#i saw the movie again and wanted to doodle em

[fluttytheflutt]

they’re goals like actually

[beetle--bug]

HALLO~i saw the requests is open so I want to send one! If you don't mind writing them but I have this idea in my head for a while now SO

A long distance relationship! because I practically live across the world from em and I need some of that content and I'm terrible at writing lol

if you don't mind I'd be very appreciated ( ꈍᴗꈍ) I kinda want it to be like a hc for the people you write for but if its too much, could I get a tommy and tubbo? I'm a minor, so, yea(GN! reader would be great)

Thank you!

Ps. Its ok if you can't though! Thanks again! ✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧

Sure!

✧ Long Distance relationship with dsmp members ✧

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Warnings: none!

Included: Dream, Tommy, Tubbo

A/N: this was a similar ask to @lukerycyja (for some reason I can’t tag them?) so I did them together! Hope that’s okay

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♡ Dream ♡

You know that your brother Tommy streams a lot

I mean, everyone on your block must know he streams from the amount of screaming he does.

So when he’s actually doing a quiet stream, you walk in unexpectedly.

‘Y/N GET OUT OF MY ROOM HELP ME HELP ME’

The whole scene was hilarious, and after talking about it with your brother, you thought it would be funny to play a prank on the dream smp

While you weren’t as experienced as Tommy with Minecraft, you still knew the basics of it.

Dream was wanting to write the next character arc for Tommy, and that is how you joined a discord call with Clay.

‘So Tommy I was thinking that-‘

‘Hello?’

‘You’re- not Tommy??’

‘No, I’m Y/N, Tommy’s older sister.’

‘Oh, nice to meet you y/n I’m Clay’

The two of you got on really well and so you called more often.

And you start to get a crush on him (˶◕╰╯◕˶✿)

So you tell him, you can’t keep something like that from your best friend!

And he’s so happy!

‘I- I like you too Y/N!’

After a few weeks of you two dating, he’d show you his face

Falling asleep on call together ٩( ๑^ ꇴ^)۶“

Well, one of you would fall asleep since your time zones are different

After begging and pleading your parents let you go to America to meet him (★^O^★)

Ohmygodhessosweettoyou;;

And he’d take you on a date!

Very fancy and romantic ♡♡+.ﾟ(￫ε￩*)ﾟ+.ﾟ

He w o u l d cry when you leave

And he calls you when you’re on the plane

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♡ Tommy ♡

This boy is S O F T when it comes to you

After a stream he’ll call you

It’s not that late for you, so you’re not as tired as him

‘Hi Tommy, how was your stream?’

Incoherent Tommy mumbling

Him being the stubborn person he is, he’ll refuse to sleep until you call him

And you’ll just be comfortable in each other’s silence

Virtual movie nights (★^O^★)

If he had his hair cut, he’d show you how poggers it was on a video call

‘Aww Tommy! You’re so P R E T T Y!’

‘Y/NNNNNN’ >////////<

He is a hardcore simp for you no I do not take criticism

When he’s really sleepy he is so clingy

‘TOMMY I SWEAR TO GOD GO TO SLEEP’

‘Mmmmmm, okayyyy, I love you y/n’

And he completely denies it the next day

8/10 he won’t sleep

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♡ Tubbo ♡

He has a custom ringtone for you so he doesn’t miss your calls

You two make a bed sanctuary together :0

Sometimes he forgets that you have different time zones and he’ll call when it’s 1 am for you

Only to be surprised when you answer

If you fall asleep while you’re on call with him, he’d just kinda look at you (not in a creepy way lol)

Because you’re so P R E T T Y!

Why do I feel like he’d doodle you on his wrist?

Because he definitely would!

He’s just so soft I-

On your birthday he’d fly over to see you

‘Y/N’

‘AAAAAAA’

9/10 you can’t hug him every day

[bonvoyagenoona]

😂😂😂 did Mrs. Kim even notice her sketch pad gone??? especially since it was a PARTICULAR sketch pad 😛😛😛 did Mr. Kim know his wife had a whole ass sketch pad dedicated to his Nudes™

also not the teacher flipping through the sketch pad and salivating over Mr. Kim 😂😂 “There’s one without pants?!” HAHAHAHAHAHAH like father like sons, i guess. everywhere they go tongues wag in their direction 😜😜 now im curious: has there ever been a time where Mr. Kim saw how much of a MILF his wife was and therefore she got EYES on her 👀👀 Jealous Mr. Kim Jihu… id love to see it 👁

aww baby tae :( “(a little sad and defensive) Yeah, well, MY style is different. My eomma says we all have different styles.”

it must have been weighing on his child mind as to why he couldn’t draw like his eomma :( the ‘little sad and defensive’ broke my heart :( thank goodness Mrs. Kim was (and still is) an amazing mother, because it didn’t seem to break his spirit at all because look at him doodling on his notebooks! his tests! the love notes his eomma slipped in his lunch box!

Bahaha, Mrs. Kim, keep an eye on your stuff!! What a huge heart you have for Tae! You're so right -- instilling that spirit in her boys helped him stay true to his voice! And as far as MILFs go...

At the movies.

College Mrs. Kim: And a big popcorn, please?

Movie Theater Attendant: (gazing at her) Whatever you want. (grabs a box of candy from the stand) You want some free chocolates? Here. Take 'em. As long as you take my number, too.

College Mrs. Kim: (giggles)

College Mr. Kim: Ooh, free candy? (wraps arm around Mrs. Kim's waist) Sounds great. Can you make that two?

College Mr. Kim places a sloppy kiss on Mrs. Kim's cheek, making her laugh, tickled by his jealousy and protective streak. The attendant frowns, and pulls another box of candy out from the counter.

--

At one of Mr. Kim's work dinners, in a fancy restaurant.

New Doctor: (sidling up to her at the bar, watching her take a drink) Hi there.

Mrs. Kim: (nervous, sweating in her gorgeous baby pink gown) Oh, um, hi.

New Doctor: You new here, too?

Mrs. Kim: (looking around) Yes, actually, and my---

New Doctor: I just started on Monday.

Mrs. Kim: Oh, that's nice. (a moment of recognition) You must be the doctor who just got back from Doctors without Borders?

New Doctor: (glimmers in his eyes) So you've heard of me! (grinning) I almost wish I could say the same for a stunning creature like you, but I'm happy that I get the chance now. (scoffs) Cheapskate bosses didn't even get us an open bar. But maybe I buy you another drink and we find a cozy little corner to tuck into and---

Mr. Kim: (appearing from thin air) Ah, Dr. Yang! I see you've met my wife?

New Doctor: (gulps, terrified) O-o-oh, hi Dr. Kim---

Mr. Kim: She is a stunning creature, isn't she?

He lifts her free hand, and as she sips her drink, she does a cute twirl, a routine that they clearly have down pat. He pulls her into his side, and she rests on his shoulder.

New Doctor: Yes, uh, very, uh, stunning. Why don't I buy you both drinks? My treat?

Mr. Kim: (smiling, too serene) That would be wonderful. Thanks.

--

At a drive-thru.

Mrs. Kim: (sweetly) Aaaaaaand, um, how about a large peach shake?

Cashier: (flirting) You have a lovely voice, you know that?

Mrs. Kim: (giggles) Aw, well. Thank you.

Cashier: Come on up to the window. I'm dying to see what you look like.

Mrs. Kim pulls the car forward.

Cashier: (places his hand on his heart) Oh, I knew it. You are absolutely gor---

Mr. Kim leans forward in the passenger seat, scowling. He's livid.

Cashier: Oh!

Mr. Kim: Can you make that two peach shakes? Extra large. (smiles at Mrs. Kim) I got a hankering for one after you ordered yours.

Cashier: So t-t-that's, uh, two---

Mr. Kim: One extra large burger with all the toppings, one extra large order of fries, and two extra large peach shakes. Apart from the additional shake that I just ordered, I believe that's what my wife said. (narrows his eyes again) In her lovely voice.

Cashier: Oh god.

Mrs. Kim: (grinning, loving this) Gotta eat. (opens her coat a bit to show her very pregnant belly) This one's starving.

Cashier: (sweating bullets, stuffing the just-made order through the window) C-congratulations! Uh, this one's on me! No payment necessary! Enjoy!

They take the food, and Mrs. Kim stops the car at the plaza exit, waiting for the traffic on the main road to clear.

Mrs. Kim: (smirking) Do you even get jealous anymore?

Mr. Kim: (eating freshly cooked fries out of the bag) Not when we get free stuff, I don't.

Read the A Map of Mrs. Kims original story and follow the #AMOMK tag for drabbles! Full fic coming soon!

[wank127]

denki hc dump ! <3

he speaks 8 languages (english, japanese, french, german, mandarin, spanish, korean and russian) and knows jsl, bsl and asl(sign language)

he uses his (sign)language skills to gossip to present mic during english

he stress bakes 100%

noone knows he can bake/cook well though so they all assume it’s sato, and since he bakes so much he doesn’t realize that it was someone else who made them

he learns everyone’s favorite treats and/or treats from their childhood that they mentioned. he just leaves it out for them to find like a weird tooth fairy

has freckles and curly hair

you can fight me on this. he does

learns everyone’s favorite songs on the guitar

mamma mia enthusiast <3

his favorite monster is either monarch, pipeline punch or ultra violet. he wants it to be the ultra yellow one but it sucks ass

i have so many different hc’s of his family but i’m gonna go with this for now,

he has 7 siblings (older: brother, sister. younger: twin sisters, brother and baby sister)

he lives with his parents, grandparents and younger siblings

his older ones moved out so he’s in charge of taking care of the younger ones and his grandparents when his parents are at work

vvv good with kids and he loves his siblings to death (can’t help but laugh when one of them falls over though)

has adhd but only finds out in his second year after breaking down to present mic after an exam

after he gets diagnosed and gets all the help n shit he moves up to 5th in class

he’s bisexual 150% (HAPPY PRIDE MONTH !!)

he needs a lot of electrolytes cause if his quirk so,,, energy drinks all day everyday

his sneezes are either really small, quiet ones or they’re full on screams

he doesn’t know which one it’ll be till it happens

(scared the shit outta all might one time)

loves bo burnham (or he is bo burnham 👀)

(go watch inside if you haven’t already ! it’s an absolute masterpiece !!!)

can ! sing !

he has a really good singing voice, only reason no one knows is cause he didn’t want to take jirou s spotlight away at the festival (not even a wee bit, he wanted her to have her moment so bad)

has lichtenberg scars, especially on his torso, back and arms

has his ears pierced, doesn’t remember getting them done, but he’s got em

he ! draws !!!!

he’s amazing at art ! he ‘doodles’ in his books in class, mainly just of whoever’s teaching at that moment, something he saw, or his friends

(*turning round in his seat* “hey kacchan what do your tits look like again, i can’t get them to look right” “fuck. off.” “okay, they’ll just look weird ig”)

(there’s drawings of his ~crush(s)~ too, they get the prettiest backgrounds)

mic sees his drawings and immediately talks to nezu about an art department

he wears eyeliner

he had a pet hamster. but, as all hamster do, it died a horrific and traumatic death

he can make bird noises really well, uses the to trick koda and tokoyami

he can also do the like siri/self checkout/robot kinda voice, like really really well

makes playlists for all his friends. he has 100’s of them for himself, so much music, music makes brain go ･:*+.\(( °ω° ))/.:+

makes special ones for the person(/people) he likes, like really cutesy names, loves song sprinkled in there, that shit y’know?

he likes to read.

he likes to read old english literature(wow original), he has this huge collection of books(old and new)

he discusses them with mic at lunch in a sort of book club, lots of fun

he will not, however, read anything school related. that’s stuff is boring and it does not make his brain happy

he loves his friends so much

he really loves them

(as much as i love found family tropes)

throws the best sleepovers, snack, forts, movies, you name it, he’s got it

(i’m ending this here lol)

<3

[yunhowhoitiss]

𝐜𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐮𝐦

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐟𝐞𝐦)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k+

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, fantasy au (?), slow burn, angst if you squint, ft co-worker jongho :)

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You’re finally starting to make ends meet when you start working at your school’s local café, but the world is so full of surprises.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: reader panics a bit(?)

𝐚/𝐧: I came up with this at 4am a couple days ago so it’s not my proudest, but I felt bad just letting it sit in my drafts so here you go :) enjoy!

masterlist

The gentle smell of freshly baked pastries, accompanied by the stronger aroma of ground coffee beans, wafted through the comfy café. There was a constant chatter as customers scattered around the joint whilst waiting, disguising the soft hum coming from behind the coffee machine. Your face was out of sight, except your hair peeked out above the espresso machine where you were pouring a latté, entertaining yourself by decorating a small heart in the foam. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as your eyes turned to soft crescents when soft wisps of your hair had fallen out of your bun and across the sides of your forehead. The steam floating from the cup caressed your hands as you picked up the mug along with an assortment of macaroons. 

“Order for Julie: four macaroons, a chai latté, and an espresso affogato, extra dry!” You announced through the coffee shop, turning a few heads. 

You made your way back to the station to continue other orders but stopped as you noticed something missing; you had run out of cinnamon to top off drinks. Your coworker ought to know where another carton would be, so you turned towards the kitchen to find him wrist-deep in bread dough. 

“Jongho, where are the extra containers of cinnamon again?”

“Oh, those are in the grey cabinet below the pastry display,” he smiled back, all the while kneading the dough. 

Flashing him an ‘ok’ sign, you headed back to the front of the shop. You hadn’t been working at the Crescent Café very long, but you happened to be a pretty fast learner, according to Jongho; you could make latte art before other trainees could even make a latte. Quickly getting back to work, you served a customer until something caught you eye whilst jotting down an order on your notepad; had the writing been on your wrist all day? It must just be something I wrote down earlier, you thought.

As the sun made its way towards the horizon, you returned to the comfort of your small apartment to freshen up, eat dinner, and momentarily forget your academic responsibilities— homework, ugh-- before heading to school again the next day. You entered you apartment with a relived sigh and threw your keys onto a nearby dresser, mumbling "I'm home" to nobody in particular. Too lazy to go to your room, you simply undressed as you walked towards the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing behind you. Note to self: clean that up later. 

The moment you stepped into the shower, your shoulders loosened as the hot water washed away your tension. The writing on your wrist caught your eye again. Scrutinizing the messy handwriting, you saw what seemed to be a shopping list. 

“Eggs, lucky charms, and aftershave,” you read aloud. 

Aftershave? I don’t use that. Could it be… you were lost thought, not noticing the warm steam filling the bathroom. You rubbed at your soapy skin frantically in an attempt to wash off the pen, to no avail. Lately, although rarely, you’d started to notice small bruises or random marks on your skin; you’d never seen writing, though. You briefly wondered if there was possibly another person causing this, but you only saw such things in movies or books... right? 

Your heart rate started to pick up, and a heavy sensation built up in your chest. It isn’t possible, it can’t be. The cramped space of your shower started to feel suffocating. Nearly slipping, you jumped out of the shower and dried yourself off. You got dressed in whatever shirt and sweats you found hanging around your bedroom. Was something wrong with you? Am I imagining things? I’m not going crazy, right?  Worrisome thoughts flooded your mind as you spiralled deeper into a panic. Calm down. Don’t skip to conclusions. You threw yourself onto the bed. In and out. It’s that simple, you consoled yourself. Slowly but surely, you felt your heart come to a rest. 

When you lifted your hand up above your head the writing was still there, unchanged. So you weren’t losing your mind. Could somebody else be the cause of this? Was someone else somehow writing on your skin? No, you felt stupid for even considering the thought; otherworldly things like that only happened in comics or movies. Nevertheless, it was the only possibility that made sense to you in the moment. You let your curiosity get the best of you, and paced towards the living room to grab a pen off the coffee table. On your right hand, you simply wrote "Hi," in hopes of eliciting some sort of response.

The following day proved to be a rather sunny, warm Monday, but you had to spend your time in a closed lecture hall. The cold-toned ceiling lights were much too bright for your liking, and the monotonous professor spouted information maybe only a handful of people were genuinely listening to. That morning, you had woken up to find the list on your wrist gone, leaving only your own message from the night before. You started to think you'd really had a hallucination of some sort. 

Half an hour into the lecture, you were already bored out of your mind and absentmindedly sketching intricate doodles on your notebook. I should just give up on biochemistry and become an artist, you mused to yourself. You remained focused on your art, while marks started to take shape on the back of your hand. Your soft eyes widened almost comically at the sight, and you shot a brief look to the people around you to make sure they hadn’t seen anything. Whipping your head back to your hand, you saw that the words stopped writing themselves, leaving a short message saying “Am I going nuts?” 

Wondering the same thing yourself, you jotted down a response below it: “I dunno, you tell me,” followed by a cheeky smiley face. If this really was real, you might as well make a good first impression. 

Weeks trickled into months as you made short exchanges with your newly discovered friend. Some nights you would write “good night” followed by a drawn heart, earning a sweet “sleep well” in return. You would frequently wake up to thoughtful words written on the palm of your hand, or you'd kindly ask your companion how they were doing when you had a quiet day at work. Even so, all you had learned about this person was their name, age, and that they were a student as well. Yunho was a twenty-one-year-old elementary education major with a minor in physiology-- he also worked as a dance teacher on weekends. You still didn’t know much about each other, so the messages never went further than greetings and simple conversations. 

Be that as it may, you liked it like that. Your relationship wasn’t complex; it felt comfortable and pure, and you didn’t want to change it.

Mellow spring afternoons at the café had always been your favourite. The wispy clouds in the sky were painted a buttery yellow by the slowly setting sun, and a steady stream of nearby students stopped by for coffee. Your new friend had sweetly noted "It's golden hour. Made me think of you," on your palm, leaving you in a bubbly mood. You had started your shift by drawing a heart on your wrist, hoping your secret companion would see it. 

You worked by the espresso machine as usual, humming to yourself as always. The bell rang, indicating that customers had arrived; it was a group of what seemed to be three guys and a girl. 

“We’ll be right with you!” you called. You turned towards the kitchen.  “Jongho, can you take their orders?” Silence. “Pretty please? I need to clean up my station.” you persisted. 

“Fine, yeah,” you heard your colleague grumble. 

As you tidied up behind the machine, you felt as though someone was watching you from the counter. You lifted your head curiously, meeting a pair of inquisitive doe eyes coloured a soft hazelnut brown. The warm eyes instantly turned into friendly half-moons as the boy smiled shyly upon being caught staring. You hurried back to cleaning up your station, hoping to hide the pink tint of your cheeks, but the red shade consuming your ears gave you away. 

Jongho handed you the cups for their orders and walked over to the pastry display. You got started on a hot chocolate and three iced americanos, getting back into your “barista brain,” as you liked to call it. After finishing the drinks, you called out "Three iced americanos, a hot chocolate, and two blueberry muffins!” 

You turned around to grab straws, and you overheard one of the guys say “I’ll grab ‘em, you guys can stay here.” You made your way back to the counter, looking up only to be met with the boy from earlier. Butterflies littered your stomach, fluttering up into your chest. “Oh, um, here are some straws,” you smiled gingerly.

“Thanks. Could I please get a sleeve as well?” he asked, “For my hot chocolate.”

“Of course!”

As you handed him the cardboard sleeve, his hands caught your eye. Not only were they the most beautiful hands you'd ever laid eyes on, but the boy had a heart drawn on the valley of skin between his left thumb and wrist, exactly where you had drawn one on your own hand just a while earlier. He seemed to recognize the message on your palm as well; a confused expression ghosted over his face. Gathering all your courage, you nodded towards his hand and did your best to form a coherent sentence. “That’s—”

“Your heart,” he interrupted, “Right?” 

You giggled softly in response, barely containing your excitement.

“Right,” you smiled down at your feet in an attempt to hide the bashful grin that pulled at your lips. A hand popped up in front of you.

“Nice to meet you, y/n. My name’s Yunho-- Oh, but you know that already, don’t you?” Yunho chuckled sheepishly. You looked up and slipped your hand into his, shaking it gently. His hands were warm, fingertips ever so soft.

“Nice to meet you too.”

[arthurfleck46]

Is this for the headliner ???

So I`m  not even sure if this is gonna be some kind of diary or whut? Tired of my therapists reading my journal like its just some kind of shit when it actually MEANS sumthin.

Been told that social media

(thats hows it called right????) is full of shit, just like real life but guess what I´m used to it so I will give it a try..

life`s been quite kind to me these days actually. Big surprise!

Wait is there a way to put some doodles in here? Feelin kinda stupid in front of this sceen. Screens changed a lot the past years. Didnt they?

Heard that some love for me was sprat around here for me. People saying nice things about me and all but would they actually notice me when I`ll pass them in a groacery store for an exhample? Or would they just look the other way like all of em?

Importhant questions being asked here!

We will see. Maybe I can entertain youàll with some jokes. Or you eighter have to deal with some personal thoughts of mine.

And there are a lot

Thoughts I mean

And you gotta get them out of you, otherwise you`ll go....Not gonna say that  word because it fucking triggers me  I guess you know what Im talking about.

Stay healthy.

Heard about the virus situation in this reality and this doesnt sound like fun at all.

A joke might still help with it. So think of one!

Doesnt it always help to smile?

Arthur

I dont get the thing with the tags? What is it for? Should I just type my name in them or??? JOKER?

JOKER right?  I hope no one is listening JUST BECAUSE they saw that movie I`m not a fucking movie star. i´m a real person and I want to be treated that way. Okay, I hope this doesnt come off as rude. Dunt get me wrong. Please. I just wanna make some friends.

So again this was Arthur talking

Take care!

[stilesloverdaily]

I Promise

Shawn Mendes x Reader

Words: 2.1k

Note: basically he made a promise and he will deliver it no matter how long it takes. fluff.

Walking to school was a normal occurrence for you. Monday through to Friday, you walked to school; a mundane walk until you met up with Shawn. Aka. Your Best Friend.

As soon as he arrived with his morning enthusiasm and charming smile, a gloomy walk to school became one filled with life and it truly was the light of the day. No matter what happened.

It was a Wednesday morning, when a giant figure came up next to you and bumped your shoulder with his arm. Although it interrupts your Coldplay, you take out an earphone and greet the boy next to you. His eyes reflecting the morning sun, causing his golden brown orbs to shine brighter than when he smiles.

“Turn that frown upside down, cause Shawn Mendes has graced your presence!” He hollered, with joy.

Rolling your eyes, he had turned an old couples attention, whom smiled your way. “Hey, Shawnie Shawn.” You chuckled, referring to one of your favourite movies, Fired Up!

“Before you ask, yes, it is lonely down that road.” He deadpans, clearly amused. “How are you?”

Shrugging, you replied, “Eh. I finished the homework for Mr. Mason’s class, last night.”

“Cool. What’d you get for 8?”

“Robber Baron.”

“Same.” He smiled. “Aaliyah and I were playing Call of Duty last night, which is about how I’ve been.”

Without a breath, you immediately said it. “Mission failed. We’ll get em next time.” Shawn laughed.

A comfortable silence fell on the both of you as you shortcutted through the park, as per usual. Frost had taken over the grass, slush on the side of the walkway, a classic late autumn Canadian day. The thought brought a shiver down your spine, your love for winter eliciting an exciting feeling.

“You cold?” Not waiting for a response, Shawn grabbed his bag from his shoulder, swinging it round. Once he opened it, he brought out a light blue zip up jacket, handing it to you as he swung the bag back around. Gladly taking it as the short sleeve shirt you were wearing wasn’t cutting, even though the weather said it was going to be warmer. “When I get my license, I’m driving us to and from school everyday.” Shawn said matter-of-factly. 

“Is that right?” He hummed. “What about a car? Or money to buy it? Or to get gas?”

He shook his head with a lazy smile, “Well, Negative Nancy, when I’m rich and famous, I’ll have all the money.”

“Won’t you be touring the world? Meaning you can’t take me to school…” the thought set in.

Shawn was an amazing singer and with his Vines, he’d get found any day now. He had talent and the looks for it, as well as a positive personality. Even through his anxiety, he always got up and sang his heart out or played it on the piano or guitar. He would tour the world, whilst you probably worked a dead end job, just to pay for college. 

Shawn sighs as he looks to you, “Y/N, that will never happen because I’ll never forget about you. I will take you, I promise.” He held out his pinky. “Pinky promise.”

You wrapped your pinky around his large one, a fuzzy feeling running up your arm as you did so. “With a thumb stamp?” It was your thing, meaning that you’d rather jump off a bridge than break that promise. He extended his thumb, you doing the same, both pressing the thumb pads against each other.

“I promise.”

With that, you two lowered your hands, however kept them holding each other’s. You trusted him with your life. So, once the promise was decided on, you kept walking and talked about random things.

-

3 years later (Senior Year)

Waking up, you smiled and grabbed your phone to turn off the alarm you set. It was officially the last day of school before graduation and you planned to go about today like any other, just more relaxed.

After showering and changing, you grabbed your bag; filled with your usual pencil case, a notepad in case you wanted to doodle and other essentials for the last day of high school.

Next to your bag was your dresser, which had your photo frame of yourself and Shawn. He never did get to complete that promise as he got found sooner than he thought. He never drove you to school, I mean, you drive yourself to school now.

No matter, you were proud either way. Life happens, no matter if he pinky promises with a thumb stamped on it. Did it break your heart a little? Yeah. Was it the end of the world? No.

You both went on your separate ways, you continuing with school and him, an international pop star. Both of you followed the other on instagram and texted every now and then, but in all honesty the time zones made it difficult, as he was travelling so much.

When he was in town though, you’d see each other, make the effort to go to a party here and there or just meet up and watch The Big Bang Theory.

Shrugging it off, you made your way to the kitchen to grab breakfast, eggs on toast. As you were about to sit down, your mom piped up with a smile, “I don’t think you have time to eat. Your ride will be here soon.”

Raising a brow in question, you responded, “What?” out of pure confusion.

Next thing you know, there was a knock at the door, turning your gaze to the front door, then back to your mother in serious confusion. She gestured her head to the door with her smile still plastered on your face.

You stood up, slowly walking to the door, when another knock was heard. As you made your way towards it, you tried to come up with an idea as to why and who was here at this time in the morning. Your dad lived with his other family in Alberta and your best friend, Georgia had left for holiday yesterday. Beside your mother, there was no one else who would really be here at this time.

Placing your hand on the door handle, you opened it. In front of you was the 6”2, slightly tanned man with brown curly locks atop his head, and a wide smile on his face when he saw you.

A grin plastered on your face as you jumped into his arms with a squeal, you hadn’t seen him since your birthday in April which was a couple months ago. He chuckled, before he put you down and smiled at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Europe?” you gleamed.

He chuckled again, running his hand through his brown locks, “I have a promise to keep.”

You looked at him quizzically, running things through your head, getting the gears to turn inside your head. “What promise?”

He looked to his feet, his smile never fading, before his brown eyes glanced into your eyes. “Well, grab your bag as I, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes will be driving you to school this morning.” You smiled at him widely.

“It’s the last day, Shawn.”

“Exactly. Meaning I didn’t screw up my promise.” He said matter-of-factly. “And I never go back on those. Especially for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, you don’t know exactly why but him saying that comforted you.

“Okay.” Walking back into the house, you grabbed your bag. “Alright, see ya later mom.” You left the house, walking to Shawn’s car. Hopping in, you were thrown back from when he took you out for your birthday for dinner then came back to your house to surprise you with a party at your house. He also got in his side as you were strapping in, you giggled out of nowhere at the thought of him taking you to school.

“What?”

“I don’t know, I never imagined you to take me to school.”

He shook his head with a smile as he started the car up, pulling away from your house. You had always felt warm with him, his presence eliciting a flurry of warmth through your body; in turn causing you to shiver. “You cold?” Shawn gave you a glance from the road, a curious one as it was indeed the middle of summer.

You shook your head with a brief smile, “No, just someone walking over my grave.” Shawn nodded in understanding, his gaze lingering a few more seconds than necessary before turning back to the road.

His hand that rested on the automatic gear shift, moved to your seat next to your leg, Shawn’s pinkie grazing your thigh. Your breath hitched slightly, heart rate picking up. It reminded you of the pinkie promise he made to drive you school.

The school was a fifteen minute journey from your house, meaning the ride was to be short.

As the Shawn you always knew and loved always did, he was humming to the radio, which you joined in to. Your voice no comparison to his, but he said he always liked it. Crawl by Not My Weekend was on, and you smiled slightly to yourself as it kind of reminded you of him.

You knew you felt slightly more than just friendly feelings towards him, your relationship being only platonic for both of you. However, you thought the song related to your not-so-platonic feelings for him and your feelings towards his girlfriend Camila. 

“How’s Camila?”

You’d met her once, she wasn’t your favourite person, but not the worst overall. You’d met on your birthday, when Shawn introduced the two of you at the party, she was slightly rude, but in all honesty, most of Shawn’s girlfriends felt that way as they always perceived your friendship with Shawn - a threat.

“Good.” He answered shortly, his smile fading slightly. You rose a brow at his behaviour, which he noticed in his peripheral. Sighing, he continued. “We broke up.”

You didn’t hide the look of shock on your face, on your birthday they were clung together at the party. However, you and Shawn spent a lot of the night talking, because it was your birthday, but Camila was there always.

You admit that at first it seemed the relation seemed fake, a stunt from his record company, but when you saw her at the party, it must be serious. “I’m sorry, why didn’t you tell me?” He usually told you about the other break ups and you with him.

“Mainly for the reason behind it.”

“Which was?”

His breath hitched, “You.”

“What?”

He shook his head with a smile, “She didn’t like how close we were.” Lie.

“Shawn, I haven’t seen you in like three months.” You turned to him, causing his hand to move back to the shifter. “What’s the real reason?”

He pulled up into your school parking lot, turned the car off with a sigh. “‘Cause I’ve been in love with you since we were younger.” His head turned to you, his brown locks flopping a little.

You were stunned, he felt more than friendly feelings too? Why was he bringing this up now? Shawn had a few girlfriends in the time you’ve known him. “Really?”

He inhaled, “Yeah.” He exhaled.

You didn’t know how to respond, sure you had those feelings for a long time, you could say that or that you also feel the same towards him but no. You leaned forward over the center console and kissed him, he leaned over and kissed back.

Your hands went to the back of his neck and ran through his curls, as the kiss got a bit more passionate. Shawn’s hands rested on your jaw and waist.His tongue teasing your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you happily obliged. He went to move you on his lap, and you were low key happy too, but your butt hit the wheel and the car honked.

It was good that no one was to be seen in the parking lot as homeroom began a minute or so ago. But, the honk separated the two of you. You both were panting as the kiss got a bit ahead of itself, his hazel eyes glanced at you eyes with a glint of something you’d never personally seen on him, or that you’d noticed. Shawn’s smile was wide and yours wasn’t faltering either.

“I um...better get to homeroom…” You broke the silence.

Shawn nodded, with a cough. “Uh, yeah.” You grabbed your bag and went to open the door when he stopped you by saying, “Unless, you wanna make out a little longer?”

You couldn’t help the laugh you let out, “Well I wouldn’t mind but I don’t wanna mess up my perfect attendance, now would I?” He pouted and you let out a huff. “School finishes early today, at lunch. We can make out in the car then, or talk more about that kiss.” At that you got out and shut the door, walking away.

Shawn rolled down the window of your side, “Can’t wait!”

tagged: @itsnolongerteen​ @justsomewritingsandshit​

[crayonwriting]

Irreplaceable You: 4 (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Unexpectedly diagnosed with a terminal disease, you embark on a mission to find a new love for your fiancé and childhood best friend, Bucky Barnes.

Disclaimer: This story is a rewrite of the movie of the same title on Netflix. Directed by Stephanie Laing and written by  Bess Wohl. Go check it out!

— CHAPTER FOUR —

Six Weeks Later...

You were alone in the apartment, still recovering from your surgery. You had the masses removed in an attempt to rid and cure yourself of cancer. The doctors said it was a long shot but it was worth the try.

You lay on the soft carpeted floor in just your sweats and a hoodie you borrowed—more like stole—from Bucky’s wardrobe. They say after surgery you're going to experience some minor discomfort. It's Stage 4 cancer. Nothing is minor. Nothing is comfortable.

You were curled up in a fetal position, biting your lips in an attempt to ease the numbing pain and soreness you were currently feeling. Panic! At The Disco was blasting through your earphones and you did your best to focus on that.

—

Bucky sat by his desk, his hand covering his face as he tried to dry up the tears in his eyes that were threatening to fall. He shuddered lightly and scoffed to compose himself. He re-adjusted his glasses, reading his notes once again. He stood up in a firm manner and started writing on the whiteboard.

“So, let's, uhm, let's take another look at the proposed model for auto-associative memory and its constituent neural network.” He finished a diagram—rather slowly to his liking—and turned to his students. Like him, their minds were elsewhere: two students were staring out the window; some were doodling mindlessly on their desks or notebooks; others were already half-lidded and were seconds away from dreamland.

“Or not. Let's not and say we did. Class dismissed.” Bucky almost slammed the marker against his desk. He was out of it. He kept thinking about how you were alone at home and was probably in pain. He was worried about you. He always was. He hastily shoved his things in his messenger bag and rushed out of the classroom. His class followed soon after.

—

You tapped your foot to a silent melody against the white-tiled floor. You looked around the hospital waiting room clutching your coat and purse tight in your fists. Today was the first day of your chemotherapy and you were beyond scared. Luckily, your mom had accompanied you and has been coming back to and fro every other week to check up on you.

"Ms. Y/L/N?" The receptionist called out. You raised your hand automatically. You stood up and approached her desk. She smiled at you and handed you a piece of paper. “Please fill out this form and a nurse will come and assist you shortly.” You did as she told you and as soon as you signed at the bottom of the page, a nurse in a blue scrub suit approached you with a clipboard.

“Hi! My name’s Scott. How’s it going?” He held out his hand in greeting. Scott was tall, had hair that was a bit messy and a contagious smile. You shook his hand and mirrored his grin.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N and this is my mother, Y/M/N.” He shook your mother’s hand and smiled to her too.

“I’m gonna be running your treatment suite. If you could please follow me.” He turned his back to you and started walking down the hall. You and your mother trailed after him.

“Uh, treatment suite?” You asked.

“Oh, yeah, don't get excited. It doesn't even have four walls.” He replied, nonchalantly. You looked at your mother and raised your eyebrow at her in question. Scott looked at you and smiled. He approached a room, two doors from the end of the hall and opened it. “You go ahead and grab a seat right there.” He pointed to a complicated-looking chair in the middle.

True to his word, your ‘suite’ didn’t really have four walls. The room was cut into small cubicles with thin, opaque, glass dividers—a chair in each one. You passed by an elderly man who has fallen asleep and a woman who had several snacks and books propped on her lap—you gave her a small, awkward smile when she looked up. Finally reaching an empty chair, you did as Scott said, putting your bag beside you on the floor. Your mother pulled up a chair and sat on your left.

“There, so you can relax.” He grabbed his own chair, pulling with him a small cart of what looked like needles and various bags of medicine. “For the next time, you're probably gonna want to bring your own pillow in from home. You're also gonna need your cell phone with headphones and a magazine.” He put on a pair of blue latex gloves and a matching face mask. “Some of these guys tend to hoard ‘em. You're gonna end up reading an old ripped up copy of Duck Enthusiast.”

“Oh. It's okay, I don't read…Duck Enthusiast.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “You will. All right, feet up.” He pulled the lever on the right side of your chair, making a foot rest pop up, elevating your feet. “Yep, there you go.” He pulled down his mask to his chin and looked at you. “Okay, so uhm, before we start yes, you will feel like shit after this, but it's different for everybody.” You stared at him wide-eyed, thinking how he must’ve done this a thousand times being so cool and calm about it. Your mother opened her mouth, about to ask something but Scott raised his finger and said,

“And no, your hair isn't gonna fall out right away. And besides, it looks like you have plenty of it, so you're doing good. Uh, and if you need snacks, you got to bring them from home.” He finished and flashed the both of you another smile. “Any more questions?”

An old man in a fancy suit and tie, complete with shiny black shoes and a top hat to match passed by your cubicle, raising his hat in greeting to the three of you. He walked slowly until he was out of sight.

“I feel underdressed.” You said, amused by the old man.

“Oh, that guy?” Scott leaned over to look at the man. “Yeah, I don't know why he does that.” He looked up, putting his fingers to his chin in thinking. “I think he thinks it helps.” He pursed his lips.

“Does it?” Your mother asked, holding your hand tight in hers.

“I don't know. He's not dead yet, so it's got to be doing something, right?” Scott joked.  He put his mask back on. “Well, shall we get started?”

—

You sipped your smoothie slowly as the elevator you were on rattled upwards. ‘Seventh floor of the Prime Tower on Baker Street’ your doctor instructed. During a check-up, he suggested joining a support group that could help with your emotional health. You rolled your eyes at him, not caring that he could see you. Dr. Kessler just sighed and wrote the address on paper ‘if you ever change your mind.’

You didn’t really want to go. The thought of sitting around in a circle with a bunch of people who also has cancer and talking about it doesn’t quite fit your idea of fun. And yet, here you were.

The elevator doors open to a clear room. A few art materials and empty easels sat on your right by the corner. On your far left, cabinets, drawers and a long island stood with rolls of cloth, string, pins and other sewing materials atop. In the middle was a group of what looked like six people, sat in a circle.

The man who was facing you, saw you immediately when you stepped out of the elevator. He was wearing a green shirt with a brown coat over it. His hair was peppered with a mix of gray and white. He looked to be the leader of the group.

“Hey.” He raised his hand to you. “Come on in. We're just getting started. Go grab yourself a hook and yarn.” He pointed to the island you saw earlier and went to it. As you passed by the group, you overheard one of them talking.

“Have you heard of Catholic yoga? It's a full Latin Mass with vinyasa yoga positions, and I come out…”

“You serious?” The man in the green shirt asked.

“Yeah! I feel like I'm in touch with the beyond. So, that's… that’s neat.”

“Whatever... Whatever works.”

You picked up a ball of blue yarn and a hook beside it before approaching the circle. You saw an empty chair amongst three of them who were huddled together.

“Last month? Twelve thousand dollars on treatments. Plus, I'm currently unemployed.” A girl with a shaved head and brown eyes stated, looking down at her clasped hands.

“Cancer is your job.” Another man, this time with dark hair and eyes. He seemed to have an accent too. He was pale and was sitting rather poshly on the small plastic chair.

“Well, I'd rather be unemployed.” The red-headed girl argued.

“I wouldn't sit there.” You turned to the man beside you. He looked like he was in his late thirties  and he had well maintained facial hair. “This is the VIP Section.”

“Yeah, we don't listen to the pretenders.” The Posh Man said, gesturing to the other three members of the small group.

“We don't listen to each other, really.” Facial Hair Man beside you spoke.

“Hey, guys, c’mon. Make her feel welcome.” Green Shirt Man said. The Posh Man moved his seat so that you all were sitting in a complete circle.

“Yeah, come on. Only kidding.” Facial Hair Man adjusted his own seat beside you so that you could come closer to the circle.

“Welcome to the last group you ever wanted to be a member of. What's your name?” Green Shirt Man asked.

You exhaled loudly and wiggled uncomfortably on your chair. You brushed a stray hair away from your face and said your name.

“Hi Y/N.” The girl in front of you whispered. She had long red hair with a charming smile. Green Shirt Man, who was sat beside her on her left nodded and smiled at you too. Everyone was looking at you which made you feel a little self-conscious.

“But, you know, don't get attached.” You added, chuckling half-heartedly. Green Shirt Man raised his eyebrows and nodded

“Got it.” He answered. He looked at the person on the left of the red-haired woman. “You okay, there, Thor?”

Thor, had blonde shoulder-length blonde hair—which was tied up in a low bun—and steel blue eyes. He was staring at you with a sad smile on his face and eyes spilling with tears. His grip on his yarn work was tight.

“She's so pretty.” He whispered.

“You don't even know her.” Posh Man bickered. Thor’s expression immediately changed into an annoyed one.

"Well, I... I like the name Y/N." Thor tried to defend.

"Okay, let's…all let Thor have his process.” Green Shirt Man then turned to you, his hand placed on his chest. "Let me introduce myself. My name's Bruce. Bruce Banner."

“My name’s Wanda.” The red-headed girl in front of you smiled and gave a small wave.

“You already know, Thor.” Bruce gestured to Thor, who was still teary-eyed smiling at you. “Beside him is his brother, Loki.” He referred to Posh Man. “This is Nebula.” The bald girl. “And this is—”

“Tony.” The guy beside you held out his hand and you carefully shook it. Tony pointed his finger to the bundle of yarn in your lap. “Here. Just find the end.” He lifted the ball into his hands and handed you the end of it. You awkwardly took it and did your best to ‘knit.’

“Thor, that's so pretty. What is that?” Wanda asked, pointing to what Thor was working on. The man smiled lovingly at his work.

"Well, it's gonna be a teddy bear." He answered

"Ah. Is that for your nephew?" Wanda questioned, crossing her legs.

"No. It's, uh, for me to be buried with." Thor smiled. Wanda's eyes grew a bit wide before biting her bottom lip and glanced to the rest of the group—mostly you and Bruce.

"Ah. Well, I like that you're thinking ahead. Smart man." Wanda carefully nudged Thor with her elbow, chuckling slightly. She shifted her position so that she was facing the inside of the circle.

"Hey, Tony, your doily is really coming along." Bruce praised.

"Yeah. I... I wish I could say the same for the rest of my life." You looked down at your hands as Tony continued. "Every morning I wake up, new lease on life, lasts about 20 minutes." he paused for a moment, eyeing each one of us. "Then I remember…the Mets suck, there's construction on the F train, I got a leak in my roof that's gonna cost $3,500. Apparently, I still sweat the small stuff." He shrugged, leaning back on his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat tall.

"Hard not to." Bruce agreed, nodding solemnly. "How is Pepper holding up?" Tony's lips lifted into a small smile.

"She's good. There's a new hawk in Central Park. Every morning we go out there and watch the little guy. I hope she keeps up the bird-watching after I'm gone. You know…," Tony shrugged once again. "With whatever new guy she's banging." Tony bit his lip and thrusted his hips playfully.

You widen your eyes at how nonchalant he is about the idea of his partner, ‘banging’ someone else. The rest of the group just laughed and chuckled for a bit like it was a normal thing. How could they think like that?

"Welcome to group." Wanda said, seeing your uneasy expression. "It's the way we roll." She motioned with her hands, trying to make you relax which really did nothing.

"We have fun." Tony piped up beside you, softly patting his hand against your shoulder. You looked at him and to the rest of the group who were all staring at you, waiting for your reaction. You laughed uncomfortably

"Yeah, yeah. That's cool." You managed to blurt out.

—

Tags: @blueskiesbleakeyes / @justanothergirlwithdemons / @butteryoptimisticpeanut /  @likes-to-smell-books /  @hennessy0274-blog

[eliniei]

Those Hard Days - Chapter 37

Summary: Rae’s brother always made sure she was tough as nails. But when her father flips her world upside down, will she find that there’s a limit on how strong she can be?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con (non-graphic, fade-to-black), child abuse, underage drinking, underage smoking, drug use, violence, major character death

A/N: I’m so sorry for lack of updates. I’ve been busy and sick and its been awful.

AO3: here Fanfiction.net: here

Masterlist

Previous Chapter |  Next Chapter

Chapter 37 - News

Recovery was slow. 

The first thing Rae did was apologize profusely to Ms. Douglas for the way she’d been acting. She’d explained the situation as best she could, and while her foster mother forgave her, the little freedom she’d been given was taken away. 

School. Home. Nowhere else. 

The next problem she faced was food. After subsiding on a diet of nothing but alcohol for days, the smell of real food made her gag. The best she could do was eat a few crackers at a time for a day or two. 

She couldn’t say she was happy, exactly. Not yet. But seeing Curly spring back into his normal self sure brightened her mood. 

She apologized to him, too, of course, but he waved her off.

“I love you,” he’d said with a relieved sigh and a gentle smile. “It’s what I’m here for.”

But by the end of the week, her recovery was halted. The word got out that she was in foster care. It spread through the school like wildfire. The Socs in this part of town had many good laughs at her expense, and they usually took place within hearing distance of her. 

They didn’t bother Rae. She was used to it at her other school. But it bothered Curly something fierce. The greasers in this part of town didn’t get bullied like the ones at her school, she guessed. The Shepard outfit wasn’t to be messed with. 

She told him to ignore it. She tried to get him to chill out. But one day near the end of the week, they were sitting at lunch when some kids at the table behind them were snickering, and he’d had enough. After slamming his carton of milk back down onto his tray, Curly stood up and threw himself at one of them and started wailing on him. 

Rae shot out of her chair and yelled at him to stop, but by the time a couple members of the gang had pulled Curly off the poor kid, his nose was broken and his mouth was bloodied. Her boyfriend was fuming with red ears and a murderous expression in his eyes. 

“Curly Shepard, principal’s office, now!” screamed one of the teachers from across the cafeteria. He shoved off his friends off and stomped out. She started after him, but Angela grabbed her arm to hold her back. They both watched his back as he turned the corner and went down the hallway. 

That weekend, Ms. Douglas allowed Angela to come over for a while. She may not have allowed Rae out, but she seemed worried that something would happen if she didn’t let the other girl in. 

“Curly’s been shipped off to a reform school,” the youngest Shepard sibling informed her after sitting down on Rae’s bed. 

“Reform school?” she cried, alarmed. “How long?”

“Well,” Angela started. She looked down at her lap. “The kid’s parents wanted to press charges. They wouldn’t accept anything shorter than six months.”

The breath was knocked out of Rae’s lungs. She pursed her lips, eyes turning icy, and thoughts racing. The girl next to her gasped. The sound broke her out of her trance and she shifted her attention. 

“Your eyes,” her friend said. “That was...real scary.”

“If you think that, you should see my brother’s when he’s pissed.” Angela held her hands up.

“No thanks, man. You’re frightening enough.” She reached down and rifled through her backpack. “I figured you’d be upset, so I brought these.” When she had found what she was looking for, the bag dropped to the floor again and she held out two blunts. “Wanna light up?”

Rae hesitated, looking for to the closed bedroom door. 

“Well…”

“Oh, it’s alright. We’ll just open the window.”

“Alright, sure.” She leaned across the bed and flung the window open, letting the cool Autumn air in. 

For nearly two weeks, their routine was the same. Go to school. Come home. Angela would come over after they’d both done some homework and get high, hanging halfway out Rae’s bedroom window. It was better than being depressed, she supposed, and she was eating more than she had in a while. 

At the start of the new week, Rae sat in History class, doodling on a piece of loose-leaf paper. She really hated Mondays. No one here shot spit balls at the backs of people's heads. She had no one to gossip with except for Angela, but her friend was a year younger. It was boring without Curly around. She spent the last half of class dozing off, but finally the bell rang and it jolted her out of her half-asleep state.

"Did you hear?" she heard a girl ask a group of friends when she reached her locker. Rae wasn't prone to eavesdropping, but for some reason, she felt compelled to listen in. She pulled out a book.

"Hear what?"

"You know the very east side of town, right?” Now, she was listening intently.

"Duh."

"Some kid got knifed there last night!" Rae's eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat.

"No shit? Did he die?"

“Yeah, it was some Soc.” She turned to look at the group of girls, knitting her eyebrows together. “And the guys that did it are on the lam.”

“Who were they?”

“A couple of hoods, of course. One of ‘em had a really weird name.”

"Ponyboy?" Rae asked, walking up to the group. The girls gave her a strange look. “Was that the name?”

"Y-yeah," the other girl stammered. "I think so." 

“And the other boy?”

“I-I don’t really remember. Maybe something that started with a J?”

Rae bit her lip and went to stuff her books in her locker, leaving the group there with mouths hanging open. Johnny, kill someone? There's no way that can be right… She left the school grounds as fast as she could and ran back to the Douglas house. No one would be home yet. Surely if Ponyboy was on the run, Darry would be home from work, right? She could call the Curtis house and-

"Rae?" a voice asked. She came to a sudden stop and looked across the street. Tim Shepard stood there, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He had a shiner on one of his eyes. “I figured you’d have heard by now.”

"What happened?" she asked, rushing across the street to meet him.

"I dunno much, either. Saw it in the paper this mornin’. That tiny kid, Johnny?" Rae nodded. “Yeah, he stabbed some Soc name Bob Sheldon with a switchblade and took off with that Ponykid.” Her mouth dropped open. She was dumbfounded. 

“So...so it’s true.” 

No way would the boys have done this. She knew Johnny always carried a blade after the Soc beat him up, but he couldn’t hurt a fly. And what was Pony doing there? Her head spun.

"They went to see Dally. He was at Buck's."

"What?" she barked. “I thought he was still in jail!”

"So did I," he responded with a sigh."I was goin’ on a date with that blonde friend of yours- Carrie?” She raised an unamused eyebrow. 

“She’s been hangin’ around your outfit a lot since you got moved. She’s a cute broad- with a sharp mouth to boot.” Tim smirked. 

“Yeah, she’s a smartass. Focus.”

“Oh, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We found my tires slashed. Matty said he’d seen Dally do it.”

"That sure sounds like him," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, no shit. Went lookin’ for him- but I found the two kids and Two-Bit at the movies. Told me he’d just left. I found him and beat the shit outta him, but he got me good too.”

“But you said Johnny and Pony went to see him?”

“Oh-right. I just got back from Buck’s. He asked me to make sure you didn’t do anythin’ stupid. Told me they boys had visited him- asked him to help them get out. He gave ‘em some money and sent them out of town.”

Dally was involved too?

Her head went from spinning to light and she grabbed onto Tim’s jacket sleeve to steady herself.

“Whoa-okay, kid.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get all worked up. We don’t know anythin’ yet.”

“I need to see him. I need to go home and-”

“Now hold it,” he ordered. “Dally wants you to stay put.”

“What? No, but-”

“No buts. You’ll be safer if you ain’t involved.” She let out a frustrated groan, but acquiesced.

“Fine,” she said, exhaling an angry breath. “Fine. I’ll go back to school and I’ll ‘sit tight’.” She thrust her finger into his chest. “But if you hear anything, Tim Shepard, you’d better find me quick as hell.” 

“Damn, kid,” he scoffed with a shake of his head. “You’re gettin’ to be more like Dally every day.”

Rae paused. Should she be proud of that fact or worried?

“The Winston gene,” she said with a shrug and stomped off back to the school.

“Oh, Rae?” he called to her back. She stopped but didn’t turn, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Just...get ready, yeah? There’s prob’ly gonna be a rumble. I’ll spring ya for it.”

“I’ll be waitin’.”

[avintagekiss24]

A few days in Brooklyn.

Steve Rogers has taken over my life! I reblogged a prompt earlier today that was ‘salt and sweet’ and here you go, lol. Hope you like :) This isn’t CapKoye, so I didn’t tag anyone, but if you want to be tagged in all my Captain America stuff, just let me know! 

You’ve always been a daydreamer. You barely made it through high school, always doodling on your work, staring out the window with your chin in your palm and a strand of hair twirled around your finger. How could you not be though? You live in New York. Spiderman jumps from building to building saving old ladies from muggers. Captain America and The Winter Solider frequent the small hole in the wall bar just a block from where you live. You often see Iron Man streaking through the sky as he returns to the Stark Industries building. How is this world you live in not a fairy tale? How can you not dream?

 You met him once; the Captain. You work at this coffee shop called Brooklyn’s Finest in the middle of, you know, Brooklyn. It’s a hipster joint, certainly not a place where you’d ever dream of seeing Steve Rogers. You were behind the counter, chin in your palm, eyes plastered on the windows as you worked out a plot twist in your mind for your latest work of erotic fanfiction about him. You didn’t even realize he had walked up to the counter. He cleared his throat and you jumped in surprise, standing up straight and blinking your eyes toward him. You look away, starting to recite the greeting until you slam your eyes back toward him again. Your mouth drops open as your big brown eyes widen. He’s so… big. Tall. Wide shoulders. Huge chest. Biceps bulging. His eyes are big too. Blue-green. His dark eyelashes long and wispy. His hair as golden as the sun.

Stop staring! Fuck! You look away and begin to stutter as you feel your face begin to heat up. He chuckles a little as you fumble your way through asking his order, staring down at the POS system in front of you the entire time. That chuckle sent a chill right down your spine that you don’t think you’ll recover from.

 “Umm,” he hums lightly, his bright eyes scanning the handwritten chalk menu behind you, “I think I’ll just have a black.”

 You shoot your eyes up at him in surprise. Your brown skin is simply on fire as he cocks his eyebrow toward the ceiling, a confused smirk on his face. The coffee, you idiot! He meant he’ll take a black coffee not a black girlfriend! “A black coffee,” You mumble, “Right. Yeah. Um, that’ll be um, three twenty five.”

 He handed you the exact change, which you shoved into the cash register before you turned briskly on your heel to pour his cup. You slam your eyes shut trying to will your hand to stop shaking as you poured the hot, black liquid into the Styrofoam cup. You place the top over it with a soft click and move back in front of him, outstretching your hand. He wraps his fingers around the cup, his fingers caressing yours lightly, sending another jolt of electricity through your body. You swallow harshly before sending your eyes toward the counter.

 “Any s-s-sugar?” You stutter, “Sir?”

 He takes a sip of the tart nectar and shakes his head, “No thank you ma’am. This is perfect. Have a nice day.”

 You can’t even respond. You just nod stupidly and smile as he moves out of the shop. Perfect. Captain America said the coffee you made was perfect! You jump up and down a little, twisting your hips as your dance and squeal. Your day has been officially made. You gotta work this into your fanfic somehow.

 That was months ago now. You never saw him again after that. It’s another Brooklyn day. It’s starting to get cold. The leaves are burnt orange and yellow, but the sun is high in the sky. You pull your leather jacket around you and shove your hands in the pockets as Drake’s In my Feelings fills your ears. You keep your head low, eyes on the pavement before you as you make your way to work. The day is slow, it’s just you on duty with a small group of high school students in the corner, two young businessmen on lunch, and a few college kids tapping away on their laptops. You’re wiping down the counters, humming lightly when a blood curdling scream erupts your peaceful afternoon. You whip your head toward the noise, but don’t have time to react. Something or someone crashes through the windows and door, sending glass and tables and chairs through the air. You duck beneath the counter and cover your head, slamming your eyes closed at the sudden intrusion.

 You peak up over the counter a few seconds later, your chest heaving, your eyes wide as the scene develops before you. Aliens or robots or whatever the fuck they are, run through the streets. Loud pops sound as bullets whiz through the air. People run as fast as they can past the coffee shop, turning to keep their eyes on the threat. You turn toward the back of the shop, seeing a car door leaning up again the wall. The alien invader stands tall, shaking off it’s rough landing before running back out into the street, not even bothered by you or the other patrons. You forget your phone and your bag, rushing out onto the streets with everyone else. A loud explosion blasts on the corner, a building literally collapses in front of you, causing you to duck again, covering your ears.

 “Thor!”

 You hear the Asgardian Gods’ name being screamed and you whip to your left, just in time to see a bolt of lightning cracking through the sky. He lands with a thud so harsh, it rumbles the ground beneath your feet. A shadow distracts you, sending your eyes toward the sky as the young Spiderman slings from a light post, his body spinning and flipping effortlessly as he shoots his webs toward the enemy. You should run. You should hide. But, you can’t move. You’re frozen from fear and anxiety but also out of awe. You watch as the Black Widow and Hawkeye punch their way through the crowd, throwing alien bodies around like rag dolls. Falcon zips through the air with Iron Man and War Machine. This is incredible. Intensely frightening, but certainly incredible.

 “Ma’am! Go! Now! Run!”

 A police officer pushes you harshly, forcing your limbs out of their frozen state. He turns and fires his weapon as you begin to run in the opposite direction. A car flips through the air as explosions continue to sound around you and lands on its roof just in front of you, halting you in your tracks. You scream, covering your head with your hands. It’s one thing to write about events like this, but it’s another to be in the middle of it. You start to run again but your suddenly whisked off the ground, like you weigh nothing. Another scream escapes you as you’re carried higher and higher. You twist in the grip of your attacker and scream again as you realize that one of the earth invaders has you. He scurries up the side of the building like a cat up a tree; it’s claws breaking the bricks and making them crumble.

 You don’t know why it has you, why it picked you, but suddenly, some forty or fifty stories in the air,  it just lets you go. It’s drops you like a bad habit. Everything moves in slow motion as you reach out for something, anything to grab onto. Your hair flies around your face, your eyes wide, your mouth open as you scream and your body hurls through the air toward your certain death. You don’t see or hear Spiderman pointing toward you, calling for a certain six foot two, two hundred and forty-pound Brooklynite beneath you. The blond man whips his head toward his name being called and focuses his eyes on your falling body. He takes off in a sprint, jumping over bricks and fallen light poles, running up a parked SUV before launching himself toward you. He cuts through the air like a knife, twisting and flipping in style as he catches you in midair. You slam against his body as he cradles you in his arms, curling himself around you to take the brunt of your impending landing.

 You scream again when you finally hit the pavement, rolling and tumbling like a tumbleweed, his body still wrapped around yours. You somehow end up right side up, the blond man still holding you like a baby in his arms. You look up at him through your hair, hot air bursting through your lips and teeth as you expel it quickly. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulder and neck as you stare at your savior. Your brown eyes are big and watery as they search his.

 “Are you alright?” He asks softly through his own harsh breathing.

 You nod quickly and before you can stop yourself, you kiss him. You don’t even know where it came from. You always thought it was ridiculous when the girl kissed the hero in the movies after a near death experience, but here you are, smooching on Captain America after a death drop. He tastes of salt and sweet. An intoxicating mixture. You break away from his bloody lips with a smack and stare back at him as he stares at you.

 “Thank you.” You whisper breathlessly, still in shock and awe.

 He sets you down on your feet, pushing you into the lobby of a business building. He tells everyone to stay inside, to stay down, and cover their heads. That someone will be back for them once it’s safe. He makes eye contact with you again and holds it for a few seconds too long.  He nods slightly in your direction and takes off running back toward the fight. You and a few others rush toward the entrance, watching as he runs off, throwing his shield toward one of the aliens and throws himself into a somersault before scissor kicking two aliens in the face.

 “Holy shit.” One of the teenagers standing with you murmurs.

 Hours pass. The city is safe once again. The Avengers have cleared out, not wanting the cameras on them. Some kid with an iPhone caught your ordeal on camera and leaked it to the press. Channel three, four, five, eight and eleven surround you, their microphones in your face, shouting questions at you. The paramedics dab at you, clearing your cheek of blood and glass, but they can’t wipe the goofy smile off your lips. Your eyes sparkle as you stand in a dumbstruck haze of emotion.

 “Captain America saved my life.” You smile widely, letting out a breath as the cameras zoom in on you, “If you’re watching,” You start, staring right into one of the cameras, “Your next coffee is on me.”

 Months pass. You’re the local celebrity after having your face plastered all over CNN and other news outlets as the girl who kissed Captain America. People are even writing fanfics about you now. You’re back at work, Brooklyn’s Finest is back, better than ever with business booming once people found out you work here. You hand a coffee to a small girl and smile widely at her as she gushes over you and how pretty you are. Asking what it felt like to kiss the Captain America. You shrug, dropping your eyes as you relive the moment over for the ten millionth time in your head, “It’s everything you’d think it’d be.”

 The girl squeals in delight and moves out with her coffee, leaving you with your thoughts. You turn back toward your line and blink up at the tall man before you. You do a double take as your eyes connect with that familiar blue-green pair. He smirks back at you as all the air leaves your body.

 “I think you owe me a coffee.”

[grantfieldgrove]

Your friends want you to fail.

It’s true.

It’s true and it sucks.

But the sooner you realize this, the better off you’ll be. You can set yourself on the course for success while leaving them behind.

That’s exactly what your friends don’t want, but you have the capability to make it happen.

I’m not trying to be negative, but I’ve learned this the hard way.

Let me back up a bit.

Ten years ago I was working a dead end job at a grocery store. I hated it. The pay was crap. The work was crap. Most of the customers were crap. But I had friends!

I was miserable. I had a temper, I was angry about everything. I was bitter that I worked this job I didn’t like when I knew I should be doing better. I was all over social media, posting about everything, even belittling people I didn’t even know by snapping pictures of them and posting them, then enjoying a laugh at their expense.

That’s bottom of the barrel, self-esteem wise.

I would fight with people who held different political beliefs than me, different opinions about religion, or even movies. I was the loud mouth Fred Flintstone type, but I always got laughs. At least some.

It didn’t take long after my son was born to realize that something wasn’t quite right with him. He was extremely delayed and obviously autistic. I blew it off and didn’t believe it, making excuses as to why he was so behind.

We had to enroll him in a special school at age 2. The bitterness grew.

One day I decided to buy an iPad. Just because.

I took it home, unboxed it, and sat on my floor to play with it. But instead of playing games, I started writing.

I literally started writing a novel out of nowhere. It was a hoot. I started carrying a little notebook around work, thinking of plot points. It was great, because when you carry a notebook and pen around while working, people assume you’re working really hard!

Before I knew it, I had a book. I didn’t know what the hell to do with it, but I had one.

I found out you can self-publish books on Amazon, so that’s exactly what I did. I gave it a once or twice over, figured out how to format it, and it was published. And wow, did it have a lot of typos. The story was good, though. Some people bought it and it actually got good reviews. Some friends even bought it, though I doubt many of them read it. But still, it felt good. So I started the second book and finished it in record time. This one was even funnier and I liked it a lot, although, once again, I skimped on the editing.

Shortly before the release of that book, I had a falling out with most of my friends. I had planned a big party in Las Vegas, everyone was going to attend, but it was just a disaster. We had a suite at the Aria, but none of my friends even stayed in the hotel. Not a problem, but they stayed way down the strip at Paris. Then got so drunk at the pool, not a single person showed up. So yeah, I was pissed. And the party wasn’t just for fun, it was a special occasion for my wife. And every one of them let me down. So that’s that. We left first thing in the morning, leaving them all in the dust.

Nothing was really the same after that.

All of this is just specific backstory that doesn’t pertain to you, but the basic elements could. The moral of the story remains the same.

Cut to ten years after I first sat down to write that novel. I now have 11 books, including the first ever murder mystery series for kids, which even, somehow, became the runner up for some award I already forgot the name of. Three of my books have been produced into audiobooks and two have advanced to the semi finals in an Amazon-sponsored fiction contest where out of 10,000, 400 advanced. I’ve gotten positive reviews from Kirkus, and a few other publications.

These are facts that I am proud of. I share these from time to time on social media, although I am still not comfortable with talking about myself.

But, now my friends don’t buy my books. Maybe one or two, not even my “Facebook friends” who were on board at the beginning. The last book published is my favorite. I’m so happy with it and proud of it. I literally tried to give away copies to people I know. I didn’t have a single taker.

I would promote the book being free on Kindle during a particular day or weekend, or whatever, and not a single person would respond to it. I tried to give away Audible audiobooks. Not a single taker.

It’s so bizarre.

Why?

I could understand if the books were garbage. There are a lot of genuinely bad books out there, especially since self publishing has gotten so popular and easy to do. But my books aren’t those books.

I started a small publishing services company, just as a side job to help people out. People who were lost like me when I first started.

My friends didn’t care.

Granted, it’s not very exciting, and with the emergence of “multi-level marketing,” starting a business isn’t that impressive, apparently. (Remind me to tell you about this amazing magical wrap thing! Kidding.)

One thing I forgot to mention earlier, is that I went without Facebook for about a year and a half. I hated it. I hated the fakeness of it. And I was bitter. Bitter that I was trying to better my life, to branch out from a dead end job and try to make something of myself, and I never got any good feedback from it.

My son is severely autistic, he’s ten now and still completely non-verbal. We don’t have a typical life. We have to adapt to whatever life throws at us, and that’s what I was trying to do. My son hated when I had to go to work. He didn’t understand why I had to leave, often in the middle of the night. So I tried to change things.

And still I got nothing. So, bye bye Facebook. Good riddance.

It was weird at first. I still had this urge to let everyone know what I was doing. Like, them knowing would someone validate me doing it. If your Facebook friends don’t know what you do, are you really even doing it?

While I’m typing this, my Facebook is back. But there is a reason. Over the summer, while I was doodling on my iPad, I had an idea. I could put these things on tshirts. I would totally wear them.

So I looked it into. I saw that the possibilities were seemingly endless. Why stop at tshirts when you can make leggings? Why stop at leggings when you can make backpacks?

It goes on like this.

So I went all in. And I mean, ALL IN!

I had quit my job at the supermarket a few months prior. I had enough money to survive for a while while I explored new paths. So I sunk everything into this little venture. I was going to make horror related clothes. The horror market is severely underused. There are, of course, some major players in the horror game, but they all had to start at the bottom, too. So I went for it. I made a website. I made an Instagram and a Facebook. And after a week of the site being up, I made a sale. And then another sale.

Turning a profit is tricky, though. I needed word of mouth. I needed friends.

So I got back on my personal Facebook page after a year and a half, and let everyone know what I had been up to while I was gone.

It landed with a thud.

Nobody cared.

In the time I was gone I had a kid’s book, and novel, and this clothing company all launch.

I got nothing.

I started booking comic cons and would post pictures.

Nothing.

I have a little booth downtown, with all my stuff displayed, where you can walk in, buy something, and help support me and my family, by buying small, staying local.

I’ve had one friend visit it.

One.

It’s been there for six months.

I posted a few pictures of horror-celebrities wearing or showing off something I created.

Nothing.

I drew posters for a few events, movie screenings, even a stage play. I posted them. The most recent one I posted got 6 likes.

I have 590 Facebook friends and 6 of them liked a poster I did for a Scream 2 screening.

I have a family member whose daughter wanted “something Michael Myers” for Christmas. I have tons of Myers stuff. Stuff I poured my heart and soul into. Stuff you can’t find anywhere else.

This person did not buy from me. She bought a generic Myers t-shirt from a major store and probably spent more than she would have with me.

Right now, through luck and hopefully hard work, my work is in the processing of being officially licensed. Which means, with a little more work and a whole lot more hustle, it could end up in stores like Hot Topic, etc.

And then what?

I don’t know. I like to daydream. And I would like someone to be proud of it, someone who doesn’t live with me.

But, there comes a time when you have to let that go. Your friends won’t be proud of you. They will belittle you. They will find something to nitpick about what you’re doing.

And it sucks.

Strangers will support you. Your friends will not.

The sooner you know this, the better. You can delete your personal Facebook, you can shrug your shoulders at all the people holding you back and making you feel bad about leaving your comfort zone and taking a risk.

There is no law that you must remain friends with the people you were once friends with. Cut em loose.

This is about you. It’s about your dreams. Your life. Not theirs.

If they don’t want to follow you on your journey or cheer you on, cut them loose. Release that anchor from around your neck and push full-speed ahead.

You’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish when you stop worrying about what so-called friends think and start realizing that no matter what you do, there will be someone who admires you and looks up to you, just as you’ve looked up to someone else when you started your self-fulfilling journey.

Be the person you would want to look up to.

You can do it.

Start today.

Two months ago I had to attend a wedding where all of these people would be, all these “friends.”

All I heard were complaints. Whoever we struck up a conversation with, complained.

Complain complain complain.

I understood what was wrong.

We didn’t complain. My wife and I, we only told positive stories.

Our complaining days are over. We’ve moved on. We seemed out the positives from our lives and choose to focus on that.

All this did was draw out more complaining from the wedding guests.

So tone deaf and these people we’ve left behind, they were complaining about students (the teachers we knew) that are very similar to our son.

Like, really?! This is our life. You go home at 3. We live with this. And we still don’t complain.

So far back these people are, I had to hear outdated and cringeworthy jokes, I had to hear casual sexual harassment, breasts referred to as fun bags, in front of the girl they were talking to, and the groom’s nieces. They still use the R word to describe anything, despite knowing my son is extreme special needs.

Once you realize that you don’t want to live in the world these people still inhabit, the sooner you can progress to where you want to be.

You’ll never be happier leaving them, and their outdated thinking, and their complaints, and everything else that makes you miserable to hear about, behind.

And you can do it.

You can do it right now!

Log out of Facebook and get to work.

Find people to look up to and follow them. Do your own thing. People will begin to follow you.

I’m not saying it will be easy. I’m just giving you a heads up of what’s to come.

You can sidestep it completely.

You just need to realize that your friends want you to fail.

Prove them wrong.

Don’t even tell them.

Start now.

Go.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

On a photo of a not exactly human face I sculpted....

labratbren said:                                                                                                                            What do you do with them when they are done? Do you ever post pictures of the finished product? 

Ah, well, um....short answer? Nothing.

Here’s the longer answer (VERY long)....

While I was always drawn to sculpting, I really didn’t sculpt growing up. 

I mean, I tried to use clay I dug out of the ground, drying it in the sun, when I was tiny. Naturally it crumbled except for this lump of a head I still have. In Kindergarden the art teacher had his own kiln and let us use the scraps left over from the pots he had us make. I still have a loop armed alien and creature head I made, but he left with his kiln the next year. The dough art they had us make in second grade was gone by the next year, ‘cause this buggy and humid climate doesn’t agree with it. My parents gave me modling clay, but I hated it. I wanted something that would “stay”. 

But everyone acted like sculpting was hard, so maybe I wasn’t missing out. 

Then one day, when I was 19 or so, my hands got bored. Anyone would have laughed if I’d said I was bored right then. I had a book open to one side of me, a magazine on the other, as I went back and forth reading both. I was also  listening to music AND watching the movie The Brothers Karamazov at the same time. I have this problem where I always feel like I should be doing more, and when I am doing something I get itchy to be doing something else. Like my brain isn’t fully occupied even if I’m really enjoying whatever. That day my hands needed something to do, and there was this block of clay left over from a project one of Pop’s projects (a river system display, I think) It was just sittin’ there on the porch so....

And it turned out sculpting was easy! I mean, maybe not art bit doodling around having fun making faces. Do NOT be intimidated by sculpting! It comes so much more easiy than trying to convert our 3D world into some 2D drawing. Seriously, try drawing a nose head on! But toss on any wedge on a sculpted face and you have a nose...

Ok, maybe I just am bad at drawing! But I really do wish more people would try sculpting.

Anyway, the clay was another dead end, but it did inspire me to hunt for something I could “make stay”. And that something was sculpey. 

Whenever I was certain I would have the place completely to myself for a full hour I’d go stand out on the ramp behind the house and sculpt. It wasn’t too often, what with the house also being the office of the family business and my family being the sort of close one that did everything together. I couldn’t sculpt and be watched. All I needed was an our because I sculpted quickly. In an hour I’d have a little bust, rough as heck but with some detail I liked.

But then I ran out of places to put my busts in my already overstuffed bedroom. I solved this by just slicing the faces off and just baking them. I could glue magnets to them and line all the edges of my metal bookcases.

I did dabble in other things. I tried a full figure and made a few little stick figures. I sculpted something from Babylon 5 for my brother, mixed my box painting (I used to paint boxes when I had a table) with sculpting for a Discworld box for Mom, Easter bunnies for my parents, magnets for everyone, Christmas ornaments...

When she saw the Christmas tree ornaments my cousin Katharine, dollhouse collector, roped my into making her a doll. She had specific requirements for a 6″ tall Beast in what I gathered were Regency era clothes from her decription. In my ignorance I assumed the doll would have to have a jointed body, fabric clothes and furry fur, which kinda drove me nuts! But somehow I pulled it off! I sculpted a few more of those little dolls (no sewing on these!) as gifts for my parents and brother, as well as a bit of goofing around for myself (I liked my little  Sleestack a couple decades late for little me). But that was that.

Then the weirdest darn thing happened: I was suddenly stricken with a full imaginative block!

I stopped sculpting. I stopped painting boxes. I stopped writing stories. Worst of all I stopped dreaming! I still remember how upsetting that was, this sense of loss. It was like having a part of me paralyzed.  

It lasted years. Terrible years.

When my father became sick right after my irreparable rift with my brother, as I was facing the most terrible external loss of my life, something woke back up in me. Constant, vivid dreams, elaborate epics spiraling through night after night, images and stories that writing didn’t full  satisfy the need to express. I started painting miniature boxes again. Box after box after box....

But no sculpting.

I dunno why I still didn’t sculpt. I just didn’t.

Then my father died.

Pop’s death was a devistating moment. My father. My best friend. When Pop was sick I told him he couldn’t die because I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to. There is a lot of truth in that.  I love Mom dearly, but our brains work very differently. Pop might have been smarter, and his depth of knowledge was certainly mind blowing, but our mental wiring followed a similar eccentric pattern. That said, somewhere along the line my parents and I had become a sort of unit, functioning as one. Think one of those anime giant robots made of smaller ships, Voltron or something. Then imagine it functioning with the head section missing. Five years later we still feel that void.

So anyway, Pop was dead, the family business gone with him, and I was unemployed with no qualifications in a rural area with few job opportunities anyway. This was, and frankly still is, not a good situation. And my cousin Katharine thought she had a solution.

Katharine sent me a letter suggesting I make dolls. She’d shown the doll I’d made her to a dealer who said I had talent, and she sent me a copy of Art Doll Quarterly to show me that my “weird” stuff might have a market...

Honestly I felt inspired by this. I immediately seriously considered it. I’d work a bit bigger than 6″ scale, sculpt the clothes instead of the stress and tedium of sewing, and figure out a way to do ball joints. Because each thing would be unique (until I could teach myself mold making) and letting go of something I make is soooo hard for me, I decided to use the story of one of my painted boxes as inspiration. I’d make wolf people, which I figured would create enough sameness to help me let go, but enough variety to keep me from being bored. I quickly sketched out a reasonable design and got to work.

Obviously things didn’t turn out to be so simple. Sculpting ball joints by hand is fiddly to manage. It would need a bit of experimenting. I could do a head on day, casually. I could do the upper body, arms and waist joint  with a lot of effort another day. A third day would be waist and legs. Fourth day was the hellish threading. I wasn’t set up for safely storing unbaked work in progress, so I had to do these marathon one sitting sculptings on the bodies. Then I’d rest up a few days and just sculpt a few heads.

The ball jointing drove me nuts. So I gave myself permission to not worry about wolfheads, but just sculpt whatever head happened. From the backlog of heads I’d just pick one to experiment with body making. In just a couple months I was making progress.

The first discouragement came with an art show. The county has a sort of art society and they were having a sculpture show. I was scared silly to show my work to anyone, since at that point it was 2014 and I wasn’t even on Tumblr. No one had seen them. Still, when I went to see about entering the lady there was encouraging. I was soooo nervous and tentatively hopeful when I went to the grand opening with Mom amd my cousin Shirley. I was soon deflated. No one seemed to notice my figures. My work was the odd one out anyway in a sea of found object sculptures, colored paper masks and ceramics abstractly suggesting the figural. Also, everyone there knew each other and so no one was talking to me. At one point I did this really sad thing of hovering near my figures in case anyone came near so I could sorta maybe get them to notice them....

When the show ended a few weeks later the lady very nicely said at least a couple school children had liked weird figures, ‘cause, you know, kids like that fantasy stuff.  I definitely should sculpt a lot bigger and maybe use terra cotta instead....

Yeah. I felt my stuff was crap. I was crap. Why had I ever thought anyone would like my crap? Heck, I’d thought I’d at least find a club I could join, belonging, friends....

But, I kept at the doll making experimenting, crap or not. That winter it was too cold for much sculpting in my unheated house, but I could work on trying to figure out how to paint them....

Then life happened don’t ya know. At first I thought it was a temporary break while I dealt with crisis after another. I kept sculpting heads, strictly sculpting a head a day (still just an hour each)....until the spreading collapsed floor situation forced me to move the box I’d made for storing the bodiless heads out. And that was that for doll making.

Still, I kept sculpting. I went back to just the faces....

And that’s where I am now. I gave up sculpting every day, because I no longer have time. I watch a movie and sculpt. I bake the face and take pics I post on here. I wrap ‘em in tissue and put them in a storage container....

And that’s it.

I don’t do anything with them. I’m not entirely convinced there is any point anymore. My life isn’t going to include free time. Or tables to work on. It has been years after all, and it gets less and less likely I’ll make anything more than a few boxes full of chipped up sculpey faces for the nephews to find when I die. Well, unless they follow my brother’s advice and throw them out unopened! LOL

I sculpt just ‘cause I sculpt. I post pics of them on Tumblr, ‘cause Mom isn’t really all that interested in looking at them. They aren’t ever going to be anything, but I guess if I enjoy making them and someone out there likes looking at them that’s okay. They may be nothing, but that’s something.

[theflutterbyliterature-blog]

Smash Cake Chapter 3: Fallin’ For You (Ruby)

Before I could come up with a witty response, I heard Penny calling my name. I turned around and saw her getting eaten alive by a swarm of customers. People are such savages when it comes to their morning joe.

She waved her arms like she was about to drown. “Uh… Ruby… a little help here!” She pleaded just as she dropped a roll of quarters.

“Uh oh!” Emma gasped as the quarters rolled all over the place and Penny scrambled to pick them up.

With no one manning the cash register, I rushed over to lend a hand.

“Great cupcakes!” Exclaimed the customer standing before the counter. She handed over a twenty-dollar bill with a toothy smile. “I’ll definitely be coming back.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I returned as I handed back her change.

Next up was an older gentleman wearing a ball cap. “I’m glad you opened. Coming here gives me a good excuse to get out of the house and avoid the wife. She thinks I’m working on my novel, but really I’m just here for the sweets.” He leaned in like he was about to tell me a secret. “Don’t tell my doctor.” With that, he dropped some silver dollars into my palm. “Oh, and keep the change.”

I gave him a cupcake for the road. “On the house,” I said with a smile.

He chuckled. “You’ll have me signing up for a gym membership soon if you keep this up and I hate going to the gym.” Nonetheless, he took my offering and left.

While Penny continued to search for the lost quarters, I handled the rest of the line.

“Phew, I think that’s the last of ‘em.” Penny wiped the sweat from her brow like she had just crawled through the trenches of World War I.

“Do you guys want some help?” Dean offered. He had suddenly appeared at the counter, daughter in tow.

Her hand shot into the air. “I can help! I can help!” She stretched onto her tiptoes so I would see her better. “You can pay me in cupcakes!” Emma offered. “I have a…” She paused and screwed her face. “…res…um… me!”

“Resume.” Her father corrected as the little girl handed over a napkin doodled on with red crayon. “If you take a look there, that’s all her credentials. She has great experience with napping and 9/10 teddy bears recommend her.”

“It’s true!” Emma nodded vigorously.

“Hmm, and you say I can pay you in cupcakes? That seems like quite the bargain…” I entertained the thought for her benefit. “I’ll think it over and let you know if I need to bring you in for an interview.”

“One step closer to befriending the cupcake fairies…” She whispered to herself.

“Cupcake fairies?” I repeated.

“Don’t,” Dean said, trying to stop me but Emma interjected.

“Yeah! The cupcake fairies! Dad says that they live in the kitchen and that they make all the cupcakes when no one’s looking, but I think if I’m sneaky enough I might be able to see them! Maybe even catch one with my butterfly net!”

“You’ll have to be awfully sneaky,” I said. “They scare easy.”

“Don’t worry! I can be super-duper quiet!”

Dean smiled at his daughter with a look of pure adoration. It was easy to see that he loved his daughter. Then, he turned his head slightly and our eyes locked. The air buzzed in reaction and my heart stuttered. “Anyway, how much do I owe you?”

“Hmm, you had a coffee and the one cupcake, right?” I tried to punch in their order but the receipt paper wouldn’t budge. When I opened up the compartment, I found we had gone through a whole roll. “Excuse me while I refill this.”

“Certainly,” Dean said with a nod.

All I did was turn on my heel.

“Careful! I just mopped there!” Penny warned, but it was already too late.

I held out my arms for balance as I skidded along the checkered tiles, legs wobbling like the inflatables outside a car wash. Desperately, I tried to grab hold of something, but to no avail.

Crash, right into the soda machine.

When I tried to get up, I accidentally dispensed some orange pop. It made it impossible for my shoes to find traction and again I plopped onto the ground.

“Daddy! Do something!” Came little Emma’s voice.

“Don’t. This is hilarious.” Penny snickered. “She’s like a one-woman clown act sometimes. I often wonder whether the three stooges aren’t missing a member.”

“Daddy!” Emma insisted.

I didn’t particularly appreciate the fact that I had turned into a spectacle. So, I latched onto the nearby counter and used it for support. It still wasn’t enough.

I was about a fall a third time when someone caught me.

“Are you okay?” Came a deep, husky voice that was much too close. Daring to look up, I gasped. Our faces were inches apart. All I needed to do was lean forward and our lips would collide. I could almost taste him. “Ruby?”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Are you okay? You took quite the fall.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I answered quickly.  

We gravitated even closer, lips a hair’s breadth away.

And then, he reached out, fingers dancing along my cheek for just a moment before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His hand lingered, cupping my face against his palm.

“Daddy?” The little girl’s voice broke through the trance-like spell that had washed over us.

Quickly, he pulled away. He must have realized what he was doing. Meanwhile, my face felt like it was about to burn to a crisp. Trying to hide my embarrassment, I smoothed the wrinkles of my stained apron.

Smooth, real smooth, Ruby. And then you wonder why you’re 23 and single…

Why you’re still a girl with virgin lips…

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Can I get a glass of milk, please?”

“Of course,” I answered for him. “Let me get that for you.” But, as I walked away, my feet again forgot how to function properly. Instead of moving one foot after the other they both lurched forward at once.

The ground rushed toward my face. I squeezed my eyes closed, bracing for impact.

It never came.

“My, my, you really are a clumsy one.”

My eyes widened. Dean was holding me closer than he had before. So close, in fact, that I could feel his…

Abruptly, I yanked away and practically ran into the back.

Deep breath, Ruby. Deep breath.

It was probably just something in his pocket.

Yeah, that’s it. Something in his pocket. Maybe his keys…

Oh, who am I kidding? I knew exactly what that was…

I could feel myself turning into a ripened tomato, so I stuck my head into the fridge to cool off.

At that precise moment, Penny stepped through the kitchen doors. “Everything alright?”

“Dandy,” I answered. “Just swell.”

“Is that why you have your head in the fridge?” She teased. “Or are you going through menopause already? You’re a little young for that, don’t you think?”

“Oh, shut up.” I groaned. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Ding!

“Hmm, I suppose I should probably go and help that customer.” She paused for a beat before her lips curled into a mischievous grin. “And try not to fall too hard.” With that, she was gone.

Ugh, sometimes, I really hated her.

To regain my bearings, I took a deep breath. What was I doing?

Milk.

Right.

That’s what I needed to get.

With a clear agenda, I walked into the fridge. I was grateful for the cool blast of air helping to ease the burning of my body.

From the bottom shelf, I removed a bottle of milk. It was ice-cold against my hand, but that still wasn’t enough to quell the fire that raged inside of me.

Why was he making me feel this way?

Get a grip, Ruby. Stop fawning like some boy band groupie.

He’s not into you.

I shook away any romantic thoughts from my head as I emerged from the kitchen, milk glass in hand. “Here you are, sweetie,” I said whilst placing the cup in front of the little girl. I kept my eyes lowered to avoid her father’s gaze.

But I could tell he was looking at me.

I tried to sneak off but just as I started to tiptoe back towards the kitchen, his hand reached out, locking around my wrist. I shuddered as a spark of electricity tingled underneath my skin.

What was this feeling?

“Oh, and I have one more thing I need to ask you.” He whispered. “Will you go on a date with me?”

All I could do was stare.

What?

A date?

Had he really just asked me out on a date or was I starting to hear things? Guys didn’t just bluntly ask like that, did they? Weren’t they supposed to act coolly uninterested first? In the movies, there’s always a long flirting scene that lasts for most of the plot.

Then again, maybe we were allowed to skip all that since I had already fallen into his arms. I guess that’s all he needed to feel convinced we liked each other.

Still, I hesitated.

When was the last time I had gone on a date?

High school, maybe? That weird almost-date with the neighbor kid right before he ran off to join the army

If I said yes to this man, I was bound to make a fool of myself.

Like you haven’t done that already, came the little voice in the back of my head.  

[yep-too-gone-already]

Questions Tag

I was tagged by the ever Sas-y @toxicats

1. nicknames: Doodle, Dedidy Doodle, Destrey, Noodle(only been used like twice), any adorable thing that Cutie bean calls me( @zehumanparachute lookin at you. In a good way.)

2. gender: Salsa con Queso(who the fuck knows tbh)

3. sign: Aquarius, more like a Pisces 🤷🏻‍♀️

4. height: barely 5’1” (like 5’3/4”)

5. current time: 9:15pm

6. birthday: February 5th. Sometimes I share my birthday with the Super Bowl and I hate it.

7. fave bands: Imagine Dragons, Paramore, Panic! At The Disco, Fall Out Boy, Florence and the Machine, Pentatonix, Of Monsters and Men, All Time Low, Bastille, etc. I could literally go on all day. I really really like music okay.

8. fave solo artists: Troye Sivan, Halsey(does she count?), Demi Lovato, Tessa Violet, Dodie, Daithi de Nogla(does he count? He should), Shakira, Carly Rae Jepsen, etc. could probably go on for a while.

9. song stuck in my head: Fire Alarm by Castlecomer, probably because I listening to it loud as hell on repeat for an hour. But hey who knows.

10. last movie I saw: Doctor Stange w/ the Cutie bean.

11. last show I watched: Fuuuuck. If I had know this question was coming up, I woulda watched something cooler. The last show I watched was Mako Mermaids. Fuckin fight me. I like mermaids.

12. when did I create my blog: 2013 I believe.

13. what do i post: yo look, if you figure it out, Lemmie know. Usually it’s just whatever I find funny or interesting. Again, who the hell knows.

14. last thing I googled: Uhhh. Gods I’m on a roll for stupid shit done. The last thing I googled was Miraculous Ladybug. It’s a good show. Fight me.

15. do I have any other blogs: Ehhhh. Not really. Never been used but I can’t bring myself to delete it. Other than that, there’s one me and the Sas have, but I think I’m the only one to ever do anythin with it.

16. do I get asks: Once in a blue moon. But I answer em when I get em.

17. why did I chose my url: Well. I’m not the same person I was, and I thought it was cool. Plus it made sense. A lot of bad shit happened that year. So I was pretty far gone from the person I was. I know how silly that sounds, but it’s the truth. Lost a lot of things that year.

18. following: 4,763. gotta get that variety in there huh.

19. followed by: 326. I appreciate em all.

20. average hours of sleep: Anywhere from 3 to 12. I have a lot of trouble with sleep.

21. lucky number: 25/33 which is weird Bc I don’t like odd numbers.

22. instruments: I hope to buy a flute sometime this year. I miss playing it. I know how to play bits and pieces of other instruments.

23. what am I wearing: Black tights and a grey long sleeve dc shirt(bitter Bc it doesn’t have the flash on it).

24. dream job: Whatever makes me happy and I can do that doesn’t feel like an actual job.

25. dream trip: Australia. Same as the Sas. I’ll get there at some point. Who knows if I’ll come back though.

26. fave food: lasaga. But salsa con queso comes in a strong second.

27. Nationality: American unfortunately.

28. fave song: Whoever keeps asking me this question can fuck right off. I can’t decide on how I want my hair, much less what song I love the most. I love all my little song babies. Fucking fight me, but I refuse to even attempt to answer this question. So much so that I’m squinting.

29. last book I read: Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare. It’s like my third time reading it and I have no regerts.(I know I spelled it wrong. It’s a joke.)

30. top 3 fictional universes I wanna join: The Mortal Instruments(also includes The Dark Artifaces, the Infernal Devices, the Bane Chronicles, and Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy)sounds p cool, Harry Potter, probably Percy Jackson(which by default is also access to Magnus Chase, Trials of Apollo, and the Kane Chronicles)

I’ll only tag a couple peeps.

@zehumanparachute

@thagrinbery

@musicsavedmefromdeath

[malviie]

A Wicked Match Ch. 1

Summary: After Mal is convinced to try out a dating app on her newly acquired phone, she gets an unexpected match that sends her heart soaring.

AO3

Mal stared at the screen of her phone, just a little shocked by what she saw. Or, well, maybe shock wasn't the right word. She always felt... something between her and Evie. There was jealousy for most of her life, but it was quick to fall apart when Mal had actually met and traveled with her. Then came denial, over what Mal wasn't ever sure.

Maybe it was denial that kept her from figuring out the feeling, but staring down at the twinkling, 'IT'S A MATCH!' made it clear that she couldn't deny it any longer. Her tiny photo- that Evie has taken for her, Mal recalled- sat next to Evie's own little portrait.

"No way," she mumbled, unable to tear her eyes away from it. She knew there was no way it was a joke on Evie's part; the hours Mal had sat leaning against her friend had shown her she only swiped right on the people she was truly interested in.

In addition to that, Evie was the one who'd gotten Mal a phone. She had purchased it with her own cash, added her own number in the contacts before handing it over, and had not-so-subtly suggested a dating app to Mal. And when Mal had protested, Evie let it drop. Of course, the idea of checking the app out after that nagged at the back of Mal's mind until she finally downloaded it and gave it a try.

Suddenly, a loud ringing cut through her thoughts and her head snapped up, watching as students and teacher alike trickled from the classroom. She hastily put away her notebook- doodles of apples and dragons scattered throughout- and left the room. Her mind was abuzz with the tiny but significant piece of information the app had provided.

A small, somewhat giddy smile found its way onto her face, and she headed to her next class, where she just so happened to sit next to Evie. Stuffing her phone away in a pocket when she entered the room, her gaze instantly locked onto Evie. Said girl was digging through her bag, and Mal couldn't see her phone in sight at all.

That made her both nervous and relieved as she plopped down next to her.

"Oh, hey, M!" Evie greeted, looking up at her through eyelashes as blue as the rest of her hair.

"Hey, E. Lose something?" she asked, gesturing down to the bag.

Evie looked down and back at Mal. "Nah, just looking for my phone. I dropped it in here earlier, but it kinda blends in with all my other stuff."

"Maybe just check after class?" Mal suggested, masking the disappointment she felt at her own words.

Evie considered this and looked at the clock. Seeing they only had a minute left before class started, she sighed and let her bag droop to the ground. "Yeah, I'll find it then. You eating lunch with us today?"

Shrugging, Mal leaned back in her chair. "I guess, I don't really have lunch plans anymore." She shrugged again, but froze when Evie's hand fell on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry about what happened with Ben, Mal," she whispered, eyes soft and voice sincere.

Mal smiled in return. "It's okay. We're still friends. It just... wasn't working out right now. He's got kingly duties that keep him away all the time, and I've got chemistry homework." When Evie didn't look convinced, Mal too her hand and squeezed it. "I really am okay, E."

"Good. I don't want you to ever look that heartbroken again." She gave a return squeeze before pulling her hand away. "Now, I was thinking we could maybe set up a little hang out later, with just us and Jay and Carlos. We can watch some movies, play games, mess with their printer. You know, do whatever we want, like we used to."

"That sounds pretty nice, yeah. Better text them, though, otherwise the AKs will wanna join in."

Evie nodded. "Good call. We'll text 'em after. I'll ask Carlos, you ask Jay?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

They exchanged a quick fist bump just as the teacher came in and called for the class's attention. Mal's phone burned in her pocket, and she could hardly pay attention in class with the person of her dreams right there next to her. She was caught staring more than once, but Evie only gave a knowing smile in return each time.

When class ended, Evie pulled her phone right from her bag, and told Mal she'd meet her in the cafeteria.

It was only when she sat down at their lunch table that Mal realized how quickly Evie had found her phone- without even looking down at her bag.