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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

Note

I LOVE ur blog SO MUCH!!!

Thanku fr Writing amazing hcs!! Keep it up!!!

If you don't mind...

(Kuroko no baske)

Thanku so much!! Lots of love xoxo

(reader insert may not be necessary!😉)

Awwww!! Thank you!! I’m glad you enjoy and appreciate them ( ´ω` ). Went a little off the rails with this as I was feeling inspired and did full scenarios. I hope that’s ok!

GOM Boys + Sending their kids to school (prompt)

Akashi

“Why don’t you want to go to school?” Akashi asked, holding his son’s hand, as they arrived at the building.

His son, looking positively adorable in his little blazer & tie, looked up at him with big, bright, golden eyes before looking back down. “I don’t want to go.” He repeated quietly. “It’s scary.”

“Scary? How is it scary?” Akashi asked. “You were fine when we did the tour the other day. It’s just like that.”

“But you won’t be with me Papa.” He replied in a soft voice. Worrying his bottom lip and eyes starting to get very wet. “I’ll be all alone.”

Akashi sighed as his son began to sniffle and knelt down in front of him. “Stop crying. Akashi men don’t cry over things like this.” He pulled out his handkerchief to clean the few tears that had fallen. His son giving a small hiccup as he stopped crying. Then Akashi smiled at him. “You won’t be alone. You’ll have a whole room of classmates to keep you company. I was like you when I was little. I was scared I wouldn’t make any friends, or that the other students would hate me. But that didn’t happen. I made friends. I got to spend time with people outside of the house. Uncle Kuroko and Mama were all people I met at school. Don’t you want to make friends like that?”

His son beamed and nodded once before looping his arms around Akashi’s neck to hug him. They then finish walking into school and dropping him off at class. He then walked back to his car alone. Sliding into the back seat when the driver opened the door for him.

“Shall we head to the office now sir?”

“In a minute,” Akashi replied. Leaning back in his seat to rest his head back against the rich leather. A hand over his eyes. “Circle the block a few times. I don’t want to leave them alone just yet.”

Aomine

“Hn? You don’t want to go to school now?” Aomine asked as son stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Digging his heels in about not wanting to take one step further. “But you have to go to school.”

“No I don’t! And you can’t make me!” The mini-Aomine yelled back. His father sighed.

“Yes, you do. It’s the law and, I would know, I’m a cop.” He pointed his thumb to himself, wearing his uniform, as this was supposed to be a quick drop off before he went in for his shift. “Do you want me to arrest you on your first day of school?”

“You wouldn’t do that!” The little boy replied. All bravado like his father, before his shoulders sank and his bottom lip stuck out. “I don’t want to go. School is boring. And what if the kids are mean to me. I’d rather stay home with Daddy….”

Aomine sighed and rubbed the back of his head. He couldn’t really argue with the school being boring part. He hated school when he was a kid, but he had to go. “Listen, Daddy can’t stay home with you today because he has to go to work. And you can’t come to work with me because, if you do, we’ll catch all the bad guys and then what will I do for work the next day.” The mini-Aomine snickered.

Aomine then leaned down to get eye level with his son. “I’m sure the kids will be nice. There’s bound to be one good egg in the bunch. Maybe you can even find someone to play basketball with.” His son’s eyes sparkled at that. “But, if any kids are mean to you, you tell me and I’ll come back and arrest them.” He held out his handcuffs to make a point. “Sound good?”

His son giggled again and told him, “deal!” before they both walk into the school for drop off. Thankfully, no one at the school was arrested that day. School was his son’s new favorite place. At least for now anyway.

Kise

“Are you sure they have to go now? Maybe we could keep them home for another year??”

“Ryo….” His significant other warned as they got their daughter up to the school, each holding one of her hands, for drop off.

“Don’t worry Daddy! I’ll be fine!” The little girl chirped. Practically skipping the whole way there she was so excited.

“Really? Are you sure princess? Because, if you want to start school tomorrow, Daddy would be totally fine with that.”

“Ryouta!”

“No, that’s ok Daddy.” She replied with a big grin. “I want to go and make new friends! I’m excited to show everyone my new dress you got me.” His princess did a little modeling twirl they had practiced, and Kise’s heart broke into a thousand pieces only to be reformed instantly again with love. “I’m gonna go inside now. See you after school!”

“Do you want Daddy to walk you to your classroom?!”

“No!” His daughter called back. Unaware she had just stomped on her father’s newly reformed heart.

“They grow up so fast….”

“Honestly Ryouta.” His s/o said, shaking their head, as they offered him a tissue. “It’s the kids that are usually crying on the first day. Not the parents.”

Kuroko

“Sweetheart….you have to go to school.” Kuroko tried to reason with his daughter, who was holding her backpack and her breath until Kuroko ‘gave up’.

Of course, she couldn’t hold it that long in the end. Her lungs were very small.

She let out a gasp of air, quickly inhaling new breath into her lungs as fast as she could fill them, but still pouted. “Why can’t you be my teacher Papa?!”

“Because,” Kuroko reasoned, as if they haven’t been over this a hundred times, “you need to have someone else be your teacher. It’s not fair to have Papa be your teacher.”

“But it’s not fair that other kids have Papa for their teacher!” She argued back. “I don’t want to go if I can’t see Papa and have to share him….”

Kuroko sighed before offering them a smile. “We’ll still be at the same school. So I’ll see you at lunch time or on the playground. Ms. Himora is really nice too. You’ll like being in her class. I’ve told her all about you and she’s excited to see your drawings.”

His daughter perked up at that. Art and drawing being one of her passions.

She agreed to go, but only on the condition that she wanted to see this other teacher’s art supplies. Ms. Himora of course showed them to her, and let her color the whole afternoon. Kuroko tried not to seem irritated that by the end of the day his little girl was calling her her favorite teacher.

Midorima

“Do you have your notebook?” Midorima asked as he walked his son to school. “Pens? Paper? Pencil?”

“Yes Dad…” His son replied sullenly, walking beside the taller green haired man as they come up to the school. When he saw the brick building, however, he tightened the hold on his hand.

“Hm? What’s wrong?”

“Dad I….I don’t want to go to school.” Midorima gave a surprised ‘hn?’ in response, but his son just looked down. Fidgeting with his glasses. “What if….what if the teacher is scary? What if the other kids don’t like me? What if no one wants to play with me?” The young boy began to spiral and sniffling, thinking about all the things that could go wrong.

His father sighed and knelt down in front of him. “What do we always say?”

“Man proposes, God disposes.”

“Right.” Midorima replied. Not seeming phased by how his life’s motto sound so much less intimidating coming from such a cute, small voice. “We have to do our best to make sure things work out. We can’t worry about what could go wrong. That’s God’s job. We focus on the now.” He pulled a key chain out of his pocket and handed it to his son. “Take today’s lucky item with you. It’ll keep you safe.”

“But Dad! What about you?!”

“I’ll be alright. You just make sure you get to class on time and have a good day.”

His son came home later that afternoon to tell him all about the amazing day he had at his new school. His teacher was nice. His classmates really liked him. They even served his favorite in the cafeteria!

Midorima was happy for his son, and choose not to tell him that he had had the day from hell without his lucky item. From that day forward they each got their own.

Murasakibara

“Eh…? You don’t want to go to school?” Murasakibara looked at his daughter as she shook her head. Scuffing her new shoes on the sidewalk. “How come? You have to give me a good reason to skip your first day.”

“I…I don’t want to go…” She replied softly. His little girl incredibly shy. “What if the other kids make fun of me?” Murasakibara hummed a little. He supposed that was a good reason.

For better or worse, his children had inherited his height. It wasn’t so bad for her older brothers. Being tall was an admirable attribute for boys. For girls though…..well….it just made his angel that much bigger of a target.

“If the kids make fun of you, tell them your dad is even taller and he’ll stick them in a tree and leave them there if they make fun of you.” The little girl giggled, clearly picturing the image, but still didn’t seem convinced to go. Murasakibara knelt down so he wasn’t towering so much over her and patted her head. “School is important. You need to go so you can be smart like you Mom. Not a dumb dumb like your Dad.” He smoothed out her hair from ruffling it. It had taken them a while to get it right, and he didn’t want to ruin it. “But, I’ll be here when you get out today and we’ll go get ice cream as a reward. Our secret.”

His daughter beamed at the promise of ice cream and nodded eagerly. She then went off to school without any complaints. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. You could get him to do anything for ice cream too.

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stay-outta-my-blood-circle · 3 years

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Sorry this took so long! @leatherfacecake

He'd often seen you slaving away over your sketchbook, but the way you always kept it tilted away made him think you didn't want to share it. It didn't bother him; everyone had things they'd rather keep private, and he never wanted you to feel uncomfortable.

For someone who didn't want their work seen, however, you sure hung around a lot while you were at it. He also seemed to catch you glancing up at him frequently.

He was curious, for sure, and it took all of his willpower to avoid leafing through your sketchbook on the rare occasion you left it lying around.

Such as today.

He stares anxiously at the spiral-bound book, then looks up and scans the room. Nope, you're definitely not here. Dammit.

He flexes his hands, takes a step - then shakes his head and resolutely turns around, marches over to his workbench, and sits down. He works, for a while, with a stalwart expression, until the curiosity creeps back up on him.

Do you doubt your talents? Is that why you won't show him your art? You usually share everything with him, and he loves that about you. If you're struggling with your confidence, he wants to help!

... he knows it's an excuse, even if the sentiment is true, but he needs to know what you've got in there. When he finally looks inside to find sketch after sketch of him, he's beyond shocked.

When you reenter the room, he's sitting down with your sketchbook open on his lap and one hand over his mouth. You produce a startled, sputtering noise, already beginning to blush - he looks up and quickly snaps the book closed, eyes wide, grabbing his notebook and scrawling quickly:

Sorry!

then:

Curious.

You cross your arms, unsure if you're more embarrassed or angry.

"It's not nice to touch my things without asking," you start, and his remorseful expression following your statement is so pronounced that you cool off as quickly as hot metal dunked in water barrel.

Knew I shouldn't have, he writes, I'm sorry.

"You're right, you shouldn't have, but I forgive you," you say, moving forward to give him a hug, "I'm just shy about my drawings, I guess."

He pulls you into his lap and sets the notebook on your legs so he can write.

Why? They're beautiful. You - he pauses, fidgets with the pen in his hands. Smiling, you give him a soft kiss on the forehead to encourage him to continue. You made me beautiful.

You gently pull away the hand that lifted, absentmindedly, to run across his own face, holding it against your chest instead.

"Well, that's easy," you say, "with such a handsome subject."

You're not sure what's more endearing - the flush that creeps over his face, or the moisture that starts to collect in his eyes.

#Rune writes slashers #thomas hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre #slashers #slasher fandom

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shooting-starry · 3 years

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Trust me. Love me. Shoot me.

Atsumu Miya x female reader

Summary: Atsumu finds himself with a young woman who is more that what she seems.

A/n: I had zero motivation to day to write this but please enjoy!? As always, please don’t repost! To support me please like or reblog. Also!! Send me a request if you want to be added to the tags list for this series!

Y/n= your name

L/n= Your last name

Y/h/c= your hair colour

Y/e/c= your eye colour

Warning: extremely unedited, mentioned blood, mentioned fire, burning, medical stuff, needles

Previous//Next

Atsumu woke up with the warm morning sun spilling through the window, and the fresh morning air cascaded through the open window. There was no pain in his body and his head was light. His head was lying on a soft, plush pillow and the silk sheets were smooth against his skin. Everything was fine.

Well almost fine. The only problem was that he didn’t own any silk sheets. He had scratchy cotton ones. In alarm, Atsumu sat up straight and looked around the somewhat familiar room. He was is a room with lightly coloured walls and a few plants which hung from the ceiling. Beside the door was a body length mirror with two coat hooks beside it. Next to where he sat was a beige bedside table with two drawers and a single daisy in a small glass jar and 2 doors which he guessed led to the closet. Directly across from him was a desk with a small stack of books, a spiral bounded notebook, and a few pens, along with a girl, L/n. She had her nose in a book. Her eyes following the line she was reading. Her face was relaxed, but scrunched in displeasure, or maybe anticipation, at the book in front of her. Her nimble fingers flipped the page. As she kept reading, her eyebrows scrunched and her mouth fell open in surprise, or maybe hatred or shock, at the new page. That was a beautiful expression that she wore.

Astumu didn’t want to admit it, but she was beautiful. Her face was doll-like, giving her the illusion of youth, but her eyes showed much more maturation and pain, but held kindness and love. Her lips looked soft and sweet, and were especially beautiful when she pulled her mouth into a wide smile. Her hair looked elegant however it fell around her face, or maybe she would look more breathtaking with her hair up. It beautifully framed her face, and made her y/e/c eyes stand out. L/n’s voice was also beautiful. It was melodic and sweet, but could also held the intensity of a thousand dagger. Her laugh would sound nice too. Maybe it would be a light chuckle. Or maybe a breathy laugh where she would crinkle her nose. Or if her laugh was a belly laugh full of life and happiness. That would be lovely. Astumu watched as her face contorted to many different emotions, surprise, hate, confusion. But it made him sad that her face was almost always neutral. Emotionless.

Suddenly, the door opened, and in walked the man with dark hair and metallic blue eyes. He was very tall and was decently built. His eyes scanned the room taking inventory of the situation. L/n looked up from her book and gave him a discreet nod.

“Hello L/n-san. Anything new?” He asked. His voice was smooth and empty. His eyes, and L/n’s shifted to Atsumu. He felt like a monkey in a zoo enclosure, with everyone watching him as he flung his feces at the wall. He watched as L/n and the dark haired man had a conversation though eye contact, head movements and face expressions. The “conversation” mainly consistent of L/n rolling her eyes and the man angrily raising his eyebrows.

“Well do you have a plan for that ?” L/n said finally, breaking the silence, but adding to the tension within the small room. At least Astumu knew that the mystery man’s wasn’t a potential danger.

“Well Y/n we need to take care of Miya-san first. For all we know you would have brought a wanted criminal into our house! How do you think the rest of us will react?” The man yell at her. L/n kept her face straight. No sign of any emotions covered her face and her eyes became more intense, almost like a tiger ready to kill.

“I am going to say it once. This is my house. I will decide when things happen and how things will happen. I decided to help someone who was dying on the street, and you don't get to judge my kindness. Not after what happened at the train station!" she stated with a calm icy tone, book long forgotten on the desk. The room was noticeably colder and Atsumu was feeling unsure of what was happening. The tall man stood, face unmoved, but behind his eyes showed something more. Something about the train station bugged him. He didn't speak or move, but his compliance was displayed through his eyes. He walked out wordlessly and shut the door behind him. Astumu was still in shock. Not sure if it was the situation in general, or maybe it was the amount of power L/n held.

“So how are you feeling, Miya-san?” She asked, breaking Atsumu from his thoughts. Her voice back to the sweet voice he remembered from the day before.

“Am fine, what just happened?” Her inquired curiously, hoping to get an answer. The mysterious man gave Atsumu many question, and not a single answer.

“Well Miya-san, I think you are forgetting our deal. You said you would tell me everything, and so far you haven’t. So if you could please tell me, then go ahead.” She replied in a teasing manner. Astumu tensed at her light hearted tone. The stark contrast between her light-hearted tone now and the cold tone from just minutes ago made his skin crawl. The eagerness was written on her face as she sat cross legged in the chair across from him.

“Well it’s complicated. Ya see, we were gonna ambush a rival yakuza. But they saw us comin’ and fought us back. A got hit a few times, then someone lit the building on fire. I ran out, then I ended up here.” He said, recalling the events of that night. He remembered the scent of blood, both his and the people around him, and the gasoline, and the horrid screams of people in the fire as their bodies burned. He was lucky that he got out. He wondered about his closest acquaintances, Kita, Suna, and Aran. But also his twin brother, Osumu. Damn how could this happen? If anything happened to them, then it would be his fault. All because of his recklessness. Snapping out of his thoughts, he looked at L/n who was in deep thought. Her forehead was crinkled and her eyes seemed to be seeing right through him.

After what could have been only five minutes, she got up quietly and walked towards the closet. Inside the closet was an artillery of medical supplies. Multiple boxes of gloves and masks, along with a small fridge that held many small bottles of drugs. There were also a crash cart with everything that could be sues in an emergency, a defibrillator, a breathing bag, a tracheotomy kit and tubes. There were also about 3 oxygen tanks with small carts. She rummaged around in the closet until she got out some bandages and a small suture kit with a pair of needle drivers and toothed forceps along with a few other tools Atsumu could not recognize. Then L/n grab a small vile of drug and a needle from another part of the closet. She walk towards Atsumu, tools in hand as he watched curiously. As she go to the bed side table, she injected the needle into the vile which Astumu could now read as “morphine” and carefully pulled back the piston until there was maybe 5 milligrams of morphine. She grabbed his left arm and injected it into his bicep. Then she grabbed his left leg and removed the bandages from his leg. At first, he was questioning his lack of pants, before he remembered the “incident”. As your hands nimbly unwrap the bandage, the stench from his leg escaped into the room, causing him to plug him nose, but L/n seemed unaffected as she unwrapped the bandages. Once the bandages were removed she walked to the small garbage can beside the foot of the bed, which he did not notice, which was already half full of bloody bandages and the sweatpants from earlier. L/n carefully inspected the neatly done stitches, making sure there was no sign of the wound reopening. Once she was sure there was no sign of reopening or infection, she rewrapped the leg in new clean bandages.

“Thank you for the information Miya-san, you will need to rest so your wounds don’t reopen or become worse. I will be back in a few hours so please don’t move and if you need anything please just scream.” She said curly before turning around and leaving before he could reply. Atsumu felt very confused, but he also felt drowsiness. “Maybe from the morphine” he thought before drifting off to sleep.

Sometime later, he woke up to hearing voices down the stairs. There were 3 male voices and L/n’s. They were murmuring urgently.

“L/n-san, we can’t let him stay here. It’s too dangerous. If they find us we will be killed. You know that.” Said the first voice, which sounded like the mystery man from earlier in the day.

“No Akaashi-san, it will be fine.” Replied another deeper voice. “I don’t see why not besides we could take care of anything that happens.”

“Why are you being kind to that lowly yakuza. It doesn’t fit your character.” Replied the first voice, which Atsumu now knew belonged to the mystery man, Akaashi.

“I am always this kind. Besides Akaashi, you are just overthinking it too much.” Said the deep voice again.

“Yeah ‘Kaashi, I agree with them” said another , “Even if they figure out that we were responsible for those incidents, they have no proof”.

“Exactly Akaashi-san,” you agreed, “And if he does anything, then I will take care of him”.

Taglist:

@kayleighbeccaa

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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[See Ed with a spiral bound notebook resting on his leg, which crossed over his lap. See Ed absently tapping the page with his pen as he thinks.]

Ed: “(under his breath) Doo doo doo…next stanza… ‘You promise once; you break it twice…something something, not so nice?’ ‘Mice,’ ‘nice’… ‘thrice!’ ‘Something something, make it thrice…’”

[Cue Ed looking up because lookie here, he’s got company.]

Ed: “…Well, hello. Hope you weren’t expecting a serenade…I’m afraid the song’s not done yet.”

[He gives a white, fox-like grin.]

Ed: “Anyway…so my ‘mundane,’ as she calls herself — ”

Don’t know why anyone would be okay calling themselves that, but hey, to each their own.

“ — has lent me the Ask Box tonight, so as to test my voice. (smirks) Don’t know how you’ll hear my dulcet tones with this method, but hey — I’m not opposed to some vocal warm-ups.”

[He chuckles — it’s a low, warm, husky sound in the back of his throat.]

“Feel free to send me some questions…though I’m afraid I’ll have to put a hold on marriage proposals until after the third date. Come on, people, a guy could use some wining and dining too, now and again!”

And sorry, but I’m the one who’ll be popping the question to that person, when they come along, and only after I’ve planned out all of the wedding arrangements and how our lives together would work, if we went ahead and took that next step together. That is non-negotiable.

Ed: “I can always use some practice for press interviews, so feel free to ask me anything you’d like.”

I may or may not dodge any questions I don’t like.

Ed: “Music is my one true love, lyric writing in particular, but I also played Quidditch back in the day — go Slytherin!”

[He gives a muted fist pump to the air.]

Ed: “And yeah, anything about being part of Spellb🔮und is on the table too, though forgive me if I don’t spill the tea on all my band mates’ dirty little secrets. These are my buddies we’re talking about.”

If by “buddies,” you mean my coworkers — but even so, I’ve got their back, or else I can’t expect them to have mine.

Ed: “So yeah, have at it!”

((OOC: Yes, friends! Help me test out my newest muse’s voice by reblogging this post or submitting questions/such in my Ask Box…feel free to consult the “Ed Rosier” tag to learn more about my new guy!

Tagging some people who might be interested… @cursebreakerfarrier @kathrynalicemc @nightmaresart @aceyanaheim 💚))

#ed rosier #roleplaying #ask ed

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fondnesses · 3 years

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roscoe’s notebook post

A while back I said I was going to write a post about the way I use notebooks for writing projects. This is the first of several posts about Writing Process I’ve been tossing around in my drafts for a little while as a result of conversations with friends, so bear with me.

I. Love. Notebooks. I genuinely would have to deeply overhaul my whole Process of writing anything on the longer side if I were to go paperless; I find physical paper pretty invaluable when I’m outlining, brainstorming, and researching, and I still probably write ¼-⅓ of all my actual content on paper first. (That proportion used to be a lot higher, but I’ve gotten better at being productive on a computer in recent years, which is great.) I’m a very visual person, so notebooks really help me visualize my ideas, story structure, etc. It’s very helpful to be able to use arrows and diagrams and physically strike things through, and the tactility is really soothing to me. If I show people my notebooks or talk about them, I often get a response like “this is so organized”, which is sort of true, but I have to stress that it’s “organization for a disorganized mind”; I can’t misplace ideas or notes if it all goes into the same physical object, vs. electronic notes, which are much more, like “Did I say that in a voice memo? PM it to myself on Discord? Leave it in a desktop sticky note? Write it directly into the Google Doc? Who knows! It’s lost to time!”. It’s very much an ADHD management strategy.

It helps that I’m a very neophyte stationery hobbyist and appreciate any excuse I have to use my pens, but I also will go off at any opportunity about how helpful I find them for writing projects, which is why I decided to just make a post about it. Right now I mostly use them for (fan and original) fiction projects, but I used a notebook for a very similar purpose when I was working on my undergrad thesis, and I have a slightly different but equally necessary-to-me approach to notebooks I use at work.

My typical structure for a notebook that’s devoted to one project only looks like this:

I always leave the first couple pages blank so I can go back and retroactively index bujo-style. I don’t always actually do the index, because sometimes I get too lazy, but I like having those blank pages there to give me the option. I also usually put epigraphs/inspo quotes on the first page.

After that, there’s often (but not always, I’ll talk about it) a couple pages at the start where I’m frantically jotting down loose brainstorming ideas before they've coagulated into a story structure. Just, like, vomiting into the void.

Stemming out of that, I usually write out about like 5-10 pages of outline-style notes in chronological order, laying out all the main story beats and charting out the story trajectory. This will inevitably get revised and rewritten many times, but I find the process of writing these wide-angle synopses really useful for dislodging ideas, making connections re: thematic threads, etc. from my brain.

I’ll devote a couple pages after that to specific things like "sex scene brainstorming", "random scene ideas/minor details that don't have a clear place in the outline right now but I'll turn to for inspo later" [this is what I refer to as “bits” in one of the later photos], "page where I just outline the Motifs And Themes", "research notes", "to-do list", "stuff to check on a second pass", "things to put in the a/n and AO3 tags", etc.--the specifics vary with the story.

Then, I skip ahead to approx. halfway through the notebook and cordon off the rest of the pages to be “free writing” space, AKA writing of actual content rather than planning, with the expectation there will be no internal organization and I’ll transcribe to laptop as I go. Writing on paper feels less binding than typing something on a computer; it’s like a little secret kept with myself, and it doesn’t need to go anywhere or be seen by anyone if I decide I don’t like it. Setting aside pages in the back half of the notebook means that, as more things come up re: planning, I can go back and add those in the rest of the pages that were intentionally left blank. This is how I avoid (for the most part) having the whole thing be a jumbled mess where there’s no separation between the notes and the actual story writing; I learned this the hard way via the first notebook I’ll show you in a second. I’ve recently gotten really into using Muji sticky note tabs to label any pages/sections of particular import that don't want to have to refer back to in the index and would rather just flip to instantly.

I do use notebooks that aren’t specific to any one project, but those are much less organized and less worth sharing.

Before I look at more recent stuff, here are some selections from my notebook for the project that got me into writing longfic, my Golden Kamuy canon divergence AU (with apologies for the bad photos, my phone’s camera is trash). I worked on this from Sept 2018-July 2019. It was a learning experience in a lot of ways, and notebook utilization was one of those. I’ve always used notebooks for keeping track of writing projects, as I said earlier, but before this it was largely without much organization or structure; just total chaos. Having a physical notebook became really important for this project because it was a sprawling multichapter story with rotating POVs and a lot of historical research. I also learned a lot about what not to do with a notebook, personally, or at least things that don’t work so well (for me). This was a college ruled spiral-bound Decomposition Book, for the record.

By the time I bought a notebook for it I already had a (very basic) plot outline in mind, so I wasn’t doing that very initial ground-zero brainstorming in here; I was copying out of my phone’s notes app, basically, and then going from there.

This is one of the first pages in this notebook; I wanted to visualize the relationship web between the four central characters in the story in terms of how they feel about one another. The two colours correspond to the POV characters (Sugimoto in orange, Ogata in pink), and I used this colour-coding throughout the notebook with highlighters, etc. to keep track of information that was more relevant to one character than the other. Tsurumi and Yuusaku aren’t POV characters, but they’re prominent in the story and their presence impacts the central relationship between Sugimoto and Ogata, and it was helpful to me to map out the emotional ecosystem, as it were.

(There are coffee stains all over this, because I wrote the vast majority of the story in coffee shops because I didn’t want to be around my roommates, lol. This is part of why I never do fiction writing in notebooks that are too nice, I get neurotic about needing to keep them tidy. I can’t use ones that are too shit though, either, so it’s a bit of a narrow window. I’ll talk more about brands and paper quality etc. later.)

As you can see, this is the first page of many I set aside specifically for jotting down different pieces of historical information relevant to my story. It’s about fictional characters who are members of an army division that existed in real life, and both the canon and my fic involve a high level of attention to detail with regards to which divisions were present for which battles, etc., as well as general historical details specific to the Russo-Japanese War setting--what did people eat in the trenches? What did they do to fill time? How did they get through the winter? What did third party observers have to say about the conditions? What were the specs of their weaponry (particularly important because one of the POV characters is a sniper and gun nut)? I did a lot of reading (and watching of antique gun collector Youtube videos... the things I do for love, eh), and it came in handy so many times, because it turns out it’s much easier to write trench warfare slice of life if you have factual details to pull from when you don’t know what to do with a scene! Imagine that!

This is the first of three “grid outlines” I made; this is a way I sometimes like to visualize a story outline all on one page, with the columns representing chapters and the squares within the columns representing sections/scenes within the chapters. As you can see, early on I was hoping to get this done in five or even FOUR chapters (whatmakesyouhaha.mp3), with POV switches happening internally within the chapters. This proved to be unwieldy for many reasons, so I revised the outline:

Here I’d come to terms with the fact this story was going to have a lot more chapters than I’d planned, and I rearranged things so that it would happen in ten, with each chapter belonging to only one POV character. This also needed revising later, and in the end the story looked a bit more like this (though it did in fact end up being twelve chapters, but only because Chapter Ten was like, 12k, and needed to be split in two chunks):

I must have remembered to bring my fineliners to the coffee shop this time, lol, because as you can see it’s properly colour-coded this time. This outline was made when I was already four posted chapters into the fic, which hopefully gives you a sense of the way in which I am sort of a planner and a pantser; I can’t get into a longer project without an outline, but the outline inevitably changes many times throughout writing and I often end up with a finished product that looks pretty different from what I was intending. My creative M.O. as always is Do The Maximum! Amount! Of! Work! Possible!

This is what a “free writing” page looks like, for me. In this notebook I didn’t set aside any specific spaces for free writing so it’s strewn throughout the notebook in a really disorganized way and I was constantly flipping through looking for bits I’d written and forgotten to transcribe, and I decided to be more organized in future as a result of that. If something’s crossed through, that means I transcribed it. As you can see, they’re often small sections, sometimes just a coupled decontextualized sentences. About 3/4 of what I write in a notebook makes it into the story, I’d say; some of it never goes anywhere, and that’s OK. I have less of an issue killing my darlings if they never make it off the paper page.

A very brief, top-down chapter outline, where the goal was not to get too bogged down in details and just to visualize the beats and pin down what they’re trying to accomplish. Chapters for this fic typically ran about 6k, and five or six scenes per chapter was pretty common, so the average scene length was about 1-1.25k words/scene. IDK why I called it storyboarding when I didn’t make drawings. (Margin numbers are to keep track of word count, since I was using a daily word count tracker while writing this.)

This page was, as titled, for keeping track of the various balls in the air when I was about 2/3-3/4 of the way through the story and really feeling the pressure with regards to tying up the various loose ends. This was... a struggle. I hadn’t ever written anything longish (this fic ended up just under 70k) that had an action plot before, let alone a canon divergence scenario where I had to engage with and explain away various canon plot elements so I could maintain the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

Now, I mentioned earlier that I learned various “things not to do” with my notebooks while working on that project. One of those lessons I learned is to be more realistic when assessing how big a project is likely to get, not least because I RAN OUT OF PAGES around the chapter 9-10 mark. In my defense though, that’s because I’d never written anything even half this long! But I know better now, and try not to be in denial. Finishing the notebook early was a way bigger problem than I’d anticipated, and was part of the reason the last few chapters took several grueling months to finish. The issue was that I needed to be able to use a notebook to maintain my workflow--attempting to do it only on a computer was dismal--but it seemed silly to start a notebook of a similar size to the one I’d finished (80pg, approximately B5 dimensions) when there was no way it would need that much space, especially since the reference pages, like the historical notes, didn’t need to be transcribed over. I was also pretty broke at the time and didn’t want to spend money unnecessarily, lol. I tried to get by using a Moleskine Cahier for a month or so because I had one lying around, but it was horrid; it was too small to be used comfortably, it wasn’t spiral-bound so it wouldn’t lay flat, the ghosting is terrible and I hate the way Moleskine paper feels, etc. Eventually I caved and went to Muji and bought a 30ish page A5 with closer to lay-flat binding, and I finished the story in there. I would take a comparative pic for you of the relative notebook sizes and include some of the scene staging diagrams, etc. I put in there, but I can’t find it :(

So I learned that specs really do matter, and it’s okay to be picky if the pickiness is going to make the difference between actually using a notebook or not. Things that are important to me in my notebooks:

Ruling (gotta have ruling, I can suffer through grid but blank or dot is a no-go)

Size (I can’t use anything smaller than at least a medium-large notebook, I find it claustrophobic and get miserly about page space)

Binding (twin ring is my preference because it looks and feels better than a classic spiral but has the same comfort of use with regards to bending the pages back to suit workspace size and laying flat with ease)

Paper quality and colour (I don’t like anything too slippery/smooth or with too much visible ghosting, and I strongly prefer an off-white paper to bleached paper--part of why I don’t use Decomposition Books anymore, the paper is scratchy and it’s too damn bleached!)

Pagecount relative to size of project

Portability (in non-COVID times; anything bigger than a B5 wouldn’t fit in the satchel I used to bring to work at my old job), etc.

But everyone’s taste is different in this respect, and the only way to figure out what works for you is through trial and error, I’m afraid. I also suspect I’m more neurotic and particular about the sensory experience of using a notebook than most people are, but I yam what I yam.

Now to talk about the notebooks for my current projects, where I’ve refined my approach somewhat. I’ve included less photos for these because they’re ongoing WIPs I don’t want to spoil completely, but I’ve tried to include some outline-type stuff to give you an idea.

My big bang fic is in the very ugly twin ring notebook on the right; I got it at a dollar store by my house because I needed something to work in and didn’t want to wait for an online order, but it’s been very serviceable for my needs. The paper isn’t even bad. The bigger notebook (B5) is my Sangcheng fic.

I wanted something with a lot of pages for this, because I knew it was going to be a long story, and for some reason the fact it’s smaller than my usual preference doesn’t bug me (I think it’s an A5?); it just fits this story, somehow. I’m not sure exactly how many sheets are in here but I’d guess about 150.

Because this notebook has upwards of 100 sheets, I made a lot of use of sticky-note tabs to label high-priority pages. The colour coding of these doesn’t mean anything, it was just whichever ones I had at hand at any given moment. These are those tabs from Muji I mentioned, I’m really obsessed with them--the shape makes them so much less obtrusive and more practical than conventional squares/rectangles OR flag shapes, IME.

My big bang story is nonlinear, so, similarly to what I did with colour coding for the two POVs for my GK fic, this story has two main colours corresponding to whether a given section takes place in the “before” or the “after” portions of the timeline, with blue as “after”, yellow as “before”. This is what the most current version of the outline looks like in there:

If you squint, you can see the alphanumeric notes in the top right of each section entry; I gave them each a code like “A3″ or “B5″ corresponding to their position in the story sequence (so, it goes A1, B1, A2, B2, etc., through to B9 and then the epilogue). [Unintentional that this schema overlaps with notebook size labeling and so is kind of confusing in the context of this post.] At first I was just keeping track of the sections via the highlighted titles, but it got confusing because I’d write down “Wedding” or “Yiling” in my notes and then refer to the notes later like “but there are multiple marriages?? and multiple scenes in Yiling??”. Stuff gets struck through with a straight line if it’s been written in a more-or-less complete form and crossed out with a squiggly line if it’s been cut from the outline or made redundant.

As I said earlier, I started out all the initial brainstorming for my Sangcheng fic in its notebook, instead of brainstorming it in someone’s DMs/my notes app/a voice memo/etc. and then transcribing it into the notebook in a somewhat more organized fashion, which is how my stories usually start out. Because of this, the first five-ish pages are basically just stream of consciousness rambling where I was trying to jot down every disconnected thought I had about the story concept. I don’t have photos for that because it’s too spoilerific for later developments in the fic, but I can show you some of the stages the outlines went through, once I was able to corral those initial notes into a story structure:

All the chapters in this fic have their own highlighter colour, so when I started trying to make sense of my initial brainstorm notes I just went through and highlighted stuff in the colour of the chapter it would make the most sense for, and then transcribed things more-or-less in chronological order into the relevant chapter outline. I later ended up rewriting all the chapter outlines AGAIN to refine them and divide them internally by the individual scenes, which makes them a lot more legible and less wall-of-text-y. They look like this now, with about four sheets per chapter:

Because this fic is on the longer side, I have some pages that are just for keeping track of other story elements, like this, where I refer back to whatever the fuck the “themes” are supposed to be whenever I forget what this fic is about:

It’s all about the visionboarding... Anyway, that’s most of what I have to offer, since most of these two notebooks is Forbidden Content.

With regards to brands/supplies, I really like this Kokuyo Campus Wide notebook that I’m writing Sangcheng in, it’s pretty perfect for me. I also like the B5 Muji twin rings, but those only come in 30 sheets, so I wouldn’t use it for anything above a ~20k project. The B5 Maruman Spiral Note 6.5mm ruled/80 sheet is another good one, though I wish it was twin ring instead of spiral. As you can tell, I like Japanese stationery brands because it’s easier to find decent paper quality and minimalist design without shelling out $$ than it is with American/European brands, at least IME. I like Rollbahns too. But honestly, I can usually find pretty serviceable random notebooks that aren’t brand-name from Asian dollar stores; it’s really not something where you need to shell out tons of money.

#notebooks #writing #idk how to tag this!

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ellewritessometimes · 3 years

Text

It’s a Gift

Summary: Cas and Dean have become very close. Dean develops a crush and is afraid to say anything. He continues to fall harder as the days go on. As the Valentine's Day party approaches, Dean wonders if he'll share the secret he's been harboring.

Ships: Dean/Cas, Crobby

Word Count: 3,552

TW: Mentions of violence and Homophobia, Swearing

Notes: This is a work from an abandoned Valentine's Day group writing project. I decided to post it still because I worked hard on it and I wanted the original intended recipient to get their fic as planned. I want to thank Luc for allowing me to reach out to them and @kermit-drinking-tea-dot-jpg for betaing this fic.

Link to read on AO3

The smell of greasy tater tots and dry nuggets wafted through the cafeteria as I walked in and took my seat at the table. The rest of the team sat down as well.

"Does anyone have a date for Valentine's party tomorrow?" Garth asked.

"I'm sure Sam will be my date," Gabe smirked. The guy was kinda obsessed with my brother.

Garth rolled his eyes and continued to take a bite of his chicken patty. I turned the page of my notebook, trying to decode my notes from last week.

"Shit," I mumbled under my breath.

"What?" Gabe asked with a mouth full of french fries.

"I can't read my notes, and the test is next period," I said in frustration. I had scrawled them down distractedly during the class.

"Would you like to borrow mine?" Cas asked.

Of course, I would like to borrow Cas's notes. He was a great student, always crazy organized.

Cas slid a spiral-bound notebook with perfect notes written in blue gel pen. The lettering looked like a font. I could never be like this. I could never sit still for that long. Oh, to be like Cas; Quarterback, Captain of the Football team, debate mentor, NHS, he really had it all. I was just a linebacker struggling to remember physics. God, Dad, is gonna kill me.

"Thanks, man," There was relief in my voice. Maybe I'd pass. A.P. Physics is not the move when you're a dumbass.

Cas smiled and picked up his book, On the Road. I've never seen him eat during school. He's always reading, helping us with homework, or keeping Gabe and Garth out of trouble.

The bell rang, so I handed Cas his notebook back. He winked, and I felt my heart pound. I'm sure he was just saying ‘you're welcome’.

* * *

Mr. Crowley handed out the test, and I inhaled deeply. I can't do this. I can't do this.

Cas looked toward me and mouthed, "Are you ok?"

I shook my head. The little shit winked again and raised his hand.

"Mr. Crowley, I think Dean is going to be ill," Cas fibbed, "I should take him to the nurse just to be sure."

"We wouldn't want that. Take him to the nurse," Mr. Crowley gave him the ok.

Cas and I walked out of the classroom and into the hallway. Cas gestured to me to follow him. He led me into an empty classroom and shut the door.

He set his notebook and pencil down on a desk and bluntly said, "Sit."

I did as I was told. I watched him write a kinematic equation on a fresh sheet.

"What do you know?" Cas asked.

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that."

"I'm a dumbass," I shrugged.

He tilted his head, and I noticed a change in his eyes.

"You don't believe you deserved to be helped," He stated and quickly changed the subject in an attempt to take what he said back. "Let's start easy."

I leaned my head over to see the problem he wrote. A hair fell on my face, and Cas pushed it away. I jumped. Cas jumped as well, startled by my reaction. His disposition changed.

"I'm sorry, I…" His voice trailed off.

"It's fine, Cas." I made an attempt to reassure him.

We moved along with the problem like it never happened. But it did happen. I would feel the touch on my forehead the rest of the day. The way his hand felt, soft and warm against my rough skin.

We must have done at least 20 problems until I finally felt comfortable doing it independently. The bell rang, and I thanked Cas. He really didn't need to do that. I wasn't shocked that he did though, he always tried to help the guys somehow. The dude's a friggin angel.

* * *

I was distracted all of the football practice. I was preoccupied thinking about Cas.

"Winchester, get your head in the game!" Coach Bobby yelled out.

I had known Bobby my whole life. He'd been more like a dad than my own blood. He was always there when Dad was deployed, on a hunting trip, or just drunk, unable to take care of Sam and me. Dad was never the most stable person.

I nodded to Bobby and tried to focus. I'd been meaning to talk to the school counselor about getting me to see a therapist or something to get diagnosed. Bobby and I suspected I had ADHD but we wouldn't know for sure. Unfortunately, I knew that Dad didn't believe in therapy. And anyway, the doctor can't fix it if I'm distracted by Cas. God, the dude can move. His passes are perfect, he makes almost every goal, and his touchdowns are so impressive. God, I sound like I have a crush.

Practice finished, and we all headed to the locker room. Bobby gave a speech.

"We've got an away game tomorrow, folks. I expect the best behavior from you all, or you will not go to the sports Valentine's Day party. I mean it." Bobby continued, "I know that this year has been hard with the Superbowl being delayed due to extenuating circumstances, but I still need you idjits to be good."

"Yes, coach," We deadpanned in unison like cult members. We started exiting the locker room.

"Dean, I would like you to stay," Coach said sternly.

Oh shit.

Bobby led me to his office and motioned for me to sit in a chair.

"What's up with you, son?" Bobby questioned, "You've got that look, is it a girl? You're not back with Jo, are you? Lisa? Or is it a guy or an enby? You know that I don't care…"

"No, it's no one," I'm such a liar. I've had a crush on Cas since he moved here in fourth grade, and Bobby can see right through my bullshit.

"Bull," Bobby raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged. I couldn't even imagine what dad would say. Actually, I could. It would be to get out of his house and never come back.

"So that's it, you just wanted to be nosey? Besides, it's no one, and dad would never let me." I sighed.

"Don't worry about your old man. I'd take care of it. Mr. King and I always have a place for you and Sam anyway." Bobby was dating Mr. Crowley, no one but Sam and I knew.

I thanked him and left to go pick up Sam from the middle school. Boy, he had grown up so fast. I remembered when he was born. And when mom died.

* * *

I pulled up at the school, music blaring. Sam rushed to my car and opened the door.

"Can you drive me to Jess's house?" Sam asked.

"No, tonight's family dinner night." Dad's A.A. sponsor told him that it was a good idea to start trying to be more of a part of our lives. That started with dinner, I guess.

* * *

Dinner with Dad was painful. Sam and Dad bickered back and forth about every single little thing. Sam wanted to go to college, Dad wanted him to keep up with the family business, then Sam said that hunting and the military don't count as a legacy. I hate it here.

"Sam, give it a rest." I dropped my fork into Cambell's chicken noodle with stars.

"You're not siding with him, are you?" Sam's face was defensive.

"I'm the adult here." Dad slurred.

"A half of one at best," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that, boy?" Dad's face had that look I didn't like.

"Nothing, sir," I was trying not to get killed.

Creak. Dad slid his chair back and walked over to me. As he hovered over my head, my heart dropped to my stomach. He held his hand out and swung.

I could feel the tingling on my face as he said, "Say something else, and it's gonna be somewhere else."

Sam got up from the table and ran to his room. I hated when Sam saw this. I knew it would hurt him more, but I still spoke anyway. It's hard. I knew Dad loved us. He just didn't know how to express it.

I walked away from the table as Dad drank more beer.

"Sam, you know that…" I couldn't think of an excuse, so I said, "Open the door, please."

Sam opened the door. His eyes were red, stress hives had formed on his arm. I wanted to hold him and tell him I would get us out here. I tried to protect him. I wanted him to always be safe. I just wish he knew Dad before Mom died.

"Why?" Sam asked, "Why do you just sit there and take it."

So he won't come after you, I wanted to say. Instead, I just shrugged as he closed the door in frustration.

* * *

I woke up early to go on a run to clear my head. As I ran, I saw a familiar face. It was Cas, walking a fluffy golden retriever. There was a redheaded girl next to him. I didn't know her, but she was pretty. I stopped jogging and stared for a moment.

"Hey!" I waved.

"Oh hey, Dean!" Cas's face brightened. He turned to the girl, "Anna, this is Dean Winchester."

Anna threw up a hand shyly. I smiled in response.

"Catch you later, I guess," I said as I walked away.

It was nice to see Cas, and he looked happy to see me. His sister was nice as well. I thought of the interaction as I strolled to the abandoned house on the end of the street. Sam always asked why I liked that place so much, but I don't know why. I just like creepy things. The house feels almost supernatural.

* * *

"Hey!" Someone hit me in the back. Jo.

"Hay is for horses," Jo grinned. "Got a date for the party?"

I shook my head. I was planning on asking Lisa but Jo was a fun party person. This could pose an issue, but I decided to ignore it.

"Well, you do now, silly goose," Jo said snarkily.

I always took Jo to parties. She was indeed the life of them. We'd go, she'd flirt, I'd scope out the crowd, we'd both be disappointed, then drunkenly make out in the Impala. Maybe grab a milkshake. It was tradition, but I had never taken Lisa before. Jo and I were more like flirty friends; I really had something with Lisa.

"Same as always?" I asked.

"Yup, come get me at five, and I'll bring the refreshments." She was referring to the whiskey she would steal from her mom's bar.

Jo walked away, and I turned to see Lisa standing at her locker. She was grabbing a math textbook and a copy of Gatsby.

"Hey Lis," I started.

"What do you want, Dean," She seemed annoyed.

"Are you ok?"

"I thought you've been ignoring me," Her voice had little emotion.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't realize how distant I was," Now was not the best time. I decided to say nothing about the party.

"Also, I'm not going to the party. My mom is making me watch my sister." Lisa was disappointed.

"Aw man," Score. This would work out.

We departed from the hallway, and I went to class.

* * *

School could not end fast enough. I couldn't wait for the game.

"Winchester, come see me," Mr. Crowley ordered me to his desk.

I hesitantly got up. He seemed pleased. I could not think of what this could possibly be about.

"Dean, your make-up test is perfect," His voice was enthusiastic. "I'm very proud."

Wow. I could not believe this. I thought for sure that I had flunked. As I breezed by, Cas gave me a thumbs up. I would have to thank him later.

* * *

The rest of the day flew by like cake.

The team gathered in the locker room before entering the busses. Coach Bobby gave us one last speech.

"Alright, boys, remember what I said yesterday. Be polite and respectful but kick butt," The team cheered as soon as he said it.

We filled into the bus like sardines. This would be unpleasant on the ride home. I made sure I sat next to Cas to talk about science.

"Hey man, thank you so much," I patted his shoulder.

"Of course," He didn't even look up from his book.

"What's it about" I pointed to On the Road.

"Oh, it's not your kind of book. You wouldn't like it," Cas muttered assertively.

"I'm sure I would"

"When I finish, I'll let you borrow it," Cas clearly was uncomfortable.

"Ok," I decided not to press.

We sat in awkward silence. It was painful. I tried not to stare while he read his book, but he's all I wanted to pay attention to. I noticed the way his eyes glowed, the way his lip curled when he read something funny, the way he brushed his fringe away from his face.

"Dean...Dean...Dean," I finally noticed that Cas was talking to me.

"Huh?" Shit.

"You're staring,"

"You're a pretty picture," I tried to laugh it off, and I guess it worked because he smiled.

He titled his head in surprise at the comment, but he didn't say anything about it, just turned to his book again. I stared more this time, making it very obvious. He looked up again and grinned. This time, I scooted closer. Now, we were only inches apart. Without looking up, he put his head on my shoulder and continued reading. His hair was soft against my cheek. His arm fit perfectly next to mine. I felt so warm and fuzzy. I never had this feeling before.

* * *

"Hut, hut, 67," Bobby was yelling out commands, "Let's go, boys!"

The bright lights lit up the dark field. It was the fourth quarter, and things were looking good. Tried to keep my head in the game as I made a pass to Cas. Cas fumbled the ball, and another player tackled him.

"What are you doing, Novak?" Bobby yelled. Fumbles were out of character for Cas.

I noticed that the opponent was on top of Cas. This was more malicious than just a tackle.

"Hey!" Gabe tried to break them up but got lost in the mix.

Finally, a ref noticed and threw up a flag, "Fifteen-yard penalty!"

Cas stumbled up, his lip was bleeding, and a bruise formed around his eye. We cleared the field to regroup. Cas would most-likely be evaluated, and that player, Azazel, would be suspended. Bobby took Cas to the medical station and, after, walked to the refs and the other coach. You could see them conversing. Bobby's face was solemn.

"So, after talking to the other coach and the refs, we've decided to end this game. The behavior was unacceptable, and we want to prevent any other incidents from happening." Bob said, disappointingly.

"Ugh, I want to kill this kid!" Gabe yelled. His face was red hot.

"Exactly," Cas spoke up from the bench. No one even noticed that he walked over. "This is what we want to prevent."

Gabe crossed his arms. He's quite the drama queen.

Bobby told us to gather our stuff and meet him outside to get on the bus. Most of the team was able to grab their belongings quickly. I was about to leave the locker room when I heard someone grunt. They sounded frustrated.

"Dean! Are you still in here?" Cas called out.

"Um...yeah? Why?"

Cas walked out from behind a row of lockers, shirtless. I tried to contain myself, but the sweat against his skin, the ruffled wet hair, the smile, he looked hot. I must say.

He looked defeated, "I can't find my bag."

I nodded, and Cas continued, "Can you tell Coach Singer that I'll be late? I need to find my bag."

I ran to Bobby, "Cas can't find his bag. I'm gonna stay and help him. I'll call for you to pick me up later."

"Sounds good, kiddo," Bobby gave me two thumbs up.

I ran back to Cas just to find him with his head between his knees on a bench. I didn't know what to do, so I just placed my hand on his back and left it there.

The room smelled of old sweat and mud. The smell was so overwhelming, I don't know how I didn't notice it earlier. There are lots of things I haven't seen, I start to think about what I've actually paid attention to.

"Cas?" I question. "Are you ok?"

He shook his head. He didn't even move from his position, so I got up to look around. The lockers didn't have locks, so I opened all of them. Nothing. I checked under benches, in stalls; I even looked by the toilets.

"Man, I can't find it," I sighed.

Seconds after I said those words, the lights went out, and I heard the twist of a key.

"Damnit!" I'd never heard Cas curse before, "What are we gonna do?"

"Cas, I don't know," I said as I tried to think.

I opened my phone to see that it was dead. I couldn't use the flashlight, and if Cas didn't have his bag, he didn't have his phone with him. Thankfully, I had a charger in my pocket, but it would take at least an hour for my Motorola to charge. Damn, that phone takes forever.

"We're gonna miss the party, and it's all my fault," Cas started sobbing.

"No, don't cry," I don't do well with tears. I sat back down on the bench.

"Dean…" Cas scooted away from me.

"What?" I moved closer so I could hear him through the sobs.

Cas turned and kissed me. His soft lips against mine felt like heaven on a platter. He ran his hands through my hair as he swung his legs over onto my lap. I lay down on my back as he leaned into me. I began kissing back but still letting him lead. This is what I wanted. I've been yearning for this. He moves from my lips to my neck, and I run my hands across his muscles.

"Dean?"

"Cas?"

"God, I love it when you say my name," He says as he undresses me faster.

* * *

After we finish, I check my phone to see if it is charged. The time says 7:15. It's only been an hour since the game ended, so we're not too late.

"So what do we do now?" Cas was lying on the bench, looking at the ceiling.

"Call Bobby to pick us up, I guess?" I ran out of solutions, "I think someone stole it."

"You're probably right, but how do we get out of here?" Cas questioned.

I did not think about that. We were in a locked locker room after school hours with no way of getting out or seeing.

It took me a moment, but I came up with a solution. There's a window high up in the back, so I slid another bench towards it so I could reach it. I flicked the lock on the window, and it budged. It was a small window, but I could climb up and slide my torso through without issue.

"Cas!" I yelled as I slid downwards out of the window, back into the locker room.

"What?"

"I found a solution."

* * *

Bobby arrived quickly to pick up a poor freezing shirtless Cas and me.

"No bag?" Bobby questioned.

We shrugged and told him we couldn't find it. Bobby said that we were never playing this school again. Cas and I were content with that. I looked over to Cas and smiled. He smiled back and giggled. I held out my hand, and he took it. I felt the warm sensation through my body again as he touched me.

"What's up with you guys?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing," I smiled but quickly pulled my hand away from Cas. I wasn't ready to tell Bobby yet.

* * *

We arrived at Valentine's party, and Jo was the first to greet me.

"Did you forget about me?" Jo wrinkled her nose in annoyance.

"Sorry, I was looking for Cas's bag." I'm not lying.

"Well, I found another date." Jo turned to a girl, Lisa.

"Hey Dean," Lisa waved and pointed to a redhead, "Meet Charlie!"

"Hi! I'm Jo's girlfriend!" Charlie stuck out her hand enthusiastically.

I laughed—what a wild night. I strolled over to the drink table and grabbed some punch. Cas found me through the crowd. He was shy now.

"Dean? Are we going to talk about this?" Cas insisted.

"Sure."

"I like you."

"I get that." I wondered what the problem was.

"And?" Cas seemed unsure.

I moved closer to Cas and hugged him.

Cas told me that Gabe had grabbed his bag from the locker room because he knew that Cas was hurt. Gabe was goofy but kind at heart. Cas was thankful that he did, and no one stole it.

That reminded me that I had something to give Cas. I opened my bag and handed Cas a mixtape with some Zeppelin favorites.

"Dean, I can't take this," Cas was in awe.

"It's a gift; you keep those." I smiled and took his hand to dance.

#spn #fic #destiel crack #crack fic #request #fanfic #this is not my usual style lol #userroadhouse

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kingofdirtandnothing · 3 years

Text

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Nineteen

George has a damned fine voice. And it’s a good thing that he does, because the man talks about boring shit more than anybody that Atticus has ever known.

Like now. He’s been droning on about chemical reactions for god knows how long. If they weren’t naked in bed, Atticus would get up and walk off. Go make a cup of tea or something. It wouldn’t deter George at all. He’d just keep on talking.

Because it wasn’t really about having a captive audience. George just did his best work thinking out loud. God only knew how much chatter that little assistant of his heard. Hours upon hours would be Atticus’ guest.

But you didn’t get to be one of the best chemists in the world by being white bread and butter normal, now did you?

Atticus waits for a lull in the onslaught of words, giving it a full three seconds before he speaks, just to be certain George had wrapped up his thought. (He’ll never admit to thoughtfulness out loud. That would ruin his reputation.)

“I’m getting leave again at Christmas.” George shifts onto his side, head resting on the upturned palm of his hand. He’s not what anyone would call beautiful, but there’s something about him that makes Atticus’ blood run hot. (He’s not a looker himself. Atticus figured that out young. He also learned that personality could get you the same bits with just a little more work.)

There’s a moment where George’s eyes are far away. Atticus waits, as patient as he ever is. You had to give the man time to come back to himself from wherever those rambling thoughts were. But there’s a blink and those clever eyes zero in on him, because George is clever, and he sees what’s being offered.

A holiday. Together.

Neither one of them had any family to speak of. Atticus had the crew, and George had his work socials and his bored rich housewives, but beyond that, there wasn’t really much to do on a holiday.

Unless one of those bored rich housewives could sneak away from her family on Christmas day. Which if a woman could handle that, Atticus would concede his spot in the bed, because that’s some fucking logistics and deep lies to accomplish.

“I could swing ‘round this way.” An offer. Because they’ve been doing this on and off for years, but it’s never been Official. It’s never been just the two of them and no one else. Atticus don’t mind it that way. He’s not jealous of saggy breasts or diamond earrings. A man had his urges.

But there was something about asking to spend a holiday together that felt intimate in a way they tended to skate away from. Atticus was head over heels, there was no denying that truth. He’d been in love with George for a long time now, and he’s confident enough to say it’s mutual. But mutually in love and mum about it was a hair different than mutually in love and spending Christmas together like a pair of old queens.

He brushes his fingers along the corded muscle at the back of a strong neck, his breath a sharp exhale when George clambers on top of him. “You aren’t exactly light as a feather here, Georgie.”

And that gets him an elbow right to the ribs for his trouble. “I’m perfectly shaped for all my activities, I’ll have you know.” George had a voice that made your toes tingle. It’s what drew Atticus in, back when they first met. Sitting a few blokes apart at the bar, nursing drinks in the quiet of an early morning.

All the partiers were gone, the lightweights sleeping it off against the bar top. All that was left were the lonely men and the alcoholics. And when Atticus heard that raspy, dry paper grumble of ‘another, damn it’, his dick was already on board and half hard.

There wasn’t much courting, then. But neither one of them were the type for romance. (A lie Atticus perpetrated because if George saw his notebook full of poetry, he’d never let him live it down.) Atticus had simply moved three stools down, knocked back the rest of his pint, looked over at George and said ‘I’ll jerk you off in the bathroom if you’ll do the same for me.’

And they’d been meeting ever since. A slow and steady escalation, because despite the drugs and the booze, George was as steady in spirit as he was in hand. Hand jobs in the bar bathroom became back alley blow jobs. Back alley blow jobs became backseat fucking in George’s car. Fucking in George’s car became a short drive to whatever hotel that Atticus was scrimping out to get him through leave.

All to get them here. Legs tangled like mad drunk grasshoppers, fingers tracing muscle and ink. (George had a fondness for tracing the lines of the compass tattooed on the top of Atticus’ head. He said it helped him think.) Talking about spending the holiday together in a hotel room just like this.

“Well.” The word is snapped off at the end, though the rasp of it is teasing. “If you’re going to be staying more than a day or two, it stands to reason that you should sleep at my place. That way, you can spend your money on getting me a proper gift.”

Another escalation. Atticus knows where George lives. He’d gotten the address back when they were still fucking in the back of the car, fogging up the windows like teenagers. He’d used it only to send the bastard postcards, though. Atticus liked to fill them out with useless facts about things he saw when they were out and about. The biggest thing he saw in a place, and the smallest. What the oddest local cuisine was. Atticus liked his little facts.

And he liked an excuse to keep himself in George’s thoughts, since the slimy git had a habit of taking up space in Atticus’ thoughts, whether he wanted to or not.

But being offered to stay at George’s place? That was a big deal. Because it made this holiday bit even more serious. It wasn’t two men sharing take away on a shitty motel bed with A Miracle on 34th Street playing quiet in the background on an out of date TV.

This was a proper Christmas. At home. In George’s home. For at least three or four days.

“You’d do that?” It’s a stupid response, and Atticus sees just how stupid it is by the way that George is looking at him.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.” And he had a point there. It was like moving mountains to get George to do things he was indifferent about. Atticus couldn’t imagine what it would take to make the bastard do something that he really didn’t want to do.

“Right.” Atticus murmurs, tracing the crow’s feet wrinkles where they crease the skin at the corner of George’s eyes. Some people said you could read those lines, the same way you read the lines on someone’s palm. But Atticus can’t be sure if those were lines of laughter, or lines of squinting behind goggles in a lab.

He hopes it’s more laughter than anything.

Atticus saw a fortune teller once, a little old woman set up on a blanket at the fringes of a bazaar in India. She had taken his hand and pointed out the lines to him in broken English. His life line was long, a few close calls written into the cracks in the line along his hand. His fortune line was more like Morse code, and Atticus felt like that was pretty true to life.

But most of all, she earned those rupees when she pointed out his heart line. ‘Late’, she said with an all knowing nod. ‘Strong.’

It’d be years more before he met George. The old bag had been more right than Atticus could have guessed. Late meant he was in his forties before George Cholmondeley. (And another year plus before he could spell the bastard’s last name.)

Strong wasn’t the half of it.

Nothing was ever going to keep Atticus from being out at sea. But George was enough to lure him back to land more than he ever did before. This was the first year that Atticus was actually going to use up all of his leave, instead of having it converted and put onto his pay.

“Right.” George agrees, and that’s the end of that. There’s a light in those clever eyes that says ‘argue with me and lose hours of your life and still do what I say’ and Atticus can’t argue with those facts.

Arguing with George was like trying to shove a camel through the eye of a needle. You’d work up a sweat, you’d get pissed off and tired, but you’d be no closer to your goal hours later.

No, it was settled.

“And what does a man such as yourself want for a Christmas gift, hm?” Because Atticus has no earthly idea what to get him. He knew all the stupid tidbits, things that George liked to eat, the things that he loathed. What movie he’d roll over to watch, if it was on the television when they were done fucking.

But none of those things equalled out to Christmas gifts. It’s not like Atticus could buy him a tie or a nice pen and call it a day.

“You to figure it out.” And Atticus should have seen that coming. George was contrary, often just for the fun of it. And even more often, just for the amusement of watching Atticus get pissed off trying to figure it out.

“Bastard.” He drops his head back against the overly starched hotel pillowcase and sighs, eyes on the ceiling. There were no stains up there, which was an improvement from the last time that they met up to spend the night together. But it was that popcorn style that reminded Atticus of being a little boy, spending his nights staring up at the ceiling in the boy’s home. Right out of the 1970s, it was.

“You like it.” And again, Georgie isn’t wrong. Atticus loves the holy hell out of the bastard, not that he’s going to say that out loud any time soon. His silence is rewarded with George easing down into the crook of his left arm, cheek pillowed against Atticus’ chest.

He wasn’t exactly a chiseled Greek god, but it was easy to not feel insecure about the softness of his belly when George was running his fingers through the soft, downy hair there.

“A notebook is cheating.” Because he knows that George is going to buy him a gift too. There’s a huff of offense that blows warm air against his chest, and Atticus grins. “If I don’t get the easy out, then you don’t either.”

His notebook did need replacing, though. It was a battered old spiral bound number. In a few more weeks, it’d go in the bottom of his trunk with the other full ones. But he wasn’t going to carry around some expensive leather wrapped thing. Hell, just last week he dropped his notebook in the toilet.

Not going to risk doing that with something that cost more than a pound or two.

“Now you’re the one who’s being a bastard.” George’s irritation always has such a lovely bite to it. Atticus likes getting him riled up, though he doesn’t try too often. It wasn’t easy. But it was always worth his hard work, as evidenced by the blunt nails dragging deliciously down his belly.

It’d be awhile yet before he was able to go again, seeing as they’d just finished fucking about ten minutes ago, but the spirit was really fucking willing right about now, regardless of what bullshit the flesh was on about.

“Yeah. But you love me.”

And yeah, it was very much mutual.

#ch: atticus #polyfacetious | chol #polyfacetious #v: expats row #queued #carlota's christmas drabbles

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stardustdaemon · 4 years

Text

A Zack/Cloud drabble, bakery AU requested by @luna-miracle-zero

I hope you like it!!!! <3

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Birthdays always bothered him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his friends, nor that he thought of them as an irritation. It was more that they were all the very loud, outgoing type, so he was always extended an invite to a club or crowded lunch over drinks and he never quite knew how to act.

The second reason Cloud dreaded any of his friends birthdays was gifts. He wasn’t particularly creative when thinking up gifts, nor knowledgeable on what made something a gift. It was Aerith’ birthday soon and he’d thought about maybe getting her some nice flowers, but the memory of her garden and house, filled to the brim with colourful petals and perfectly cropped stems made him reconsider that idea.

Next was jewellery but she never seemed that interested, other than a few necklaces and bangles that she wore at all times.

So the next logical idea, after checking with their entire friend group, was to buy her a cake. He’d thought about making one but he was never the best in the kitchen.

The bell above the door chimed as he walked into the bakery he’d decided upon the night before after a few hours of research, eyes scanning the shelves all decorated perfectly with beautifully made cakes covered in intricate details and bright colours.

“Ah hey! Give me one sec!” A voice called out from behind the counter and Cloud nodded, wandering over to one of the displays, in awe of the brightness of the icing.

“Ha, sorry about that. How can I help you?” The same cheery voice echoed from behind Cloud and the blonde jumped slightly, turning around and having to catch his own jaw.

The owner of the voice was as bubbly and bright as the sound of him, black hair pushed back from his face with gel and a few smears of flour over his cheeks, bright blue eyes smiling at Cloud.

“H-hey. I was wondering if you guys do custom birthday cakes?” He spoke quietly cursing the slight wobble to his voice as the other nodded, turning on his heel and gesturing for Cloud to follow.

The dark haired boy pulled out a notebook, flipping to a spare page and pulling a pen from his pocket, clicking it with a flourish before looking to Cloud.

“We sure do. What kind of ideas ya got?” He asked kindly and Cloud froze, fighting the rapidly spreading blush on his cheeks as he sighed, hand reaching for the back of his head.

“I’m... not really sure. It's for a friend but it needs to be really special. Personal.” Cloud spoke, watching the pen tap against the notebook, attention caught on the other’s employee badge with a handwritten message.

I’m Zack! Happy to help!

“Someone special hm? Sounds good. What do they like?” Zack asked easily, patience leaking from his voice and Cloud smiled, finally calming down a little. He tapped his fingers against his thigh as he thought.

“Well, she’s super into flowers, especially yellow lilies. And pink. And ribbons?” Cloud nodded, watching as Zack hummed, pen scribbling down notes before he frowned slightly, clicking his tongue.

“I can make this super pretty, how about the flavours?” He asked and Cloud shrugged, offering to let Zack make the decision, since he was the professional. Zack smiled, beaming at him over the counter and Cloud could feel his cheeks heating up again.

“So, this for a special someone?” Zack asked, making Cloud jump.

“No no, just a really good friend. I’m really bad at gifts so, I thought this would be nice. No clutter but enjoyable.” Cloud explained, frowning slightly at small smile that spread over Zack’s face, wanting to question what that was about before deciding against it.

They chatted idly as Zack drew up a design, before Zack asked him for his name, bubbly personality replaced with a serious expression. Cloud fumbled a little before muttering his name, further embarrassed at himself when Zack proceeded to write it down under the customer info box, responding with his own name in turn, even though he was bound to know Cloud had already seen it on his heavily dusted apron.

“And your number, Cloud?” Zack spoke and if Cloud wasn’t feeling as dejected as he was right now he’d realise the slight shake to the others voice. He recited his number with monotonous ease and Zack wrote it under his name. They stayed that way for a while before Zack slid the design over to him, to check for any further details.

The design was simple, a three-tiered cake with baby pink icing and a lace of ribbons circling the outside, yellow lilies spiralling from the outsides to the inside, some reaching upwards off of the cake. Cloud smiled nodding happily, taking the notebook to get a better look at it, catching Zack’s eye over the paper. The other was smiling, arms now resting against the counter. Cloud quickly averted his gaze back to the design.

“Yeah! That would be perfect! Thank you. Ah but, how much is it?” He asked, lips pulling down at the fear that it would be crazy expensive. Zack hummed, tapping his chin in an almost comical manner before dropping his hands to the table, smile bright and eyes playful.

“How about one date?” He spoke, voice full of joy and Cloud choked on thin air, dropping the notebook back down.

“A date? That’s far from enough payment for this!” He countered, pouting at the way Zack laughed and leaned further over the counter, pushing the notebook aside with a little huff.

“I’d say it’s over payment. I wanna get to know you.” Zack spoke and the words were so sincere Cloud felt his heart speed up before he sighed, nodding once in consent. Zack pumped his fist high into the air with a whoop before grinning. Cloud could only roll his eyes, shaking his head as he let his own smile grow.

“I’m paying though, this is payment for the cake after all.”

#mao writes #clack #zakurra #bakery!au #Thank you again <3

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dragonshadow02 · 4 years

Text

Part one of my fic for the #bakudekubirthdayexchange for CB who I don't know if is on tumblr. I saw someone say they would post theirs chapter by chapter and I kind of like the idea. Especially since I'm waiting for my Ao3 password reset.

Notes: in this AU Izuku didn't gain OFA from Allmight.

Courting a Villian-

The warehouse was silent, save for the drip, drip, drip of the rain and the soft whimpers of the woman bound to the wall. The sole other occupant of the building was waiting on the thin catwalk above for the rest of the players to set the stage.

Izuku Midoriya-Deku- former hero enthusiast- and currently one of the most dangerous villains Musutafa had ever known- was done playing games. Someone would come busting into his sanctuary soon, and who it was would decide his captives fate. If they had decided to play nice and read his little love letter, he knew exactly who it would be...and if they hadn't, he got to play-it would be fun either way. A shiver of excitement traveled down the emerald haired villains spine, Ground Zero would be here soon ready to fight, and -if he was lucky something far more enjoyable. The dark grey and green-clad figure rose from his crouch with a soft creak of metal, the catwalk was in disrepair, covered in rust but he was confident that it would do its job. The pale man's lips twitched as he heard a soft sound, neck rolling as he looked to the side. There was no extra light, he had known there wouldn't be, but the heavy tread of combat boots was hard to miss. In one smooth movement, Izuku launched himself over the safety rail, freefalling to land like a cat on the dirty concrete.

"Welcome, Kacchan" He rose from his crouch as he spoke, lips spreading into a wide, slightly deranged grin. With a small click of the remote in his pocket the lights came on, illuminating his freckled face, and most importantly, his captive. The villian was far more interested though, in the hero that opposed him. The low light cast shadows over his face, but Izuku could imagine the way his brow creased in anger. Ground Zero was always ten times more attractive when he was angry...Or maybe that's just him being twisted. He had been told he was insane by more than one person-of course they usually ended up dead...but that didn't matter. Bakugou was the focus of his universe. They had shared a dream, a dream to become the number one hero, but Izuku had been born quirkless. Once All Might himself had told Izuku that he could never be a hero, he had spiraled into a deep depression, he had turned his back on All Might after Kacchans rescue, even though the hero had tried to talk to him again. Being told off for trying to save a friend had been the last thing he'd needed and he was positive that, that was what his idol had had in mind. Watching Katsuki get prepared for the U.A. Exam...being told he would never be a hero- It had broken him. His dreams had been gone. He had continued to hero chase, and record and theorize by habit, but the fire behind the curiosity was gone. That had all changed when he had stumbled upon his childhood doctor meeting with a group of known villains.

/ Izukus hand was shaking as he wrote slowly in his notebook, mouth dry with fear. He was going to die. As much as he had thought about it in the wake of his recent setback, being faced with the reality was terrifying. He didn't want to die. He couldn't move other than the delicate scratch of pen across the paper. A soft shuffling sound came from behind him and his heart jumped with terror, there was an impact against his head...then blackness and he knew no more/

The villain shook his head to clear it, he shouldn't be thinking about the weakling he had been. The Doctor had seen his analytical mind as an asset, had given him a quirk, a way to be useful. Izuku hadn't realized until Katsuki was in his second year at U.A. that the powerful quirk he had been given had been his own that the doctor had stolen from him as a child. It was then that he had decided never to let anyone take advantage of him again. He had left the League and made sure they would never try to take him back. He would become the number one villain, Kacchans foil. He was more than a little in love with the hero that currently stood in front of him, growling with impatience, but Izuku was standing silent with a crooked grin on his face. Finally, Ground Zero had had enough and stomped forward towards his silent rival, fists crackling menacingly with explosions.

"What the FUCK are you doing you crazy nerd? You told them to send me and I fucking came. Give me the hostage and crawl back into whatever hole you came out of."

Izuku raised a finger and waggled it back and forth, taking a step back and waving an arm grandiosely in the direction of the struggling woman. " The wife of....whatever his name is is right there. I haven't hurt a hair on her pretty little head." He twitched a finger and the chain wrapped around the woman's neck tightened. " Yet."

He tilted his head to the side slowly, green eyes meeting masked crimson. " She's not important, just you..." He took a step towards Katsuki. " I needed you to come because you weren't answering my calls" A pout fell over Izukus freckled face " I wanted to ask you out Kacchan...expecially after all of the fun we've had." The metal jangled and tightened again ripping a strangled gasp from the woman. " Since you wouldn't let me ask you out, I've decided that you get to court me instead." He tilted his whole body to the side and looked at the ash-blonde hero through green bangs. " Doesn't that sound fun? If you agree I'll give her to you as a...faith gift. If you refuse, she dies and you get to tell the head of the Heroes Commission that you let his wife die...so sad for you and your victories" The answering snarl was music to Izukus ears. He continued quickly before Katsuki could get a word in. " So Kacchan, this is how it'll be... You. court me. Bring me presents...ask me on dates" He waved a hand. " Knit me a scarf" His smirk grew into a grin as he added that little bit of humiliation in...Katsuki hated knitting. Forty-Five calls and over a hundred text messages from various burner phones and Katsuki hadn't responded to a single one. Izuku was feeling a little ghosted to say the least. He knew he'd have to take drastic measures to get what he wanted.

" You're out of your fucking MIND if you think I'll agree to that bullshit." The blonde had grown better at keeping his temper from effecting his quirk, but Izuku could see the glow of his palms as he clenched them tightly. " I'm not going to act like a fucking girl."

"ah, ah, aaah men can knit too" Izuku waggled his finger again. " Do you really want to lose your perfect streak? I thought you wanted to be number one, Kacchan" He shrugged slowly as his rival seethed. " A hero always wins....isn't that what you said once?" The green-haired villian started to walk towards the woman on the wall only to be body blocked by Katsuki. A feral grin spread across the villians face, that was more like it.

He may not have a strength quirk but he was durable, and he'd been through hell in Musutafas underground. He and Katsuki had met each other in battle more than once and had broken even.

The green-eyed Villian jumped back from the hit to minimize its strength, bringing the power of his mind to bear to keep Katsuki away from him for now. Their usual fight and fuck routine wasn't his aim right now and he knew if they got into a brawl that was exactly what would happen. Izuku could feel the adrenaline singing through his veins pushing him to fight, but he wanted more than that now.

His hand raised and his captive gagged again. " We're not here for that Kacchan. No fighting this time. Deal or no deal." Was dating him...wooing him so objectionable that Katsuki would let someone die to avoid it? Or was it the scarf thing? It didn't matter. Date or Death. That's what it came down to. Green eyes held crimson yet again, but this time Izuku wouldn't turn away, jaw set in a stubborn line as his captive passed out from lack of oxygen. Katsuki snarled and punched the scarred villain in the jaw before turning towards the woman. " This is the worst fucking way to ask someone out, nerd. No fucking girly shit but I'll take you on a goddamn date like you want." Ground Zero freed his captive, checking her pulse and throwing a nasty smirk over his shoulder. " Should have known you'd be begging for more after you'd had a taste." The heroes cocky voice sent a shiver of arousal through the villain even as is irritated him. " Am I begging Kacchan, or do I have you exactly where I want you?" He whispered as he let the hero carry her out the window. Apparently he'd need something a little more convincing to get the kind of reaction he wanted from his obsession. He really wanted that scarf. He wanted Katsuki to make something...show Izuku that he was worth the effort. He had seen a teenager work for hours for her beloved. it was a connection between them, those feelings. He wanted Katsuki to prove he felt something more for him than lust...even though they would always be on different sides and one would kill the other eventually...that was an understanding he knew they had. Katsuki would never let anyone but Izuku kill him, and Izuku refused to let anyone but Katsuki have that honor...but at least they would have now.

He would need to send a more strongly worded love letter, luckily he knew exactly where to find it.

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evanhummel · 4 years

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Next to Nothing

Tagging: Evan Hummel & Lisette Gilbert ( @sublisette )

Date: September 8

Location: Chastity Class

Summary: Evan’s Square of Lingerie in Public

Evan

The one square on her card that was both extremely simple and yet difficult to handle at the same time was the lingerie one. She wasn’t worried about showing off her body, knowing that she had kept it in a wonderful condition. But the wind was getting cooler and walking around in just lingerie was going to be a bit of a challenge. However, she made the decision to go for it as soon as possible, wanting to ensure that she completed it…and hoping that it wouldn’t be quite so cold. People were definitely looking her over as she made her way from class to class and as she moved into the chastity class, it was nothing different.

Lisette

It was hardly unusual, especially during a bingo or scene week, to see people on campus in various states of undress. Lisette had already seen at least one public blowjob, and all sorts of other public scenes. She hadn’t expected Evan to walk into the chastity class in only lingerie, but she couldn’t exactly say it was an unwelcome sight. “Good day, Miss. You look lovely today.” If Evan was brave enough to travel campus in her underwear, the least Lisette could do was make sure she knew she looked good.

Evan

She glanced over at Lisette as she spoke and offered her a bright grin. “Thank you, Lisette. That’s very, very sweet of you to say. And you look beautiful yourself.” She responded with a wink. Lisette may not have been wearing only lingerie, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t look fantastic. “Mind if I sit with you in class today?” Evan questioned, acting as though it wasn’t already the plan for her to sit next to her throughout the class

Lisette

“You’re much too kind, Miss, but thank you,” Lisette smiled. “Please,” she indicated the seat. “Usually that one stays empty so I’m happy to have someone who’d like to sit there.” Evan, of course, was going to sit there - but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t play along a little.

Evan

She took a seat next to the submissive, opening up her bag and pulling out the things that she needed for class. “Well if this seat is normally open, I may have to start sitting here more often.” Evan mused, smiling over at Lisette. She flipped to a new page in the book that she was using for the class and then bit down on her bottom lip. “How are you doing?”

Lisette

“You’re welcome to it anytime, Miss,” Lisette promised with a smile. She’d be happy for the company, especially should either of them ever need notes or help from the other. Evan was very nice, and she’d be a pleasure to sit next to. “I’m doing well, Miss, thank you - dealing with some nerves about our exit interview, but fine besides. How are you? Bingo going well?”

Evan

“I’m sure that it’s going to go well. You are a wonderful submissive and your Domme seems like a very competent one. So I don’t think that you have anything to worry about. Though I understand why you’re nervous about it all. I’m sure that I’ll be nervous when I eventually make it to that point as well.” Evan assured the submissive and then smiled gently. As people filed in they commented on her in lingerie and she threw them all winks.

Lisette

Lisette smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That’s incredibly kind of you, Miss, thank you for saying so. I’m sure you’ll be much more composed than me, though, if you’re willing to spend the day walking around like that,” she teased. “I don’t know if I could.” She wasn’t surprised by the looks Evan was getting, because she couldn’t help looking herself.

Evan

She smiled when the submissive said that she would probably be more composed than her and she shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we’ll see how things go when we get there.” It wouldn’t be any time soon, so perhaps she would be able to become more confident in that. “I think you would definitely be able to. You have the body for it, that’s for sure.”

Lisette

“I’m sure that’ll be before you know it, Miss. I have to think there are lots of people interested.” A blush lit up her cheeks at the compliment. “Some of the things Mistress has me wear are a bit less than that, even, but I think you wear it better.”

Evan

She shook her head, reaching out to let her fingers tangle in the sub’s hair slightly. “I don’t think you have enough faith in yourself, cutie. You look beautiful. And that body of yours is beautiful as well. So you should feel good about it and your ability to wear things like this.” She assured her, glancing up as the teacher walked in to begin the class.

Lisette

Lisette’s blush darkened a little. It was nice to know that Evan thought of her that way, and she’d try to carry that same confidence on the days when she was wearing something extremely revealing at Frankie’s order. “You’re very sweet, Miss, thank you.” When the teacher entered the room she perked up a little, opening her spiral-bound notebook and licking the tip of her pen out of habit.

Evan

She licked her lips and then turned her attention back to Lisette. “You’re going to raise your hand and ask to go to the bathroom. You’re going to leave and come back only wearing your bra and panties. And your shoes of course. Now go.” She ordered, excited to get into the teasing portion of the day.

Lisette

The order should have been expected, but it sent a thrill through Lisette all the same. “Of course, Miss.” She politely raised her hand, which didn’t happen often in class, and when the teacher acknowledged her it was to wave away her request without a thought. Heading off the bathroom, she quickly stripped and folded her clothes before stowing them in her bag. That done she returned to class, taking a seat next to Evan as if nothing had changed.

Evan

Evan smirked when Lisette walked back into the class, noting that plenty of other students now had their eyes on her as well. “Very good girl. I told you you would look lovely in a whole lot of nothing.” She teased, leaning over to press a brief kiss to Lisette’s shoulder. She was seated on the side that would allow her to make use of her hand to take down notes, but also use her other to tease the submissive. “I want you to start playing with your nipples now, Lisette. Make them nice and pronounced.”

Lisette

The eyes didn’t bother her in the least - she often got stared at, especially when she was gagged and leashed in town. Evan’s attentions were nice, as the Switch was still complimentary while being in control. “Thank you, Miss,” she smiled. “I’ll need your notes after class,” she whispered playfully - she knew she wasn’t going to be able to take any herself. Reaching up, she began to toy with her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra, whimpering softly.

Evan

“If you’re good...you’ll get them.” Evan responded. Of course she would give the notes regardless because she was the one distracting her, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t tease. “Make sure you’re quiet. We don’t want to ruin the lovely teacher’s lesson now do we?” She glanced over at the submissive before then leaving her to simply play with her nipples for a few long minutes.

Lisette

“I understand, Miss,” Lisette promised. She was almost sure Evan was teasing, but they hadn’t done much together scene-wise and so she had to be sure to be good...just in case. “Apologies, Miss,” she whispered, biting down hard on her bottom lip in an effort to keep from whimpering and moaning at the attention she was giving her nipples.

Evan

“Apology accepted. Don’t let it happen again. I wouldn’t want to have to sit you up on this table on display and show everyone how excited and wet you get just from my voice would I?” She went about writing down notes, making sure that they were as detailed as possible without taking too much of her attention off of the submissive. Eventually, she slipped one hand between Lisette’s legs and pressed against her through her panties.

Lisette

“That would...definitely not be good, Miss Evan,” Lisette managed between gasps. There was nothing more fun than being taken control of, and she was definitely enjoying her time with the Switch. Her body jerked when fingers pressed against her core, but she managed to do it without making a single sound - even if it did mean putting a good bite into her lip. She was going to behave and be a good girl.

Evan

“Now. We both know that you’re not going to get to cum, no matter how good you are. But we both know there are better rewards for you anyway. So if you’re a good girl for me for the rest of this class, you will get the chance to make me cum between classes. You’ll have to be quick but I think you’ll be able to impress me.” Evan muttered, rubbing her fingers against the submissive’s core.

Lisette

There was never an expectation to cum in Lisette’s scenes - she was grateful when it happened, but her pleasure was in serving other people before herself. That was what her mark meant to her. So Evan’s pronouncement was hardly a surprise. “I’ll make sure I use the time wisely, Miss Evan,” she murmured, squeezing her chair tightly between her legs in an effort to find some kind of stability - her hands were out because they were occupied, so it had to be her legs.

Evan

“I know you will. Because I know you don’t want to disappoint me.” She was sure that every single moment of the class was sweet torture for the submissive, and she loved that she was the reason for it. She touched, teased, flicked, tap. She used so many different motions just to ensure that Lisette was experiencing something at all times.

Lisette

“Not at all, Miss. I have no intention of disappointing you.” She was suffering as class went on, but she did what she’d been taught to do, and what she was meant to do - she endured it. Time ceased to have any meaning as Evan teased her, and she knew that by the time class ended she was going to be a sopping mess...but she had one more job left to do, and damned if she’d leave it unfinished.

Evan

Teasing, toying…it was all so much fun, and she had a feeling that this was just the start of teasing Lisette in class. When class came to an end, Evan slid her book over to Lisette. “You can take that home with you so that you can copy down the notes.” She offered her, bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking them clean of the wetness that they had collected. “Meet me outside this door. I’ll be waited for you to make me cum all over your face.”

#post: para #para: lisette gilbert #para: lisette gilbert 3 #bingo20

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cardandpixel · 4 years

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RocketBook Flip - a rare review and it’s not a game!

Before I go any further, I feel I must point out that I don’t have any financial connection to RocketBook whatsoever – this isn’t a piece that was requested or courted by RocketBook or affiliates and I’m not receiving any reward or sponsorship either in product or direct payment for this article. I just like the damn thing and love it when an innovative piece of tech (in this case quite low key) just works. Hi I’m Paul, and I have a bit of a problem with notebooks – A4 lined, sketch, reporters, Black & Reds (ohhhh the sheer number of B&Rs), goofy ones, serious work ones, battered ones, pristine ‘for best only’ ones – and they all fill at an alarming rate. I make notes on everything. Working as a sound engineer and designer, there’s always mix notes, soundscape plots, ideas, VO notes and scripts, SFX ideas etc etc. At home it’s a very different story – it’s much worse. Game notes; blog notes; hurriedly scribbled quiz questions spurred by watching another episode of Mental Floss’ 500 facts about cheese; RPG notes and story ideas; my own script writing; world building; sketches; other creative ideas; song/music notes and ideas; and that’s before we get to to-do lists; and the dreaded ‘things I must remember’. So my journal life is many, varied and plenty. The usual issue is… ‘what frakking journal did I put that amazing idea in????’, and that’s way before we get to the utter horror that is possibly losing a whole journal or forgetting to bring one home from work. I’m 53, I forget more than I recall, and journals help bring some semblance of order to a massively chaotic and fertile brain. What I’ve needed for a long time is some way of organising all this info or centralising it in some way. Sure I’ve looked at apps – I used Things, Evernote, Notes, and One Note for years, and they are really, really good, but they relied on either having a charged device exactly when I need it (yeah – me too) or net access, which for a new-ish theatre, is surprisingly a bit of an issue at work. And the most important part – I actually enjoy the physical act of handwriting long-hand. I still write actual physical letters to people, it’s adorable and a bit creepy in this age, but I call it charming and leave it at that. Handwriting, for me, allows me time to think and process in a way that typing just doesn’t. Handwriting is slower, I rarely cross anything out, and so I always have the whole of the thought. So what I’ve ideally wanted for years, was a reliable way of organising all my notes and storing them electronically so I have access even without the actual journal, with OCR so they’re editable, and still being a tactile handwritten experience. I’m naturally a sceptic (I actually subscribe to Fortean Times – yeah – I card carry!) and so online ads and particularly FaceAche ads are a field day for critical thinking triggers. I don’t think I’ve ever received from Wish, exactly what I ordered from Wish. And so when an ad from RocketBook constantly kept popping up on my timeline a few weeks ago, I was naturally “it’ll never work” But their website looked legit enough – they had a dedicated UK shop, it was relatively steep to buy in but not so wild that if it didn’t work I wouldn’t be crying too much about the money wasted, and at the end of the day it was a 10th the price of a ReMarkable 2 which is actually what I thought would solve my problem. I’m furloughed at the mo and though I could argue the case for £300+ notebook (test me, I could), I just couldn’t justify it now. And RocketBook had a good summer intro offer. I ordered on the Wednesday, and the impressively glitzy and graphic-design-playbook poly package was dropped on my doorstep just 2 days later by my cheery postie who yelled up the drive “Package for ya, looks very exciting!!!!” I like that our postal service is still invested in the hopes and dreams of their customers. It was exciting. All the instructions for getting started with my new Teal RocketBook A4 Flip were right there before you even open it. The main body houses the pad and a cleaning cloth, and a clever little side pocket houses the supplied Pilot Frixion pen.

RocketBooks come in several models, all configured slightly differently. I have the Flip which is a top spiral-bound softback pad with 21 double sided ‘pages’ giving 42 pages in total. The Flip has lined paper one side, and dot paper on the reverse (great for D&D maps, impromptu tables, mixer channel plots etc)

DELIVERY & FIRST IMPRESSIONS The pads are nicely made, with sturdy covers (available in some really nice colours too) and a solid, thick plastic ring binding. Initially, The RocketBook does feel a bit odd. Its ‘pages’ are actually a synthetic polyester blend and feel quite shiny to the touch. The sort of surface you just instantly feel is not going to be great for ink! Each page is edge-to-edge lined or dotted with a heavy black border. At the bottom is a prominent QR code used for scanning and some very feint icons. These 7 icons are the key to the ease of use of the RocketBook series. But more later.

THE APP

The pads work with a companion app, that is absolutely free and available for Apple & Android. In fact, RB even do downloadable printable pages so you can try the whole system absolutely free before you buy – I didn’t, I just bought one, y’know. The app allows you to set up your destination locations, your preferences and does the actual scanning. Just one quick note, I have the app on both my phone and iPad and had to set-up the app the same for both, there appears to be no way of swapping preference settings between devices, though I can see why this may be intentional.

Currently, the RocketBook allows you to choose from the following locations to send files to: GoogleDrive, box, EverNote, DropBox, slack, OneNote, iCloud, OneDrive as well as simply to an email (or multiple) addresses and iMessage. Impressively, these are not fixed either, so you could choose your 7 destinations to be 7 email addresses of team members. These 7 locations are the icons at the bottom of each page. To select a destination for your file, you just make a mark in that icon box (tick, circle, something unsavoury) and that page will be sent to whichever you select. This makes the system very flexible indeed as not every page is necessarily sent to every destination. You always decide every time you fill a page. Change your mind on a second revision? No problem, add or change icons at any time and re-upload.

There’s a really handy table on the inside front cover for you to note what icon sends what where. This is also wipeable, so can be changed anytime.

I have mine set by default to:

Rocket > main email address (either as PDF, JPG, OCR embedded or as separate txt file)

Diamond > GoogleDrive (you can specify exactly what folder too)

Apple > iMessage

Bell > OneNote

That actually still leaves me 3 spare: shamrock; star; and horseshoe.

The app took me maybe 20mins to set-up, that included decision time for destinations and setting up a few target folders. It also included a few ‘test firings’. I didn’t get everything right first time and a few things didn’t send, but crucially, a tiny bit of digging revealed very simple troubleshooting (including the aforementioned issue with no sync’ing of phone and iPad), and all in I was finding the files in all the right destinations within about 30 mins. The website, FAQs and community are immensely helpful with any other issues as well. I had a tiny issue with OneNote seeming to take ages to sync, but I think that’s an issue with my OneNote settings, everything else was almost instantaneous. You can also handily set the app to auto-send as soon as it scans, or allow for manual review.

CLEAN UP ON AISLE ROCKETPAD The main reason I wanted to look at the RocketBook was the issue of reusability. My journal shenanigans are by no means the biggest ecological disaster on the planet, but if we are to believe Tesco (who probably issue as many receipts at our local Tesco Express in a day as journals I’ve ever used), every little helps. If I could find an ecologically better solution, I should at least take a look. The RocketPads work by partnering with Pilot pens called Frixion. The really clever bit is RB’s paper technology and how it works with the Frixion ink. At present, the pads only work with the Frixion pens – except the RB Colour which works with Crayola’s dry-erase crayons. When you write on the ‘paper’ with a Frixion pen, it remains wet for a few seconds and then dries pretty quickly. There’s no smudging whatsoever in transit, which is pretty cool. From then on, it may as well be permanent, until you have transmitted your page and decide you don’t want the text anymore. To wipe the page clean, you can dampen the supplied cloth and just wipe the surface clean, it’s weird but it works! But then damp cloth in your bag? So I use kitchen roll to dampen, then wipe dry with theirs. Others even have an adorably kitsch spray bottle in their kit. RB reckon if you are not going to use the pad for a few months, to clean the pages as the ink can get trickier to shift after a long time, but for day-to-day use, I’ve tried writing and wiping well over 20x and the page hasn’t become discoloured or tarnished at all. The only pad different in the range is the Wave which cleans by microwaving! Do NOT do this with any of the others, bad things will happen. The ink doesn’t take scrubbing or any time to come up, I clean my pages in about 10-15s. The page can feel a little tacky when it’s damp, but leave a minute or so and the page will be back to normal. RB do say that odd things can happen if the book is left near a heatsource or in a hot car, vis-à-vis, the ink can completely disappear horrifyingly enough. They say that putting the pen or the pad in the freezer for a little while will actually restore the ink, but I’ve not tried it yet so can’t confirm or deny how that goes. Handy for spies in hot countries though, so there’s another target market. If you are always going to send your pages to the same places, then don’t erase the marked icons, and the page is ready for new notes straight away, otherwise, scrub them too.

I CAN’T READ YOUR WRITING – ARE YOU A DOCTOR? Initially, the RB pads send their files as scans of the pages in high contrast monochrome (colour is available) when you snap the page in the app (which auto-frames for you and takes maybe 10s to capture). The formats are either as images or PDF. If that had been it, I would have been quite happy, but the RB pads have another trick up their sleeve. Firstly, they have a function called ‘Smart Titles’ which allows you to name your files directly from the page by writing a filename between double hashtags ie ## this is my scrawl 24/8/20 ## and the file will pop up in your destinations with the filename “this is my scrawl 24/08/20” – this is insanely handy – there’s no protocol except your own and the hashtags, and it makes your files super easy to search. You can even send groups of pages as a single PDF. But the notebooks go even further. They actually offer full searchable OCR which the app can be set to send embedded in the PDF or image, or more usefully, as a companion separate .txt file. Now, my handwriting isn’t the neatest, but it’s not bad so I was prepared for some editing to be necessary, but impressively again, the OCR was about 90-95% accurate. In a page of text it missed maybe 3 or 4 words and even those not badly. This is all considering their full OCR is still only in beta! It gets confused with diagrams on the page, but that’s to be expected.

Text Generated by OCR: ## Blog post och test Aug 2020 ## This is a little demonstration of the OCR capabilities of the Rocket Book pads and app. I've told the lovely people that the hit rate is about 90-95% so please dant let me down here flip pad. Hopefully the file name will also prove another point further up in the section and not make me look like some charlatan or snake-oil salesman.Hope you enjoyed this demonstrahen, now go away and leave me to write the next great novella.Bye!

HOW MUCH? On average, I pay anywhere from £4-8 for a decent A4 notebook/journal, so at £30-37 (dependent on model), the RocketBook pads are not a whim purchase. That said, I get through a lot of journals in a year, and given that I would expect to easily get 2-3 years out of a RocketBook pad, then I’ve saved money. Will it replace all my notebooks? No. You need to be thinking of carrying this round as a kit: pad, Frixion pen (at least 2), and cloth. RB do a series of portfolio sleeves for the pads but it does push the price up a bit still, but for a rep, engineer or salesperson, this still makes sense. They’re less bulky than a normal A4 pad too. What I would say is Tesco and Sainsbury’s currently stock Frixion pens and at much better prices than buying them from RB directly, I just paid £3 for 3 pens on offer at Tesco compared to £10 from RB. You get one pen with the pad, but you’re going to want more soon, so stock up next time you’re shopping for truffle oil crisps. If you use whiteboards a lot, RB also have you covered. Instead of the pad, £16 will get you a 4 pack of ‘beacons’ – little self-adhesive triangles that effectively do the same thing as the QR code in the pad. You don’t have the icon options obviously, but if you’re looking to distribute quick meeting or group notes, this would be a boon. CONCLUSION Considering this was a fairly speculative purchase on my part, my early experiences with the RocketBook Flip have been really impressive. The flexibility, the ability to store every page in a different location if you really wanted to make it fantastic for organising my notes, which can save me hours of finding the right ^^$&^$&$ notebook in the first place, then scouring that for the one paragraph I was looking for etc etc. The searchable text facility, in-app history for re-sending etc and last but no way least, functional handwriting OCR, makes the RocketBook not only novel, but actually useable! Would I buy another? As a second notebook – yes. I look forward to seeing what the actual longevity of the product is once I come off furlough and start cramming my day bag with all my junk and a notepad again, but yes, I’d probably just have one at home, and one for work, but make the last 5 mins of each day, scanning and sending work notes so I have them with me wherever. Impressively, the RocketBook Flip just works and it works well. ‘Er Across The Table has already sold several folk at her work on the idea and she doesn’t even have one herself yet! I love it. It’s taking a little adjusting to, but it’s all good. The most important thing though is the writing experience, and I have to say, the combination of the Frixion pen/ink and the polymer technology of the Flip, again, just works. It’s smooth, doesn’t skip or smudge for me (I know some right to left users and left handers have reported some issues) and feels great to write on. If anything I have to slow down a bit as the contact is so smooth that your writing can get a bit ahead of you! RocketBook have produced a cracker of a product. It might not seem like much, but if practical working journals are your thing (ie not create and keep things) then I can highly recommend the RocketBook series.

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petuniatom · 5 years

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No. 1 Party Anthem [2] | College!Tom AU

Pairing: College!DJ!Bartender/Barista!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You’re coming up on your last year of college, grappling with finally getting ready for the actual “adult” world and being in two majors you’re not crazily passionate about. When you’re in the middle of a stressful essay at your favorite local coffee shop/upstairs bar, Dommo’s, you meet Tom Holland, a barista and bartender.

You slowly get to know each other over sangria, and soon enough manage to slip your way into his world where the days don’t usually end until about 5 a.m., music is everything, and uncertainty is your best friend.

A story about late night laments, sangria, and a whole lot of growing up.

SERIES MASTERLIST | Ch. 1

Word count: 5.8K

A/N: Hello! Long time no post! Here’s the long awaited update. It’s a little bit more exposition here, but part three is when it starts getting a little bit more spicy. Primarily, we’re focusing on watching the reader developing more of her other friendships here. But stay tuned for pt. 3 which will be coming very soon!

“I don’t see why we couldn’t just go to Dommo’s,” you whined.

You’d been waiting nearly an hour in line outside of Over & Easy with Tony and Jacob. The day before, you made them promise to get mimosas with you Saturday morning, following their late-night adventures and your Friday night essay-writing. While Over & Easy was one of the best spots in town for brunch food, its popularity meant usually there was a battle for those wanting to get inside.

Jacob and Tony, rather than accepting your quiet suggestion to head over to Dommo’s, were insistent that Over & Easy was the best idea for today. Though it was bound to be busy, Tony was craving their french toast and Jacob said their mimosas were better deals anyway. (After all, Saturdays usually meant pitchers for $5, so he wasn’t wrong.)

“You just went there yesterday!” Tony said. “And we rarely come to Over & Easy.”

“C’mon, it’s good to do something different every once and a while,” Jacob said, nudging you.

“Well, it’s just for a place that’s named Over & Easy it just seems to be the exact opposite,” you huffed.

Jacob snickered, and Tony rolled his eyes at your statement.

“What’s going on with you? Why do you want to go to Dommo’s so badly?” Tony asked.

“My car is there,” you said. Tony and Jacob shot each other a look. You knew the jig was up; these boys could read you almost too well. “All right, I met someone there yesterday. He was really nice. And I wanted to see him again because I forgot to get his number.”

Tony and Jacob let out a long, “Ooooh,” at your response.

“Well, I hear all the Dommo’s bartenders and baristas are kind of fuck boys, Y/N, so it might be well-worth your time to just skidaddle anyway,” Tony said. “But I mean, if you want to meet him, just pop-in for more coffee or something when you go get your car.”

You bit your lip. “I know, but he just didn’t seem like the usual type for Dommo’s. He actually seemed nice, like he wanted to talk to me. He listened to me complain about my major for like two hours, and gave me free sangria. You don’t just give anyone free sangria.”

“We do every week,” Jacob replied, lifting his arms up. “Whine and Wine, c’mon.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yes, but we’re close friends. This guy was a stranger.”

“Doesn’t our roommate work at Dommo’s?” Tony asked, slightly scrunching his face up.

Jacob shook his head. “No, you idiot. He works at Wilson’s.”

“I swore he told me that once,” Tony muttered, shaking his head.

At that moment, your group’s name was called out, and you were ushered to a table in the back that seated four. You all ordered a round of mimosas, but you were all going to stick to just that — only one. Tony and Jacob were admittedly a little bit hungover still from last night, and while you were fine, you thought it’d be good to still hold off after all the sangria you drank the night before.

You chatted with both Jacob and Tony about how classes were going so far. Tony was going to have a stressful upcoming week, considering he had an exam coming up in one of his chemistry classes. Jacob, however, was going to be able to take it easy this week. He was a film and acting student, and he only had to worry about a group project he was going to be tackling soon. For the most part though, he was more thrilled than anything when it came to its progress so far, discussing how he met this new girl named Zendaya he wanted to integrate into the friend group.

“She’s a great actress and one of the most laid-back girls I’ve ever met in my life,” Jacob said.

“What is she studying?” you asked, lifting your eyebrows up.

“Women studies and music theory, but she’s heavily involved in the theater scene too.”

“You have to invite her for whine and wine. We need someone new in the mix,” Tony insisted. He then turned to you. “Are you inviting anyone new?”

“Maybe Brynn,” you mused, shrugging.

Jacob and Tony both groaned.

They hadn’t completely warmed up to your friend after an ill-fated incident at a previous party where she, in a completely drunken haze, decided to start jumping on Tony’s already fragile bed, and ended up breaking it. They hadn’t seen her since, slightly agitating the relationship between them and her. In her defense, she did help Tony pay for a new headboard and whatnot. So she wasn’t completely disgraced — just not a favorite to have around.

“You know what that means, time to lock all the bedrooms,” Tony huffed.

You giggled at your friends response, shaking your head. “I don’t think she’ll do something like that again. Besides, it’ll be good to have her around again. You guys can actually get to know her this time around. She’s a good person to complain with.”

“Why couldn’t you just get the bartender’s number and invite him instead?” Tony griped. You knew he was (mostly) kidding, but you were a little bit sad when you realized how fun it would be to invite Tom to Jacob and Tony’s parties on Wednesday nights. You could sit in the corner and chat, sipping on more wine and just get to know each other.

“More mimosas?” your waitress asked, approaching your table.

“I think we’re going to stick to water now,” Jacob replied, thanking her.

After a surplus of french toast and laughing, you were soon walking along the street toward Dommo’s to pick up your car.

Chatter consumed the world around you and you weaved in between all the people who were heading toward their own hangover brunch. You couldn’t help smiling, thinking of how you loved your college town for all its quirks.

As you headed in front of Dommo’s, you immediately spotted your car in one of the two hour free-lots, groaning when you realized you’d gotten a parking ticket for exceeding on your allotted time. It was a $35 ticket — not the worst you’d ever gotten downtown, but still not great.

Figuring you had nothing to lose still, you popped your head inside, scanning the room for Tom.

You sighed when you realized he wasn’t inside, but told yourself that you could maybe make a run by another time. He still owed you that latté that he talked to you about last night anyway. Either way, you headed back to your car, tucking the parking ticket in your glove box.

***

Over the course of the weekend, you quickly got over Tom. You fixated on your homework that was due Monday and Tuesday, burned some candles, and caught up on your favorite television shows. He turned from your brief confidanté into a passing memory.

Soon enough, you were back in your poli-sci class, plopped next to Brynn on the left side of the classroom as your professor lectured. You were nervous about today. He’d sent out an email before class that said he would be handing back papers today — a paper you rushed to complete and barely glanced over. You knew your grade was bound to be fucked by the time you got yours.

While your thoughts spiralized, your classmates were consumed in a debate over the topic of the paper. You heard Brynn contribute to the discussion and you started to doodle on your notebook, in hopes of temporarily escaping your thought process.

You then felt Brynn nudge you, a typical cue for when she needed you to back her up on something. You figured it was the typical conservative boys in the corner giving her trouble, and lifted your head up.

“What’s going on?” you whispered in her ear. “I’ve been tuned out.”

She snickered. “Nothing really, just Brad and Chad here are saying that voter fraud is the reason Hillary Clinton won the popular vote, and it’s an epidemic across the country. No racist history behind voter laws whatsoever.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course, your poli-sci discussion always turned into this at one point. You typically enjoyed the debates a little bit more, but since it was still within the first month, you were in the less compelling element of class. You were less enthusiastic about the fact that you were currently stuck in this class with two of your least favorite fellow political science majors — Carter Higgins and Quentin Carver. They’d followed you through the political science classes since your freshman year, but most of the time, you were fortunate enough to only have one of them. This semester, you got both of them.

You were grateful when your professor decided to cut off the discussion early to hand back papers. You slumped back in your seat, somewhat eager to see your grade and yet not prospective about how it was bound to look.

Soon enough, your professor called out your name. Your fingers felt jittery as you walked up to the front, and grabbed the folded paper from his hand, and returned to your seat.

You unfolded the packet of paper carefully. You were surprised when you saw in red pen on the front a giant “A” and a note from him that said, “Excellent job.”

A wave of relief washed over you. You slumped back into your chair, this time in pure disbelief.

“What did you get?” Brynn asked, leaning over to spot it. “Holy shit, first paper and you already aced it. He’s a tough grader too. Congrats.”

You’d heard of this particular professor’s reputation before throughout others who took his class, so you were familiar with some of the horror stories when it came to grading. You knew it wasn’t just you who helped coordinate all of this, as your mind wandered back to your Friday night in Dommo’s and the bartender who was kind enough to look over your paper.

You focused back on Brynn. “Thanks! How did you do?”

She frowned, “B+, but still good. Better than I expected, that’s for sure.”

You packed up your things into your backpack, waiting patiently for everyone to be handed back their papers. Once everyone had, he gave a short overview of what to do on future papers, should anyone need help and reiterated his office hours incase anyone wanted to chat about their grade. Shortly after, everyone was dismissed, and you slung your backpack back over your shoulder. There was a bounce in your step as you approached the door to the classroom, but right as you were getting ready to leave, your professor called your name again.

You turned around, facing him. “Yes, Professor McKinley?”

“I was really impressed with your paper, Y/N. It was one of the best I’ve seen right off the bat in this class. You have a fairly impressive future ahead of you,” he said.

You were flattered by the statement. Sure, you excelled in all of your political science courses, and you were glad you were already doing well in this class in particular. Yet, the thought of the future still somewhat terrified you. You wanted to tell this professor so badly that you had no idea how you were going to handle things following this school year, and the last thing you thought the future would be for you was “impressive.”

“I’m currently looking for an undergraduate student to be a research assistant and join my team,” he continued. “I think you would be perfect for the job if you’re interested. I need someone that I know can analyze, write, and work well with others. Currently, I just have one person, Carter Higgins actually, who works with me, but I always like to have another person around while campaign season unfolds.”

You gulped. You weren’t sure if you wanted to work alongside Carter; you hated him. Yet, this was a tremendous opportunity. Professor McKinley was one of the most well-connected professors politically. If you wanted a job at a non-profit or in a politician’s office, he almost always had a way in. If you joined and impressed him, you could ride on his coattails.

“What exactly would I be responsible for?”

“Just doing research, maybe picking up some books from the library. We’d go to different parties of political candidates as well. You might accompany me to a few panels as the election approaches, all sorts of things. It’s a great opportunity to network and learn more about political research.”

You bit your lip. Admittedly, you didn’t like your current job so much. It’d be nice to do something during the school year that focused on what you were passionate about.

“I’d love to do it,” you said.

He beamed. “Great, I’ll send you a link tonight to apply. I��m looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

You gave him a polite thank you, before exiting the room. Brynn was outside, leaning against a wall and waiting for you. You smiled when you saw her.

“What was that all about?” she asked, synchronizing with your step as you both exited the building.

“Professor McKinley just asked me to work for him and do something political research,” you said, not meaning to brag, but well, it did sound that way.

You hated whenever you talked to Brynn about things like this. While she was an amazing friend, she was prone to jealousy and being competitive. A lot of the times, that manifested in your friendship with one another.

You could tell she was a little bit envious about the offer you received, and you felt a little bit guilty. Soon enough, a smile was on her face. You weren’t sure how genuine it was.

“That’s good. You’re going to get a lot of good networking out of that,” she said. “Congratulations!”

And yet, it felt forced. You weren’t sure just why you felt so guilty. Normally, if something like this happened, you would wave off the person who was exhibiting this kind of jealousy. But it was Brynn, and Brynn was one of the most passionate people you’d ever met. She genuinely cared about political science; it was her life ambition. The opportunity would have meant so much more than a resume line and connections to her.

“Thanks,” you replied. “But here’s the downside, I have to work with Carter Higgins.”

She groaned and you felt a little bit better in knowing you could now joke with her about the offer.

“I fucking hate that kid. He thinks he’s so important just because he’s a man and knows how to walk on two legs,” Brynn muttered. “Timmy Turner lookin-ass.”

You giggled at your friend’s string of insults. None of them were inaccurate.

“Speaking of Carter, why were you so spacey today? I needed your back-up.”

You let out a long sigh, uneasy how to best navigate the conversation. You didn’t want to agitate the whole friendship you had between you and Brynn, since you’d known she spent all week working on the paper. You knew she was going to judge you just a little bit for your lack of promptness with the paper, particularly since you’d gotten the special offer from Professor McKinley.

So you settled for, “Oh, I’ve just been anxious all day.”

“Why?”

You hadn’t thought that far along yet.

“Just a number of different things,” you said slowly. You decided your best bet was to slowly spin off the truth. “And like, I don’t know, I was nervous about my grade on the paper because I didn’t think it was my best work, and like, this one is going to sound a little bit lackluster, but I met this cute boy this weekend. We flirted for a few hours and I really liked him, but I forgot to get his number.”

It was an exaggeration to an extent, but for the most part, there was no lie.

“Oh that always sucks. I’ve done something like that before,” she replied, frowning slightly. “But hey, maybe you’ll bump into him again sometime soon. And like, I feel you on the anxiety in general, because I get that all the time.”

You felt yourself simmer down after her response. There were so many reasons you liked Brynn, but primarily because she never invalidated you when you talked about the things that were stressing you out. Even if they were just small things like forgetting to get a boy’s number at a bar.

“So, tell me about the boy,” she nudged you on.

You smiled and recounted how you met Tom to her, and how you opened yourself up to him so immediately it surprised you. You told her how sweet he was, how he waited to ensure you were comfortable with him giving you a ride home and in making sure you got home safely to begin with.

“Wow, you’re smitten by someone you’d only met for maybe two hours,” Brynn remarked.

You laughed. “I know, highly unlikely for me right?” You shook your head, your eyes slightly sparkling. “Some people are just magnetic, though, you know? And I think he’s one of those rare types.”

Brynn donned a smile at your words. “I honestly never thought I’d see the day where you were so flustered over another person. Who knew Dommo’s would put something like this together, huh?”

Brynn was reasonably surprised. In all the years that she’d known you, you’d never really pursued a relationship with another person. Often when someone was interested, you’d go on a date, but it almost always turned into nothing besides maybe a brief fling. This was the first time she saw you genuinely entranced by another person since you’d both been at college.

It was just that you were a total stickler about dating people you felt like were just as motivated as you were. Or at least, people who could keep up with you in terms of interests and banter. Other potential significant others you’d met over the years were great, but you always felt like you were never fully understood by them.

There was something different about this thing with Tom. Finding common ground wasn’t an issue. He got you.

“Hopefully it stays a thing. I haven’t seen him since, remember?” you continued. “And I don’t know how to see him again considering I don’t exactly have his phone number or anything like that?”

“Well, hopefully we’ll find him somehow. Worse come to worse, just run to the studio on Friday and see if he’s around. Or go to Dommo’s again somehow. If he works there as much as he says he does, I’m sure you’ll bump into him eventually.”

***

It was Wednesday night, which only meant one thing for your friend group — Whine and Wine time. You pulled the Yellowtail you’d been saving in your cabinet out, placed it in a bag, and walked over to Jacob and Tony’s apartment.

When you first moved out of the dorms, you knew you wanted to live by yourself. Jacob and Tony desperately wanted you to move into their apartment, but you had a feeling that if you shared a home with them, you wouldn’t be able to handle their living habits. Even so, the three of you agreed to live in the same apartment complex anyway — that way if you ever wanted to hang out or get drunk at the others’ apartment, it wouldn’t be a far distance.

You’d arrived at their front door in less than five minutes. Jacob’s eyes brightened considerably when he opened the door and saw you, and you gave him a tight hug. You were the second person there; the first being Laura, who was an expert at making sangria and was helping them out.

Granted, the general rule in your friend group was to typically arrive 30 minutes after the planned time. So by that standard, you were still about 15 minutes early.

“You’re not going to believe who’s coming today,” Jacob said as soon as you walked into the apartment.

You raised an eyebrow, setting the yellowtail you brought on the counter. “Who?”

“Our roommate,” Tony said from the couch. He was sprawled across it, already half a wine glass into the night. “Can you believe it? I invited him, not really thinking he’d say yes, and he texted back that he’d love to come!”

“He’s gonna be here around 8 o’clock,” Jacob said, nodding his head.

You grinned. “Way to include him in the friend group finally, guys!”

“You’re awfully excited, Y/N,” Laura remarked from the kitchen.

“Okay, they’ve been telling me about this guy for a while now, and he’s so mysterious like- I’m just curious about him. Where does he go? What does he do? Is he cute?”

“She’s going to scare him off within the first five minutes of being here,” Tony said.

You rolled your eyes. “Or maybe he’ll be happy that someone is finally acting interested in his life around here. You guys just ignore him!”

Jacob raised his hand. “In my defense, I try talking to him. Tony barely acknowledges him in the kitchen.”

“I don’t,” Tony admitted. “It’s just weird, like what do we talk about?”

“Wait, so in the morning if you’re like in the kitchen at the same time you guys just stand there in silence?” Laura asked.

You nodded your head. “Tony does at least.”

Laura shot him a look. “You don’t at least say hi or anything?” Tony shrugged again, and Laura rolled her eyes, slightly giggling. “No wonder he doesn’t really come home!”

“I’m trying now!” Tony attested, lifting up his glass of wine for another sip.

“He’s redeeming himself,” you joked. “Speaking of redemption, you know my good friend Brynn, she’s coming tonight. And I think we should give her a chance again, okay?”

Both Tony and Jacob groaned again.

“I’m already at max capacity tonight, Y/N! She broke my bed!” Tony protested.

Laura giggled from the kitchen and you rolled your eyes. “Guys, c’mon. She’s so much fun. Might be a little bit judgey from time to time but like a good friend.”

Jacob shrugged. “Listen, I’m usually just joking about all of this. I don’t actually have a problem with her. If you say she’s good, I believe you.”

Tony was pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m locking my bedroom door.”

You stuck out your tongue at him, before turning to Jacob and asking, “And what about your friend?”

Jacob frowned. “She’s not coming tonight. She couldn’t make it.”

Tony sat up straight. “What?!”

Jacob shrugged again. “She said she was busy! She seemed disappointed, so maybe some other night.”

Tony let out a long sigh. “I hope she comes eventually. We need more friends around here,” he said.

Laura then started pouring herself a glass of sangria from the pitcher. She offered some to you, which you naturally accepted.

It was good, but not even close to the quality of sangria Tom made you at Dommo’s. But even so, you were content with it.

“Damn, she’s missing out on some great sangria,” you complimented, taking another sip.

Slowly, more of your friends started piling into the apartment. Abraham, Sally, and some people you didn’t know well started walking in right around 7:30 p.m., exactly when you expected more of the crowd to show up. You nudged Tony over and sat on the edge of the couch. Laura sat on the other side of Tony, while Jacob primarily played host by greeting everyone who came in.

Brynn came next, after the large wave of people. She plopped on the ground in front of you, and you could see Tony eyeing her. You knew he was genuinely wary around her, and you couldn’t help giggling slightly at their dynamic.

Brynn started making conversation with Tony, and surprisingly, he was receptive to it. You were only half-tuned into their discussion, as you sipped more of your sangria and enjoyed being slightly antisocial for a long moment.

“So when are we going to start complaining or start group games?” one of Jacob and Tony’s friend that you hadn’t met yet asked.

That was another tradition of whine and wine — when you weren’t crying over your week, you were usually sitting together in a circle playing Cards Against Humanity or more likely, King’s Cup.

“Soon as my roommate gets here,” Jacob said. “We’re waiting on him and a friend to officially get started.”

You all gathered around in different sections across the room to begin catching up. You mostly pursued conversation with Laura, talking about her classes and what life had been like as an accounting major.

Every now and then, you glanced over at Tony and Brynn, who were still having somewhat of a decent conversation. Tony seemed less uneasy about opening up to Brynn now, as his animosity from Brynn breaking his bed was now gone. Laura nudged you about it, placing bets that by the end of the night they would hook-up.

You wandered over to Jacob, who was pouring some more wine for himself over by the kitchen.

“They’re getting along well now, huh?” you whispered, gesturing over to Brynn and Tony.

Jacob snickered. “You know how Tony is. You think the two of them will be good for each other?”

You cocked your head. “I think they have the potential to be. Either they’re going to mortal enemies or soulmates.” Jacob laughed.

But then, the door swung open. You knew who it was going to be even before Jacob leaned over to say it. It was the mysterious third roommate — the one that you’d heard so much information about, but had never met. You felt your heart pick up its pace, ready to make your judgements as soon as the door came to a close.

Two heads poked their way in the apartment. The first was a tall, blond man, with broad shoulders and a serious expression. As you weaved your way through your own memory, you realized you didn’t recognize the face. And it didn’t seem to fit the descriptor Jacob and Tony t0ld you about since they’d moved into this apartment. They told you their third roommate was on the shorter side, and this guy seemed to be fairly average in height, if not higher than average, all together.

But, even more surprising was when you were able to see the second head that stuck its head through the crack of the door. You knew the face; it’d been a face you’d been looking for almost extensively over the course of the past few days. And now, there he was — Tom himself. He was standing right in front of you, with an inquisitive and apprehensive expression across his face as his eyes surveyed over the room. With the ways his eyes moved with ease, like he knew the apartment itself, you knew at once he was the mysterious third roommate Jacob and Tony had been talking about so much.

You laughed to yourself about the irony of it all. You’d been looking for him for so long it felt like, and now, he was right under your nose after all this time.

His eyes brightened once they connected with yours.

“Oh, Y/N, my roommate is here,” Jacob said, nudging you. “Tom! There’s someone I want you to meet!”

He weaved his way over to you and Jacob in the kitchen, his blond friend following closely behind.

“Tom, this is Y/N,” Jacob said, gesturing toward you. “She’s a friend of mine and Tony.”

Tom shoved his hands in his pockets. “Oh, Y/N and I actually know each other. We met Dommo’s this weekend.” He gave you a quick head nod, and you smiled.

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” He shot a look over at you. You could tell by his reaction that it was all clicking in his head — the way you were eying Tom, the conversation you’d had at Over & Easy, the fact that Tom said you’d already met, and more.

“Yeah, Tom was really helpful to me when I was complaining over that paper I had to write for pols. He even proofread it for me,” you replied.

Jacob nodded his head, a small smirk tugging on his lips. It was all the confirmation he needed. You tried not to blush.

“This is my mate, Harrison by the way,” Tom said, gesturing over to the tall blond boy standing next to him. He stayed relatively quiet throughout the introduction, but now he gave you and Jacob a quick greeting. He was a fellow Brit, you learned quickly. “Harrison, this is Y/N and then Jacob, who is my flatmate. The other one is somewhere around here.”

Jacob and you both gave a quick wave.

“Welcome to your first whine and wine,” Jacob said. “There’s sangria over in the corner, and all the wine is communal usually, so feel free to drink whatever. No one really gives a shit here, we all just try to get drunk and complain.”

Harrison and Tom both grinned.

“Now that’s what I’m down for, mate,” Harrison said, and all of you laughed.

Tom and Harrison excused themselves from the conversation to get a drink. Jacob shot you a look again.

“So that bartender you’ve been obsessed with is my roommate?” he asks.

“It appears so,” you replied, cocking your head. “And I’m not obsessed with him. Just… curious.”

Jacob chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, whatever. I know you.”

You gave a pout. “I’ve only met him once.”

Jacob shrugged. “Just saying, for meeting only once, he obviously left an impression on you.”

And in truth, Jacob was absolutely right. You were enamoured by Tom in a way you couldn’t quite explain. There was just something about him that you were still trying to decipher.

You weren’t sure if you’d met anyone like him before.

Tom wandered back over to you and Jacob, Harrison closely in tow. He lifted up his glass of sangria, in somewhat of a cheering motion.

“Sangria isn’t so bad, huh?” you asked him, as he took a sip out of the glass.

Tom shook his head, a small smile curling up on his lips. “Do you like it better than mine?”

You pursed your lips. “Yours is definitely the best I’ve had.”

You could tell Jacob and Harrison were surprised by how easily the two of you got into conversation, but they weren’t quite fully sure on the context behind the topic at hand.

“At the bar I work at, I make sangria a lot of the time,” Tom explained. “I’m always trying out new recipes. Y/N was one of the few to try a new one I made the other day.”

“It was really good,” you replied, nodding your head.

“Well, you’ll have to bring it over to Whine and Wine sometime. I think we need more of that around here, if anything. The more alcohol, the better,” Jacob said. He was met by the chuckles of both Tom and Harrison. “But, we’re going to start a game soon if you guys want to jump in. We usually play Cards Against Humanity, or like King’s Cup which is a fun drinking game.”

Tom shook his head. “I think I’ll hold off for now.”

“I’ll jump in,” Harrison offered.

Jacob shot you a meaningful look.

“I’ll hang back,” you said swiftly. “I’ll kick in though after a few rounds, okay?”

Jacob seemed a bit disappointed by your answer, and you knew it had a partial role in the fact that earlier in the week, you’d turned down hanging out with Jacob and Tony at all of those parties. But he could handle himself. This was the first time you were seeing Tom in a while, and you wanted to get to know him better.

Jacob and Harrison both headed over to the living room, where the whole crowd of attendees were hanging out. You tried to stop your hands from fidgeting when you realized you were alone with Tom now.

“I got a job because of your excellent proofreading skills,” you said, a bit abruptly. “Thank you for that.”

Tom’s eyebrows raised at your statement, and a small grin curled up on his lips. “Really? Where?”

You explained how it was a research assistant job, but the professor it was attached to had multiple connections that were bound to help your own prospective career. You mentioned how you got one of the best grades in the class compared to the other students on the paper, and how he’d noticed it.

Tom nodded his head and his eyes stayed fixated on your face as he talked. It was a bit strange, being able to talk to someone with them being so intent in paying attention in what you had to say. It was so typical in college for all the people you were usually around to maybe check their phone every now and then, or at some point, their eyes would slightly glaze over as you spoke. But that wasn’t the case with Tom. Not at all.

He was attentive and engaged. His coffee eyes were soft, but with kindness, rather than with a lack of interest.

“Congratulations,” Tom said finally, when you were done explaining the premise of your new job. “It sounds like you’re a perfect fit for it.”

“Yeah, m’pretty stoked about it,” you replied, shrugging slightly. “I know I gave you all that talk about how it’s not necessarily my passion, but like I actually think this could be good.”

Tom nodded his head. “At least gives you the hope that you’re going somewhere after college. Which means you’re probably doing better than the rest of us.”

You grinned. “Tom, it seems like you have it pretty together.” He snorted, but you continued. “I mean seriously, you host a good radio show, and from the small interaction we’ve had together, you seem pretty emotionally in-tune. Which is more than you could say about most of the men that I’ve met.”

He snickered. “Well, you haven’t gotten to know me super well yet, so maybe hold off on making a lot of judgements yet. I don’t know if emotionally in-tune is necessarily the best way to describe me.”

You bit your lip, and said softly, “I think I’d like to get to know you better though.” Tom raised an eyebrow. “I just think we could be good friends is all. And you live with two of my best friends, as I’ve learned after today. So, might as well, right?”

You’d backed off a little bit, thinking maybe your initial move was a bit too forward. But thankfully, Tom followed along with it.

“Yeah, if anything, you should come by Dommo’s again sometime soon,” he replied. “After all, I still owe you that latté.”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x fem!reader #college!tom #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x female!reader #we'RE BACK #my writing #n1pa #next chapter: your best friends learn more about the boy you like #a lot of musing and rambling #and we return to dommo's!!!!!

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