love you, you will always be more than enough for me.” You sputtered out. You tried moving closer but he moved away from you once again as tears fell down your eyes and built up in his.

“Well obviously I wasn’t enough because you found somebody else.” He ranted as you shook your head.

“No no no, Kiri I didn’t find anybody I was talking about some otome game I found! There is nobody else sweetheart- there could never be anybody else.” You whispered as you tried one last time to move closer. And Kirishima didn’t move.

“Really? There is nobody else? You still...you still love me?” He cheered as he hugged you tight, and put his head in your neck as you two sat there in a peaceful embrace.

“Of course not. I have you. Everything I need, and so, so much more. I love you Kiri.” You whispered as you kissed his cheek.

“I love you. Until the end of time.” Lord knows Kiri would love you even after that.

FIN

Okayyyy that was my first request jesus christ- I tried to kinda give the reader different personalities because I don’t really like it when people make all their readers have the same personality like- there are so many people in the world! Anyways I think I need to make a page on what I will and will not write but the list is quite open. Platonic, romantic, up to 5 people for a headcannon, and no smut...That’s simple right? (no.)

Anyways thank you all for reading!!! <3