#and now I’m thinking ab incorporating this into a fic

[thischerik]

tag yourself xx

[narumika]

CONGRATS ON 500!!! you absolutely deserve it, your writing is incredible!!

if possible, i’d like to request an imagine/fic of an arcade date of kip (me!!) and idia shroud! hopefully there’s an open spot ^^

NOW FOR ALL THE DETAILS…. idk if the mbti stuff really matters but im an enfp and 2w3!! i use he/she pronouns ^^ i think i’m best described as enthusiastic, passionate, funny, and caring. i’m very easily excited and i always try my best to make other people laugh/have a good time :) i am also really talkative. i tend to go on rambles whenever i start talking ab stuff i like ;; in general i love having fun and its even better when the people im WITH are having fun too.

i’m assuming this is for outfits/vibes (HOPEFULLY IM NOT WRONG), but my style is … Kinda whatever i feel like!!! i love outfits with big statement pieces (think like really cool sweaters/jackets!) and then nice pants/shoes to go with it. i love the color orange so i try to incorporate it in what i wear too. (it makes me look goofy/like a traffic cone sometimes but ORANGE FOREVER) most of the time i prioritize comfort over look though! for an arcade i’d probably wear a fun jacket, boots, and just a black shirt and pants with a lot of accessorizing

my taste in music is mainly upbeat jpop/jrock!!! or just whatever is tied to my interest at the time!! but most of the time its jpop/jrock. the media i’m interested in is mostly videogames! my favorite genres are gacha games (mostly idol), rpg, and rhythm games. i love any good game/show where i can easily get attached to the characters. i am also a fan of animanga series.

i’m not sure if this would help but i’m gonna list a couple things i like :D i love cats, tea, coffee, sweet things, and cool looking rocks! i also collect stuff like plushies, merch, silly trinkets, and figurines

in the fic/imagine i’d just like to see me and idia having fun at the arcade!! whether it be winning stuffed animals at the crane machine (i am SO GOOD at crane machines i can win like 5-8 whenever i go), tryharding at rhythm games, blowing through arcade credits in whatever game we get focused on, getting enough tickets for a big prize, or just messing around!! and maybe getting ice cream after who knows. i want you to have fun with it so feel free to add/play around with what you include :)

HOPEFULLY THIS ISNT TOO LONG and thank you so much for taking the request! i hope you have a good day/night and congrats again on 500 :D

500 event!

contains: silly layout, idia shroud (worriedly), rhythm gamer idia, they are so in love, this turned out longer than expected i just like him a little

AMIA: TYSMM WAAAAA.. i am a idia shroud is a sweaty rhythm game player believer

you both played against each other in the empty arcade, he rented it out for the day as a date idea. he was busy playing a fighting game while you were tryharding at a rhythm game. he walked over after he finished and watched, before saying “i bet i could do this better than you.” and you looked at him with a look of excitement.

after you finished you took a picture of your score and moved back. he cracked his knuckles and slid the game card into the slot to start a new game. he chose a song and went absolutely insane on it. hands moving at 2000 mph, you were shocked at how fast he was moving.

after the song ended he took a picture of his score and you both compared your scores, and he beat you by a landslide. “i want a rematch. crane right now.” you said and he laughed, before saying “i accept! if you win i pay for the snacks, and if i win you pay.” he said as he dragged you to the crane games. it went the same as before, but with a switch of rules.

you keep going until you miss the prize completely within the turns you were given, and you went on forever. you were in the last lane of crane games, and he was started to get worried.

you had finally messed up at the second to last one, and he sighed in relief. “finally, my turn.” he got to the last crane game and decided to go from the last to the first, and hoped to any god out there listening he beat you. after each game he won, getting a prize each turn you got, the stuffed animals piled up. there was a pile of figures, weird accessories for your phones, stuffed animals, random gift cards, and other things at the side of the games.

he finally slipped up on the second to last game, cursing before hitting the machine. “guess we tied.” kip said, and idia nodded. “i guess so. you wanna get ice cream?” he asked while twirling his hair with his finger, it was a nervous habit of his. “yeah sure, let’s find a bag for these though.” she said and idia nodded. idia said “wait here, i’ll get us a few bags from the front.” before walking off and kip gave a thumbs up. after grabbing a few bags, he walked back to the crane area and saw kip on her phone, scrolling through magicam.

he put all of their prizes in bags, until he heard the sound of a camera and a small laugh. idia looked over and kip got up and walked over to him, taking a picture with him before holding his head and kissing his face. his face flushed and his hair went pink, a grin permanent on his face as he finished putting the prizes away.

she walked with him the a nearby ice cream parlor, hand in hand. idia carried half of the bags and he carried the other half, until they got the little ice cream shop. she gave the bags to him as he found a booth in the back and kip waited in line to order. after a few minutes she ordered and walked over to the booth idia was at. he held his hand and played with his fingers, making small jokes to pass the time. once her name was called she went up to get their sweets, carrying them back as quickly as he could. giving idia his usual order and quickly eating hers. “there’s something i wanted to give you, for our anniversary.”

kip looked at him and put her spoon down, wiping his mouth and sitting up. “what is it?” he asked, and idia gave him a bracelet with cute charms, before sliding a similar one on his wrist. “these made me think of us.” he said as he felt his face heat up, and kip smiled before putting it on. “it’s so cute! thank you!” he smiled and kissed her hand.

[formula-fun]

Ah! (lightbulb) we definitely have very different understandings of angst, or I was more thinking about relationship-wise because the current fic feels like the story of them coming together despite everything on themselves and between each other. And internal and external perception of gender roles, external expectations and judgment hahahaha is simply part of the “everything”. I definitely is not expecting fairytale happily ever after (not that my expectations should matter).

It’s not pretentious at all hahaha, maybe it’s just even though world-building is very important for me even in fanfic (I get stuck thinking about logistics a lot of the time) , I still looked past the heaviness of gender roles, expectations and judgement because it feels like something jumping on the back of their minds and the story constantly, but when I am way too focused on “how they are feeling” instead of “how they are going to make this work” it’s kind of shoved out the way.

Though now typing this out is really making it like I’m just ignoring the elephant in the room ha. I do really like the “huge fucking mess” though, besides the glorious horse metaphors, your way of writing and very smooth incorporation into personality and interactions make the underlying discussion so much more interesting. Like it’s a very important part of the story but not center-staged with neon flashing lights, instead has the constant lurking in the shadows air to it. It is technically heavy but both of them thrive on challenges don’t they!

Oh! Or maybe I have always associated the heaviness in the background for Max in the story with his father which is being counterproductive to him embracing himself, and Charles with embracing himself, this actually is the more specific version of “gender roles, expectations and judgement”.

Forgive me for thinking that even if the plot is trying to gender stereotypes into mush they could still get ostentatious diamond engagement rings hahahhahah, maybe it’s just me thinking this would be funny, especially during the time they would literally be facing media judgement about how the “omega wife” should be home with the child not out fucking f1 with his greatness. It could (or not) be in line with Charles change in dress style!

Sorry I pretty much just wrote down my very nonlinear thought process.

Happy Wednesday! (At least we are pull through half the week now right?)

Xxxxxxxxxooooooooooxxxxoo

Hi hi again!! mwah

Yeah I think that probably explains it!! i mean it'll probably all result in some tension in their relationship but you know...it'll be fine. idk. we'll have to wait and see!! once again i am answering your ask too early in the morning and dont have the braincells i am so sorry

i do completely get you about worldbuilding too, I tend to think about writing in a really mathematical/analytical way in terms of how people and relationships fit together so i know it's easy to get caught up in logistics!! theres a lot of worldbuilding cmoing up now for me as well though because the last chapter has to do with like how mating works vs how weddings work and things like that. like mating ceremonies were already mentioned and they're different than beta weddings, but im still working out what exactly they look like. Also how gender works for kids since gender and biological sex don't really have anything to do with each other in this universe? I think i've figured out what its going to be like but i dont know for sure yet. fun fun fun

but yeah anyway i like the way you put it because they themselves exist kind of in an internal relationship and that's where the story is being told, but everything else is an external pressure that's guiding them in certain ways or making them feel certain things. Without all of that they'd probably be fine, but there's a lot going on outside of just them and we're not so much seeing those things as we are seeing how it changes them as people. So 'how they're feeling' is really what the story is about, but it's all a direct result of those things that are lurking in the shadows.

and hashshahd i'll get back to you about diamond rings!! i guess it all depends on what exists in their bubble vs what exists in the external bubble!! at this point they're starting to prioritize only what makes them feel good and completely put aside things that please external forces (max finally told his dad he needed space, charles wants to court max, charles is exploring his own self-expression in ways that make him happy--all of these things directly contradict what other people expect or want from charles and max, but they're both doing them to make themselves feel happier or more secure, which in turn makes their relationship more secure), so going forward that will probably be what they continue to do. if they want to get beta married and throw a big celebration then they'll do it, but they probably won't do it just for the sake of appearances/to show off! it's more about doing what makes them happy

but also my brain was like melted the other day from this stupid academic paper about public vs private life and i think that is now unforutnately influencing this fic. the public/private life academic paper is an external pressure on my internal relationship with my own fic. this is why we cant have nice things

anyway sorry for this long ass answer, thank god its wednesday tho and i hope youre having a great week!!!! sorry if none of this makes any sense but please know i enjoy your questions so so so much <333

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

🤡, 🛒, ✨, 🍷

(curious ab the last one bc i definitely get tipsy and write dialogue blurbs lmao)

Haha I just sent you an ask! Answer under the cut:

🤡What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Honestly any time I try and include humour it’s literally just shit I think is funny even if it’s not funny to anyone else lmao. The main one I think of is my ending to Caretaking:

“Hey Rick,” cries Squanchy in a voice far too loud for the current hour of the morning. “Have you squanched my - ” he abruptly cuts himself off as he takes in the sight of his two bandmates curled up asleep together in Rick’s bed. 

“Thank the stars those two idiots finally just squanched and got it over with.” he mutters to himself as he makes a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Because I just love the mental image of awkward third wheel Squanchy seeing Rick and Birdperson in the same bed and being like ‘oh good they finally banged and now there won’t be so much awkward sexual tension all the time’

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Rick is always very sad and vulnerable lmao. I definitely like trying to tie in his backstory to things as well. I also like soft Rick and Morty interactions where they’re actually nice to each other and that is definitely a big part of my work. Also, there is always so much crying and people trying not to cry/to let the other person know they’re crying. I’m writing the trans Morty backstory fic and I feel like every other scene is Morty crying lol (justified because he’s an anxious teenager experiencing his first period and questioning his gender identity)

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

How could you do this to me? (joking)

Idk I guess I like to try and make my work fit into canon as much as possible (including referencing things from the comics) so I like to think that my writing is generally quite fleshed out in that regard? Obviously this doesn’t apply to all fics, shamefully enough I feel like my Rickcest fics are actually the ones this applies to most 😅

🍷 Do you drink and write?

I love that you write dialogue while drunk! Personally I don’t really drink (just in general) but I am a bit of a stoner (although I’ve never tried writing while high, maybe I’ll have to give a go one day!)

Thanks for asking! Excited to see your response!

[cafeaulater]

okay wait actually im dying to know about ‘Ofa Lahi Atu—you’re so great with building culture into the hxh world and i need to know what this title MEANS

Omg thank you! I really appreciate that you think I do a good job a building culture into my writing 😁

So I hc Gon as Pacific Islander, specifically as Tongan. ‘Ofa Lahi Atu is Tongan for ‘I love you a lot’. I really wanted to write a fic exploring what it might look like with Killua visiting Gon’s home (sometimes I call it Tofua’amotu in stories I write, which literally means Whale Island) and experiencing the language and culture. 

I think a lot of the lifestyle would feel very strange for him, from the traditional dress (men traditionally wear what is called a tupenu, which is like a calf-length wrap skirt, with a mat over it wrapped around their waist) to the communal culture to, well, everything that very much contrasts with his upbringing with the Zoldycks. 

Tbh, it’s been a challenge incorporating everything that I want to in a way that will make sense to readers who have never heard of Tonga (and without sounding like a language or culture lesson). But I think I am slowly finding the balance!

Anyway, here is a cute snippet of what I have already:

Killua had made a habit of checking his phone constantly for translations, making sure to utilize common phrases like “thank you” and “hello” and “can I help you” so they’d become habitual. 

But this time, even with his handy app, he was baffled. The word had been ‘moa’. Abe had said it multiple times when talking to Gon, and he’d heard his name mentioned along with it. They’d been talking about him. Mito had used it, too, with a bashful chuckle. Upon consulting his phone’s dictionary, he’d had no trouble finding the translation:

Moa - n. a chicken, either living or to be eaten (Na’a mau kai moa fakapaku. We ate fried chicken.)

Killua shoved his phone in his pocket, not upset, but mostly confused. What did it mean? Was it an insult? A joke? Something else? Mindlessly, his feet carried him around the small house, past Mito who was cooking in the kitchen, past Abe as she wove on the porch, and straight to the back yard where Gon was sitting near Mito’s garden.

Gon let out a shameless squeaking noise as Killua approached him. “Killua, you look so pretty!” he exclaimed. 

Killua’s blush was red enough to rival the flowers around his neck. Gon eyed the necklace with a grin, pointing at an almost identical one that he was sporting with his floral green shirt. “We match!” Gon’s grin was so wide that Killua worried it might get stuck. He opened his mouth to say as much, but then Gon continued. “Abe made these for us from the heilala tree.” He pointed at a small tree by Mito’s garden. “They’re the flowers of royalty.”

“I- er… is it okay for me to wear this?” Killua asked lamely, suddenly struck with the fear that he was crossing a line.

In two long strides, Gon was in front of him with a comforting arm on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Killua. Abe wouldn’t have made them if it was inappropriate. We wear them for special occasions, like for the feast tonight, but there are certain patterns for making them that are for the nobles only.” Gon’s arm shifted from Killua’s shoulder to hovering over his heart, touching the necklace gently as a thoughtful expression settled on his face. Killua wondered with horror if Gon could register his pounding heart from this proximity. “Plus,” Gon added softly, “you look so beautiful with it.”

Killua squirmed, biting back his usual response of how embarrassing Gon was. Instead, he said what was really on his mind. “As beautiful as a chicken,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

Gon’s eyes widened with an unasked question, then he muffled a laugh in his palm. “What does that mean?” The sentence barely made it out between his childish giggles.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you and Abe gossiping earlier,” Killua grumbled as he plopped down onto the ground, adjusting his skirt carefully so he could sit cross legged. 

Gon was laughing harder now. “Wha- ahaha what are you talking about?”

“Oh, come off of it, already. You and Abe kept saying my name and the word moa. I know that means chicken! I’m just saying what I heard…” he trailed off, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. 

Immediately, Killua wished he hadn’t said anything because Gon was laughing so hard the younger of the two was genuinely concerned that he might not be getting any oxygen. 

“Killuaaaa,” Gon guffawed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he doubled over on himself.

“Geez, idiot, breathe!”

A deep breath in, disrupted by another laugh, an uneven breath out, followed by a deeper, calmer breath in. “Killua,” Gon whispered, clearly trying very hard to not lose himself to laughter again. “Moa means chicken, but it’s also a slang word.”

Ah. Yeah, English to Tongan dictionaries weren’t great for learning colloquialisms… Killua’s ears burned under tufts of white hair, ashamed that he’d even brought it up.

“Boyfriend.”

Killua’s head snapped up to meet a gentle, golden stare. Gon’s hands joined his own, which he’d folded in his lap. He nearly shuddered as Gon’s thumb stroked the back of his hand, leaving in its wake a trail of warmth that Killua secretly wished would never fade away. 

“Moa,” Gon said again, “it means boyfriend.”

It was uncommon between the two of them for Killua to be the one to short circut, and yet, his mind was suddenly buzzing with something equally comforting and annoying.

“Wait,” he began, slowly. “Then… are we? I mean… er-” Killua cleared his throat, glancing to the grass to his right. 

“We can be. Y’know… if Killua wants…” One of Gon’s hands left Killua’s lap to rub the back of his neck. “Abe and Mito have been teasing me about it all week. I didn’t want to make a big deal or talk to you about it if it made you uncomfortable, but…” his voice trailed off, leaving the wonderful but mortifying question hanging in the air.

“Of course I do, you idiot,” Killua muttered. Then, without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed Gon’s stupid slaphappy grin off of his face.

[solastia]

Day 4

Table for Three, Yoongi x Jimin x Namjoon, 2.2 K, 1/1 Chapters

Just...off the bat...this sounds DELICIOUS! And you start off so strong. You describe Yoongi as wearing “Ripped up jeans that gave tantalizing glimpses of pink knees. An oversized red sweater that practically fell off of one shoulder. You couldn’t tell what was going on under his clothes.”

You really know how to get to us, don’t you, going for the kill shot so early in the fic! This was a fave look for you, wasn’t it?! You knew what would make us weak cuz it’s what makes you weak as well! Other fandoms are salivating over ripped abs and bulging biceps (not that our boys are too far behind) and we’re getting the vapors like a bunch of Victorian era members of high society over collarbones, knees, and exposed foreheads! Welcome to the BTS army, where the lyrics are deep, but the necklines are not!

So...you, my dear, are really good at two things (actually lots of things but I’m focusing on two atm). You give great descriptions in fics, often taking looks and characteristics of our beloved boys we all know and love and incorporating them into fics. You did it for Dragon’s Lair, Break my Stride, a bunch of your fics! It creates a visceral reaction when reading, it’s really impactful. 

And, you have the ability to switch the tone of your writing with just a few phrases. You go from serious to silly and back again. Again, it’s incredibly impactful! It creates a type of emotional whiplash that’s both amazing and painful. But you like to cause us pain, don’t even try to deny it!!!! And here is an example of these two characteristics of your writing, with just a few lines of dialogue. Jimin is talking to Yoongi about Joon and he says:

“You could walk up and scream that you love him and he’ll just give you a three-hour lecture about different kinds of love and how he cherishes your friendship. He’s the type that won’t understand until you’re gagging on his cock.”

Did you see that? Did you tho???

You gave a spot-on description of Joon (which is endearing and lovely and brings me so much joy) and then you do a 180 and talk about gagging on some dick. You see that?? That’s fucking poetry right there! I was laughing one second and then stopping to say...Yeah Joon would totes do this!

AHHHHHHH!!!!! I CRY

You know what, I need to cut to the chase. This is getting long and I’ve barely scratched the surface of this fic.

Yoongi about Joon: “his deep dimples the cause of Yoongi’s deep wistful sigh”

SAME YOONGI, SAME!!!

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Jimin says softly when Namjoon throws a worried glance his way.”

DAMN RIGHT JIMIN! Did you see the Map of the Soul ONE Concept pics that dropped?? Dayuuummm!

“Want to play?” “Talk to him, Namjoon. Use those words you like so much”

Listen...LiStEn….I’ve been so hyperfocused on Yoongi, I’ve ignored the astronomical levels of sass in Jimin in this fic! I freaking love it!!! 

Ok, I really tried not to give too much away, and it was difficult, but I think I did it. They’re so freaking cute together, I can’t stand it!!! I have a feeling that Joon remains flustered in that relationship for a while, or maybe he feels out of place for a bit, like a third wheel. But Jimin would be able to pick up on what he’s feeling really quickly and put him in his place. 

This was 100% porn with feelings, my favorite kind! Lol

Reading smut just for the smut feels empty to me. Having that underlying emotional connection makes it soooo much better. And, ofc, the shoe kink doesn’t hurt either hehehehe!

I shall remain in my corner, crying until I find the next fic to screech about!

💜💜💜 Puppeee Anon

Look, delving into kpop brought out all kinds of reactions to things I’ve never payed much attention to. Like, someone showing a slip of a shoulder or a flash of ankle would have been no big deal, but they’ve somehow managed to make us so thirsty that the fact that I now know that Yoongi is pretty much pink everywhere from his lips to his knees drives me insane. Or the fact that I go fucking insane whenever I catch a glimpse of the mole on the back of Jimin’s neck. Why does that make me go feral??

[waterloou]

Fic Writer tag game: tagged by loml @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle

How many works do you have on AO3?

-26

What’s your total AO3 word count?

I’m too lazy to count

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

-On ao3? 6. In general? 12? Harry Potter, Teen Wolf, Letters to Juliet, Les Miserables, Jonas Brothers(I was v young), One Direction(I was also very young), Buffy, Bridgerton, Grishaverse, Riverdale, Twilight, Archie Comics

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Something New

Kudos: 27

Parvati sees Hermione in a new light

Dangit Combeferre

Kudos: 22

Courfeyrac had the perfect proposal planned...until Combeferre beat him to it

Why Did I have to Punch that guy?

Kudos: 22

Sweet Pea punches a guy bugging fangs

Science

Kudos: 22

Combeferre discovers a new planet and names it after Courfeyrac

On the Pitch

Kudos: 22

Annabelle Finnigan’s time at hogwarts 1989-1996

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I usually try to! I really need to get better at that tbh sometimes I mean to reply and then get hella sidetracked.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Holy Water Cannot Help You Now. I literally have the end chapter written I just do NOT know how to get there lmao. It’s gruesome tho

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

In terms of with friends? Yes. In terms of fandom? Not that I remember. I’ve incorporated other elements of shows into a fic (Grimm and teen wolf, izombie and caos) but nothing with canon characters.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Only by my mother

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

See, I’ve tried. None of it is ever seeing the light of day. Bc that might mean I’ve gotta talk ab it and I’m too ace for that lmao

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I’ve had an offer. Idk if they did it

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Between Courferre and Thiam

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

Holy Water Cannot Help You Now. I just get so depressed when writing I made it too sad didn’t add in enough comedy

What are your writing strengths? What are your writing weaknesses?

I think my strength is details and world building. My weaknesses are definitely plot structure and dialogue at times.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If I know it, great, but if it doesn’t feel organic in the writing I don’t tend to use it. I’ll use singular phrases mostly.

What was the first fandom you’ve written for?

Lmao gonna have to say the same as Vannah and say Jonas brothers in 5th/6th grade

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I’m tied between my Parvati/hermione one shot and my Bennett/George one shot where they’re dancing in her kitchen at midnight

Tagging: @s-s-southsideserpentine @humangrumpycat @kazinejghafa @elenapetrova @jinxsflame @decennia @thecaillic @scienceoftheidiot @nervousfandom @kiara-carrera

[wincore]

lord my mom has been hounding my ass for the ENTIRE year ab writing a speech for valedictorian and we're finally doing it but for some reason i just... really dont wanna write it??? sounds immature but i was looking at the criteria for the speech and we have to incorporate "catholic values" in it which is probably the biggest turnoff because i'm not even catholic PLS

i know shes gonna beat my ass if i don't at least try but man is it harder than i thought esp since i got informed of it late for some reason.. the connection between virtual and physical classes are wack

mayhaps do you have any poetic shit™️? related quotes from famous people or hell, maybe quotes from your fics you really like LMAO i genuinely want to try sneaking a fancy fanfic quote in there just for the sake of it, would be so funny reading that out to the graduating class..

- 📷 is currently A̸̖͕͈̣̅́ ̸̛̭͚͖̲̌̋́̕Ą̴͉͎͕́ ̷̛͙̖̦͊̋A̸̘̐̉͝͠ ̵̧͙̊̒͊̋͝Á̸͉̩͛̋̈À̴̪̗͈͕̿A̷̱͆́Á̷̡̺̅ͅǍ̶̧̯̺̭̖͛͌̊̚ ̷̧̛̭̤̮͈̌̀Á̴͉̥̳̞͜ ̴̛̰̲̆̄

omg i just got over with my own speech (not valedictorian lol, a foreign language public speaking event) a week or two ago and ripped off a few lines from haikyuu 😭😭

i hate writing speeches too !!!! but when i start, it just sort of naturally flows?? the key is finding the right words I guess but writing the whole thing still kinda sucks. also did you say catholic views dhdjjdjd the only catholic I know is cat-holic sorry 😔✋ (djdjdkkd I don't know much about the religion I'm truly sorry)

my mom was like that in high school but I feel like she kinda stopped caring in college bc I was like hey mom I won first prize in the speaking event and she was like oh ok good job 👍 like ok thanks mom I will not mention to you the crippling anxiety public speaking gave me </3

I can't really remember quotes from fics (I haven't read much in a long time ;-;), but I do have a collection of fav quotes!! If they happen it be anti-catholic, I am so sorry. I would do a background check on them if I were you hdjdjdjd

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" "That depends a good deal on where you want to get to." "I don't much care where –" "Then it doesn't matter which way you go. - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland. (sorry, it's dialogue and a long one.)

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle." - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland. (this was one of my fav books and I just reread it so pls bear with me.)

"What is better- To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?" - Paarthurnax, The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim.

"I see now that the circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are." - Mewtwo, Pokemon: The First Movie.

"What can one do in the face of such monumental loss but breathe a weary sigh, for the world is a little quieter now." - Shane Madej. (my guy said something so raw unprompted I was taken aback)

“The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.” - Half-Life 2.

"Yesterday, you were defeated. What will you become today?" - Furudate Haruichi, Haikyuu. (I used this one LOL)

I think that's all the quotes I have saved on my notes app. I don't know if they'll be of much use but maybe you can draw inspiration from them!!! I wish I had some fic quotes (the only one I can think of is "we deserve a soft epilogue, my love." and I think it's captain america fanfiction, I haven't even read it but the quote is famous.) bc it would truly be funny as hell to use them BDBDND good luck with this, love!!!! i hope you get it done soon ❣️

[sunflowerstache]

hi sarah!!! it’s andy (idk if you remember me but i’m the one that loves aw more than anything lol) & i first want to let you know that i finally finished reading aw and i love love love it!! you’re hella talented! second thing i wanted to talk ab is help w/ writing!! i finally got around to writing a fic ive had in my head for about a year now— the style of writing is really inspired by your versions of the “this is us” documentary & harry’s bta doc— but i’m struggling a little on how to eventually incorporate scenes in the future that i really want added! the basic plot (it may so silly so sorry in advance) is like this OC has been a musician since around the time 1D formed, and she’s famous but in a low key way, like she’s private, but a documentary is being made on her career and upcoming album. so as the doc focuses on her life/career, a big part of that envolves the relationships that inspire her music including her romantic ones. her and harry had a past relationship from 2013ish-2017ish so obviously he’s mentioned, and through that i want to incorporate their story, but i can’t think of a way to write out the scenes in a good way that makes sense bc obviously their relationship wasn’t filmed years ago for a documentary that’s happening in the present (the entire fic is written 3rd person and basically describing the different scenes). so, since you’re one of my all time favorite writers on here, i figured i’d ask for help/suggestions if you have any! if you don’t that’s okay too! i love you around to the farthest galaxy and back!!❤️

I’M SORRY I DIDNT ANSWER THIS SOONER BUT ILY AND PLEASE MESSAGE ANYTIME OF COURSE!!💛

[wheresmynaya]

Two Ghosts Ch.21 | Brittana

Yes, you’re seeing that correctly LOL. I’m determined to turn 2020 around, at least through writing fics! I will also (try very hard to) update weekly. 

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

The wheels of the plane from New Haven barely hit the tarmac before Quinn is texting Santana and Brittany to ask if they want to grab a coffee. Santana figures Quinn must be dying to know what happened with Alex because she sure didn’t call Quinn up to tell her. She also highly doubts Brittany had the time to do it either.

They’ve both been…busy.

Not like that, they’ve just had their own things to deal with. You know, private feelings.

Like knowing Britt still loves her after all these years and Santana wanting to do things right this time. Brittany had teased Santana about being courted, but Santana kind of liked the idea of taking things slow. There were still so many things about Brittany she didn’t know and the thought of learning her all over again sounded nice.

Brittany P. – You free to meet up with Q?

Santana sees the text from Brittany and it makes her smile. It’s so reminiscent of their high school days when Quinn would message the Unholy Trinity group chat but Santana and Brittany would text each other on the side to confirm what they wanted to do first before replying. They’ve grown so much over the years, but the text just shows Santana that some things never do change. Do they?

Santana L. – Yeah, hbu?

Brittany P. – Yup!

Santana swipes into the group chat and sends a text agreeing to meet up which is closely followed by Brittany saying the same. Quinn’s all too quick to provide the when and where before Santana sets off to get dressed. She’s nearly made it to her closet when her phone goes off again. It’s a private text from Brittany.

Brittany P. – I’m glad you’re free. I’ve kinda missed your face.

Santana feels a heat rise up the back of her neck and cover the apples of her cheeks upon reading the text. She quickly types out a reply, trying to keep her cool.

Santana L. – It’s only been like…2 days?

Brittany P. – 2 days too long!

And just like that, Santana feels like a silly school girl again blushing over a cute text from Brittany. She remembered at time back in high school when Brittany would make it her mission during class to break Santana’s bitch face with an onslaught of cute texts that she would totally make fun of if they had come from anyone else but Britt. Sometimes she’d send corny pick-up lines or puns are just straight compliment the crap out of her. Either way, Santana never stood a chance.

She was like putty in Brittany’s hands.

Apparently after all this time, she still is.  

She ruffles up her hair and positions the camera towards her. She gives it a cheeky grin and snap the selfie before sending it off to Brittany, followed by a text.

Santana L. – Don’t want to deprive you of this beautiful mug.

Brittany texts back almost instantly.

Brittany P. – hubba hubba!

A picture of herself sporting the cheesiest of grins accompanies the new text and Santana laughs at the combination. She makes a point to set the picture as Brittany’s new Caller Id later.

\\

When Santana steps outside, she’s surprised by how cold it is. With years of having to wear a Cheerios skirt no matter the weather and 5 years worth of living in New York, Santana was pretty immune to the cold but today seemed to be a dramatic drop in temperature.

Then again, now that it was December could she really be that surprised? She let that thought sit with her for a moment as she slid into her Honda. December already? Time was flying by, the school years was nearly halfway over!

What is she going to do after?

She hadn’t really given it too much thought. She figured she would head back to New York, but things were changing. It wasn’t just her future anymore, it was Brittany’s too. And maybe she’s jumping the gun a little, fast-forwarding that far ahead after she told Britt she wanted to take things slow, but that talk would have to come up eventually, wouldn’t it?

Santana shakes away the thoughts, they’re too heavy for the lack of caffeine in her system, and sets them on the back burner for now before she goes to start her car. She twists the key in the ignition and surprise surprise it doesn’t roar to life.

“Seriously?” Santana frowns and tries again but it’s no use. Her little Honda refuses to start up. She lets out a sigh and glances over to the empty spot in the driveway where her mom’s SUV is usually parked if Maribel didn’t happen to be at work right now. Santana rolls her eyes and tries to start the car one more time before giving up.

It feels a bit like déjà vu; Santana’s car refusing to work right before the first Unholy Trinity meeting at the beginning of the school year which ended up making her late. She had felt so bad for making her friends wait for her and here she was about to do it again. Back then she had to figure out her useless car on her own, but again, things were different.

Santana heads back inside for warmth and fishes her phone out from her purse before making the call.

“Hey Santana!” Brittany greets enthusiastically, albeit slightly out of breath. The sound makes Santana’s mouth go dry, remembering other times where Brittany sounded just as breathless.

“Hey Britt! Are you…running?”

“Kind of,” Brittany answers through a chuckle, “What’s up?”

“Do you think I could catch a ride with you to meet up with Quinn?” Santana asks a little nervously, “My car is being a piece of shit again and refusing to do the one thing it was built to freaking do.”

“It’s probably just mad at you for still not taking it in,” Brittany teases her, “But yeah, I can totally pick you up! Be around in 10?”

“Thanks Britt,” Santana grins, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Kay bye!”

It’s ridiculous to think how all of a sudden Santana’s heart starts beating a little faster and her movements become more fidgety in anticipation for Brittany to come over. She really wishes she could get a grip, but after everything that happened on Thanksgiving and their talk after seeing Alex it’s hard to control. She couldn’t get over the fact that Britt still loved her and they still had a chance to make things right. She couldn’t believe it, after all the years of struggling and pushing away those feelings, there was still something there for them.

Britt had said that her body wakes up whenever she’s around Santana and now Santana totally gets it.

Santana’s body wakes up around Brittany too and she has missed that feeling so much.

\\

There are a couple knocks at the front door, but she doesn’t have to check to know that it’s Brittany. Other than the fact that Santana knew she would be coming, Brittany still taps the same signature rhythm with her knuckles.

“Hey, I would’ve-“ Santana’s words get caught as her eyes land on Brittany.

Her blonde hair falls from her messy bun in cute tendrils, something that’s prone to happening whenever Brittany breaks a sweat. In fact, she glistens and steam rises from the top of her head against the cold air. Santana wonders how the hell she isn’t freezing, but she can’t comprehend much as her eyes start to rake up Brittany’s body on their own.

She’s dressed in baggy red sweat pants and a black sports bra that’s damp with sweat and it’s barely covered by the pathetic excuse for a t-shirt. The material is so thin it’s practically see through and Santana can literally count each one of Brittany’s abs.

Santana’s swallows dryly because woah.

Brittany’s still got it. Then again, did she ever really lose it? Apparently not, she just got hotter.

There’s a muffled chuckle that brings Santana’s eyes to meet mischievous blues. Brittany smirks and adjusts the strap of her duffle bag on her shoulder. Santana didn’t even realize she was carrying it.

“Hey Santana.”

“Sorry, hey Britt. Come in,” Santana gestures, not wanting Britt to catch a cold with the lack of clothes she has on, “Why are you so…sweaty?”

“My dance class ran a little late so I didn’t have time to get ready there,” Brittany explains, “Could I change here?”

Santana begins to picture Brittany’s lithe body breaking it down in dance class and god since when did she become such a desperate mess? She blames the lack of sex and Brittany.

She thinks how they kind of go hand in hand, but she quickly pushes that thought away.

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead. Did you want to shower too?”

“I should,” Brittany says, “Class was really intense today.”

“I can see that,” Santana comments without thinking but covers it with a smile, “Go shower. I’ll tell Quinn we’ll be late.”  

“Thanks,” Brittany grins and presses a kiss to Santana’s cheek as she walks by.

Santana turns and watches as Brittany head up the stairs, a dopey grin filing her face as her eyes land on Brittany’s perfect ass.

\\

That dopey grin is replaced by something of annoyance as Santana and Brittany sit across from Quinn at Starbucks a little later. Brittany is busy talking about her class and how they can incorporate some of the elements into their set for Sectionals since it’ll be coming up soon, but Santana can’t focus with how Quinn keeps glancing between her and Brittany so analytically.

Quinn’s itching to say something, Santana can tell, but she won’t interrupt Brittany when she’s speaking so passionately. She stays engaged and listens intently, but Santana knows the minute Brittany stops it’ll be fair game and she’s not ready for all that.  

It makes Santana nervous; not because she wants to hide whatever is going on between her and Brittany, but because it’s too new to hash out over lattes. It was literally a day ago that they were even suggesting picking up their thing again, so Quinn would just have to wait until they sorted everything out themselves.

Santana holds out a little hope though. Quinn’s a lot more mature now than she was in high school, softer even, but she’s still the same ole’ Quinn in some aspects and Santana really doesn’t want to lure her out with talking about relationships.

But of course it’s a difficult topic to dodge when Alex is brought up. Santana and Brittany explain everything that happened at Frank’s and where Alex is now. It was already hard to miss the similarities between Alex and Santana, but it’s even more so now. It’s common knowledge so Santana’s glad that neither Quinn nor Brittany decided to delve into that. Instead Quinn says how thankful she is that Santana and Britt were around to help Alex and she’s a little upset that she missed out.

Quinn talks about being mentors and wanting to have a positive impact on the squad, something that was hit or miss when they were all in school because Sue could be so horrible and it wasn’t a secret that Mr. Schue had his favorites.

They could all agree that they wanted to do better if they could help it. When Quinn says she thinks Santana and Brittany did a great job with Alex and would make Ms. Holliday proud, Santana nearly gets choked up if she weren’t so badass. Ms. Holliday helped her and Brittany through so much so to be compared to her is a lot for Santana. If it weren’t for her, it would’ve taken her way longer to come to terms with her feelings. Maybe she never would’ve?

She owed Ms. Holliday everything.

Brittany thanks Quinn for them though and nuzzles into Santana’s side for a hug like she can sense Santana’s struggle. Santana’s grateful but she can’t help but smile at the scent of her shampoo wafting from Brittany’s hair, reminding her further of their new closeness. She catches Quinn’s analytical eye again and quickly turns up the snark.

“Who knew the holidays could turn you into a big softy, Quinnie.” Santana comments as Brittany pulls away. She already misses the warmth but she miraculously keeps from frowning about it.

Quinn just rolls her eyes and smirks, “You’re one to talk, Satan.”  

\\

After a refill, Quinn goes on to ask how everyone’s Thanksgiving went. Santana really feels like Quinn is trying to set her up here. Or maybe, Santana’s just feeling a little paranoid because Quinn always has that look like she knows something you don’t.

It seems that Santana’s the only one that’s trying to make it a bigger deal than it is, because Brittany easily fills Quinn in on how great it was to spend Thanksgiving with Santana and Maribel. She excitedly goes over the events of the night, but thankfully leaves out the more intimate details.

“I’m glad you didn’t have to spend it alone, Britt,” Quinn comments genuinely then looks to Santana, “It sounds like you guys had a lot of fun. I knew including Britt would be a good idea!”

Santana bites her cheek and narrows her eyes. She knows Quinn isn’t trying to be a pain in her ass on purpose judging by her tone, but the way she’s always silently rooting for them is embarrassing and makes Santana feel jittery. But more importantly, Brittany wasn’t aware of the fact that Santana had been considering inviting her to dinner and she doesn’t want to that to hurt Brittany’s feelings or for her to misunderstand.

Santana just wasn’t brave enough at the time and if Maribel didn’t invite Brittany over, then she and Santana wouldn’t have had such a great time and they would’ve never had the chance to reconnect like they did. There was no way of knowing Thanksgiving was going to have such an impact on their progress, but it doesn’t keep her from regretting her lack of bravery.

She hates that it still has the ability to dictate how their relationship pans out and unfortunately, that’s just another thing that hasn’t changed.

Santana scowls at how fast her thoughts are moving and she’s about two seconds away from saying something witty to take the attention off of her when she feels Brittany’s hand slip over her knee. Her knee twitches at the unexpected move, but she soon relaxes at the gentle squeeze Brittany gives her.

The gesture instantly softens her up and she glances over at Brittany who remains looking at Quinn like nothing’s happened, but it’s all the reassurance she needs for now.

“Oh no, Maribel invited me.” Brittany clarifies and squeezes Santana’s knee again, “We ran into each other at the grocery story. Not literally, but she did need help reaching something from the top shelf. She invited me over, but I didn’t want to impose. Santana was the one who convinced me to stay.”

When Brittany puts it that way, it eases more of Santana’s nerves. She didn’t even consider the amount of courage it took her to ask Brittany to stay. She always loved Brittany’s ability to turn her negatives into positives and she ducks her head in a quiet thanks.

Quinn smiles at them, but it’s more loving than her usual Queen Bitch Smirk. It makes Santana roll her eyes although her stomach flips from the fluttery feelings brought on by the feel of Brittany’s hand on her. She’s sure now that Quinn is on to them, but she doesn’t want to get into that right now.

“Shut up, Q.” Santana grumbles as she subtly overlaps Brittany’s hand with her own before taking a sip of her latte with her free one.

Quinn just laughs and waves her off, “I wasn’t saying anything.”

\\

They spend the rest of the time talking about Sectionals and developing a game plan. They’ve been preparing for awhile now, maybe just before Thanksgiving break let out because they knew the squad would start to get less focused the closer the break came. For the most part, they felt ready and were confident that the squad felt it too.

“The Cheerios have placed first every year since 2003,” Quinn said, “At least, that’s what Sue said. I’m not sure how accurate that is.”

“I believe it,” Brittany replied with a shrug.

Santana just inhaled deeply and said sarcastically, “No pressure or anything.”

“We’ve got this in the bag,” Quinn answered confidently, “For one, we’re the only squad with 3 coaches.”

Brittany wagged her finger at Quinn, “True. That’s 3 times the awesomeness.”

“And we’re probably going to be the only hot coaches there too,” Santana shrugged nonchalantly.

“Also true,” Brittany nodded then sent a wink Santana’s way, “The hottest.”

Santana felt her cheeks flush, but she just smiled back smugly and dusted off her shoulder, “You know it.”

“Not really important,” Quinn chuckled causing Santana to screw up her face in disgust.

“Are you kidding me?” Santana looked astonished, “Looks are everything in the Cheerleading world, where have you been? Remember all those ridiculous diets Sue put us on?”

“Santana’s right,” Brittany added, “Our squad is a reflection of us, we have to set the example. Although, those diets were really unhealthy so let’s not tell the squad about it.”

“Oh we won’t,” Quinn clarifies, “These next couple of weeks are going to be pretty intense. Our girls are good but we can’t let them get too comfortable.”

“Let’s make them do wind sprints tomorrow,” Santana suggests devilishly, “Make them run off all that food they had over Thanksgiving.”

“Greens, beans, tomatoes, potatoes,” Brittany starts rapping and it makes Santana and Quinn laugh.

“This is our first competition as coaches and it’s important we make a good impression,” Quinn adds after their laughter dies down, “Afterall, we want to make it to Nationals, right?”

Santana briefly remembers Sue’s tape and the arrangement that brought them all together and the bonus that was promised if the squad were to place at Nationals. She had almost forgotten the real reason she was back in Lima, that it had nothing to do with Brittany, and it made her sit a little straighter.

She needed to stay focused too. She and Brittany both needed to.

“Of course,” Santana says and she’s surprised to hear Brittany’s voice in time with hers, mimicking the same words.

Always in unison, even without meaning to be.

“We have to be on point then,” Quinn adds a little more solemnly, “For Coach Sylvester.”

Santana can see the storm clouds rolling in above Quinn’s head and she wonders what that is about. She knew this was a job and they had to meet certain expectations in order to get paid, but she didn’t think Quinn would take it that seriously. Then again, she and Sue had always had a different dynamic. Maybe she really did want to honor her legacy by winning.

“We will be,” Santana replies anyway and gives Quinn an encouraging nod, “We don’t know how to be anything else but flawless.”

\\

After saying their goodbyes to Quinn, Santana and Brittany are back in the car on their way to Maribel’s a little while later. Brittany had passed Santana the aux cord upon settling in and they decided on taking the long way home since the queue was so good. Santana had missed many aspects of Brittany, but being able to ride around in the car with her as they bobbed their heads to songs they use to sing for Glee Club is probably something she missed the most.

Brittany really was the easiest person to get along with, they just fit together so perfectly.

“You know, I don’t mind driving you around while your car gets fixed. You have great taste in music and your car dance moves are the best,” Brittany says after belting out the final note of a Whitney Houston song. She’s a little breathless again from the dramatic runs and the bellyaching laughter, but that’s when Santana finds her the prettiest.

She’s so wrapped up in staring that she nearly misses the words that follow.

“You are going to get it fixed, right?” Brittany asks and chances a glance at Santana to find her biting on her bottom lip. She might’ve forgotten to call Burt’s shop while she was waiting for Brittany, mostly because she was too busy running upstairs to touch up her make up before she arrived.

She smiled guiltily, “Yes?”

“San,” Brittany sighs as they come up to a red light. It was meant to sound frustrated but it was more endearing than anything. Santana hasn’t heard Brittany call her San in years and it makes her heart flutter wildly. Brittany gives her that you’re exhausting but I love you look and it has Santana’s guard instantly dropping.

“What?” Santana laughs as Brittany lifts a brow, “I will!”

“You better,” Brittany warns and her voice dips low.

The rumble of her tone has Santana biting her lip again and she presses further, edging over the middle console.

“Or what?” She asks challengingly.

Santana lingers there and she knows the exact moment Brittany’s head starts to cloud with thoughts, she can see it in darkening blue eyes. The glow of the red light illuminates them both, masking flushed cheeks, but Santana is confident they’re there. Suddenly, the heat coming from the vents is way too hot but it only seems to increase the longer Brittany stares heatedly back.

Santana remembers this look a little too well considering how long it has been. It was the same look that led to many spontaneous make out sessions in a dark parking lot when they were meant to be on their way to somewhere important. Back when they were young and reckless and couldn’t keep their hands of each other. The windows of Santana’s little Honda would be so thick with fog that she’d have to turn on the defroster afterwards just so she could see.

Brittany would just sit topless and doodle love hearts until it went away.

“You don’t want to know,” Brittany manages to reply in a whisper as she leans in and it’s like she’s daring Santana to close the distance.

And she would, she totally would! Their lips are so damn close now and the scent of her cherry lip smackers and peppermint gum is just so Brittany and it’s flooding her senses. All Santana has to do is lean just a little bit further and they’d be stopping traffic. She would give not one single fuck if it meant having Brittany’s lips on hers again.

But then their faces illuminate in green and Brittany’s the first to break the trance as the car behind them beeps their horn.

Santana settles back in her seat, tossing shy glances in Brittany’s direction, crossing her legs a little tighter as they continue their journey to Maribel’s.

She waits a few minutes before clearing her throat a little, “Maybe I’ll get Burt to have a look at it tomorrow before practice, see if it’s worth repairing…or whatever.”

She’s thankful that Brittany’s success in getting her all flustered can’t be detected in the tone of her voice and takes that as a small win.

“That’s my girl,” Brittany teases lovingly and reaches over to squeeze at Santana’s thigh.

Santana just about melts into a puddle on the spot because she wasn’t expecting Brittany to say something like that. Brittany can be so smug sometimes, but trying to fight from swooning at Brittany’s words is hard. She knows she can’t give Britt the satisfaction no matter how right she is in wanting Santana to take her car in, but being her girl?

Santana hasn’t been anyone’s anything in so long, at least not to anyone that mattered. She had forgotten what it felt like to be wanted in that way, even if Britt only said it as a passing comment. It makes Santana feel whole in a totally different way and she loves it.

She loves being Brittany’s girl.

[bettsfic]

The Art of Scraping Through is amazing, you're an incredible writer. I was wondering if you could talk about this detail -- "You take a gratuitous glance at his belly, which looks surprisingly soft, almost chubby." It's so rare to see a description like this on the male lead because fic is so often a place of fantasy washboard abs for the men. Did you decide to do this as a kind of deliberate counter to that? Thanks again for sharing your gorgeous work!

the answer to this is surprisingly long, so if you want the short answer, it’s: i do not like abs.

now for the longer answer!

i cannot look at a man with abs and think “ooh damn u look good” because those abs come with a lot of context i can’t handle. a man who has abs is one who has chosen beauty over food, and is therefore not a man who would ever, under any circumstance, find someone like me attractive, a woman who doesn’t prioritize standardized beauty at all, in herself or other people. fundamentally our priorities are too different – there is no universe where i would get along on a deep level with someone who has abs. abs tell me that a person drinks protein shakes and eats boiled chicken and broccoli every day, counts their macros religiously, and works out at least 10 hours a week. it’s one thing for an actor or model or body builder to have abs – it’s part of the job. they have trainers and have to be Seen. 

but if a 34 year old paramedic in dayton, ohio has a six-pack, that tells me a lot about him and his body image and the way he interacts with the world, and those things are not things i would ever want in a partner. if i write fic to be the ideal, a person with that level of dedication to beauty would never be my ideal.

i used to be a power lifter, and have also slept with a lot of power lifters. men with functional strength often look “chubby” to people who don’t know any better. they have barrel chests and soft tummies, and if they flex, their stomachs may harden but you wouldn’t see defined muscles there, because they’re hidden under an extremely necessary and not at all unhealthy plane of fat. defined muscles are an illusion hollywood has sold us. and because of that, i can’t in good conscience write a chiseled male character without including in his personality and daily habits all the work that entails. 

in scraping through, bellamy is partly defined by his sloppiness and physical unawareness. he takes up too much space. he stands too close to people. he touches people without their permission. he attends so acutely to others that he would never be so preoccupied with himself to exercise for the sake of self-aesthetic. he exercises to be better at his job, because that’s what he cares about. he also exercises because he has a lot of physical energy and it’s fun for him. people who work out in this way are in shape, but they don’t often have toned bodies, especially over the age of 30.

a character’s body is a major indicator of the kind of lives they lead. a body is the result of environment, of daily activity, of personal health and behavioral choices. to write a character who has a toned body when it doesn’t make sense to have one, solely for the sake of ~aesthetic, does a disservice to the story i’m trying to tell, which is grounded in reality.

which brings me to the point you’re making of the ideal male body. i agree, fanfic as a genre is mostly about exploring ideals, and in my PWP, which exists to arouse readers, i incorporate that ideal more so than in my other fic. there’s nothing wrong with writing bellamy as his s1 self, walking around camp shirtless. it’s canon. i’m sure part of the reason bob was casted as bellamy was because of his physique. the women on t100 all wear makeup all the time and have perfectly styled hair. no one came off the ring emaciated even though they’d been living on algae. t100 is a show that concerns itself with maintaining beauty at the cost of logic. that’s an aesthetic choice they’ve made, being a cw show, a genre which often asks us to suspend our disbelief for the sake of visual pleasure. it makes sense for fanfic also to indulge in that mentality. 

but i am not very interested in canon. as a fic writer, i’m concerned with “fixing” the things i see wrong with canon. it bothers me that no one is allowed to be ugly or human on the show, which seems to contradict its entire purpose of this gritty morally grey reality of survival. it is not something i would ever write. in reality, i’m attracted to people who look like themselves and smell like themselves and can see past all the patriarchal bullshit we’re sold about beauty. i love the things that make a person real – crooked teeth and acne and big noses and body odor and hairy legs. 

i also have the context of the actor’s own body image issues, and in the same way i wouldn’t want to describe bellamy as white or pale knowing bob’s Filipino pride (despite the show’s insistence that race isn’t a thing in the future), i also wouldn’t want to describe bellamy’s s5-6 body as anything other than it is. bellamy doesn’t have a six-pack under his bulky layers. he has a tummy, and i find that mercilessly hot. i told a friend that s1 bellamy is the kind of guy i would avoid because he would be trained to think fat women are disgusting and unworthy of respect. in me, he’d see a gross fat girl, if he could see me at all. but s6 bellamy looks like the kind of guy i would hit on in a grocery store and who would think i’m cute. 

ultimately, chubby tummies are my personal beauty ideal. i describe the desired character in most of my long fics as being chubby – clarke in twyd and even in zucchini (and bellamy is openly attracted to her for being chubby, even though it’s her pov), also bellamy in training wheels. whenever i take the time to describe a character exploring another’s body, usually my interest is in reflecting, not the existing physical beauty ideal, but an ideal mind that finds beauty in imperfect body types. i don’t personally desire to be thin; i want to be desired for the body that i have, by a person who puts who i am above physical aesthetics. and a person who is capable of doing that is probably not someone who has a six-pack.

[isthisthingeven0n]

Can I get a fic where a fan account is like "David being in love with y/n for 10 min" abs he thinks its funny so he watches it but by the end hes like "sHIT they're rIGHT"

omg i love those kinda videos - i’m working on this now boo and i’ll be incorporating another ask into this idea, but hopefully you’ll like it once its up (probably tonight?)

[doyouevenshipbr0]

gruvia drabble

author’s note: i get inspired by the most insignificant little things and i have no idea where im gonna go w this fic but...... juvia is so BEAUTIFUL omfg n i literally just wanna write a fic ab gray appreciating that. that’s it lmao. enjoy my loves!!!<333

**another note: haha oh ok it turned into something kinda rly different! its fine ig! psa im ab to kinda rant so u can skip this if u want!! if u wanna read this part it might be better to do it after u read the fic???? these arent spoilers its just kinda behind the scenes of ig.. ok so i try to think of gruvia in the most realistic sense possible. i incorporated gray having crushes bc simply, i think its true. i think gray had a crush on erza and lucy. i also think gray didnt fall in love w juvia at first sight lmao. i think it took a lot of time for gray to understand what juvia meant to him. also i find it INFURIATING that gray has never commented on juvias looks lmaooo (to my knowledge). like he said lucy and erza were pretty (at least in the anime) and literally all i want is for gray to acknowledge how fuckin BEAUTIFUL juvia is ongogmgogm. ok ok yes he commented "you're mine" and said "ur body is something i care about" and a whole lot of other romantic things but he has never made a comment solely on juvias looks and ik looks dont matter and im sure its hard for gray to even think ab juvias looks considering all the personality she has but literally all i want is a "ur cute". like thats all i need lmao. my girl needs recognition for being the most beautiful person EVER!! so yeah this fic is me trying to process how gray sees juvia, and even tho he doesnt say it, i can at least tell myself this is his thought process lmaooo. ((he also prolly doesn't say shes cute cus it would be way too embarrassing for him considering he has like actual real feelings for her)) ok ignore me literally typing word vomit lol pls enjoy ilysm. (((this rant is longer than the fucking fic. i cri.))))

*

Gray always had crushes.

It was normal, but Gray never really reflected on it until now.

First, there was Erza. They were just kids. When she first joined the guild, Gray thought she was weird, but he soon found out she was much more than that. She challenged him. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally too. He wanted to figure her out. She had a complexity that he never experienced before, and he was intrigued by it. Soon, the curiosity of the pretty girl with the scarlet hair molded into an admiration. He admired her beauty, her ability, and her heart, and the attraction just fizzled away over time.

Then, there was Lucy. This one was far simpler, and didn't hurt Gray's brain as much to try to comprehend. She was cute. She was quirky. She was a fresh face he saw around the guild. He couldn't deny the instant attraction he felt towards her, and he didn't necessarily try to fight it either. The bond was harmless, and Gray never expected anything to come from it, nor did he try to advance it in any way. She was just Lucy. A friend, a guildmate, and a teammate. While a part of him was inclined to make some sort of move, an even larger part of him didn't feel right about it. That small part that inquired for something more seemed to die out as well, and while he wasn't sure why at first, he was finally starting to realize what it was.

Finally, there's Juvia, who he would hardly ever consider a crush. Honestly, at first, nothing really struck him. She was pretty he supposed, but had an odd look. She had a dull personality. She was nothing special. Just another enemy to take out. That was all until their first fight came to an end. A piece of her did stand out to Gray, and it stuck to him. He wasn't sure why, but it did.

Then, time went on. Juvia's personality completely flourished, and it was like she became a whole new person. While Gray at first saw her mostly as an annoyance, it transformed into something completely foreign to him. He never knew how to place this feeling, and even now he still has trouble comprehending Juvia from time to time. While he wasn't sure how to feel about her, he did always know that she was something special. She was there for him like no one else was. She supported, helped, and loved him more than anyone. He was completely overcome by all of her. He was so overwhelmed by her love, it took him a long time to realize just how much he needed and cherished it. He needed that warmth in his cold, seemingly tragic life. While the people in his past died for him, she lived for him. He only recently realized that in some ways, that was much harder, and it was certainly much more meaningful.

She did have her faults though, as all people do. She was completely neurotic, clingy, emotional, short-tempered, dramatic, and just--well-- a weirdo, but...

he loved her.

He loved her strength, her devotion, her kindness, her optimism towards life, her enthusiasm, her humor (even when she didn't mean to be funny), and well- he just loved everything about her. Even the bits mentioned earlier that seemed not so great. He loved it all.

He had a hard time even calling Juvia a crush, truthfully. The way he felt towards her was far stronger than anything he'd felt for anyone else. Erza and Lucy held a place in his heart at one point, but now, Juvia was the whole thing. She owned every last part of it. It was a feat neither of the former girls possessed, and he didn't think anyone other than Juvia ever could.

And as he sat at a table across from the three women he ever had romantic feelings for in his life: Erza, Lucy, and Juvia, and pondered on these thoughts, he decided not only did Juvia have an amazing soul, she was damn beautiful too.

The strange thing was, Juvia was always pretty. But unlike his former crushes, he never really seemed to take the time to admire Juvia's looks. It was her personality that always stuck out to Gray.

But when he did take the time to sit and just look at her... wow. Erza and Lucy couldn't even hold a candle to her.

It was remarkable, honestly. She was nothing like any girl he had ever seen before. She was totally unique. Her hair was the perfect shade of blue that accompanied her perfect waves, making her mane resemble that of a beautiful ocean that he would absolutely love to get lost in. Her bangs fell perfectly over her hooded eyes that were coated in long lashes, and in them held a deep blue escape that were her eyes. Oh god, her eyes. They could tell you a whole story those damned things. Gray never had to ask her what she was feeling, because her eyes always said it all. Natsu was sitting beside him at the time, and said something that caused Juvia to laugh. Her plump, naturally pouted lips turned into a big beautiful grin in an instant. Gray wasn't sure what Natsu said, but it must've been pretty funny, because she then covered her mouth as she began to laugh even louder, and Gray was wishing she didn't hide behind her petite hands. After the laugh fest was over, she regained her composure and tucked an unruly blue lock behind her ear, and closed her mouth as her lips parted into a content grin, and just that small gesture shamefully drove Gray crazy. She was a masterpiece.

He decided he didn't stop to think about how breathtaking she was so much, because then it would turn into this. It became Gray relishing in every little detail Juvia possessed, and every mannerism she did. He never felt the need to look at a girl like that before, with such interest in detail. The feeling that took over when he really looked at Juvia was far too strong for him to comprehend too often. It was a feeling completely unfamiliar to him until he saw her. While his emotions about her were a lot for him to handle sometimes, he was thankful for it.

He was grateful for every last part of her.

"Gray-sama, are you alright?" She tilted her head ever so slightly, causing the tides of her hair to fall in a new, but beautiful way, and her eyes were filling with harmless concern. She must've finally caught him staring.

"U-uh yeah." He stammered. "I'm good."

"You're sure?" Her eyes began to flood with more worry, and she reached her hand across the table, holding onto his. Her soft, milky skin clashed with his rough feel, but they somehow fit perfectly together. He flinched at first, but instead of throwing a fit for his hatred of PDA, he decided he'd let their hands be. He wanted to take every part of her in right now.

"Yeah." He smirked, and slightly squeezed onto her hand, not caring about Natsu, Lucy, Erza, or anyone seeing them at that moment in time. She was all his. Not only was she his, but she was it. She was really the one.

"I'm just fine."

[sapphicscholar]

Stronger Together prompt. Soft Sanvers is my favorite Sanvers. How about some adorable cuddling and pillow talk?

Hi, friend! I just posted the chapter to AO3 here! I combined with with prompts from @thebiwisebrownkid and @agent-dvnvers (see below)

Prompt 2: HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW 3x01 TRAILER?!?!! THE HAND HOLDING SCENE WITH WHAT (i think) WAS SANVERS?!?! I low key feel like that was a sex scene so i was wondering if u wud write a soft passionate smutty fic post getting rings and incorporate that hand holding thing p.s. we have never seen sanvers hold hands like how the fuck has that not happened till now-Okay, so it’s not explicitly smutty, save for a line or two. It’s mainly soft (like, ya know, a PG13 movie, or what you get on the CW if you’re a hetero couple)

Prompt 2: Hi! If you’re still up for a prompt could you maybe just write a really fluffy morning in for Sanvers? Featuring a hot makeout and playful banter/teasing and lots of love? Could it also feature cuddling like Maggies head on alexs chest (basically high dosage of cute gay shit pls)

A/N:Why yes, this is soft Sanvers being engaged and ecstatic about spending the rest of forever together and maybe this is the softest, nicest way I’ve ever told a show writer to fuck off, but please enjoy it.

Chapter Text:

“No,” Maggie grunted, her voice muffled by the pillow. She could hear Alex’s soft laugh ringing out as she continued her attempt at extricating herself from Maggie’s tight, koala-like grip around her waist. “Stay in bed.”

“Let me put on coffee, and I promise I’ll be right back.”

“Five more minutes?”

After a moment, Alex acquiesced, letting herself be led back down to the pillows as Maggie’s head found its way to her chest, her fingers curling against Alex’s abs and her legs tangling with Alex’s. The look of pure contentment on her face made her look many years younger, and Alex couldn’t help wishing that they could stay like this forever, far removed from the worries and cares of work and life and a city that seemed to be forever under attack.

Maggie hummed in contentment as Alex carded her fingers through her hair, feeling herself drifting in and out of consciousness with the soothing motions.

“How about I go make us coffee now?” Alex whispered, moving like she was going to get up.

“No,” Maggie whined, reaching up above her for Alex’s hand and drawing it down. As she clasped Alex’s hand in her own, letting their fingers curl together, she looked down at their matching engagement rings. They’d talked about whether or not it was practical to get them, tried to figure out if they’d even be allowed to wear them out in the field, but eventually they both decided that it was worth it. They wanted the world to know they were in love, that they were lucky enough to be spending the rest of their lives together. And if that meant that Alex had spent a few long nights in the lab with some gems from outer space synthesizing a compound even stronger than diamond for their rings…well, it was worth a few nights apart in the end.

“You look good with a ring, Danvers.”

“I could say the same to you, Sawyer.”

“I look good in anything, though,” Maggie teased, pulling herself up to kiss Alex—her fiancée, and god would she ever get tired of saying that?

“I think you looked best in nothing but the ring…” Alex trailed off, turning over in Maggie’s arms to kiss her properly as memories from the night before flickered through her mind. Even though they’d been engaged for weeks at that point, there had been something new to sliding rings onto each other’s fingers, something that felt absurdly romantic but in the best of ways. Alex had insisted on taking Maggie out to a nice dinner, needed the world to see how perfect they looked together, for the world to see that they belonged together. As they waited for their food, they couldn’t help the way their hands drifted across the table at dinner, finding one another, fingers lacing together, watching as the rings seemed to sparkle and flash in the candlelight.

They’d skipped dessert, too eager to get home, to hold one another close and celebrate each and every part of the commitment they were making to one another. But, eager as they were, they’d managed to take it slowly. The kisses were soft—every gentle caress and breathy sigh full of new meaning, every whispered “I love you” trailing off into the unspoken “forever” they couldn’t wait to celebrate in front of their friends and makeshift families. Clothes had been slowly pulled off, fingers and lips tracing reverent paths across every inch of newly revealed skin. When they finally fell into bed, they’d held each other close—gasps and moans swallowed by heated kisses, the press of soft, warm skin a welcome embrace—finally falling asleep with Maggie’s arms and legs wrapped protectively around Alex, their hands tangled together.

The rumble of Alex’s stomach finally pulled them apart. “Okay, time for food—for real this time.”

“I can think of something I’d rather eat…” Maggie winked at Alex, watching as the woman blushed and rolled her eyes.

“You’re insatiable.”

“You didn’t seem to think that was a problem last night.”

“No…I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“You wish you were always right.”

“Semantics,” Maggie sighed, finally relinquishing her grasp on Alex and watching with unabashed desire as Alex stood and stretched, the light flickering in through the curtains playing across Alex’s back, accentuating the planes of toned muscle, the scars that served as reminders of just how brave she was, of how she put herself in harm’s way day in and day out to keep her city and her sister safe. She let out a huff of disappointment as Alex pulled on a tank top and shorts, though she too pulled herself out of bed, looking for her favorite orange t-shirt of Alex’s—the one that still reminded her of their first night spent together so many months ago.

By the time she made it out to the kitchen, the coffee was nearly ready and a double-toasted bagel was sitting at her place. “You spoil me.”

“You deserve it.”

And god, it was cheesy and sentimental and absolutely something she would’ve mocked a year ago, but somehow when Alex said it, it just sounded perfectly sincere, like everything she ever wanted to hear.

—

After breakfast, Maggie tried stalling, determined to stay at home for just a little longer before they had to go off to work.

“I’ve called in with the black lung four times…this month.”

“I’ve heard it’s incredibly hard to shake—quite the nasty bug.”

Alex laughed and shook her head. “Let’s save our leave time for the honeymoon.”

“Kara told me you had something like nine months of accrued overtime hours alone.”

“Have I not told you about my plans for our honeymoon?”

It was Maggie’s turn to laugh as she tried to drag Alex back to bed. “Please! Just a few more minutes of cuddling?”

“You know as well as I do a few minutes of cuddling will turn into an hour of fucking.”

“You can’t just talk dirty like that and expect me to leave you alone.”

“Then why don’t you come clean up with me in the shower,” Alex offered, already throwing off her tank top and letting her shorts drop to the ground. Never one to resist temptation that looked that good, Maggie threw off Alex’s t-shirt and followed her to the bathroom, her hands already reaching out for Alex’s waist.

After brushing their teeth, they eventually made it into the shower, even managing to pull their mouths away from each other long enough to wash up before Maggie had Alex’s back pressed up against the cool tile of the shower wall, her hands dropping down between Alex’s legs.

“No,” Alex finally managed, though her voice was decidedly less firm than she would have liked. But  one of them needed to lay down the law if they were ever going to make it into work.

“You sure? I bet it would only take a few minutes,” Maggie taunted, making a show of dragging her slick fingers back up and sucking them between her lips.

Groaning, Alex dropped her head back against the tile, forcing herself to remember that she had a to-do list a mile long in the lab that wasn’t going to complete itself.  “Tonight.”

“Fine.” Incorrigible as ever, though, as Alex turned off the water Maggie’s eyes glinted mischievously as the corners of her mouth pulled up into a smile. “Need a hand moisturizing, babe?”

“Get your ass back to the bedroom.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Maggie replied with a cheeky wink and salute.

By the time Alex made it to the bedroom, Maggie was already tucking one of her countless button ups (Alex really didn’t know where more kept coming from) into a pair of skinny black jeans, her hair wrapped in a towel on top of her head. As Alex dropped her towel, she felt Maggie’s hands immediately finding their way to her bare skin. “Already?”

“You told me to wait in the bedroom for you. I did.”

“I’m getting dressed, babe.”

“Why don’t you put on a nice show for me,” Maggie teased, settling into bed and propping herself up against the pillows.

Rolling her eyes, Alex just pulled out one of her DEO uniforms, leaning a little closer to Maggie than was strictly necessary, her chest right in Maggie’s line of vision, and maybe flexing just a little bit…not that she’d admit to it. Smirking at the way Maggie’s breath caught in her throat, she made a show of bending over to pull on her socks.

When Alex sauntered across the room, yelling that she was doing her hair and leaving for work, Maggie groaned. Never before had she regretted a decision as much as she did at the moment, left desperate and wanting with a full day of work still ahead of her. But she joined Alex in the bathroom, pulling out her own hairdryer and plugging it in beneath Alex’s.

The first time a gust of hot air hit Alex, blowing her hair up and into her face at a ridiculous angle, she spluttered as Maggie burst out laughing. “I’m sorry! It was a mistake,” Maggie apologized. They had long ago realized a bigger bathroom was something of a necessity for their next apartment.

“You’re fine,” Alex sighed, though all too soon Maggie felt her own hair being blown up and saw Alex clutching her hair dryer like a gun and cackling.

By the time they were done, the process had taken significantly longer than usual, and Alex’s hair was a bit more…voluminous than she’d normally like, while Maggie had been forced to throw hers into a ponytail to hide the puffy, tangled sections that would be a pain in the ass to deal with later. But they both sported matching grins, their cheeks pink from the effort.

“See you tonight?” Alex checked.

“Barring alien emergencies…though I suppose we’d probably still see each other then.”

“Fair enough. Now be safe.”

“Always. And you too—don’t go jumping into portals without me again!”

“Yes, yes… I love you.”

“Love you too.”

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

Prompt #180 - Charlie and Daddy’s Tattoos

@mrsquill : When Owen's tucking Charlie into bed one night; she asks about his scars, and/or tattoos. (Bonus: he gets totally soppy about her mom, and: yeah, you guessed it. Claire's in the hallway, listening to the whole thing).

3.5 weeks until my thesis is due to be submitted. Get excited all. I can finally play video games and binge watch guilt free (which is never fun). Read: more ways to avoid all the fics I haven’t finished. 

This is an extremely early birthday present for Amelia. There should hopefully be heaps more to come!

AO3 - Charlie and Elliot index 

— The girls were in bed. Elliot asleep in her own room rather than snuggled between their sheets as Charlie finally slipped into dreamland after three books. Claire was in the ensuite dressed in a red lacy number Owen was sure he hadn’t seen since before they conceived Elliot. She had surprised him, albeit caught a little off guard when he returned from Charlie’s room faster than Claire anticipated, her husband's large hands sliding up her legs as he peppered kisses between her shoulder blades.

She was already purring at his touch, Owen growling against her neck the two of them ready for what their silent night was promising. He didn’t want to admit that the baby monitor was on, sitting next to their bed on the side table or that he promised Charlie — like he did every night — that he was only down the hall if he needed. They, as adult parents of two children under six, just hoped no one would interrupt them.

Claire was putty in his hands, sweet and gentle, innocently thinking they had hours to devour the other while their children slept. It was the lingerie that made his heart race and his hands move with a purpose. Owen loved it, the sight and feel of his wife in intricate little pieces reserved for his eyes only. But, he always felt a rush, a surge under his finger tips and in his loins to bury himself as deep as he could within her.

Claire grinned like the Cheshire cat in the bathroom mirror, her eyes meeting his in the glass as he bit down on her shoulder. Her hand was gentle in his hair, tender, sweet and comforting; the exact same move she used on their children as a soft reassurance. She was a minx, a tease, the love of his life.

‘Daddy?’ He felt his heart sink, Charlie’s voice reaching out to them beyond her body as she stood out of sight. He kissed his wife’s neck mournfully as he pulled away from her, tugging his shirt over his head as he tossed it in her direction. It was playful mood, a promise that he would be back. She caught it, winking as she turned back to the basin and whatever it was she had been doing before he walked in on her.

‘I thought you were supposed to be sleeping?’ He met his daughter in the open space of the master suite, doors wide open when he was sure he had only left one ajar. At six, Charlie knew she couldn’t just burst into their space — not that it stopped her — but she knew to stop a few steps beyond the doors and call out before letting herself in. She had done as much this night, playing with the large double doors that belonged to her parent's bedroom in her wait.

Charlie nodded, yes, she was supposed to be asleep. Long gone to the world of the living until the sun rose to tickle her cheeks. ‘I’m thirsty.’ She told him with wide green eyes, batting her lashes as Owen sighed. He scooped her up, two hands onto one arm as the girl laid her head upon his shoulder.

He didn’t put her down on the counter when they reached the kitchen. Instead, Owen kept Charlie on his hip, handing the girl a teal plastic cup from Claire’s rainbow collection of kid appropriate drink and dinner wear. She sipped her water slowly, almost slurping it right next to his ear until she was done. Charlie handed the cup back wordlessly, her eyes tired in the metallic light of the kitchen long after the sun had set.

‘All ready to sleep now?’ He asked, brushing the red hair out of Charlie’s face as the girl nodded. She was exhausted, her body heavy in his arms as her head barely moved from his shoulder. He didn’t know why she fought it so much, refusing to let her eyes close for the well-needed rest her body deserved. They tried to explain this to her, Owen and Claire, talking about the complexities of sleep helping the body rejuvenate itself. Charlie listened, the best she could, she took their words on board, but there were still nights she didn’t want to close her eyes. Owen could respect that. He didn’t want to sleep sometimes, be it nightmares or an admiration growing so strong in his chest he rather miss sleep than losing time watching his babies snooze.

Charlie was tucked easily between sky blue sheets and her navy gingham duvet, her hair falling to her pillow before her head as she wrapped her arms tightly around Owen’s neck. ‘C’mon, baby, time for bed.’ He eased her grip from him, breaking his heart as he did so. He knew she was only going to sleep, that he wasn’t leaving her, but the feeling was there regardless.

‘What’s that?’ Charlie asked, little fingers poking at the snake that ran up his arm and over his shoulder. She hadn’t tried this game before. He explained the tattoo to the girl easily, black and white swirling in scales as the creature twisted and turned against his muscles. It was ironic how much it resembled his Raptors. At the time, they were nowhere near a thought in his mind, the ink on his skin marking the first stint in a private squadron. Now, the reptile with it’s broad and flat head stood as a reminder of the creatures he lost. ‘What about that one?’ Her fingers poked at his ribs.

‘They’re called roman numerals.’ He explained, promising the girl he would teach her in the morning.

‘What’s it for?’ She asked, not letting him leave. Owen sighed heavily, dropping his weight back onto her bed as he gave her leg a squeeze.

‘Its for your birthday, the lines are very old numbers. 17.’ He pointed to the first four symbols, XVII, a finger sliding down to the identical one below it. ‘9. For September.’ His finger slid back up to the second lot; IX. ‘2016.’ The last five figures; MMXVI. It sat in thick lines, horizontally resting across his ribs. It was neat, standing a few inches high on each set, stark against his skin holding as a subtle reminder of the mark his daughters had on his life. He needed a memento only weeks after Charlie was born, something that promised her to him forever no matter what happened. Elliot followed on habit as would any child that came after. Charlie hummed quietly, the same sleepy sound she always made just before she gave in to her eyes closing.

‘This one?’ She asked, small hand squeezing his forearm right where his bicep met. The tattoo there was small, covered by her hand in the moonlight. It was an insignificant mark on his skin, nothing that held meaning beyond his military experience.

‘That’s my blood type.’ AB+ tattooed right below the inside of his left elbow. It was an identification marker, in case anything happened and the rest of him was unidentifiable. Claire had asked once if that been the point of the military issued dog tags Owen had in the bedside table. He had kept one tag around his neck in the Marines and a second on his boot laces until he was sent on a Special Operations mission that held potential capture risk. Owen’s superiors didn’t want his men to be identifiable to the enemy. Once home, Owen kept the tags in his sock drawer, never in need of them until Charlie found them while helping her Nana put the laundry away. He gave her the one he wore around his neck, the tag on a smaller chain remained in the bedside dresser for Claire whether she wanted to admit it was needed or not. When he rejoined a year ago, Owen clumsily admitted he lost the items he had been told to guard.

‘Why?’ She asked, eyes closed, head turned away from him.

Owen shrugged, he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. Not when she was fighting sleep. ‘It’s something grown-ups do.’

‘Mama doesn’t have one.’ She squeezed his arm again. She was right. She didn’t argue with him further. Instead, her little hand tapped his bare chest right over his heart. A compass. That had been there almost as long as Charlie’s birthdate. He couldn’t remember what came first. Charlie or Claire. The idea had indeed circumvented in his mind beforehand, but he was somewhat sure the tattoo came after Charlie’s.

‘That one’s a compass, it's for your mom.’ He told her quietly, hand brushing over her cheek, thumb stroking against the freckles on her nose. He heard her quiet ‘How?’ as he checked the time on his watch, knowing he’d been with the girl for thirty minutes and her bedtime had been two hours ago.

Slumping further against Charlie’s mattress, Owen made himself comfortable. ‘It’s for your Mom because she’s my waypoint. My way home. She’s North on every compass no matter where I am. Y’know, kiddo, when I first saw your mom I was fiddling with a compass. I had this real old one my dad gave me before I enlisted. I’d lost it for a bit and just gotten it back. It was broken, had been broken for a little while. I was trying to fix it when she walked past. The last piece went in place, the compass pointed north, and when I looked up your Mom was standing outside my office watching me. She smiled that day. Actually smiled, that same smile she does when you tell her you love her.’ Charlie nodded in understanding. Dozing against his broad hand. ‘You find North, Charlie, and you’ll always find home.’ Maybe he was incorporating a little Peter Pan into his sleepy daughter’s lessons, but there was no promising she would remember any of it in the morning. Confident she was losing her grip on wakefulness, Owen leant down to kiss his daughter’s cheek, whispering good night against her ear as he readied himself to part her bedroom.

Charlie surprised him like she learnt from her mother; keeping him on his toes. Her small hands grabbed his cheeks, fingers running over his stubble as her right hand fiddled with something on his cheek. ‘What happened to your face, Daddy?’ It was the smallest of physical flaws on his body, a collection of light scars on his left cheek. He was sure he had explained it to her before, a little before he left enough to let it be an issue of her concern. She liked feeling his rough skin, shrapnel cutting into his face and leaving chunky silver marks on his face, one cutting into the stubble on his jaw leaving a bare patch.

Owen shook his head, ‘You’ve had enough stories tonight, kiddo.’ He kissed her cheek again, pulling away as his large hands squeezed her wrists softly. Charlie didn’t fight him, sleep making her agreeable as she smacked her lips and settled deeper into the comfort of her bed.

He hesitated at her bedroom door, waiting for a beat to see if the girl would change her mind and call out for him. She didn’t. Her body still beneath her blankets as he slipped out of the room and closed her door over. It was still a habit Owen was developing, learning to stop a second time as he waited by the door of Elliot’s nursery listening for any cries in her sleep before he concluded that both girls were finally out for the night.

Returning to his bedroom, tired but eager to see his wife and her red number again, Owen found the space dimly lit. The bathroom light was still on, everything else off as Owen sought his wife out in the quiet room. She was as he expected; curled on her side in the middle of their bed, wearing the t-shirt he threw at her earlier. The fabric was bunched around her thigh, still giving him a sneak peek at the lingerie she wore and the perfect round curve of her ass. Clearly, Claire had been too tired to wait up. He couldn’t help the smile despite his sinking disappointment. He loved them. Life surprising Owen more than he realised in his daughters and his wife.

He brushed his teeth quickly, flicking off the bathroom light as he tucked his wife beneath the duvet and curled himself in next to her. There would always be another night, where Charlie would go down without a fight and Elliot wouldn’t insist on sleeping in their bed with her big green eyes of persuasion.

Charlie hadn’t reached every tattoo and scar on his body, but the ones she chose to question that night warmed his soul just as much as she did. Filling his life like the ink on his skin His family; his daughters, his wife. Owen had never been one to consider himself lucky. Curled around his wife, daughters peacefully sleeping in their own beds, he couldn’t help but think himself the luckiest man alive.

[7fics]

Jackson plays crappy matchmaker for Youngjae and Jaebum, and Youngjae avoids his feelings long enough to hurt Yugyeom.

Warnings: swearing, and some sexual content (not too explicit though)

Word Count: 5.6k+

Author(s): Mia and Chewy

A/N: It’s been a really long time, but our promised fic for our lottery winner from celebrating 2k followers is finally done! Sorry it took so long, but hopefully we’ve done your prompt justice :) 

I tried my best to incorporate the things you wanted. There’s also some yugjae because I have no control over my writing and who pops up in it, as usual. I really hope you like it. 

Tall, polished windows set in gold-yellow sills spanning the length of at least two regular department stores call out to him, whispering in bittersweet chorus. They want him to empty his savings for the month on some stupid party where it will be too dark for anyone to see what he’s wearing anyway. Is he bitter? Yes. Does he have the right to be? Hell yes. His senior Junho told him to come dressed his best, that he should want to make a good impression since a bunch of alumni and other seniors are going to be there. Youngjae isn’t even completely convinced that he wants to be in Kappa Sigma anyway. It just seems like the college thing to do, and Junho may have twisted his arm about it.

Regardless, here he is, walking through the front door of Club Z, cringing at the ding that sounds out and prompts some shoppers to look in his direction curiously. Some couldn’t care either way and return to what they were doing. Others give him looks ranging from amusement to disgust to genuine confusion. It’s obvious his jeans and band t-shirt combo are to be looked down upon here.

Rich, snotty bastards.

Youngjae is very disappointed that there are as many men as women, thus his excuse of being apart of the stereotypically less fashion-savvy gender is useless. Now, walking around cluelessly touching this and that with absolutely no idea of what any of it is or what to pair anything with is just embarrassing.

Adding to his budding headache, just glimpses of the different clothing pieces tell him that he’ll have to be here for hours just to find a semi-decent outfit. He was born as round as a circle, and even though he lost some baby fat in childhood, traces of it harbor his cheeks, making the tiny shirt holes seem like future humiliation. He also has thick limbs and a flat but soft tummy. No abs. No definition. No chance of him looking good in any of the shear due to his slight but soft frame and not an inkling of hope in the crisper button downs because of the aforementioned reason. It was always easier to resign himself to the ranks of the fashion terrorists and call it a day. Not only is he overwhelmed, but he’s confused, and a bit terrified as well.

To make his situation worse, a handsome, well-dressed man is making his way over from across the floor where women were previously fawning over him, giggling and shoving to get their opportunity at stealing his attention. He pays no mind to the glares they cast at him for that.

His real concern is what he’s going to say to the man when he gets there. He can’t say that he doesn’t need any help because he obviously does. He has a shirt and these insufferable looking shorts in his hands that, even to his inexperienced eyes, don’t match at all. The man will see through that lie in a split second and then he’ll have to put his head in a dark hole and wait for lightning to strike him dead. If he says that he was just looking around he might be met with the same expression he has witnessed twice already today. That expression that clearly says ‘why come if you’re going to touch everything you can’t afford and then leave?’.  He doesn’t think he can handle that a third time.

He may just drop everything and bolt. But then he’ll be looking through his entire wardrobe last minute, getting frustrated that nothing is good enough, eventually just blow the event off and live the rest of his college career as a hermit who never goes anywhere or does anything because he has no friends and can't dress himself properly.

...Okay, so maybe that last part is mostly just exaggerated speculation. But some of it holds true. Youngjae has been wearing the same thing since he was a geeky freshman through senior year. A fresh look is long overdue. He has no idea where to start though, or where he wants to end up for that matter.

Youngjae is still caught up in his internal dialogue when the man finally arrives, having to announce himself twice before Youngjae looks up, conflicted and nervous. He feels like a small child, mismatched clothes in hand and confidence draining from his body. Up close, the man is even more striking. Although Youngjae has no idea what he’s wearing by name, he knows that it looks good. Broad muscles fill up the shirt that would be too tight in some places and too loose in others on Youngjae. Long, built legs compliment his black slacks and shiny, dark shoes top off his whole ‘I’m too hot to approach, but feel free to drool from afar’ ensemble.

“Can I help you?” the man asks with amusement in his voice. He surveys Youngjae’s “outfit” with a speculative expression and raises one eyebrow. “You have a rather particular taste. I’m not judging, but it’s kind of written in my job description to give customers advice.”

“Yeah?” Youngjae says. “And what’s your advice?”

“Lose the shorts and we’ll see what we can do with the shirt…”

“Youngjae.”

The man smiles easily. “Jaebum.”

After twenty minutes of trying on things Jaebum brings to him, Youngjae is over the whole process. He appreciates the man’s well-intentioned determination but he’s on the verge of calling everything off because  nothing is looking right despite Jaebum’s undying optimism.

“Here, last one.” Jaebum’s arm splits through the dressing room curtains with a pair of straight-legged black jeans and a soft blue cotton button-up. He’s skeptical, but puts them and steps out in front of the full-length ready to accept his fate, when he opens his eyes gingerly and is surprised to find that he doesn’t hate the ensemble.

The jeans make his legs look lean, which they aren’t, and the shirt doesn’t make him particularly podgy in any place.

“Good?” Jaebum asks with an expectant grin and a hesitant thumbs up.

“Good,” Youngjae replies.

“Awesome.” Jaebum waves him over to the register and they get on with it. Youngjae is more than glad to get the heck out of there after having sent way too much time already, even if he doesn’t mind being with Jaebum at all.

“So you go to Yeongnam U?” Jaebum asks as he’s ringing up the stuff.

“Uh, yeah. I’m majoring in Music Therapy.”

“Sweet.” Jaebum smiles and Youngjae’s heart does this thing where it feels like it’s going to explode. “So, you wanna, like, help people and stuff? Way cool. I’m only going for Composition so I can write songs and sell ‘em. But that’s noble, Youngjae.”

“Um, noble, okay. Thanks.” Youngjae scratches the back of his neck slightly as Jaebum bags the clothes and taps some numbers in the register. Youngjae pays what he owes and waves the man goodbye as he tries not to look like an animal fleeing its cage on his way out.

                                                 *     *     *    *     *

Parties have never been Youngjae’s forte.

He’s an awkward human being. It was built in him to be that way, he supposes. He’s terrible at small talk, hates being squashed by sweaty, drunk people in dark, loud places. He never knows what to say or do. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing an expensive outfit that doesn’t feel like him at all, doesn’t mold to his body like a good pair of jeans and a graphic tee. So, not only is he struggling to be anyone but himself, he’s also trying to live up to the bigshot persona clothes from Glitz warrant from someone. This was destined to be a horrible idea the second he walked in the front door. Jinyoung and Bambam ditched him, obviously preferring to hang out with their rich, cultured group of friends, leaving Youngjae to fend for himself.

Youngjae doesn’t have to think about what to do; it’s instinct by this point. He pushes his way through the writhing bodies until he gets to the back door.

Worse has come to worst.

As Youngjae is slipping outside into the warm night, a very familiar face clocks on his radar. He doesn’t have anything better to do, so he sulks on a barren swing as he watches through squinted eyes at the bodies suffocating each other on a bench near the back door. Jaebum finally comes up for air, and a girl Youngjae recognizes from his Psych class, Dasom, giggles and hiccups, begging him to come back. He shoos her away, coming to his feet and allowing her time to scramble up herself. She scurries after him like a puppy as he goes inside.

Seeing them together is almost as bitter as whatever is in his cup. He only has to take a sip to decide that the stuff is awful. He keeps drinking, though, because one, he has nothing better to do, and two, it takes some of the hurt away. He’s halfway through it when the air surrounding him becomes more crowded and the other swing’s creaking mixes in with his. As terrible as that sound is, it’s oddly comforting. It reminds him of when he would go to his friend’s house as a child to play. He had this rusty swing set that was probably the most dangerous thing they could find to play on, but it never collapsed on them and they enjoyed each other’s company while using it. He doesn’t question the welcome intrusion.

“The party’s in there,” the voice says. It has some bass, while still being very youthful. Attractive.

“I’m having my own party.” Youngjae shakes his head sadly, taking another sip out of his cup. “A party of one.”

“Make that a party of two.” The guy takes the cup right out of Youngjae’s hand and takes a whig himself. Youngjae isn’t too upset as he follows the thieving hand to a handsome face. Large yet angular brown eyes, a high, straight nose, and thick lips is what he can pick out in the semi-darkness. The stranger lets loose a long, loud sigh and returns the cup. Youngjae takes it apprehensively, sloshing what’s left boredly. He thinks he’s starting to feel it, whatever it is. This is not his first time drinking alcohol, but it’s definitely his first time getting past a few gulps without gagging and passing the wretched stuff to a more willing party-goer, or putting it back.

“I’m Yugyeom, by the way.” The stranger--Yugyeom, kicks off and begins to swing gently. The creaking gets louder.

“Youngjae.” He follows the other’s lead. The warmth growing inside of him as the liquor works its way through his system mixed with the cool breeze he unearths once he starts swinging is creating a strange synergy around him. The night becomes a little more bearable. Yugyeom is handsome, has a nice voice as well.

“So, Youngjae-hyung. You out here for a reason?” Yugyeom asks.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says, coughing to clear his clogged throat. The alcohol causes it to burn a little, but it’s just comforting warmth after that. “I’m kinda bummed about something. And I don’t really like parties. This is my frat. I would just go to my room, but there’s probably someone having sex in it. So…” He twirls the cup some more, distractedly.

“Yeah, that could get awkward.” Yugyeom laughs quietly. Another nice sound. It’s sweet, something Youngjae feels rather than just hears. It bounces along the night breeze and takes over his muddled senses.

“What about you?” Youngjae asks.

“Same, I guess. Bummed. Not one for parties,” Yugyeom says. “My friend asked me to come because he wanted to find someone here and didn’t want to look like a loser waiting around by himself. Now I’m the loser by myself. That asshole.”

“Friends suck,” Youngjae muses. He raises his nearly empty cup. It sways lightly in his loosening grip. Whatever was in it and the little bit left is strong. “Toast to the decent people left on the earth.”

So they toast to each other and drink the night away, buried in what they can handle. Surprisingly, considering his sheer height, Yugyeom is a lightweight and Youngjae has to stop himself from overdoing it because the younger had reached that point a while ago, sleepily humming tunes to songs and occasionally pairing them with the wrong words as Youngjae piggybacks him to his dorm.

The air is sweetly warm, whispering across Youngjae’s bare chest as he rummages through his drawers for some less sweaty clothes, goading on the beads of sweat as they collect uncomfortably in the crevices of his body and force him to crack the window more and more.

After tugging Yugyeom’s uncooperative limbs into cooler, cleaner clothes, Youngjae slips in beside the tall freshman, slightly distressed to find that he fits perfectly as if it were in some predestined scheme for the younger to toss one of his long, heavy arms over Youngjae’s torso, anchoring him temporarily.

“He’s a little funny-looking,” Yugyeom whispers suddenly to him. Youngjae can safely say that he is both startled and extremely peeved because how long has this ingrate been awake and why couldn’t he walk his goliath ass back to his own dorm? He’s just about ready to give it to him when the soft murmur is broken by a snor, a snuffle, and nothingness, only to repeat again a minute later with different words. Something like ‘but, cute too’.

And Youngjae realizes Yugyeom is sleep talking.

And sleep insulting him, too. This bastard.

“Hyung,” he babbles, pulling Youngjae closer. “Toast.”

Youngjae would be more livid if Yugyeom weren’t so damn cute.

                                           *     *     *    *     *

The next time Yugyeom is drunk off his ass is at Youngjae’s induction to Kappa Sigma. His newly dubbed crush is sitting right in his lap, a hard drink of something swaying in his unreliable fingers, as they’re at the table trying to keep something down besides liquor.

It isn’t going too hot.

More than half surrounding the stupidly large table are drunk out of their minds, and the other half are swimming in varying states of less severe drunkenness, but not completely lucid all the same. Youngjae is one of the few who are still upright, and he’s not gung ho on the thought of having to carry Yugyeom across campus not a second, or third, but fourth time. He’s a sloppy drunk and bad drinker, barely able to hold his fluids after about three cups of something.

“Hyung, bathroom.” Yugyeom paws at Youngjae’s chest with a pout, wrinkling his dumb, new shirt purchased at (where else, honestly?) Club Z. “I have to peeeeeeee.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Youngjae grumbles miserably, helping Yugyeom to his feet, and pulling the boy over to the stairs. As they’re going up Youngjae thinks that his “wonderful induction night” can’t get suckier; then he and Yugyeom reach the first landing, padding mutely over the hardwood as they turn and commit to climbing the rest to get to the top, and Youngjae hears a gross noise upon reaching the second floor.

It’s dark, loopy, a little hot, and Youngjae can still outline Jaebum’s body pressed up against someone else’s at the beginning of the corridor, just before a long stretch of darkness absorbs anything remotely tangible into an indecipherable blob of mystery.

Youngjae aches that much more because it’s a guy he’s got his hands all over in the sticky shadows, meaning Jaebum is bi, swings both ways, and he probably would never even want to take a whack in Youngjae’s direction.

What makes it all worse is Yugyeom starts whining again, reminding Youngjae that has a new responsibility to deal with, cute sweet Yugyeom who Youngjae is almost sure likes him back. He helps the boy, finally, to the bathroom, switching the light on and pulling the toilet seat up so he can relieve himself.

Youngjae looks on with a mixture of fondness and guilt as he takes out his phone from his jeans pocket, looking away briefly to check the message from Jackson left hours ago.

i know ur butt hurt from the lecture, but jaebum’s gonna be at ur tea party later, sooooo ;););) use protection -wang jackass, 5:34pm

Youngjae sends a quick text back, a digital middle finger, before he’s focusing on Yugyeom again, watching glassily as he fumbles for soap to wash his hands and zoning out simultaneously, thinking back to the lecture in question from earlier.

Youngjae had come into his Music Theory hall with a little smile on his face from serial texting Yugyeom. It had been two weeks since the sleepover incident and they were really hitting it off. Yugyeom, Youngjae’s polisci angel, is also into reading for pleasure, so they were texting about a book they had both read just that summer, crying over the fact that the author isn’t going to release a sequel until the following Spring like a couple of nerds.

He had nearly tripped over someone from having his nose stuck in his screen. That someone turned out to be Jaebum sitting like an Adonis statue and outshining everything in Youngjae’s view. He cursed silently under his breath and scurried past the man, pretending not to hear his pleasant greeting in favor of crowding his body into a ditch and suffocating on his own damn inadequacy.

Instead he just fled a few rows down and drowned in his own awkward sorrow. It had been his own idiocy that forced him to retell all of this to Jackson, because what had Youngjae imagined him doing different from what he usually does? Which is insert new names and post anything remotely amusing that happens in his sorry little life to SNS.

Youngjae shouldn’t have been surprised to see the trials of Jaebin in his twitter feed later, along with a comment by Jaebum, ‘cute’, to which Jackson replied with ‘very’.

So Youngjae isn’t talking to Jackson right now. He couldn’t even if he wanted to because he’s too busy holding onto Yugyeom and ushering him back downstairs, past where Jaebum and some other dude were just sucking face among other things.

                                            *     *     *     *      *    

It’s at another party that shit finally hits the fan. Youngjae is on the couch with Yugyeom on his lap. He has a hard on and the younger’s weight on top of it feels good, really good. He’s doing this twisting thing that makes it feel even better. Summer air, the bass of the music, and his boyfriend’s sweet lips are all sensations that vibrate across his warm, damp skin. He would say it were a perfect night, if only Jaebum weren’t in his head kicking up a disgusting fuss.

He’s trying to give Yugyeom all of his attention, as the boy is licking into his mouth as eager as a puppy, hands playing with the little hairs on the back of Youngjae’s neck, gentle yet urgent. It shouldn’t be hard to do. Yugyeom has his long, supermodel legs swung over Youngjae’s lap, knees weighed into the couch on both sides of him, and his bum is skipping on top of Youngjae’s clothed erection, torsos brushing. It shouldn’t be hard at all to dwell solely on his sweet boyfriend’s playful hands, his busy hips, and intoxicating scent all spawned from some unfathomable source out to end his very existence.

Yugyeom is stunning, and he wants Youngjae, possibly even more than the older wants him if his breathy moans and insistent whines hold any bearing. So the fact that he’s sitting here, hot boyfriend grinding on his lap, thinking about Jaebum, has him reorganizing his priorities. Youngjae has no time to clear his mind though, because Yugyeom must sense it as his hips stop rolling and he stares down at Youngjae with a little frown that the older wishes he could just kiss away.

“It is about Jaebum?”

Youngjae blanches.

“Y-you know Jaebum?” From where? How?

“Not personally.” Yugyeom sighs. “But I hear Jackson-hyung talking about him and you get...weird. Like, your mind freezes and I could never figure out why. And, believe me, I’m not being conceited here. Just speculative. But I’m on your lap, damn near dry humping you, and nothing. Your little man downstairs has been limp for the past ten minutes. Is it because I’m not attractive enough or-”

“No, not at all.” Youngjae reaches up to cradle Yugyeom’s face and bring him down for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm and sweet, but even when he’s connected to him, his polisci angel, his mind is on Jaebum. Yugyeom pulls away with this sad look in his pretty eyes and Youngjae is on the brink of smashing something because those sad, pretty eyes are his fault.

“Do you like him...more than me?” Yugyeom asks, looking as if he’s choking up a bit.

Youngjae hates himself because he doesn’t even have the balls to say ‘yes’.  

“Look, hyung. I like you. A lot. But I can see you need to do some thinking right now. So I’m gonna go.” Yugyeom presses a kiss to Youngjae’s forehead just as empty as his lap when Yugyeom slinks away.

Everything hurts.

This party is stupid.

Jaebum is stupid.

The only thing Youngjae can think to do to clear his head is get so drunk he can’t remember his own name.

He gets very close. He only remembers that Jaebum is stupid and that his dorm is on the east side of campus. He’s stumbling through the dark, eyes only half-way open as the world flies by in clips of sensations. Loud noises. Questionable smells.

Somehow he ends up in a warm building. On an elevator. Tripping through the hall. Banging on a door.

“Youngjae?” It’s truly sick that Youngjae recognizes that voice even when he’s supposed to be blown off his ass tore down.

“Asshole.” Hiccup. “Y-you, you--fuck you.”

“Youngjae, you okay?”

“What do you think, asshole?” Hiccup. “Just...just, I like you dammit!”

“You what?”

That’s when he passes out.

                                           *     *     *     *      *  

Food doesn’t taste the way it should. Youngjae’s stomach is gurgling and his head is making very loud music without his permission, against his will really.

“Good job, dummy.” Jackson scoops more soup into his bowel and pats his head placatingly, shit-eating grin full force. “Jaebum knows you’re hard for him and he still wants to take you out. You know, you definitely come off as the prunish, incompetent type. But you’ve got skills after all.”

“I’m not hard for him.” Youngjae fusses uselessly as he spoons the soup into his mouth and tries to keep it down.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud.”

                                         *     *     *     *      *  

Youngjae is sitting in class a few days later when his phone starts ringing against his pants. After a few moments of awkward fumbling and thanking the heavens that he remembered to change his ringtone back from whatever crap Jackson put on it, he manages to turn it off without looking at the screen.

By the time he gets out of class, he’s completely forgotten about the call. In fact, Youngjae also forgets to turn his phone back on. Which is why he’s sitting in a baggy t-shirt he’s had since middle school, paired with athletic shorts that he exclusively uses for lounging and his one-time-a-year trips to the gym. He flips through the channels, pausing on a predictable drama as the stereotypical rich-guy takes the stereotypical poor-girl to buy some tacky name brand clothes for the first time in her life. As if the girl didn’t already own an iPhone 7 Plus.

What is completely not predictable is the knock on the door that comes right as the girl trips and falls dramatically into the main lead’s arms.

Youngjae scratches his head. Did I order pizza?

When he opens the door, instead of the rich and savory smell of Italian pie, Youngjae is greeted with a crisp and cool cologne. When he looks up to look Jaebum in the eyes, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Are you wearing a turtleneck under a dress shirt?”

Jaebum just laughs. “I said I’d pick you up at seven. I’m fifteen minutes late. Sorry.”

“That date thing is tonight?”

“Yes, the date thing is tonight. Forget?” Jaebum puts on a thinking face. “Weird. Just a few days ago someone was banging on my door like the sky was falling, confessing their undying love-”

“I said, and I quote, ‘I like you dammit’. Hardly anything undying about that.” Youngjae hopes the sass can distract Jaebum from his inner-chaos. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Jaebum stops him with a hand on his chest. Youngjae isn’t screaming. The tea’s done. “You wanna change into something less, sporty?”

“Where are we going?”

“Secret.” Jaebum sing-songs. “Just get dolled up and meet me at my car, okay? I’m parked right out front.”

“Okay…?”

Youngjae slides in Jaebum’s car about twenty minutes later. He spent ten minutes having an existential crisis and the other ten minutes running around forsaking everything in his wardrobe before deciding on jeans so black they can almost pass for slacks and a white button down that he tucked in them.

Jaebums glances over for a second. He hesitates a moment, and then reaches over to grab Youngjae’s hand. “You look really handsome tonight.”

Youngjae frowns. While he appreciates the sweetness, he can’t help but feel a little bit overwhelmed. Youngjae tries to sneakily untangle their fingers so he can wipe off the sweat that is slowly gathering in his palms. When he goes back to rap Jaebum’s hand once more, however, it’s already back on the steering wheel. Youngjae sits, staring at the hand for a moment before realizing Jaebum is talking again.

“—just opened but I heard it’s really popular. I thought you would like it. There’s a live band and everything. Your clothes are fine too.”

“Oh really?” Youngjae perks up again at hearing there’s a live band. He imagines a hipster club, the perfect opportunity to see Jaebum at his sexiest: when dancing. As his mood lightens, he gets chattier, going into a story about Jackson’s latest antics.

“We’re here.”

Shit.

Youngjae was expecting fancy, but he wasn’t expecting this. It looks like somewhere people who sneeze money frequent. The kind of place with little personal packs of fruity smelling soap in the bathroom that they’re not even afraid of people stealing because who would be caught pilfering little soaps when they have hand-made, hypoallergenic imports from Milan? Jaebum is smiling again when the maitre'd leads them to their booth and Youngjae’s breath is no longer with him. He just listens as Jaebum tells him the name of the restaurant, something European, and Youngjae can only nod and smile. Looking down at his menu, he sees that it’s all written in French, maybe, or Italian, except the prices. Youngjae actually gasps out loud when he takes in the digits, which fails to go unnoticed by Jaebum.

“Are you okay?” Jaebum asks sweetly. He smiles and reaches his hand across the table. When Youngjae just meekly nods, Jaebum asks, “Are you ready to order?” He then calls for the waiter in a voice that would have Youngjae drooling, if he wasn’t still trying to figure out what everything meant.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” the waiter asks. Youngjae can’t help but feel relieved that the waiter speaks Korean, at least.

“Yeah, um, I’ll just have… This,” he decides, pointing at one of the menu options. Hopefully it doesn’t taste like shit.

Jaebum orders, the waiter goes, and they sit in silence. Youngjae’s not sure if Jaebum thinks it’s an awkward silence or if he’s enjoying the music, and the tapping of his fingers gives no hint to either. Youngjae perks up in excitement to see their waiter returning with their food. And then he realizes that this date is really and truly just meant to be a prolonged hell as he takes in the cucumbers lining a plate of greens.

As the dinner wraps up with both Jaebum and Youngjae claiming to be too full for desserts (although they both also still have piles of food left on their plates) Youngjae reaches into his pockets to be left with emptiness. Or really, nothingness, because he doesn’t actually have pockets. Or his wallet. Or his phone to pay with apple pay. Or anything at all. Youngjae panics and looks up to explain himself to Jaebum, only to find that Jaebum has already paid for their meal.

Walking back to the car, Youngjae speaks up, “That was a pretty nice first date, I guess.” He can’t help but cringe at how insincere that sounds.

“You know what. I have to confess something,” Jaebum declares, turning to him.

“What?” Youngjae can’t help but think, This is it, this is the moment. He’s going to say he never wants to see me again.

“I actually, really, really don’t like—“

Oh shit here it comes.

“—Western food. And I don’t know if maybe you don’t like it either because you didn’t eat much of your food either, I noticed, but the restaurant had nice reviews, and I wanted to make this really special, and you didn’t respond to my texts so I wasn’t sure in the first place if you would like it or not but I thought it would be okay because Jackson recommended it, but then again Jackson trained in France for a year so he probably likes french food? But I just—“

Youngjae has to stop him there. “Wait. I just. I don’t like cucumbers, but I can’t read French.”

“Oh.”

“And I actually turned my phone off today so I didn’t get any of your texts, which is why I’m dressed like trash, as always, and you look so sleek and good and everybody thinks that you’re too good for me because you are literally in a turtleneck and dress shirt blazer leather pants suede shoes combo thingy and I’m not. Maybe I should have let you dress me again, ha ha.” Youngjae finishes with an awkward laugh.

“Oh.”

“I also don’t have pockets. Or anything. Except some lettuce stuck in my teeth that I can’t get out.”

“Oh.”

“So, yeah.”

“Oh.”

Youngjae isn’t sure how to proceed anymore. I mean, he thinks, I literally just told him I had lettuce stuck in my teeth. There’s an awkward pause, and then Youngjae says, “So do you want some bingsu?”

“Yes. A classic Korean dessert.”

Youngjae returns home that night with a smile on his face. He can’t help but blush as he thinks about Jaebum. About how cute Jaebum looked when he got a brain freeze from eating too fast. How cute he looked when he lost at the arcade Dance Dance Revolution game to a seven year old and pouted about it. How cute he looked when he had pepper paste smudged on his cheek when they got spicy rice cake for dinner, round two. And especially how cute he looked when he ran away after placing a peck on Youngjae’s cheek at his front door.

Jaebum’s really not chic and sexy at all, Youngjae decides. He’s just a ball of fluff.

As Youngjae lays on his side to get comfortable for bed, he fishes out his phone to send a message to Jackson.

you’re not a complete ding dong. the date was nice. -you, 11.03pm

                                           *     *     *     *      *  

“Jackson. When I said you could plan our date, I meant that you could pick a nice restaurant or movie for us to go to, heck, even an amusement park. Why is there a script?” Youngjae doesn’t know what to do with the packet of paper he holds in his hands. He looks over at the similar copy that Jaebum has (but with different highlights) and decides the only thing left to do is go out and plant some trees. Maybe they can plant two trees together in the name of love. The sound of Jackson slapping his Director’s Copy of the script onto the table whips him out of his daydreams.

“It’s not a script!” Jackson protests. “It’s just suggestions for the theme?”

Jaebum has already started flipping through the book, questioning, “Did you get this from the morning drama that Youngjae likes to watch? The lines are literally the same.”

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Jackson protests, flapping his hands back and forth, as if that will help dispel any claims of plagiarism.

“This is literally a ‘the rich guy takes the poor girl shopping for better clothes scene,’” Youngjae deadpans. “This is so cliche. I can’t believe I’m the poor girl with bad taste in clothes.”

Jaebum pauses from where he’s flipping through the book. “But you do have bad taste in clothes.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in exasperation, “That’s it, we’re breaking up.”

“NO!” Jackson gasps. “Not after all the hard work I put into getting you two together! If anything, at the very least go on this date, and then I made a reservation for this really nice restaurant where you can have a steak dinner, and then you guys can break up as Youngjae throws a cup of water in Jaebum’s face, and it’ll be perfect!”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jackson,” Jaebum groans. “Let’s just get this over with.” He reaches out and grabs Youngjae’s hand, asking for a final time, “You ready?”

Youngjae laughs and follows along as Jaebum tugs him out the door.

Jackson trails behind them, oohing and ahhing at their cuteness. “And! If I’m cliche, then you cute little assholes are cliche, too! Don’t think I’m gonna forget how you two first met! I asked the manager for a copy of the CCTV tapes!”

“You know,” Jaebum whispers to Youngjae as he looks back at Jackson, trailing along behind them, “I know it’s a little early to be thinking about marriage, but it looks like we’ve already adopted a kid.”

Youngjae laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s because this second is the happiest moment of his life.