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panda-writes-kpop · 3 months

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the homosexual underground ~ kim lip

a/n: so.... i had taken a break from writing since I got a few new video games, and I may or may not have developed a small obsession with Disco Elysium. ○_○ anyways, the brain went brrrrr and now we have a pride month fic!!! a win is a win for the girls, gays, and theys 😌 also this would've went up sooner but I did two rewrites of a fic I'm probably going to scrap 🫠 but enough about my writing struggles and onto the gayness :D

tw: implied fem! reader but it can be read as she/they or they/them instead, brief descriptions of a hanging and a dead body, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, slightly ooc! kim lip, some dialogue was taken directly from Disco Elysium because it was too funny not to use, I use Jungeun instead of Kim Lip because it feels more fitting for this universe

summary: with time running out, you and your partner, kim jungeun, have to find a witness to a hanging. your partner-in-solving-crime gets a little too distracted by the potential witness, which leads to some revelations for both of you.

♡ Masterlist ♡

"Watch out!"

You grab Jungeun's arm as she stumbles up the staircase.

"I'm alright." She flashes you a quick smile. "I’m still recovering from that hangover."

You frown before letting her arm go. When Jungeun turns away from you, you lightly cough to hide your growing embarrassment.

You don't know why you've become so overprotective of your partner-in-solving-crime - perhaps it's pure pity for the girl?

No, You think as your heart stirs in your chest, it's something else.

The two of you were assigned to this case from different police districts, due to poorly drawn district boundaries. You were supposed to meet your partner on Friday, but that was quickly pushed to Saturday, then Sunday... and it was Monday morning when you first met Jungeun.

You already had your expectations dropped to the floor, there was a dead body to be taken care of and your current partner, who was on the scene three days earlier, had not done anything to further your investigation.

Even with all of this considered, you were still disappointed when Jungeun stumbled down the stairs of the local hostel - your agreed meeting point.

Wearing the most atrocious disco outfit known to man (seriously, who puts that many sequins on a blazer), Jungeun, in all of her unkempt glory, put out a shaky hand for you to grab.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that she had spent the last three days drinking booze and consuming substances of all kinds - you were surprised that her heart didn't give out before her mind did.

You weren't sure if it was the booze, drugs, the stress of policing, or some other stressor, but Jungeun had no recollection of anything to do with the case or her personal affairs. She didn't even remember her name when you first met.

Despite all of this, Jungeun did good police work. Albeit very unconventional, her methods did squeeze some answers out of the locals. Answers to her past, the current political situation in the local area, and crucial details to the case.

The case - a man was hanged in the back of a hostel cafeteria, the Whirling-in-Rags. Due to some brilliant detecting, you and Jungeun had managed to figure out that eight people were involved with the lynching.

The current suspects? A group of workers who were striking against their employer. Seven of them sat in a booth in the Whirling-in-Rags, with shoes that matched the ones at the crime scene.

Where was the eighth person?

It was impossible to squeeze answers out of the workers - they were a tight-knit group, and you needed more than frozen footprints to convince them to talk.

So, it was time to explore the city and find out what secrets the workers were hiding from you and Jungeun.

By poking around, you had found a smoker in the apartment building behind the Whirling-in-Rags who was present for the crime. Jungeun confronted the smoker, who easily dazed your partner with her sunset-colored hair and honey-suckle voice.

Despite this, Jungeun managed to find a key that the smoker pointed out. This key let you into the apartment building, and a quick conversation with the cleaner told you exactly which apartment the smoker could be found in.

You had climbed a set of stairs, when Jungeun had stumbled... which led you back to the present moment.

...Why her? Why did you feel so strongly about her?

You and Jungeun had made your way to the smoker's apartment, who was waiting outside for you with a cigarette in her hand.

"Gendarmerie! You found me." She smoothly takes a drag of her cigarette before offering you a brilliant smile.

You've worked in homicide long enough to know when someone is trying to win you over with charms, but your partner is completely oblivious to her act.

"We got your hint. Found the key right under that stone." Jungeun explains as the smoker chuckles.

"Beautiful." She comments before taking another puff of her cigarette.

A sparkle appears in her eye as she looks at Jungeun.

"So, tell me, are you here to make things right again?" The smoker asks.

"Honestly, I'm just trying to not screw anything up." Jungeun shrugs and relaxes her shoulders for a moment.

The glare that you send her immediately has her back at attention.

"Beautiful." The mysterious smoker repeats to herself.

A streetlight nearby illuminates her features, showing off her slender frame and picture-perfect face.

"I have some good news for you. My Sunday Friend is visiting me tonight. I told her about you, and she'd like to say hello. Step in, she's already waiting." The woman nods toward the door behind her before stepping aside to let you enter.

"Very well, I'll talk to her, but first I want to talk to you. I have so many questions." Jungeun tilts her head at the woman, who simply takes another drag of her cigarette.

"That's nice, but I don't have anything to tell you. It's my friend you're looking for, not me." The smoker looks around at the other apartments, which have lit windows to help combat the oncoming darkness of nighttime. "Besides, I've got to run."

A visible frown appears on Jungeun's face, and you can tell that she's disappointed that the smoker is leaving her again.

It takes every muscle in your body to repress a smile from appearing on your lips.

"But I just found you again!" She softly whines as you cough and cover your mouth.

The shit-eating grin that you're trying to repress is bubbling to the surface, but you won't let your guard down in front of the smoker.

"Just look at it..." The woman gestures to the various roads and buildings in the distance. "It's a beautiful night. Who's going to stay in on a night like this?"

"Only if you'll promise that we'll talk again. It's important." Jungeun stresses the last word as laughter starts to bubble over from your lips.

She's whipped and she has no idea.

"We'll talk," The smoker reassures your partner, "But just not tonight. Take care, alright?"

With that, the woman disappears into the night, leaving you and your partner to investigate the person in the apartment.

When Jungeun turns to you, you have to bite down on your lip to prevent any more laughter from escaping.

"There's something so different about her that I just can't put my finger on..." Jungeun trails off as you let a small smile appear on your face.

"Different, of course." You fold your arms and wait for your partner's response.

"She smells good. Why on Earth does she smell so good?"

"She smells good..." The shit-eating grin just appears on your face, despite your efforts to stop it.

You have to squint your eyes and take a deep breath so you don't explode with laughter.

"That's weird, right?" Jungeun innocently asks.

"She smells good and that's weird." Your mouth tightens to hold back the laughter.

You're barely holding it together - how can she not know?

"Come on, detective. Let's go - we've got a potential witness to interview - her 'Sunday Friend', remember?" You nod at the door before Jungeun takes the hint and enters it.

After a good night's rest in the Whirling-in-Rags (which was rare, given your occupation), you walked downstairs to greet your partner for the day.

You found her talking to the smoker, which intrigued you until you heard the phrase "the homosexual underground" being thrown around.

I don't know what that means, and I don't think I want to know what it means.

Once you realized that she was teasing Jungeun, you had to put your poker face back on for the day.

"Ready, detective?" You ask as you approach the two women.

"Yeah, I'm... ready." She pauses for a moment before looking at the smoker. "Thanks for giving me something to think about!"

Okay, now you really don't want to know what they were talking about.

"Hey, Lieutenant!" Jungeun lightly grabs your shoulder as you walk by the bookstore on your way to the canal.

"Yes?" You put your notebook back into your coat pocket to look at her.

"I want to ask you something..." She combs a piece of hair behind her head as she awaits your answer.

You hum lightly - you're not usually one to entertain her silly antics or random questions, but you've made some good progress on the case, which has put you in a good mood.

"Are you a part of the homosexual underground?"

You blink rapidly for a few moments before deeply sighing.

So this is what the smoker and Jungeun were discussing earlier.

"Don't you have better things to think about, detective - like the case?" Your words have a biting edge to them that cause Jungeun to verbally back track.

"Yeah, but-"

"-But am I?" A smile briefly appears on your face before you regain your composure. "I'll spare you another 20-hour mind project - yes, I am. Now, let's get back to work."

"You are?" Jungeun stares in amazement as you nod.

"Sometimes girls like girls." You shrug to yourself.

"I didn't mean to offend, I was just asking-"

"-for yourself?" You raise an eyebrow at Jungeun, who nods. "I figured it out yesterday when you were talking to the smoker. I didn't want to spoil the moment for you."

"What if there was a specific girl that I liked?" She asks as you pause before responding.

She's probably referring to the smoker - maybe they were talking for longer than I thought?

"What is she like?"

"Well, she has oceans of patience with me. She's kind but firm when she needs to be. Comforting yet composed and ready for action." Jungeun says as your eyes widen.

She's talking about you.

"Well," You cough to cover your embarrassment at the revelation occurring in your head, "you could always tell this girl how you feel. Maybe after the case is solved, the two of you could really get to know each other?"

Jungeun nods at your suggestion.

"You're right, I'll have to ask-" She blushes and bites her lip, "her after we solve the case. Let's go, Lieutenant!"

Jungeun charges ahead as you fall into a comfortable jog behind her. Maybe you can blame the wind and exercise for your flushed face instead of the woman in front of you.

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nxposure · 4 months

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On my last blog, I wrote about my eating disorder at great length. I think it's time to do it again. If you don't like long text posts, feel free to skip this, but don't skim read it and reply because that's not nice.

TW if you need it, eating disorders, self harm, body dysmorphia.

----

People seem to think that eating disorders don't really apply to men. I spent my entire childhood listening to just about everyone passing judgement on other people's weight. As a boy, my apparent role models were all athletes, thin or muscular actors, skinny popstars and guys in music, and any husky person was either funny or tragic.

As I got older, I noticed these attitudes getting worse. Muscular men between acting jobs would stop cutting and starving their bodies, but would still look like peak physical condition but would be referred to as having a 'dad bod'.

Older still, I'd see people waggling their little fingers making jokes about small dicks, or laughing about people who cum to quick. People were too tall or not tall enough. Then they'd be too skinny if they were too fat. Then, laughs about baldness or their bodies being too hairy. It went on and on.

It melted my brain. I wanted to be whatever this idea shape was and deep down, I knew it wasn't possible, and I developed an immovable self loathing that I suspect I'll carry with me through my whole life.

I'd hear women getting similar criticisms, and the criticisms came equally from women and men, gay and straight, and of all races and creeds, and I think somewhere in my thoughts, I gave up trying to find a peaceful way of navigating this and began to purge every time I ate. I was playing a lot of team sports and would vomit before every game. I'd then go home, eat, and repeat. I became dangerously thin and people would tell me my body looked great.

I would pass out a lot through exhaustion and my eyes became dark. At some point I collapsed and hit my face on a shelf, then a radiator, and pretended to everyone that I'd just been in a fight.

After a short time thinking I'd fixed myself after scaring myself when I'd collapsed, it started again. I switched out bulimia for anorexia. I was now not eating at all. I remember hitting my hand with a spoon over and over when someone brought me some food to work, anxiety in overdrive as I hoped they wouldn't notice me not touching any of the food they gave me. That happened a lot and the back my hand was frequently purple with bruises.

I've kept a photo of a more recent period so I have something to check, in case I've dropped too much weight. This was me not that long ago, irresponsibly thin and I'd made myself very poorly. The skirt is cute though.

It was around this time that I'd collapsed again, this time in public. I was rushed to hospital with malnutrition and it was in the middle of lockdown so hospitals were swamped and everything was weird.

I was given a COVID test and while the nurses went to do my test, I sneaked out of the hospital because I didn't want them to tell me anything about how thin I was, even though they'd already clocked me. I walked home and collapsed three more times in the street, and twice more at home. I managed to get myself back to hospital eventually and spent the night under observation and was fed sugary gels and put on a drip to try and replace some of what my body had been missing for months.

I again discharged myself and ran away from the problem.

I was disgusted with myself. I was being irresponsible. I thought I looked enormous. I then made myself more depressed because I shouldn't talk about people's bodies like that. I loved people of all shapes and sizes and here I was, judging someone for being fat. I didn't eat or drink a single thing for two weeks after being in hospital. I was going mad. It was time to tell my friends what was going on, and it turned out a number of them had already worked it out.

One of the things I needed to fix was some of the people I sought advice from. I'd found people in secret who also had eating disorders and people who self harmed. It sounded like we were helping each other from the outside in, but the reality was that we were all enabling each other. Some call it trauma bonding. I call it unwell people egging each other on and even being competitive about it.

One girl said to me that my eating disorder wasn't as bad as hers. She gave me tips on how to act like I was getting better to other people. Saying you're trying is as good as actually trying, she added. It's all part of the performance.

I didn't want to be ill. I just wanted to not feel violently sick when I thought about my own body existing. I wanted to not be perceived at all, and to be left in darkened rooms, wasting away. While I spent all those nights, just lying there, I realised that this illness wasn't like other illnesses. Cancer wants to devour you. Broken bones want to heal. This eating disorder wanted me to stay alive but maximise the suffering in a prolonged bout of self harm. Me being dead was no use to my dysmorphia. I did just enough to stay alive, so I could maximise the suffering. It was like an endurance sport with no medal.

At some point, my name was put forward to appear on a news programme on national television. One of my supposed support network worked in TV and was asked if they knew anyone who had what had been rebranded as 'manorexia'. It's funny - even when showing concern, people still do stupid things like giving an illness that applies to anyone a ridiculous name. We don't call it blokeaemia do we?

After speaking to the genuinely respected and very nice journalist who I'd seen on television a lot, she was heavy handed in her questions. Things like "is it just vanity then?" is one that sticks in my memory. After 3 days of back and forth, the news story was dropped because a panda had given birth in a zoo somewhere. My sense of the absurd and gallows humour kicked in, mercifully. Men's eating disorders, relegated beneath a captive animal having a baby.

Another friend who was genuinely being well-meaning told me how brave I was, "going around telling everyone you have a woman's disease". I wasn't angry because I knew what they meant, but to someone more fragile, it could have gone horribly wrong. Another friend simply said "I don't want to ever talk about this - it's too upsetting."

I became aware of famous men talking about their eating disorders. A politician called John Prescott spoke of his and everyone laughed at it and made jokes on panel shows, based entirely on the fact that he wasn't thin enough. Everyone laughed at Hugh Jackman on talkshows when he spoke of the starvation and duress he put his body under to look a certain way for movies. Thin women were pointed at when they put an ounce of weight on. I heard women sniggering about other women saying "what does she look like in that dress?"

More recently, people would berate the 45th president of the United States for being "fat", rather than going after more pertinent things like his whole personality and terrible views. Fat, in this instance, was the ultimate sin, not being pro-fascist. I noticed how many larger men were clowning around at their own expense, and women would coo about them online. People like Jack Black - talented, good looking, charismatic - would be met with "I don't care that he's fat".

So where am I now? Mentally, the damage is done and I don't think I'll ever lose the will to harm myself. However, since my last collapse, I swore I'd never go there again. I rigidly eat three times a day. I've actively learned to enjoy the cooking process. It's been incredibly difficult, perhaps in part because I stubbornly refuse any professional help. I looked around for a psychiatrist who would help at one point, but every single one told me that they weren't taking men on.

Way back when, I started sharing photos of my body on Tumblr in a state of undress because I wanted to normalise how I looked. If I sandwiched myself between everyone else's nudes which I thought were beautiful, then I gave myself a chance to think the same of my own. It certainly helped. There's something about the kind of people this site attracts that celebrates a variety of people and I can be flooded with dopamine when my photos get complimented. They're compliments from people that sometimes get it, and that matters. Some people just think I'm being thirsty, and sometimes, they're absolutely correct.

My stomach has grown. There's fat bits on my back which I've never seen before. My neck got chunky where my jawline used to be razor sharp. At long last, I'm learning to love this. I love the softness of people's bodies, and it's taken me decades to realise that I'm just people too. I wear soft clothes that feel nice against my skin. I've collaborated on photos with wonderful people. While my dysmorphia is so bad that I doubt I'll ever find it easy to sexually pleasure myself, I've been shocked to find that people on here have actually had me feeling like a viable and sexy person! It's a completely new feeling to me and I'm trying to get better at taking compliments instead of pushing them away.

I've written about this before and at some length, but I feel it's important to do it again so it doesn't get lost. It might help someone. It might help people understand me better. It might help someone understand what their friend is going through. It might just be enough to offer an interesting perspective and nothing more.

I'm doing better than I've done in memory and it's weird and makes me feel vulnerable. I don't want to get complacent and writing this reminds me of how far I've come and not to let this terrible illness sneak up on me again. I've been through some horrendous emotional stress recently, and that's exactly the kind of time where a thing like this can reintroduce itself into my brain.

I'm doing okay though, genuinely. I can only write about these things when I'm in a good place. I hope you are too. If anyone ever needs to speak to me about anything like this, I can't promise I can fix you, but I can definitely empathise and I will root for you.

(please forgive any typos or garbled language in this - I wrote it in one take, off the cuff, without editing)

#Men's ED #Eating disorders #eating disoder trigger warning #body dysmorphia #body dismorphia tw

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siconetribal · 2 years

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Put It On My Tab: Chapter 5

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag: @vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout

Warning: Cursing, The universe strikes again, Luck so bad...it's good?, Jason does good

Summary:

Everyone deserves time off, and the vigilantes of Gotham are no exception to the rule. The boys decide to take a weekend to let loose. Who knew a few drinks would lead to a stranger in bed?

Author Note:

I'm back with part 5! So, I was trying really hard to close this on part 5 and keep to my plan. However, no matter what I did I just couldn't get it to tie up nicely and that just led to a plethora of other ideas coming in. So...I don't have a clue how long this is going to be anymore. (^_^;)

If you're new to the story, here is a link to the other parts:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

PLEASE READ WARNING ALWAYS.

Of fucking course, Jason stared at the building in front of him. He had followed Dick's advice and managed to find her IP address. From there it was a simple tracing, converting to GPS coordinates, and following directions. There was no way this plan would fail. And yet, here I am…again, at the intersection of "what the hell" and "you've got to be kidding me". He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he closed them hard and long enough, his surroundings would change, and magically he would not be standing here. Where was here exactly? Here was a small, dated strip mall that had brown brick with chipped and weathered awnings and pillars. Here was a bowling alley that looked like it was closed down and an old dry cleaner's. Here was a vacant parking lot aside from his motorcycle and a few cars. His golden ticket, the IP address, led him to a shabby looking gamer's lounge in the middle of what looked to be a dying strip mall, if not dead already.

How, how is it so hard to find this chick?! I just want to pay her for the bill! Why is it so fucking hard to do something nice ?! He glared up at the poorly working lit up sign, hearing the buzz of a dying bulb. All sense of accomplishment crashed and burned to the ground the moment he parked. Ruffling his hair, he ducked his head and let out a heavy sigh. His frustration was at an all-time high in ways he never thought possible for him. Normally, he would be able to quickly release this pent-up feeling through the cathartic action of smashing some goons face in or squeezing the information out of someone who was scared out of his mind and in over his head. Normally, Jason did not have to deal with this heavy feeling for too long. However, it was noon, and he was out in Gotham not as Red Hood but as Jason Todd.

What was the point in all this? It was increasingly clear that the universe was doing its very best to keep him from finding her and paying his dues. They met, they happened to be online gaming buddies, and that was all there was to it. He should throw in the towel and move on. Why should he care so much about this? She was not searching for him. He was the one going out of his way to find her. Yeah, I shouldn't care. This is bullshit. I didn't ask to be taken to some hotel. He was aware he insisted she let him walk her back home that night. Plus, she clearly doesn't give a crap. He glared at his leather jacket that she had taken the time to hook onto the chair that night. He also recalled how she tried to get him to stop screaming with his hangover. "She cares about the wrong things, there's something screwy in her brain."

It was moments like these that made him want to quit. Throw his hands up in the air like he just did not care in his usual cavalier fashion. Who was she to him to warrant such dedication to repayment? What leverage did she have over him? Nothing and none. She was some stranger he tried to help, and he had done just that. A very attractive stranger who was pretty mouthy and fresh with him, who happened to be his online gaming buddy. Who, he was not keen being left to foot a hefty bill because he wanted coffee in the morning.

"Dammit, just you wait, I'll find you and give you that money IAmBatman!" He shouted into the parking lot, his chest puffed with renewed motivation. I've officially gone insane, I'm shouting Batman in broad daylight in an empty parking lot. Pushing his momentary lose of reason aside, Jason surveyed the surroundimg area once more. There was a newer and larger shopping center next door with a filled lot, a few nice restaurants in the area, and the famous coffee chain Barbara and Richard like so much and Damien kept insisting he deserved espresso from.

She complains about customers, so she's definitely in the service industry. This place looks like it's upscaling quite a bit, it isn't hard to see the type of clientele she talks about being here. But where? She works multiple shifts and possibly multiple jobs. The building has CCTV cameras, but who knows what the quality is like. " Fuck, if I knew this was a gaming lounge I would've stopped by in the evening!" He kicked an unsuspecting rock and sent it flying into the parking lot, he was back at square one.

___________________________________

Y/N loudly sneezed for the third time in a row, and Citlalli quickly handed her a tissue. "Damn, are you sure you aren't getting sick? I told you before, I'll say it again, my ass ain't cheap. If you're expecting me to go swinging on a pole, estás loca! Do you think I'll just settle for anyone. The president himself couldn't afford me!" She pointed her nose up to the sky and flipped her hair over her hair shoulder.

"I'm not sick, it's just a sneeze!" Y/N rolled her eyes and wiped her mouth. "There's probably a lot of dust or some shit."

"You said that last time as well. You know, maybe your fancy date is thinking about you? Don't they say one is saying something good about you, two is someone is taking shit, three of someone in love with you, and four is a calamity?"

"Yeah, where were those four sneezes when I met wonder boy? 4k sounds like a pretty big calamity to me." Y/N scowled.

"Don't look at me, you're the one who didn't sneeze!" Citlalli put her hands in the air. "Take it up with your nose!" She turned and started to clean the espresso machine, wiping down everything.

"Right, because the sneeze manager decided to snooze on me. I'll be sure to file my complaints through the proper channels."

"Don't you get smart with me! If you aren't sick, get to wiping the tables, it's your turn this time!"

"Y'know, now that you mention it," Y/N cleared out her throat and forced a slight rasp on her voice, earning a glare from Citlalli who threw the damp table rag at her.

"Tables. Now." Citlalli pointed to the front of the café. "Don't make me come over there," She warned, and Y/N laughed.

"Or what, you'll throw your shoe at me? You can't, you're wearing laced up sneakers today!" Y/N pointed down in triumph, which only angered her best friend.

"You think I won't untie, then to throw 'em?"

"You'll get fired if you do." Citlalli took a step forward, and Y/N quickly ducked under the counter gate and popped up on the other side. "Alright, alright, I'm going! No need to be so violent, just stating facts. Pass me the spray, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Those tables better be spotless, ya hear me? I wanna be able to see my reflection on those tables!”’ Citlalli firmly placed the plastic bottle on the counter top, making sure she made eye contact with her friend. “If they don’t shine, I’m making you do it all over again!”

“Excuse you, what did I ever do to you get the rough treatment?”

“Come home with a bill that’s worth more than two of us combined! I told you, I’m no-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not doing tricks! Keep that up, and I might start to think you actually want to from how often you’re bringing it up!” Y/N turned and made her way to the first table. She could feel Citlalli glaring a hole in the back of her head. With a bit of elbow grease, she began to scrub the surface in circles to clear away the residue of the last customer. It was slow progress, but she was making progress towards her paying off the large bill that weighed over head. It’s a miracle the manager agreed to my payment plan option instead of demanding it all in one go. I guess they realized I’m not lying about not knowing, and I’m willing to cover the costs…though they didn’t give me a choice on that matter. I swear, if I ever see that jerk again, it’ll be too soon! Her eyebrows scrunched together as she scrubbed harder at a hard ring stain, imagining it was the handsome price tag who got her in this mess. “Life couldn’t get any better,” she muttered to herself as she sprayed the somewhat sticky surface.

The electronic chime of the front door being opened rang behind her followed by Cici’s chipper voice greeting the new customer. The heavy steps of the boots stopped and Y/N knew they were at the counter looking over the menu. The lengthy pause was clue enough for her to know they were new.

Not many newcomers here, but there are the occasional pop ins that are driving through. They’ll probably ask for Cici to help suggest something. She shrugged it off and moved to the next table, the chairs left scattered out. “Would it kill people to push in their chairs?” She muttered under her breath, slipping between two to get to the table first.

“Damn, I don’t know what half this shit is. Just a large coffee with some cream and sugar and whatever this is.” He had a deep voice that had a hint of rasp to it. The girls nearby were giggling at the sight of the rugged man, while Y/N was frozen in place. There was no way, right? There were plenty of guys with that kind of voice, and those girls could be giggling for other reasons. Maybe he’s dressed in a hot dog suit and had a bad cold? There’s no way he would be here, right?

There’s only one way to find out. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to continue wiping the table, slowly moving around while keeping her head down. Tugging the bill of her hat to cover her face more, she moved until she had a good view of him. Ok, ok, just a tall guy with broad shoulders wearing leather. That isn’t anything special. I’m overeating, she let out a sigh of relief and was about to get back to her cleaning when something caught her eyes. Something so very distinct that only he would have. The flash of white hair right at the front of his head. It was him.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood #batman #batfam #batman fic #batman fanfiction #batfamily #dc fanfic #dc comics #jason todd

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caxycreations · 1 year

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Advice? Help?

But I'm stuck. I'm writing a cafe scene and I just...My brain -will not process- where to go from here. I have the next notable event in mind, which takes place IN the cafe, DURING this scene, but it begins near the middle of the scene and isn't resolved until near the end of the scene, and I'm here at the BEGINNING of the scene struggling to put words down to make this connect to that.

Like...Okay, maybe y'all can help me here.

Beginning of Excerpt

The café was simple and elegant, with a forest green awning over a wooden door with a coffee cup carved into it. Stepping inside, I was assaulted by the scent of coffee, vanilla, chocolate, and various foods. There were several tables, and David pointed out a table near the front counter. I nodded my understanding, heading for it as he stepped behind the counter. Sitting at the table, I looked over in David’s direction. I watched him walk into the back room through the employee door, out of sight.

I smiled, picking up a menu and scanning it. They had a fair variety of choices, but nothing you wouldn’t expect at a place like this. Sandwiches, pasta, coffee, tea, a few soft drinks. The most out of the ordinary item on their menu was a personal sized pizza. I sat the menu down, deciding on my choice. While I waited for David to come back out, I let my eyes wander around the room. There were a few other patrons in the café, but not as many as I had expected given David’s stories of how crowded the place could get.

I could see a lynx, sitting at a table with a jaguar, and near the back corner sat a macaque by himself. It didn’t seem too popular at the moment, but I supposed that worked for me. I liked a crowd, but mostly just the kind that jumped around and did bad things on the dance floor. The stuffy, boring folks that sat in quiet cafés to relax weren’t people I had beef with, but they weren’t the kind of crowd I had interest in. I pulled out my phone, and opened one of my game apps, combining elements in sequence on the screen.

David came back a few minutes later, smiling. He skipped over to me and flipped open a notebook. “What can I get for you today, Mr. Trayson?” He asked, purring my name. I laughed, raising a brow. “Easy, the whole waiter-flirting-with-customer thing might give people the wrong idea.” I replied, smirking at him. He just rolled his eyes and tapped the paper with his pencil, silently encouraging me to give my order. I glanced at the menu one more time to refresh my memory, already having forgotten what I’d settled on.

“I’ll take a footlong steak and cheese, double meat, and a large water.” I said, folding the menu up again and holding it up for him. He nodded, writing down the order and taking the menu. “Great choice, we’ll get that out in two shakes of a badger’s tail~!” He giggled, skipping back to the back room. I returned my attention to the phone, casually swiping elements together on the screen. I sat back in my chair, resting the phone on the table and laying my head back against the headrest of the chair, closing my eyes.

I could smell food all around me, and even with breakfast this morning having been so nice, my stomach growled at the scent of meat, pasta, and pastries all around me. I thought about the sandwich being prepared in the back, my mouth beginning to water at the various smells.

End of Excerpt

For reference, this is Draft 3, and is by nature wordy and, at times, over-descriptive. I'm doing it that way not only because my previous drafts were poorly paced and I want to let the world breathe a little both during and between notable events, but also because I would rather go too deep into description than not deep enough, because it's always easier for me to cut out and shorten than it is to extend and add on when editing.

I know I need to have his food brought out

I know I need to introduce the inciting moment for the notable event

But I just

When I try to write the next passage

I can't. Words just don't come to mind, at all, like I've completely forgotten how to write.

Maybe it's a consequence of my brain frizzing out so much today, but I don't think it is because I've been stuck on this one part for 3 or 4 days now.

Help?

Tag List

Tagging these folks cause they seem to like my work! If you want to be added (or removed), just let me know!

@heavensfallenfaction @moremysteriesthantragedies @thetruearchmagos @a-scaly-troublemaker

#writeblr #writing #relan #literature #fiction #modern fantasy #furry #anthro #anthropomorphic #creative writing #writer #writers block #writing community #excerpt #excerpts

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slime-stew · 1 year

Text

i hate how reblog icon just goes away so the only way i know if i have reboggef is the little 'like icon but this is not enough because sometimes i do not know if if have just liked it or i liked it last momth so i apoligize if i just reblogged the same shit you already saw. then again thats all anyone posts anymore its all just tumblr post of tiktoks of tweets of facebook posts that got reposted to reddit twice and the jpeg is so fried it becomed burnt . i am in so much pain and i cannot sleep so hopefully a stream of consciousness will stop my brain from yelling at me. i dont like how the joke of "there's too many standards so we should make our own standard that works with all if them". in some ways this is how i feel about conlangs and numbering systems cuz they're kinda cool but i can barely speak english so a useless language hurts me on a deeper level. it feels like a waste of brain for me to even comprehend. if you don't use a language to communicate then is it language? why not say theway to conjugate your past tense is to piss really loudly. go crazy. actually there is that hat one i think called kay fop b or whatever who cares we're gonna die at some point and i dont want my longest lasting contribution to society to be some joke hat language. actually what happened to hats. we went from like fedora trilby and it all lead yp to beanies and shit. even baseball cap feels like a dying breed. shit is so itchy i hate how it feel i do not understand how people wear hats. maybe thats it but theres still so many of u beanie people. i am not the person to ask for fashion advice i can barely find clothes to wear on a given day sometimes. i got hella fat and now i feel terrible about myself and my appearance and none of my clothes fit. i got so many garments that have negative stretch like if i even attempt to fit in this it will break. i just wanna wear an infinite clothiny that i dont have to care aboit. just like a big gray bodysuit that makes me imperceptible. granted even when i was less chubby i didnt want to be percieved either so maybe i just dont like how i look lmao. probably dysphoria in there somewhere who knows i just feel so tired and lazy i dont got shit and i have nothin to feel good about so i have just put up with feeling snd looking like human waste all the damb time . i think they should make a new flavor of powerade thats like coconut or coconut lime kinda like that drink from sonic the ocean water. if it was coconut you could make it just light blue cuz theres no cloudy light blue powerade and that would look good. like one of those fortnite drinks they have in the jars that looks kinda tasty. if you made it coconut lime it could be cloudy green like that terrible cucumber lime gatorade. the last time they made new flavors of powerade was like summer 2021 and those flavors are discontinued now. but they only made zero versions of them so im not surprised if they did poorly. also they never make cool names like. Glacier Freeze. thats the berry orange one. Cool Blue is literally just orange or blue curacao flavor. Arctic Blitz was supposed to be honeydew watermelon but it tasted so awful and i love both of those flavors. even just like Fierce Grape is a cooler name but its literally just grape or whatever. Sorry i meant

Grape whoa this shit is neat i'm so glad tumblr has actual text markup options like lets go i love strikethru its so handy i use it on discord all the time too. in a way it somehow both useful as a serious and as a joking indicator but in very obvious ways... probably because i start them with "but" or "except" or stuff like that. i love that i can just type into this box forever and nobody will ever see it and its all just for me yippee! but at least i have the option and unless someone loves stupid walls of text nobody will be forced to see it. gordon freeman big naturals. gorgonzola freeman. spinda pokemon wearing jorts. who up playin with they zeebo. what ever happened to that gon go gab galab guy wheres his revival bring that energy into 2011 fr. wish i was better at chess but i'm so scared of other people so i only play against my friends and the computer. i was in the middle of typin out all this shit amd i was informed that there is a limit to paragprah soze but if u hit enter its chill. it goes away so i made a newline on Grape because its funny to put that there. i think we should work on milking funnier animals. we already milk nuts and rhey dont even have udders but like whats kangaroo milk taste like. i bet its all churned up and creamy cuz they be hopping all the damn time. actually its probably bitter and shitty snd the only reason joeys drink it is because theyre too young and small and crap poopoo to know any better. its like kangaroo buttermilk or kangaroo soylent. reminds me of that angry slappy the squirrel she said something about buttermilk i barely remember animaniacs but it was a good show i had that shit on multiple dvds. i wanted to try that new soylent because it is my guilty pleasure that i want the future to be at least slightly cool about eating stupid foods and not dystopian. 🎁 i seriously cannot believe that someone has ever licked their elbow. it probably has piss on it. luigis mansion 3ds remake. its crazy how most of thr star fox games are either just the snes game again or are some weird shit like adventure or guard. in a way counter strike is the same cuz theres just the first game and then a remake and another remake and then there's a different game entirely that was supposed to be the single player but its a new game. and then there's cs go which was at launch kinda like the second remake but with new shit? like they named the guns correctly and u can play on a l4d map and thry replaced the tmp. but now cs2 is basically a csgo update even though its look like a new game but u play through the csgo launcher and u play on the same dust2. so theres like 3 games but somehow we sre on counterstrike 2. chicken enchilada. thatd a funny trick to play on god. i bet they got some crazy ass soup on mars.i gotta wait so long to see the mario movie. i bet you could jist randomly generate memes by putting hip hop vocals over kevin macleod instrumentals and people woild eat that shit up. my eyeballs are stsrting to hurt goodnight tumblr or is it good morning? ive been typing for so long i cant help it

edit: metal gear solid 2. its good but 3 is better and should have been the Action Game for the ps2 at the smithsonian that shit is rad

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heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

Brackish and Briny Waters (five)

[Ralph Lamont x Female Reader]

Summary: Ralph apologizes and you've got baby brains, but sometimes life does nothing but kick you down. Previous Masterlist Next

Tag(s): 16+ | 1.7k words | more angst, baby fever, alcoholism, ghostly vibes

AN: GODDAMN Part 5 took me a lifetime to finish. As always no beta readers just poorly side eyeing this by myself and hoping it makes sense

THE NEXT MORNING

You barely stir when you hear the door open. You've all but forgotten last night, and yet you flinch when Ralphie tries to cuddle with you. He sighs somewhere near your ear and hugs you from behind anyways, lips brushing the nape of your neck and breath fanning over your back as he simply lies there, quiet as the grave.

There's no bruise but you can still feel his hand gripping your arm from last night. "You're being a huge dick…"

"... I know."

That is not good enough. You roll over to face him and watch his face twist when he notices the tract marks of dry tears on your face. He swallows and almost unconsciously takes your hand, smoothing his thumb over the back of your palm in a way that was meant to comfort him rather than you.

"I'm sorry." He opens his mouth again but he flounders for words. After a deep breath he continues. "We can't call Reagan. Because he won't do anything for us…"

You wait impatiently for him to explain.

"Sweetheart, if we called Reagan last night, he would have fucking laughed at us. It is step one down that slippery slope to the couple who cried wolf." He put a hand on your shoulder and looked you in the eye, "do you really think he would have done something?"

You think about it. If Ralph hadn't stopped you from calling him, what would you have said to Reagan?

I smelled exhaust fumes. Not an emergency, he would say.

I think he found us. What do you want me to do about it, too late now, he would ask.

We're in danger. I'll send a squad upstate, they should be there in 4 hours, he would joke.

"It was real," you insist. "I smelled fumes."

"I know. I believe you."

You squint at him threateningly and he doesn't give an inch. He doesn't seem like he's mocking you.

Ralph could be an asshole, but Reagan was infinitely worse. At least one of them gave a shit about your safety. The realization Ralph was right scared you more than anything. You were alone in this…

Well, alone together.

You sigh and bury your face in his neck. Your hair is tangled as shit and probably tickling his face, but your husband simply wraps you up in a tight embrace and holds you against him. It's all the apology you need.

END OF THE FIRST MONTH

Adjusting to your new life hit you like a sack of bricks early on a Monday morning. You woke up from a dream where you still lived in your tiny little apartment two minutes walk from everything. In a reality which felt more like a fever dream, Ralph was late for work, donning a tie and tweed jacket and kissing you goodbye for the day.

You never realized how much space there was in the new master bedroom. In the apartment, a queen sized bed nearly touched the walls and barely left room to creep around two night stands and a dresser, but in the new house you had room to lay on the floor and stretch, maybe put another piece of furniture in here like a bookshelf or something.

And the whole damn house was like that. You had an entire second floor to claim as your own! There is almost too much space… too much space for just the two of you.

God there's that thought again drifting into your mind unbidden, unfurling like a fern at the first droplet of sunshine. How many people does it take to turn a house into a home? Three should be plenty, your mind offers.

You busy yourself with measurements, regrouting the loose tiles in the kitchen floor, and scrubbing the blackened hell out of that downstairs bathroom. It seems to come to life beneath your hands and you can feel yourself getting excited to show guests the improvement.

The thoughts of turning your little twosome family into three persist over and over until you can't stand it any longer. Maybe it's finally time…

Ralph's late getting home by 5 minutes instead of 5 hours but he still looks tired. No mud tracks on his pants or hard set eyes. He's halfway up the stairs before you realize he's probably going to bed early.

"Hey!"

Ralph stops like it pains him. His head sags and his hold on the railing is tight like he'll fall if he lets go. The way he's wobbling he might. He is barely able to meet your eyes as he glances over his shoulder and when he does he simply grunts.

"I made dinner," you squeeze your hands together behind your back, "angel hair pasta and that sauce you love."

Ralph's eyes flicker in thought. "Be down in a second."

You wait nervously to see if he does come down. What if this is a bad idea? What if he doesn't take you seriously? Oh god what if he hates it, what if he calls you an idiot for even considering it?

Ralph does come back downstairs, hair wild from running his fingers through it. He seems to gain a small amount of energy while eating, not wanting to talk himself but asking how your day has been going.

You're definitely rambling right now. Ralph listens and listens, chuckling along but at some point he grows concerned and envelopes your hand with a worried expression on his face. "Jesus, I've never heard so many words come out of your mouth at once, it's like you're writing a dissertation over there. Are you OK, baby?"

You snap your mouth shut. God, you hadn't even come close to talk about kids for all your rambling. And then there was that weird smell…

Your blood runs cold as you recognize it. You lean a little closer to Ralph and he almost instinctively flinches away. If there's one thing you are sure of, one thing you could swear on god– Ralph Lamont has never flinched away from a kiss before. So he has something to hide. And that something has a sharp scent and explains his slow reactions and tired eyes better than anything else could.

"Have you… have you been drinking?"

It's the way he can't meet your eyes when you ask him. You know. It's beyond out of character, so much so that it's confusing and a little frightening for you.

A little drink here and there is, to you, to be expected especially considering the wealth of your new company. So why hide it? Is there something else he's not telling you?

You suddenly feel sick and too hot, ripping your hand away from his and getting up to leave the table.

He knows you get in your head sometimes and practically yells your name to stop you. "I'm… I don't know why I…"

Ralph sighs and buries his face into his hands, ashamed. All this suspense is twisting knots in your stomach. You sit back down gingerly, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down.

"Ralph," you warn, "you had better start explaining yourself right now before I lose it."

Ralph stares a hole into the table and worries his lip. The truth is he doesn't know what to say because he doesn't know why he did it. The students are easy, you are easy. Even in the toughest of times, at his lowest, he didn't drink so… what the fuck was coming over him?, he asked himself.

Something clicked. It rolled like fire in his belly given dry wood, smoking curling to the top of his throat and out of his ears. "They hate me."

"Who? Who hates you?"

"Everyone."

You looked him in the eye for the first time tonight and saw something dark looking in there. It makes you uneasy. "What makes you think they hate you, baby?"

Ralph's grip on his fork tightens until his knuckles are white before he gingerly sets the dishware down and deflates. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with a sardonic grin.

"You wouldn't understand… and how could you? You never leave the house." He looks at you and there's a growing instability rising in his movements. "You… you don't see it. It started out as little nothings that I could ignore because it didn't matter that they didn't like me: I was new.

"Then it became lots of these little nothings. Staring and whispering and hushed silences. Tip toeing language and poking and prodding and testing me and my limits and it just… it just… it never got better…"

Rumors. It dawned on you that his frustration seemed intimately familiar to you as you had had to change schools once or twice due to a few terrible rumors that snowballed and got way out of hand. And you can imagine the sort of rumors that accompany a man with little interest in making friends who has a wife nobody knows anything about.

If you wanted to stay here long, you would need to change a few minds. You set aside your fear for a moment and make him look at you. You can see the unshed tears in his eyes and feel pity for him.

"I want to do that dinner party," you announce. "With all that's gone on, you probably didn't have the grand introduction you deserve. Let me show them how much you mean to me."

Ralph's shaking his head but he already knows you'll win this fight. For him it feels like begging for something he doesn't even want. He agrees because he already promised you could when you were ready and you needed to find new friends asap.

His sleep that night is fitful and the room's shadows seem to reach out like claws seeking his immortal soul. When the haze of whiskey finally dies down in his system he sleeps dreamless and wakes to feel somehow more hollow with despair than before.

Ralph Lamont has the distinct feeling things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before anything gets better…

@werwulfy @fundamentally-lazy @escape-your-grape @mimiscappinisideblog @go-commander-kim

#three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒#ralph lamont x reader #alex brightman #ralph lamont #black reader insert #1980s au #haunted house au

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years

Note

“You’re such a dork.” for the emotional writing prompts! I don't know anything about critical role, really, so for TMA :)

I spy, with my little eye, Bryce’s attempts to shove her own interests into her fics. Anyways, I am an American in college so I was basing this on my own experiences oops. Enjoy!

Date night was Wednesday evenings. Jon and Martin both found it preferable for a variety of reasons; it was the most likely nights for happy hours at the pubs in town, guaranteeing a cheap drink, and keeping to a weekday night minimized the chance of Jon seeing one of his students out. He hated seeing his students. Not that he hated them of course, he really rather liked them…not that they would ever know that. Being a professor, of parapsychology of all things, was rather rewarding. He knew the content inside and out (it felt good, using the mark of The Eye to actively work against it, to pass along information instead of consuming). And they didn’t seem to mind him either.

That was the thing about university students. They really didn’t care about who he was or where he came from. The fact that he was a scrawny, scarred Englishman in a lecture hall in Scotland didn’t matter to them. In the classroom, all they cared was whether he taught the material well (he did) and was kind to those with late assignments (he was. He had been a university student once too; he remembered the anxiety and depression that took him and his mates in waves). He was a good professor; Jon knew that objectively in the marks his students received. But in the subjective? His student had decided they liked him.

This had dawned on him at the end of his first semester; when he was inundated with emails of sincere thank-you for a great semester, for being such a helpful teacher, for taking the time to help review, et cetera. Martin had grinned at him, poking a tongue out his mouth and making some remark about teacher’s pets coming full circle (Jon was never a teacher’s pet though. He had always asked too many questions. He welcomed those questions with open arms now, to be the teacher he hadn’t had.)

The next semester it had been more obvious that students liked him now that he knew where to look. It was in the open “good-mornings” and questions about his weekend plans, and in the fact that he had the best attendance records of his department. It was in the way they asked genuine questions about his material and the waitlists miles long to get into his sections. Later on, it was in the gentle ribbings about his looking tired and the grey hairs even as they celebrated his fortieth birthday with him, bringing in cupcakes and sneaking in between lectures to decorate his office and the sincere questions over his scars, his life, his relationship with Martin (his introductory lecture always featured Martin and Her Regency, their thick orange tabby). To make eight wonderful semesters short, he was familiar with his students, and they weren’t afraid to be familiar back. Which was wonderful in the classroom and all, but not when he was trying have a relaxing evening with his husband.

Which brings them back to Wednesdays. Wednesdays were the days least likely to have students out in town, he had learned from Dr. Kerrigan, the positive psych professor, because Thirsty Thursdays started off the weekend’s partying and drinking for the undergraduates. Wednesday was the day students, in theory, buckled down to finish homework and give themselves a free weekend.

So here they were, Martin in a collared shirt, printed with tiny flowers, and jeans, hair bleached white from the Lonely and curling softly at his temples; Jon in a slouchy ribbed turtleneck and high-waisted pants, his own thick curls half-piled atop his head. Jon was listening intently as Martin spoke animatedly, talking about his own day as a guidance counselor at the local primary school.

“…and I swear Jon, if it wasn’t bad enough that Kimmy has decided never to speak to Lawrence again, now Lawrence has confided in me that he is positively in love with her.”

“Did he say that verbatim? In love, I mean.”

“I mean, no, but he said he was willing to give her all his Squishmallows for a playdate. Squishmallows. That’s real eight-year-old commitment, right there.”

Jon barked out a laugh and put on a puppy-eyed expression, grinning all the while. “Martin Blackwood, do you hereby take Jonathan Sim’s stuffed animals, to have and to ho-”

A gentle swat to the knee with Martin’s shoe cut Jon off. “Oi! Respect my children. They may be fools but its not their faults their brains aren’t developed yet. And yes, I know, ‘they’re not developed ‘til twenty-five and you can argue that your students’ brains aren’t developed either.’ But it’s different. They’re babies.”

“And I’m the All-Knowing One,” Jon mused thoughtfully around a forkful of food, earning him another love-filled kick.

“Speaking of,” Martin pointed to Jon with his glass, eyeing him deliberately. “Midterms next week, yeah? How do you think it’ll go?”

Jon shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Alright, I hope. First exam went well but could’ve been better. I’m worried about Avonni, honestly, he’s nodded off a few times in class and I’m not confident he has someone to get the material from.”

“He has you.” A pointed, snow-white eyebrow.

“Right, but sometimes students don’t want to ask for notes because they think I’ll say no. Maybe I should email him. Speaking of email! Did I tell you what Suzanne sent out?”

“Oh no, what?”

They carried on like this through their meal and into dessert, and not for the first time Jon was struck by the sheer normalcy of it all. His greatest concerns were Suzanne’s passive-aggressive emails and his students, not the inevitable destruction of reality as they knew it to be. They were scarred, inside and out, everyone who had escaped The Magnus Institute was, but they were safe and free and happy. In defiance of everything that had happened to and because of them.

“Dr. Sims!”

Uh oh. Spoke too soon.

Bite of lava cake halfway to his mouth, Jon squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his eyes back in his head and willing there to be another professor with the surname Sims in the restaurant. When he opened his eyes, Martin was valiantly trying to suppress a smile as he eyed something, someone, over his head. Jon twisted awkwardly in his seat to see—

“Parker. What a surprise.” His voice was warm but carefully measured, and the dark-skinned boy waved, shit-eating grin on his face. “I have told you that you can call me Jon.”

“Yeah, I know, but you earned that doctorate! And “Doctor Jon” sounds awful, like you should have your own show or something.”

He hadn’t earned that doctorate, actually, but Martin’s expertise in lying and the disastrous apocalypse that had left everyone disoriented meant it had been easy to exaggerate some of Jon’s CV and manufacture a fake diploma.

“I do have my own show. Monday and Wednesday mornings, where I teach a bunch of caffeinated undergrads parapsychology,” Jon replied easily. “You’re welcome to tune in.” He liked Parker; he was a bit of a class clown, liked to ask off-topic questions or pretend to sneak a look at Jon’s answer sheets, but he was sharp and knew his stuff. Jon respected that. He reminded Jon of someone he dearly missed.

But Parker had already turned his attention to Martin, who was watching the interaction with mirth in his eyes. “Hello sir! I’m Parker McMichael, Jon’s favorite student.” Martin shook the extended hand and nodded in mock seriousness.

“Of course. Pleasure to finally meet you. Are you the one with the essay on ESP or the one on psychokinesis?”

“Neither,” Parker shook his head proudly, short dreads swaying gently with the movement. “The Validity and Continuity of Near-Death Experiences,” he made a mock marquee with his hands, arching curved fingers to indicate the title hanging in the air. “Researching any consistencies in near-death experiences stories, whether they’re legitimate, and what they mean if they are. But-” Parker shook his head and turned his attention back to Jon. “That’s not why I’m interrupting.” He took his phone out of pocket idly as he spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve come to settle a dispute among the 11 a.m. section.”

Oh no.

The Ceaseless Watcher whispered to him, unbidden, the dispute in question. Jon generally knew how to suppress the powers, and they were weaker than they had been, once upon a time, but when he’s caught off guard with the desire to know, to Know, it could still overtake him.

“This you?” A blurry screenshot of a Youtube video is shoved under his nose, a part of a text chain titled Sim’s Spoopy Spirits, captioned by many text bubbles expressing disbelief and objections and a variety of emojis. Jon took the phone and examined it, the truth already sure in his chest. Yes, that was him, dressed in his Jonny d’Ville costume, eyeliner streaked and eyes closed, mid-ballad. God, he wished he could be rid of those Youtube videos.

Jon’s gaping silence must have been enough of an answer for Parker because he whooped a little too loudly for the restaurant they were in and pumped his fist to his chest before typing very quickly on his phone. “I knew it! Take that Sabina,” he was mumbling to himself, lost in his texts for a moment.

Martin took the opportunity to clear his throat. “Sorry, uh, no one’s asked so I will. How did you know to look for him-us-here?” Jon frowned, He hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh, a couple of my mates work here and mentioned seeing Dr. Sims and his husband here a lot on Wednesdays and I dunno about you so much, but Dr. Sims is pretty habitual. Figured it was as good a guess as any. Some things can’t wait til Monday.”

“..an email. Parker. You could’ve sent me an email.” Fingers ran over scarred face, as if he could wipe the irritation (and Martin’s poorly-hidden laugh) from existence.

“But then I couldn’t do this.” His phone was back up again, level with his own face and he twisted so both his own and Jon’s faces were in the shot. “I’m here at 7:02 pm on Wednesday the 26, here to make a very important announcement,” Parker spoke to the camera with confidence. “Dr. Sims just confirmed to me that he is the one, the only, Jonny d’Ville.” Parker held the camera to Jon’s voice. “Anything to say to your adoring fans?”

Jon sighed and tugged on an errant curl. “Don’t forget, reading due Monday.” He wasn’t genuinely upset with Parker, just filled with fond embarrassment.

Parker sent the video off and clapped the back of Jon’s chair. “Well, Dr. D’Ville, its been a pleasure. Everyone’s really excited to get a confirmation on your status of coolest teacher. Any plans for the evening?”

Jon sighed through his lower lip, stray curls framing his scalp flying upward in the sudden burst of wind. “Watching a documentary and trying to forget—wait. What?”

“Oh yeah no, everyone thinks it’s badass. You’ve got a super nice voice and the stories you told were really interesting, if a little buckwild.”

Jon felt his cheeks flush and Martin grinned slyly at him from across the table. “Y-Yes. I guess we were rather good.”

Parker gave his farewells and Jon’s shoulders sagged (he had immediately righted his posture on seeing Parker, his grandmother’s voice in his ear reminding him of his manners), turning his full attention back to his husband. Martin had maintained that grin and was eyeing him intensely, like he expected Jon to say something.

“What, Martin?”

“God, you’re such a dork.” The words were soft, expression fond, and Jon could feel the radiation of unadulterated love Martin gave off in his smile, the one only ever used for Jon. “You really love your students, don’t you? You know how much they love you, right?”

Jon grumbled, but he couldn’t quite sweep the smile off his face either as their waiter made his way over with their check.

“No comment. But we are switching to Tuesday date nights.”

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #prompts #date night #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fanfic to a tea

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topsytervy · 4 years

Text

Book Lovers ~ Pope Heyward

Blurb: You have a crush on Pope and Pope has a crush on you. Your love for books brings you together.

Word Count: 3,376

Warnings: swearing, poorly written towards the end cause I'm bad at ending writings, probably spelling/grammar errors, I think thats it.

I started writing this as a whole bond over books thing and then it kind of got away from that a bit but not really I don't think.

Also, the way i was going back and forth between writing this and something Calum Hood related cause its his birthday and I love him was insane.

~~~~~~

You sat on the beach on a towel, a book in hand as the sounds of screams and waves filled the air.

Not too far away sat Pope, staring at you as JJ, John B and Kie surfed. He watched as you brushed some hair behind your ear before turning the page, completely engrossed by whatever it was you were reading.

"Are you serious?" Pope jumped as his head swiveled to look at the voice that spoke.

Kie stood there, surfboard under her arm with an eyebrow raised, the two other boys behind her.

"What?" Pope shrugged, acting as casual as he could.

"Really? Playing dumb Pope? Thats JJ's job." She answered, setting down her board and sitting next to him.

"I take some offense to that, Kie." JJ told her which only caused the curly-haired girl to roll her eyes.

"Just go talk to her, Pope."

Pope widened his eyes. "Are you crazy, Kie?"

"If talking to someone you like is crazy then have me committed but last time I checked it was normal."

"What would I even talk to her about?"

"Oh, I don't know. She's only reading a book. Gosh if only you read." Kie told him, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Pope sighed before getting up.

"Go get 'em, tiger." John B grinned as him and JJ took a seat next to Kie, watching as Pope made his way over.

He was about halfway to you before he turned around and walked back, shaking his head. "I can't do it. It's rude to interrupt someone's reading ya know. That and Toppers walking towards her."

JJ scoffed. "Really, man. Toppers got nothing on you. Besides, I'm pretty sure they're just friends."

"Oh quite the opposite, JJ. He's got money and a way nicer boat."

John B shot Pope a look. "How dare you insult the HMS Pogue like that."

"You know what I mean. He can buy her literally anything she asks for."

"Okay. So he's got money and a nice boat. That means he's trying to compensate for something. Any guesses as to what that is?" Kie stared at Pope.

JJ grinned, deciding to answer for his best friend. "His di-"

"Personality, JJ" Kie cut off the blonde. "What he lacks in personality, he makes up for with money. Topper is boring as hell. He doesn't know the meaning of excitement and adventure. You do. I'm sure you have way more in common with her than Topper does."

Pope took one last look at you, book open but ignored as Topper chatted with you. You just smiled and nodded before standing up and gathering your things, waving a small goodbye to Topper as you did.

You glanced over and saw the Pogues watching you so you brought up your hand and sent them a small wave, blushing when Pope smiled and waved back at you.

The next time Pope saw you was at the library. He was getting a couple of books for a paper he had to write and you were there, scanning the shelves, trying to figure out what book you wanted to read next.

Pope had looked over and froze when he saw you just a few feet away from him, fingers ghosting over the spines of books as you read the titles.

You had agreed to ride with Kelce to the library considering he needed a specific book to read and you needed a new book to read. You chewed on your lip, focusing on each one before pulling one out that caught your eye, reading the blurb before ultimately deciding that you didn’t want to read that one now.

Pope took a deep breath before scanning the titles himself, attempting to find one that he had already read that he thought you would enjoy. He finally found one and grabbed it, walking over to you.

"Having troubles?" He asked.

You jumped slightly before looking at him. "Little bit. It's hard to find which one to read next, ya know."

Pope nodded before handing you the book. "You might like this one. I read it and could hardly put it down. It's definitely on my list of books to own."

You took it with a smile. "Thanks."

"It's no biggie." Pope shrugged.

You smiled again before walking backwards towards the checkout counter. "I'll see you around, Pope."

Pope grinned at the fact that you knew his name. "I hope so, Y/N."

You blushed slightly before turning around, meeting up with Kelce who immediately noticed your reddened cheeks.

"What's going on over here, Y/N/N?" He asked, pointing to his own cheeks.

"Nothing." You mumbled, placing your book and library card on the counter.

Kelce looked around, trying to spot who was making his best friend blush before shrugging.

Later that night, you and Kelce were sitting on his living room floor with Rafe and Topper, a board game set out in front of the boys as you read your book and listened to their conversation.

"Topper, St.Louis is not the capital of Illinois." Rafe said for what felt like the hundredth time.

"What are you talking about? Yes it is!"

Kelce took a deep breath before looking at Topper. "Top, sweetie, if you think St.Louis is the capital of Illinois, then what's the capital of Missouri?"

"Boise?"

You peered over your book with a blank look on your face, Kelce and Rafe having the same look on theirs.

"Come on guys, you know I'm bad at geography." Topper whined.

"I think," Rafe started, looking at Kelce, "We need to bust out that Sequence state capital game from second grade."

"I think I lost a brain cell during this conversation," Kelce rubbed his temples.

"Good thing you're not playing fucking jeopardy or you'd really be screwed, Top." You said.

Topper turned his attention to you. "Not all of us are book smart, Y/L/N." Topper leaned over to look at the page before squinting. "Whatcha reading that's better than playing a game with us, anyway?"

You held up the book enough so they could read the title and Rafe raised an eyebrow. "Where'd ya find that one?"

"Someone recommended it to me." You blushed a little at the interaction with Pope earlier that day.

"Oh ho ho. That is the same blush you had at the library. You like this person." Kelce pointed.

"Shut up, Kelc."

"Wait. She was blushing? Oh snap."

"Spill the name, Y/N."

You rolled your eyes at your friends before replying. "I don't have to tell you three anything."

"Come on. If you're not gonna tell us then how will we tease you?" Rafe whined.

"That's exactly why I'm not gonna tell you. You'll just tease me and then whenever he's around, you'll act all juvenile."

Topper looked at the two boys before turning towards you. "If we promise that we will keep the teasing to a minimum when he's not around and that we act mature about this, will you tell us?"

You bit your lip before hesitantly nodding. Rafe, Topper and Kelce's eyes widened, eager to hear the name about to come out of your mouth.

You sighed, bookmarking your page. "His name is Marcel. He wears glasses and wears a sweater vest. A bit on the awkward side but very sweet."

Kelce and Topper shot each other confused glances, never having heard that name before. Rafe, on the other hand, cocked his head to the side with an unamused look and a 'really'.

"You know this Marcel, Cameron?" Topper asked.

"Yeah. If you watch the Best Song Ever music video, you'll meet him. I do have two sisters, remember." He answered.

You shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"Come on, Y/L/N. Just give us the name."

You held up your hands in surrender. "Okay, okay." Your three friends leaned forward, staying quiet with raised eyebrows. "Pope Heyward."

"Oh my God," Topper breathed.

"Can we not do the usual 'traitor' bullshit please? I feel like my mom is already going to have a fit."

"What makes you think we'd do that?"

You shot each of them a look before standing up. "I gotta get going. You guys have fun and Topper," you looked at the blonde, "learn your damn capitals."

And then you were out the door.

****

Pope walked into The Wreck a few days later and spotted you in the corner, book in hand while you ate your food. Pope was so focused on you that he didn't even notice Kie appear next to him with a water pitcher in her hand.

"You gonna stand there all day or you gonna sit down with her and start up a conversation."

Pope whipped his head to look at his friend before shrugging. "I guess I could but sh-"

"She's reading and its rude to interrupt someone whos reading. I know." Kie rolled her eyes before walking over to your table.

He saw you smile at Kie and greet her before nodding. You looked past Kie and saw Pope. You grinned and waved him over which Pope happily did, taking a seat across from you.

"Want anything Pope?" Kie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just get me the usual."

Kie smiled before walking away towards the back.

"I finished that book you recommended to me last night and I was speechless. The ending was...wow." You leaned back in your chair, taking a drink of water.

"I know right. That book made me want to read all his other works and they're all just so amazing." Pope grinned.

"His writing is so poetic that I was surprised I wasn't reading an actual poem."

"Exactly. He's such a good writer."

You two talked for hours about different authors and books you guys liked, eventually both of you started writing down names of books and authors for the other to check out.

"How long have they been like that?" John B asked, JJ sitting beside him along with the kook boys who joined them unexpectedly with no hassle whatsoever.

"Lets see. You five have been here for 45 minutes to an hour, Pope showed up a couple of hours before you. So...almost four." Kie smiled before scurrying off to wait on another table.

"Four what? Hours?" JJ asked.

"Yes, dumbass." Rafe rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the table where you sat with Pope.

"They both look so happy." Topper commented.

"Because they are. They're in love." Kelce sighed with a dopey smile on his face, resting his head against his hand.

"Aren't they a little young for love?" John B raised an eyebrow.

Kelce shot him a look which caused John B to raise his hand in surrender.

"What do you think they're talking about?"

"They're both nerds. Take a guess."

JJ opened his mouth to object, offended on behalf of his best friend but John B stopped him. "No, no. He has a point."

You glanced at your watch before standing up, saying something to Pope who nodded, handing each other your phones.

JJ smirked. "My boy is getting some." Rafe, Kelce, and Topper all turned to look at JJ, unamused with his words. "Or not."

*****

Pope shook his head. "No way. That is one of the dumbest and most cliche tropes ever."

It was a week later and you and Pope sat at The Wreck again, having a conversation about whatever you recently read and now, apparently, your favorite and least favorite tropes.

"I have to disagree. Enemies to lovers has my heart." You responded, taking a bite out of your burger after you spoke.

"One bed and they have to share reigns supreme." Pope popped a fry into his mouth like that was the end of discussion.

You held up your finger as you finished chewing before swallowing. "You have to have some love for the enemies to lovers trope then because a lot of enemies to lovers involve sharing a bed." You pointed out.

"What about friends to lovers? Hmm? Hmmm? That right there is practically gold and bed sharing comes into play."

You rolled your eyes. "At some point, a friend likes another. I can tell you in confidence that I had a crush on Topper, Kelce, and Rafe at some point in our friendship. It was bound to happen because we hang out so much. Enemies to lovers though? Who willingly hangs out with their enemy? No one."

Pope laughed. "Alright. Sure. Whatever."

"Don't whatever me Pope. I'm right and you know I am." You laughed.

Pope held his hands up in surrender. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Kiara walked over to your table and you smiled. "Lets ask Kie."

"Ask me what?" Her eyes darted between you and Pope.

Pope turned to Kie. "I want you to be honest with me, Kie. Which trope is better? Best friends to lovers or enemies to lovers."

Kie blinked slowly as she spoke. "I was just coming here to ask if you need refills or anything else."

"This is more important. Best friends to lovers or enemies to lovers?"

You both looked at the girl expectedly and she shrugged. "I'm more of a fake dating girl myself so neither."

"Or both." You raised your eyebrows.

"True. Enemies could fake date or friends could. Sounds like a both thing for me."

Kie just turned and walked away, shaking her head with a small smile.

Your phone dinged and you looked down, seeing a text from your mom. "Thats my mother paging me." You sighed as you stood up. "This has been a fun date, Pope."

"Date?"

You felt your face heat up from embarrassment."Oh, was this...not- I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry."

"No, it was. I just didn't think you'd think of it as one." Pope quickly said.

You smiled before kissing his cheek. "I'll talk to you later then.'

Pope blushed as he watched you walk away, paying for your half of the meal before exiting the building.

****

It's been a month since you and Pope became official. A lot of your dates were either study dates, beach dates, or dates that consisted of you two eating at The Wreck while discussing anything under the sun.

Pope was kind of scared when you asked him what he wanted to do for a living, considering everyone else thought it was weird but you were supportive.

"That's cool."

Popes eyes widened in shock at your words. "Really? No 'why would you choose a coroner' or 'why the hell would you wanna work with dead bodies'?"

You shrugged as you stole one of the fries from his plate. "I think it's cool. It's a job not many people want but it's an important one."

That was probably when Pope knew that he was in deep with you. The fact that you didn't judge the things he was passionate about and what he wanted to do. That just made him fall for you more and let him know that you were the perfect girl for him.

Now here you were, spending the weekend together in the best way.

You sat in Pope's living room, okay laid in Pope's living room, watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Pope had the house all to himself for the weekend and invited you over for a Harry Potter movie marathon since you two just finished rereading the entire series.

So here you were, curled into your boyfriend's side with his arm draped over your shoulders, holding you closer if that was even possible.

You sighed as Alan Rickman appeared on the screen. "I miss him."

Pope kissed the top of your head as he rubbed your arm. "I know, sweetheart. You say that everytime he pops up on screen."

"I can't help it. He was just such a good soul."

Pope smiled, twirling some of your hair around his finger. He loved listening to you talk about things and people you were passionate about. The smile on your face whenever someone, usually him, brought up one of those topics was worth it and he could listen to your voice for hours on end, which usually happened when a topic of interest was brought up.

"Are you even listening to me?" You'd ask, tapping his wrist.

"Every word."

You'd lean back and cross your arms, a smirk on your face as you raised one of your eyebrows. "Oh really?"

He'd nod before speaking. "You were saying how you think iced coffee is better than regular hot coffee."

You'd make an impressed face. "Are you going to say anything at any point in this conversation."

He'd pretend to think about it before shaking his head. "I'm good."

You'd roll your eyes before purposely bringing up a topic that would cause him to talk some because just like him, you were obsessed with seeing his smile when he was interested in a topic and hearing his voice.

"Pope, did you hear me?"

Pope blinked before shaking his head. "No. Sorry. I was spacing this time."

"I asked if you wanted to make stir fry tonight?" You laughed lightly at the space cadet you called a boyfriend.

Pope smiled and nodded. "Sounds great. I'll ask dad if we can raid the store for whatever we don't have."

You both pulled out your phones, you to get the recipe and Pope to ask his dad if it was okay to take whatever was needed for dinner.

You walked into the kitchen and started pulling out whatever you could find that was needed for the stir fry before writing down on a notepad what was left.

"We got the go ahead." Pope told you and you held up the notepad.

"Then let's go on an adventure."

You two paused the movie and made your way down the street towards Heywards hand in hand.

"Have you ever seen the Percy Jackson movies?" You asked, genuinely curious if Pope had or not. Pope shook his head and you let out a laugh. "Oh boy. We might have to take a break from good ol' HP so you can watch them."

"Why?" Pope swung your arms as looked at you.

"You might find them...interesting. That's all." You shrugged.

"Are they good?"

You smiled up at him as you leaned your head on his arm. "You'll have to see."

Normally, you wouldn't recommend watching the movies to anyone but when it came to Pope, you wanted him to see it. You wanted to see him rant about all the differences and how bad this adaptation was. You wanted to see him get all flustered at the smallest details that the movies got wrong and complain about how this doesn't do the books any justice.

"Are you setting me up?" A small smile sat on Pope's lips.

You placed a hand to your heart. "Ouch Pope. That stings."

He just laughed before kissing your temple as you approached Heywards. Pope unlocked the door and you followed him inside, picking up the rest of your ingredients before walking over to the counter and pulling a 20 out of your pocket, sliding it under one of the boxes for Mr.Heyward to find.

"Really? You know my dad loves you right? Like you don't have to pay him for this stuff. He gave us the okay." Pope said.

You shrugged. "It's fine and it's only right. I mean, I'm taking things from his store. The least I can do is pay him." You turned to the security camera and waved before pointing to the box the cash was under and doing the hand signal for money.

"You do know he cant check the system from his phone right?"

"Yeah but if he plays it back, he'll know and no one else will see the footage." You smiled before turning back to your boyfriend. "Ready?" You asked as you placed your things in a bag.

Pope grabbed your hand and the bag as he nodded. "Lets get cooking."

You laughed as you followed him back outside, waiting for him to lock the door before beginning the short journey back to his, the pair of you thinking about how lucky you were to have someone like the other.

~~~~~~

#pope obx #pope heyward #pope outer banks #pope x reader

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impulsivelycontentious · 3 years

Text

Here is a love story for you.

Content warnings include assholes, references to people doing shitty things (but not to people they love), pregnancy and menses, alcohol consumption.

Today I woke up and my brain aligned creative. So here, have a love story, internet.

Once upon a time, there were two people who were very, very good at making poor decisions.

They were clever, and sharp. Foolish, and unwise. Full of prickles and edges. Warm and cold. Loyal and fair. Cruel and unkind.

They had already loved unwisely. More than once. They were difficult to like when one spent more than a few hours in their company. Their words were quick and honest, and their honesty was full of disappointment and lowered expectation and viciousness. They made foolish friends of those who could tolerate them, and those friends were not always good people. Neither were they.

These two were an unexpected mirror. An impossible twinning. They were more alike than not and there wasn't another either had ever found like themselves. They lived continents apart. They should never have met.

It isn't necessary for a man and a woman to be in a love story, but this one happens to have the one and the other. It’s a story that a woman tells about when she met a man, and however much of it is true is anyone’s guess.

Her friends had plans for her. There was a pregnant woman in another country, and time was ticking. They wanted to keep someone who would look after their children and do as they asked. Someone who would care for them, as care for people was just something she did. Just a few, mind. She would make an excellent nanny.

They planned to leave to be with the pregnant woman, but they had no desire to leave her behind. The child was going to come one way or another. Best have help with it.

They were seeing her when they met him.

And so when they met him, they were excited.

He spoke the way their friend spoke. His quick tongue lashed those he did not care for, and he cared for very few. He said the same sort of words she did. Moved the same way she did. Drank like she did. He was mean-spirited. He was delightful. He was what they needed.

And so, when they returned from traveling, they made plans.

They got her very drunk - an expensive task that did require planning and one which she did not object to - and set up a video call with their new friend.

They told her nothing and sat her in front of a computer, where she saw this man she did not know and immediately ducked behind one of the bottles she had been drinking.

It was empty. It hid nothing. She didn't notice.

But there are quirks in these two. They believed in fairness, you see. Equity of position. Perhaps what they considered fair may not always be what others agreed with - 'you started it so I may do as I please' is not, for example, something most would consider fair - but it was there.

And so he felt that he should not be speaking with a drunk woman sober. Partly because he felt he should also be allowed to drink, it is true. But the other part was that you do not meet new people drunk while you are sober. The advantage is wrong. And his heart had panged when she had ducked behind this bottle, being foolish and somehow sweet.

And so they drank, and they talked. They laughed. They quipped. They discussed how best to insult people and the uses of frozen mice from a pet shop in punishing those who offended. They talked of things past and foolish things to come. The night vanished, as did several more bottles.

And then his workday began, and she went to bed. He sobered up while he typed, and she vomited where she shouldn't and forgot about it.

They did not speak for two weeks.

He liked her. A lot. She never did know exactly what it was that he liked so much even when she would ask years later - though he said he knew when she laid out detailed plans involving letterboxes and things one should not put in them but could that he was romantically invested. It was love at first meeting. He would not push her, however. The story has not gone that far and he did not know it’s outcome. She might disappear if he did.

She did not know how to approach people and though she had enjoyed the conversation she was not at all sure of continuing it. She did not like people. New people especially. A good conversation does not guarantee anything about a person. And so she did not. It was simpler to continue as things were - she did not like change. Her friends asked them both about it and they each confessed they had done nothing to the friend’s great disappointment.

And so this pregnant woman took it upon herself to bring them together again. She invited her to a video call with him already present, and then dropped the call.

This was not appreciated. At all. She did not like people. But, she was there. He was there. This was not a situation she was entirely sure how to deal with and they had spoken well enough that she had no desire to be rude. They may as well speak.

So they did.

He was permitted to use chat and video (though not speak) during his work hours as his job only demanded that he met his goals and that he did regardless of all else.

Somehow there was always a new topic to address, a segway to a new thought that must be explored. So they spoke all day.

And then he called her when he got home. And she answered. There were unfinished topics to discuss.

She answered the next morning and afternoon too.

And then she called him the morning after.

So their days went. The call was left open. They spoke to each other as and when the mood struck, and it struck often. Between the actions of living, there were always words for each other. A thought, a concept. A memory.

They spoke about many things. Their pasts. Their futures. The things they knew and the things they did not. Games and academics, religion and philosophy, psychology and biology.

There was nothing beyond the scope of their words.

He had been speaking to her a week when he was told she hated smoking and would never date a smoker. He threw away a full pack. There wasn't even a last smoke.

The pregnant woman asked her to sing for her over the camera, and because she was pregnant, the young woman did sing. Only to find another person in the call who had not been invited and had not known what was going to happen. He had muted the call so he would not hear anything she had not consented to. Her voice wasn’t unpleasant but it was not special either and she would not sing just because she was asked.

She sang for him another time, though.

She knew the nature of his interest was romantic after that first week. Her friends did love to talk. She did not know the nature of her own interest, however. She knew only that she enjoyed his company.

When he proposed to her a month after they met, it was both a shock and not a shock. She knew. And yet, it was quite the leap to go from "I like you" to "marry me", and he had never told her he liked her. Indeed, he still had not.

She said she wouldn't be leaving her country so there was no point in asking. She did not say "no".

Understand that many people will not say no when they mean no. They will redirect the conversations to avoid confrontation. This woman was not one of them. This woman had already related the various ways she knew to let men down fast and hard with a laugh - because she had learned that letting a man down gently just made him more persistent and creepy, and so had taken it upon herself to see how quickly she could put an end to it. She had it down to one look, a laugh, and two words. She wasn't even especially pretty, but that didn't stop people. Maybe they thought not being pretty she would enjoy the attention. She did not.

Anyway, this was a woman to whom "no" was an easy word, rejection a simple thing. Had she meant it, she would have used it. She did not. She did not notice this. He did.

And so they continued their daily conversations and games. They laughed together, and he met the family she had warned him against. They met the man she talked to constantly. He was amused. They were not. This was as it should be.

A month later, he asked again. "Marry me?" And her response was the same. She had no desire to leave her home. She would not.

"I…" he began.

"Don't." She interrupted. So he didn't.

They talked about everything. The crimes they had been caught committing. The ones they hadn't. Their family's worst secrets, their own worst personality quirks and behaviors. The things about themselves that would not be changing and could be difficult to live with. The truth, bald and bare and open for inspection.

It was accepted. Why judge poorly when one had done no better at oneself? Past was prologue, future uninteresting. Now was acceptable.

She didn't know how she felt about him then. She knew she liked him. She knew she didn't mind that he asked her for things she wasn't willing to give. He made no demands. That was more than she had for most. Maybe that she did not mind should have told her something but it did not. Maybe that she had chased away everyone else who had tried to say the same words but two others who came before or asked the same question bar none should have told her something. But it did not, either.

Things continued as before.

So it came to a time she dreaded. Her relationship with her family was poor, but not nonexistent, and they required her aid. They would pay in alcohol and that was good. It had been nearly three months since their introduction, and for the first time, she would be out of contact for two days.

She helped her parents set up and run a social/activity camp on a farm. She had done so every year since they began. Her tolerance for alcohol was excessive and getting her favorite in a strength she liked far outside of her usual financial reach. And so she oversaw the packing of the truck, assemble tents, arranged artfully the lounging areas, corralled attendees, and later, she watched the children in the playground. The latter suited her well as she did not care for adults, but children were simple and manageable - one need only address them as adults and be fair and consistent. It worked for her.

It was a long weekend. She missed him incessantly. She lost patience with the drinking companion who insisted on trying to keep up quite quickly which was just as well as he needed to be taken to his tend and tucked in early too. He made poor life choices. Someone dislocated a finger fighting with swords. He made poor life choices too and had an abysmal grip. She considered exactly how she would relate these stories to him. Each thing that happened had her framing what she would say to him, words ready to be spoken. But he was not there. And she could not tell him.

She wondered if this was love, then. Was it? Wanting to speak with someone all the time. Be with them. Share all that was on her mind and hear all that was on his. Hear his opinion on the events and people that moved around her now. Would she also like to kiss him? Maybe. Maybe she would. It was not the first time she had considered it. But was that a passing impulse born of wondering if this was a romantic relationship? She didn't actually know. She wondered. And she missed him. She grew terrified of what would happen if she did not love him the way he loved her. She did not want to lose him. And yet she wouldn't offer him anything she couldn't give. That would be unnecessarily cruel. What would happen if he did say something more than the question she had avoided? What would she say in return? Wanting someone - even needing someone - is not the same as loving someone.

She didn't know.

But she hurried home at the end. She disassembled and cleaned and helped load the truck but then instead of traveling with it to unpack it at the other end she begged a ride from someone leaving much sooner who also had someone back home they wanted to see, too.

They laughed about their own silliness on their way back, but drove quickly. They spoke about the people they wanted to see. The driver married that someone eventually. But that wasn’t now.

He was waiting when she got home. He knew she would come as soon as she might. They talked of the weekend until he got home and they were both alone.

And then his voice changed, and she knew that what she feared was here. Because he was going to say something that changed things.

And he did. "I.." he began.

"Don't," She panicked.

This time though, they had been apart for two days and he knew this was what he wanted. He respected her and he did not want to push but he needed to tell her. He needed to know.

She knew. Of course she knew. He knew she knew. She knew he knew she knew. But when he said it she would need to say something. And what she would say she did not know. It would change things, whatever it was, and she did not like change.

He said it because for him, change had already come. "... Love you."

Oh.

That was… different. Knowing was different from hearing. It was pain in the center of her chest, and tears in her eyes. Her body reacted before her mind understood. It flowed through her confusion and out of her mouth.

"I love you, too." She said. It hurt. When it came out it hurt. It forced it's way out of her and she didn't even know if it was the truth then. But she couldn't have said anything else. It was impossible. There was no other thing she could do. Holding it in would have hurt more.

"Marry me?" He asked her.

She said yes.

It's been 14 years since then. They live together in a house they only have because of a person who did them a kindness, far from her country, with their school-aged child who is kind and loves people. They have few friends. The ones they had then ended up being unable to travel as they wished and lost their 'nanny' once the two of them were together and saw how the other was treated by their ‘friends' and would not stand for it. It was for the best for them.

It wasn't all set, back then. 14 years ago. He came to stay with her for a few weeks over a Christmas, wherein they discovered if her cat liked him, and if all was harmonious in the areas two cannot explore while they are far apart from each other. They found they were, indeed, very much to each other's liking - in fact much self-control was required not to find that out too soon, and in places wholly inappropriate.

Then she went to stay with him, and they found out if they could live together. They cooked back to back in a tiny kitchen, and played games each morning together before he went to work. They fit together in to the bed that was far too small for two people.

She spent 89 days there.

They filed the paperwork. And a Christmas later, they married. He declared his love in flowery terms. She said "you are mine," and meant it more than she knew and in ways he took a long time to understand.

Things have not always gone their way since. One cannot expect it will with the world as it is. Her health failed. She won't be living in to old age. He works a job he hates so he has health insurance that can keep her alive longer. It hurts his body and his heart.

But their arguments are few, and quiet. They are never cruel to each-other, even when they do argue. Words one cannot take back and may regret go unspoken. They do not remember mistakes in anger and do not keep score of favors done each other in unkindly felt moments. They are affectionate in their own ways - they are terribly embarrassing in public, in each other's arms and willing to kiss passionately, because he thrives on her affection and he is hers. So she will look after him.

They give each other alone time when needed, and trust that being alone is never a reflection of their relationship. Because she does not do well if she is around people all the time. Even him.

They do not get jealous and have their own separate friends and social lives. They possess each other's passwords and use them when the other forgets what on earth it is. This happens often.

They show each other the things they love, and coo over it with bright excited eyes. She lays on his lap on the sofa and they hold hands while they watch or read their own things. Near any request will be honored, and so they do not make them unless they must - or make very small ones as a small sign of affection. He has lied to her sometimes when he fears she might leave him if she realizes he is imperfect, and she lets him until she gets tired of it she tells him to stop and he remembers she knows everything anyway. She does not lie to him, except about expecting to retire together.

They conceived their child deliberately and accidentally. She was sick, so sick she vomited several times a day. She insisted she was not pregnant, but he still thought she was. He was so disappointed when she was right. And so he asked if a pregnancy would be such a terrible thing when she got better. She saw the sadness in him and said no, it wouldn't. They had always wanted children eventually. And so their child was conceived that week, much to the shock for this woman who had long known she should struggle with fertility. It had been three months since she had even bled. Life is like that sometimes. The pregnancy was awful. It was far worse than the illness had been and she lost a lot of weight. The child was healthy, though. And they love them.

They are kinder to others with each other. They will still say cruel true things, do cruel things, and enjoy it, but with more care to how well it is deserved. Fairness is a higher bar than it was 14 years ago. They are less angry, though still angry. Meet one alone and one might still wonder how on earth this person ever managed to be married - and happily in love, too - but meet the other and all is so very, very clear.

They shouldn't have met. But they did. And that is enough.

#love story #falling in love #happily ever after #only not really #short story #romance #writing #dumbass' perspective #modern setting #assholes in love #sometimes I can write #So I might as well #Everyone likes a fairytale #modern fairytale #if you had memory loss you might tell it this way too

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2013sharry · 7 years

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I don't know if you're taking requests or are writing but if you are can you write a harry imagine where he comes home and he's feeling really sick and is super sad and whimpering because his tummy doesn't feel good and he puked at the studio and he still isn't feeling good and you take care of him all night? Thanks lovely!

Hi!! I’m always down to take requests (even if I can’t get to them right away). You literally read my mind because I was looking for something new to write about so thanks for requesting!

The morning air blows through the window as you begin to stir. Your limbs are heavy, unwilling to move even as your mind slowly comes to consciousness. Under the blankets, you shiver at the cool air surrounding you and move to snuggle in closer to Harry. No matter the time of year, his body was warm and strong and perfect to cuddle up to.

An involuntary whine escapes you when your hand hits the mattress, prompting your eyes to open. The space next to you is empty, and from the feel of it, had been for a while now. Your bleary eyes register the clock stating its 8 am, and you wonder how early Harry had gotten out of here.

His schedule had been keeping him pretty busy lately but last night he’d assured you he was all yours for a long overdue date night. The two of you had spent the night laughing, drinking and enjoying each other’s company without the distraction of work for the first time in what felt like forever. His hands had roamed dangerously up your legs under the table at dinner and he’d practically ripped your dress off of you when you stepped across the threshold of the front door. Through a series of kisses of placed on any piece of your skin his mouth could find, he made promises of staying in bed like this all day tomorrow and your body tingled at the thought of it. Lazy mornings in with him were some of your favorites and as of recently they were far and few between. You huff pettily at the realization that you had missed out on yet another opportunity to have one.

Even though your eyes still beg for sleep, your brain is awake now, fueled by the annoyance you’re experiencing over your irritatingly overachieving boyfriend. You kick the blankets off and head to the kitchen to make yourself coffee, resigned to giving him some serious attitude when he came home that afternoon and daydreaming about the morning you could be having.

Only a few short hours later, the bang of the front door startles you. You aren’t expecting Harry to be back yet but you hear the unmistakable bustle of Harry trying to kick his boots off ring through the house. You strain your ears to pick up the familiar sounds of him bounding up the stairs to the bedroom, pout already placed on lips so he would know right away how frustrated you are. He’d crawl across the bed, drawling that he’d come home just to make it up to you. And he would. With kisses and your favorite baked good he picked up on the way home for you. And after you finally put him out of his misery, the two of you could finally get started on the lazy day in bed you were meant to have.

Except he doesn’t come and it makes you pout even more.

After a few minutes of waiting for him to come up and assuage your sour mood, you push yourself off the bed to find him yourself.

He’s groaning, loudly and you hear it before you can even fully make it down the stairs.

“Harry?” you call out to him. His response comes in the form of a groan that sounds very similar to your name. You follow the sound to the living room where you find him faced down, sprawled on the couch. His hair is sticking up like he’d been tugging on it and one of his boots was still haphazardly hanging from his toes.

His head turns just enough to catch your puzzled glance. He offers an explanation before you get a chance to ask. “M’stomach hurts,” he all but whines as you take the place next to him. He scoots up so he can rest his head in your lap and taps at your fingers, signaling you to slot them through his mass of curls. You oblige him, only because you can already feel the heat from him on your legs where he rests. And not the kind of warmth he usually radiates.

He whines in appreciation at the feel of your cool fingers against his forehead. “Are you sick?” His head nods against your legs in confirmation and he flips to his back. Facing you with his head still firmly in your lap, he looks absolutely miserable. “You threw up?” you ask, already knowing the answer from his hand that’s clutching what you imagine to be a very pained stomach and his pale face to match. He nods again, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

You can’t help but forget about how mad at him you’d been all day when he takes your hand in his and clutches it to his chest. “Take care o’me?” It pulls at your heart how he sad looks, like a little kid that just wants someone to make him feel better.

“Of course,” you answer and stand up with the intention of brewing him some tea, gently placing his head back down onto the couch cushion. He lets out a childish whine but you slide a pillow underneath and he sighs, content enough for the moment. “I’ll be right back.”

You make your way to the kitchen – and Harry’s special tea cabinet – to select the tea that promotes wellness, mulling over how he could’ve gotten sick so fast. Though if you’re being honest, you had definitely warned him about eating fish at any restaurant with the word “shack” in the name last night. He thought it was cute and insisted the food would be quality, and you don’t want to say you told him so when he’s feeling so poorly, but he’s sure to be singing a different tune right now.

When you bring the finished tea to him, he’s shirtless and halfway through yanking his tight pants off to manage with his fever. You make him sit up to drink his tea and he grumbles a bit before finally obliging you. As soon as he’s finished, his head falls back onto its place on your lap.

“Sorry I ruined your day,” he mumbles against your leg as you run your nails up and down his back in a soothing, scratching motion. You shush him, assuring him he’s not being a burden, though you sense he’s also apologizing for skipping out on your lazy day together.

Your fingers drag up his body to run through his scalp and he sighs at the soothing feel. Harry dozes off not too long after, and you’re left to flip through the channels, while running a comforting hand over him. It isn’t the day you’d hoped for but you’re grateful for the quiet moment you’re able to share anyway.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #request #thanks so much for requesting lovely!#blurbs

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