#little squiggly boy

[sysig]

How is skeleton shaped (Patreon)

[nightmarefuele]

[randomsufff]

Artist who draw Kim and Harry like this:

Ily so much <3

[paperultra]

candy stripes.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,048 words Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting [A/n: Soulmate AU. :)]

sortiger (adjective): delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular

Nobody else can see the string but you.

You wish you didn’t. It has no texture, no weight, so you can’t understand why it can’t be invisible too. But the string demands attention with every use of your hands, seizes your eye when you wash dishes in the morning and brush your teeth at night, a garish and bloody red that matches the stripes of your uniform.

You hate your string and you hate the color red.

Miss Xinyu, the old lady in Room 30, has one too. At least, that’s what she had told you when you gained the courage to mention yours one day, not knowing what it meant and how much you would come to dread it.

“It’s your red string of fate,” she had explained. “It connects you to the person who understands you more than anyone else in the world.”

In other words, your soulmate. Your one and only.

Miss Xinyu says you’re a lucky ducky, knowing what your future holds.

Her string goes into the ground now. You don’t think being reminded of a dead person whenever you look at your pinkie is very lucky.

The biggest reason why you hate the string so much, though, is because you’ve always had a problem doing what you’re supposed to unless you want to, which causes a lot of trouble for a nine-year-old girl. You already have trouble being nice to patients who are mean to you, so how can you love and wait for someone you’ve never met? It makes you feel icky.

Why can’t you choose? How come you have to have one at all?

Your only source of comfort is that your string is very, very thin and runs out of the hospital. That means your soulmate, whoever they are, is very, very far away. You’d very much like it to stay that way.

But it doesn’t.

—

Nurse Taoh wants you to watch the patients in Room 8 while he finishes his charts. You don’t really want to, if only because it’s Nurse Taoh asking – he likes to order you around more than Dr. Gu – but you don’t want to get into trouble again, so you go.

(… And okay, you are just a little bit curious about the new inpatients. You only know three things about them: one, they were brought in together last night while you were in your room poking holes into your paper instead of correcting it; two, they’re a man and a boy, presumably father and son; and three, everyone says it’s a miracle they’re still alive.)

(Then again, you’ve seen many miracles here.)

The unit is quiet as you walk down the hallway. Quiet, but not silent, as your polished shoes squeak like little mice against the floor and you whisper the room numbers as you pass by them. Two, four, six – eight.

You stop and knock, three sharp raps against the brown wood.

“Hello?” You open the door and poke your head in. “My name is –”

The squiggly-patterned curtain that often separates patients for privacy is drawn, and you clamp your mouth shut as you realize the patient closest to you is asleep.

Shutting the door silently, you creep closer to the foot of his bed. The man underneath the sheets lies quietly; he is little more than a skeleton, eyes sunken and bones sticking out underneath blistered skin. His beard is long and scraggly, but it pales in comparison to his mustache, each side braided and sticking out to the sides.

He looks angry, even though he’s sleeping. You hope he’s not the type to wake up and yell at you as you tiptoe past to check on the boy.

You pass the curtain, catch a glimpse of the bed sheets, and see –

Red.

Your feet root themselves in place, the room suddenly devoid of air.

You stare. Blink hard, twice. Look again. Then, trembling, you look down at your hand.

Your eyes trace the string around your own finger, following down to the dip of it that barely touches the ground and back up over the blankets until it ends in a red loop around the boy’s pinkie, tied off with a little bow.

Your stomach turns.

Stumbling forward, you make your way to the visitor’s chair in the corner. You slump down into it and stare straight ahead at the curtain, refusing to look at the boy’s face.

He continues to sleep.

You don’t want him to wake up.

—

The boy does not stir during your first meeting, but that small mercy is quickly eclipsed two days later by a single bowl of chicken broth.

The look on your face is sour as you walk down the hallway again, the broth splashing up against the lid with each step. Because most of the patients in the hospital you live in are elderly, the staff have somehow gotten it into their heads that you simply must spend time with the boy in Room 8 because he is your age and you need to socialize with other kids. You very much don’t want to. Not with him, at least.

Dr. Gu is just leaving the room when you arrive. She gives you a quick smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling, and pats your head.

“So you heard that the boy woke up, huh?”

You grunt, looking away with a pout. “Can’t you give this to him, Dr. Gu?”

“Nope. I have to finish my rounds,” she says. “Go in and have a chat. His name is Sanji. You’ll like him.”

“I doubt it,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Dr. Gu probably hears you, but she doesn’t scold you, merely patting your head one last time before you enter Room 8.

The dividing curtain is drawn this time. The window curtains are pulled back, too; it’s a somewhat cloudy day outside, but bright enough to sharpen the shadows on the walls and make the boy look even paler than you remember.

His eyes are closed as you approach. A sprout of hope that he might have fallen asleep again blooms in your chest – you’ll just leave the broth on the table, you think to yourself, and go about the rest of your day. Nobody said you had to watch him drink it.

You get about five feet away, already planning to drop some books off to the other rooms, when the boy’s nose suddenly twitches.

His eyes open to thin slits. Your hope shrivels like a weed in the desert as he speaks.

“What’s that?” His voice is quiet and raspy.

Your eyebrow twitches. “It’s just chicken broth,” you say tartly, setting the tray down on the overbed table and turning it around so that it’s over his lap. You take off the lid and steam bursts from the bowl.

The boy reaches up to rub his eyes. The red string dangles from his pinkie, and you quickly look away with a scowl.

“Who are you?” he asks, scooting back to sit up more as he gradually becomes more alert.

Reluctantly, you give him your name. “Will you need help with the soup?”

He shakes his head. His gaze latches onto the contents of his bowl, and he stops, transfixed.

You scramble to stop him as he suddenly grabs the bowl and attempts to gulp it all down in one go.

“Don’t do that! You’ll throw up!” Without thinking, you seize his hands and pry the bowl away from his mouth. A few drops of broth splash over the blankets and his gown, and your irritation grows. Now you’ll have to fix that. “Drink it slowly.”

“I haven’t eaten anything for weeks,” the boy complains. “What do you know?”

“I’ve been studying medicine since I was a little kid,” you retort. “So I know a lot.”

He frowns. “You are a little kid.”

“I’m nine years old!”

“No, I’m nine! You don’t look as old as me!”

There’s no way this … this brat is the same age as you! Fuming, you let go of the bowl and jab a finger at his face. “I am nine years old and I know more than you! You can’t drink the broth like that!”

You’re met with silence. The boy’s eyes are wider than saucers. Pride wells up inside you at your ability to shut him up.

But then he puts the bowl down and seizes your hand, and your pride gives way to horror as he folds down your index finger and lifts your pinkie – the pinkie with the red string wrapped around it.

He lifts his own pinkie, the rest of his fingers folded. Your jaw clenches when you see how the string has shortened to mere inches, bridging the space between his hand and yours.

“Holy shit,” the boy says. The largest grin spreads across his face, and it’s blinding and scary and you hate it, you hate it. “It’s you! You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?!”

“No,” you reply quickly, whipping your hand behind your back and backing away. “No, I’m not!”

“But you see the string too! I knew I’d meet you some day. How come you’re”— he pushes the table away, eagerly but just gentle enough so no more of the broth spills—“how come you’re hiding it behind your back?”

“I’m not your soulmate,” you bark, panic rising in your chest. “Don’t you ever say that!”

You only catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across the boy’s face before you turn around and dash out of the room.

Mrs. Hong finds you in the storage closet later, curled up behind the shelves of gauze and IV tubing. She coaxes you out with a promise of rice balls and no questions asked. You wish all the adults were more like her.

—

The next day, Miss Jaylee hoists you over her shoulder like a human sacrifice and brings you to Room 8.

“I don’t want to see him! You can’t make me!”

“He’s refusing treatment and food unless he sees you,” the woman answers briskly, each of her steps jostling you up and down. “You don’t want to be responsible if Sanji dies, do you?”

“I don’t care if he dies!”

Miss Jaylee clicks her tongue and walks faster.

You flail, feeling a little guilty for your cruel words but too proud to take them back. Sanji couldn’t have heard you, anyway, and nobody here is going to let him die no matter what he does or what you say.

You hear a door swing open. Miss Jaylee walks into Room 8 and turns around, and you lift your head, glaring at Sanji as his face lights up and his cheeks turn rosy.

“[Y/n]!”

Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment at the position you’re currently in. This, you only now realize, is way worse than walking into the room voluntarily.

“How come they’re carrying you? Are you okay?” he asks.

“Let them treat you,” you snap, arms limp and dangling. “And eat your stupid food or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Okay.” You nod, opening your mouth to speak again only for him to continue, “But only if I get to talk to you afterwards.”

What is he, a prince?! What makes it so easy for him to demand such things?

“That wasn’t what you told them,” you protest, squirming, but Miss Jaylee only tightens her arm around your waist.

(“Be nice,” she warns. You growl.)

“It’s important,” Sanji stresses, looking pointedly down at his hand and then back at you.

You bite down on your tongue as the red string glimmers in the light.

Dr. Gu and Nurse Taoh stare at you expectantly. Your neck is starting to ache from craning it, and there’s a feeling that you’ll never stand on your own two feet again unless you do what he wants.

“… Fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Only once you promise to stay does Miss Jaylee let you slide off her shoulder. You stand to the side, arms crossed impatiently as they take Sanji’s vitals and ask him some questions. He’s only half paying attention, head turning to look at you more than once, which you merely turn up your nose at.

“All right, we’ll leave you two to chat now,” Dr. Gu says. “If you need anything, just let [Y/n] know, okay?”

“Okay,” Sanji says.

With that, the three adults leave, and you and Sanji are left alone once more.

“I’m glad you came. They were starting to get mad at me,” he says, then cuts straight to the chase. “How come you don’t want to be my soulmate?”

“Because I don’t want a soulmate,” you immediately reply.

“But why? It’s nice, isn’t it? Being special to each other?”

“You can’t be special to me. We’re not even friends.”

For the second time, Sanji looks hurt.

“…We’re not?” he asks. You shake your head. “But … you brought me food.”

You’re befuddled. “Because Dr. Gu made me,” you say, trying to ignore the disappointment on his face. “Besides, I yelled at you yesterday. Friends don’t yell at each other.”

“I thought that you were maybe just really surprised …” His voice gets smaller and smaller. “Some people get mad when they’re just surprised …”

“I wasn’t surprised. I saw it when you were still asleep.”

“Oh,” Sanji mumbles. He looks down at the sheets, scratching at the wrinkle in the thin white fabric. “Okay.”

He says nothing more. You fidget, wondering if he’s pretending to look like he’s about to cry or if he really is trying not to. You’re not good with people who start crying.

You chew on your bottom lip. Sanji tucks his hand with the string on it underneath his bed sheets, his eyes disappearing behind his tangled hair, and fine, you feel kind of bad whether he’s tricking you or not.

“I’ll only be friends with you if you don’t talk about being soulmates,” you finally tell him begrudgingly. “Not ever, okay?”

His head shoots back up. “Really?!”

“Only if you don’t talk about it! I’m serious.” You huff at Sanji’s sudden change in mood and click your tongue. “If you stay sad you might not get better.  Don’t get the wrong idea!”

He nods, grinning bigger than ever.

Oh, dear, you think as he promises that he’ll be a really, really good friend, you might have made a mistake.

—

By the fifth day, Zeff, the man who was brought in with Sanji, is awake.

You hear them arguing before you see them, pushing a cart of books for Sanji to browse through as per your agreement the day before. They’re loud, and Sanji calls the man an old shitbag right as you knock and push the door open.

“I’m here,” you announce, and the two quiet down to look at you. You give Zeff a polite smile. “Hello, sir. I’m [Y/n].”

“Hello, little miss,” Zeff says, his features softening from the angry expression he’d directed towards Sanji a moment before.

“Why are you being nice to her and not me?” Sanji pipes up from his side of the room, all puffed-out cheeks and petulantly crossed arms.

“Because she don’t make my ears ring with nonstop whining,” the man answers sharply. “Now get a book and read so I can finally have some peace and quiet.”

“You get a book and read,” Sanji grumbles.

“What was that, boy?”

You cut in before they start bickering all over again. “Do you want a book too, Mr. Zeff?”

Zeff’s gaze flicks over to you once more, and your shoulders tense. The man takes a deep, calming breath, and then he sighs, reclining back into his pillow and closing his eyes. “No, thank you, little miss,” he mutters. “Reading’s no good for my head right now.”

“Do you have a headache?” He grunts in affirmation. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, no, don’t need any of that.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a headache,” Sanji accuses.

Zeff’s mustache twitches. “All you need to know is that you oughta stop yappin’ when a man wants peace and quiet!”

(Not again.)

As you give up and walk over to draw the curtains, Sanji says your name desperately. “Can we read somewhere else?” he pleads when you glance at him. “I don’t want to be stuck in here with him right now.”

Narrowing your eyes, you appraise his weak-looking frame, pointedly skimming past the red string that snakes over to you. “Can you even walk around yet?”

“Yeah,” he says defensively. He wriggles out of the bed sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the side rail, he stands up and grips the IV pole for support. Though he’s a little shaky, he shuffles a few steps towards you and smiles when he manages to do so. “See?”

Well, you think, if you and Sanji stay here, you’ll need to have some light in order to read. But it will probably help Zeff if the room is as dark as possible, so if you guys go somewhere else, Sanji’s lamp won’t need to be on.

“Okay,” you agree. “Wait here. I’ll get some slippers.”

Ten minutes later, with Sanji shuffling along in his slippers, IV pole in one hand and your arm in the other, the two of you arrive at the common room and find chairs in the corner to sit down in.

“These’re mostly history books and stories for old people,” you explain as you pull out the one cooking-related book you could find from the top basket of the cart. “This was the only food one I could find.”

“That’s okay.” Sanji takes the book from you and begins to flip through it. “Oh, this one’s about seafood in the South Blue! Have you ever had any?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. I’ll try it someday, though … hey, this fish looks like a fried egg!”

Against your will, you perk up. “… Really?”

For the next half-hour, Sanji fawns over the spices used on grilled Sea King meat and how to cook wine clams and the best fish for South Blue-style sushi. And it’s … not boring. He doesn’t hog the book, and the pictures are cool, and he asks you which ones you think are the coolest or would taste the best. Looking at a book with another kid is different from reading with an adult. It feels like you’re sharing, not like you’re being tested on your comprehension or how to pronounce long words.

Hanging out with Sanji is okay when the string doesn’t sour it.

“So you want to cook all of these one day?” you ask after scanning through a full-color page of steamed Ocean Hawk feet.

“I want to cook things from all four seas,” Sanji says. His legs bounce with excitement. “That’s why I’m gonna find the All Blue.”

“What’s that?”

The boy glows.

“It’s where the North, East, South, and West Blue seas all meet. Think about it – fresh-caught fish from all over the world all in one place! I’ll be able to cook dishes no one’s ever cooked or tasted before.”

You’ve never heard of such a place. But Sanji talks about it with such conviction, such resolve, that you figure the All Blue could really exist.

“I hope you find it,” you say, and you mean it.

“I will.” Sanji closes the book. “And when I do, I’ll cook something just for you. A-As a friend.”

He peeks over at you, his eyes even brighter and bluer than before, his cheeks flushing a familiar red. And you find yourself believing him, just a little bit.

—

Sanji keeps his promise.

You know he still likes you (blech) and so does most of the staff (double blech). Nurse Taoh thinks it’s funny and teases you about your little boyfriend in Room 8 who always asks where you are. Mrs. Hong reminds you to be sensitive whenever you stop by to pick up meals. Dr. Gu tells you to tell her right away if Sanji ever does something that makes you uncomfortable.

But he never does. Sometimes his words spill out clumsily like a broken faucet and other times he blushes and stutters, leaving you to wonder what he’s going on about, but he doesn’t try to kiss you or hold your hand, and he doesn’t say a word about the red string that is very much still there. If anything, he just annoys you at times, with how nice he is to you and how sunny he gets when you eat lunch with him sometimes.

You’ve never seen somebody so happy to be in a hospital before, even if it’s just because he wants you to like him. It’s weird.

It’s on the eighth day of Zeff and Sanji’s stay that you learn not everything is how it seems.

You’d gotten in trouble the night before for digging holes in the garden – you had kept the seed from your dinner plum and wanted to see if you could make it grow, but Miss Jaylee had caught you while taking Mr. Hu out for some air – so you’re somewhat grumpy on your way to Room 8, two notebooks in hand.

One of them is blank for Sanji. He wants to record all the meals he’s gotten and write down how he would make them. The second notebook is full of your notes that you need to study for your quiz tomorrow.

Zeff is sleeping again when you enter. You move quietly across the room to where Sanji is lying with his back to the door.

“Sanji.” You can see his shoulders tense underneath the sheets, but strangely, he does not roll over to face you. “I have your notebook.”

No answer. That is even stranger.

Frowning, you walk around to the other side of the bed. Sanji moves to bury his face into his pillow, but not before you hear a very soft, wet sniffle.

“Sanji?”

“Sorry.” His voice is high and so muffled you can barely understand him. “You can just leave it on the table.”

“Why are you crying?” In the back of your head, you know it is not the most sensitive thing to ask. But for some reason, you need to know. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”

You hear another sniffle from the mop of blond hair. It takes a long time for Sanji to answer, but he eventually does.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

Your brow furrows. “Oh,” you say, somewhat surprised. Most people don’t like being in a hospital, you’re pretty sure of that, but you didn’t know Sanji didn’t like it this much. “Why?”

Maybe he’s tired of getting poked all the time, or the bland food, or the hospital smell. Nobody here can change that. Maybe he’s homesick. The hospital can’t fix that, either.

Sanji turns his head slightly and takes in a small, shuddering breath. “’Cause it … it makes me remember my mum … when she was sick,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

“… Oh.”

You had assumed, upon learning that Zeff and Sanji were not at all related, that Sanji was like you and never knew his parents. He’d never talked about having any before, only his time on the Orbit and with Zeff. But he does know them – his mother, at least. And she was sick. The memory is what’s making him so sad, and it’s yet another thing that the hospital can’t help.

You don’t want him to be sad. You did make him your friend, after all, even if he does annoy you sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, standing awkwardly with his notebook still in your possession. You remember what Miss Jaylee has told other patients before. “That, um, must have been really hard for you.”

Sanji squeezes his pillow more tightly.

Should you go? Should you talk to him some more?

“Please don’t tell anybody,” he whispers before you can decide. “Especially Zeff.”

“I won’t,” you reply firmly. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I can’t hang out today. I really wanted to, but, um …”

“It’s okay. We can do it later.”

“Okay.”

You set his notebook and a pen on the bedside table. After some thought, you refill his water and, after even more hesitation, fix the bed sheets on him a bit so they’re not as twisted up. That is the best you can do.

The red string follows you as you quietly leave Room 8, and you don’t think about it at all.

—

“How do you spell necessary?”

“N-E-S-E-S-A-R-Y.”

“That doesn’t look right. I think it’s S-S-A-R-Y.”

“Maybe you can find it in the book,” Sanji suggests, kicking his feet as he lies on his belly next to you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You flip through the pages of your textbook, searching for the correct spelling lest you get marked off again.

It is the tenth day. Sanji is doing alright, and Zeff is up and about with his new leg. Dr. Gu says they’re good to go, so they’re leaving after Zeff finishes breakfast. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

In the meantime, Sanji is helping you with your essay about scurvy. He knows quite a bit about it, which makes sense since he’s lived at sea, and you hope the perspective he’s supplying will impress Dr. Gu.

(“That’s why every ship needs a good cook,” he tells you proudly. “We make sure everyone eats right so they stay healthy.”

“That’s why you and Mr. Zeff are going to have a restaurant ship, right?”

“Mmhm.”)

Sanji rests his face in his hands, cheeks squished against his palms while you continue to scan through your textbook. You finally find the word in a photo caption and, with a triumphant noise, jot it down correctly.

Someone knocks on your door. The two of you turn to face it simultaneously.

“[Y/n]?” It’s Mrs. Guo.

“Yeah?” you call, already slightly irritated.

“Is Sanji there? It’s time for him to leave.”

A frown presses down on your lips. Sanji sighs and gets up as slowly as possible, taking his notebook with him.

“Coming,” he says.

The two of you dawdle on your way to the hospital entrance. You pet Cabby the dog when you run into him and his handler and stop by the kitchen so Sanji can thank the cooks. There’s no rush, not really, but an uneasy feeling continues to well up in your stomach anyway.

Upon arriving at your destination, Zeff waiting at the double doors with a giant bag of treasure slung over his shoulder, Sanji stops and turns to face you.

“I’m – I’m going now,” he says, as if just realizing it.

“Okay,” you say.

You and Sanji stand in silence for a moment before Sanji’s bottom lip starts to wobble.

Yours starts to wobble too. The uneasy feeling in your stomach bubbles up into your throat and behind your eyes.

“I’ll write you,” he blurts, voice cracking. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?”

“I don’t know.” You don’t know if they’ll let you. The hospital is busy and the ocean is big, bigger than you, and you don’t know it at all like Zeff and Sanji do. “But I’ll write back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You are crying now.

For the first time, your arms wrap around Sanji, and he clings back as both of you bawl. Your tears and snot stain the shoulder of his brand-new clothes. Your uniform grows damp at the collar. It doesn’t matter at all.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” you croak into his shirt, face hot and eyes blurry.

His grip tightens. “You will,” Sanji replies in between sniffles. “I know it. Even if it’s when we’re really old, we’ll see each other again.”

“Okay.”

You believe him. Not because of fate, but because you want to.

—

You write to each other every single week for the next ten years. You tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

—

“You seem nervous,” Nami says. “Don’t tell me a little bribery got under your skin?”

“No, no.” You wipe your hands on your thighs and try to relax against the back of the booth. “Just … not used to places like this, that’s all.”

The Baratie is nicer than you imagined. Sanji had kept you up to date over the years, sending newspaper clippings and recipe drafts as the restaurant he and Zeff founded grew in staff members and reputation, but seeing it in person is a whole different deal. You’re telling the truth when you said you’re not used to a place like this.

But it’s not why you’re nervous.

“Hey, look!” Usopp exclaims, pointing across the room. “I think those guys are gonna fight.”

The rest of you look. Near the kitchen, two men are arguing, and the pink-haired man sitting at the table stands up when the pirate shoves his food onto the floor.

Usopp sucks his teeth. “Yikes.”

Luffy leans forward in interest. Zoro simply stares, and Nami rolls her eyes.

One of the waiters approaches them. You watch as he tries to deescalate the situation, but neither party is having it.

The pink-haired man draws a gun.

Within seconds, the gun and both would-be brawlers are on the floor.

The waiter shoves his foot into the pink-haired man’s back to keep him down, then picks up the plate of bread rolls again, stepping over both groaning bodies with the ease of one who’s done it before.

He reassures the other customers as he approaches your booth. You’re not concerned about the fight so much as you are about the way that you know.

It’s been ten years, but you just know, even before he gets close enough for you to see the red string that trails up and disappears into the black of his pants pocket. Even before you see the blue of his eyes and the annoyed set of his brow, exactly the same as you remember.

He places the rolls down onto the table, and for the first time, you wonder what you want.

“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 66

part 1 | part 65 | ao3

cw: i don’t do drugs, dad, it’s only marijuana

“Uh,” Steve splutters, choking on his own spit. “Is that wise?”

It’s a question Eddie gives zero fucks about, apparently, because he’s already lighting a joint — cherry bright, shadows sharp, chin held aloft as he hollows his cheeks. “Extremely,” he croaks, blowing smoke out in a thick ring.

Steve’s mouth flattens to a frown. “Literally how?” he begs to know. “I thought we were supposed to be, like, fortifying our defenses. Building our mind shields or whatever the fuck.”

“Au contraire, mon frère.” Eddie takes a hit and holds it. “We are fighting a psychic wizard. Therefore…” Another toke, another trail of perfect smoke rings, ducklings lined up big to small. “It stands to reason that we should trash his battlefield.”

It stands to reason we should what?

“…Ohhhhhh,” Steve nods when he gets it. He reaches up to take the joint, tipping his chin in thanks when Eddie slots it into the V of his fingers, and squints as he sips in a quick puff; adds a French inhale at the end of a second huge hit. Eddie’s not the only one who knows how to do cool tricks. “So this is like the time we let a bunch of cows loose on Thompson’s field the night before the homecoming game.”

“Yeah, exactly— well- well, no, actually, not like that, what in the Indiana bumpkin fuck—? Never mind.” Eddie tosses his hair and rocks on his heels, and Steve can’t help but snort as he watches him shake himself clear like a little Eddie Etch-A-Sketch. “Important things only,” Eddie mumbles to himself. “Essentials,” he’s saying, “Essentials. What are essentials?”

And meanwhile Steve is saying: “Eddie-A-Sketch.”

Eddie hollers a startled cackle as he whips his head around, his face all squiggly with confusion, brows pinched, nostrils flared. “Steve, what the hell?”

Steve giggles uncontrollably. “Etch-A-Skeddie? No—”

“Holy shit.” He scrubs his hands down his face and laughs weakly at the ceiling. “How much weed did you just smoke?”

From anyone else it would sound like scolding, but Eddie just pulls out a few more joints, sticks three in his mouth at once, and mumbles good-naturedly, “Lemme catch up, I guess. Christ.”

While Eddie smokes enough weed to briefly hotbox a room with a hole in the floor, Steve watches the water ripple, spellbound by shimmering shapes in the dark for what feels like decades until he remembers all at once that it fucking sucks in here. It’s cold, and he’s starving, and his back is kinda stiff. “Hey…”

He looks over his shoulder, rolling into the stretch. Eddie’s doing some weird noodly shit in a corner, bent at the waist with his arms pretzeled overhead, swinging side to side, the ends of his hair sweeping the dusty, splintered planks. “Hey! Eddie.”

“Hmm?”

“Weren’t we supposed to be finding supplies?”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie swings himself upright; starts pacing back and forth. “Shit, yeah. What did we need?”

“Besides food and water?”

“Booze!” He steps onto a pile of boxes just to hop back down again. “Booze, music, more drugs…”

More drugs. Great idea.

Steve plucks the stubby remnant of a joint up off the floor; Eddie spins around on tiptoe to peer out the boathouse window, and when he looks back at Steve he’s got a Cheshire cat grin. “Say, Steve-o. Stevie boy. Svennie—”

“I’ll kill you,” Steve coughs around a mouthful of smoke.

“Since I’m pretty sure we’re one hundred percent going to jail for, uh. All of this…” He waves his arms around at their whole situation, then gestures invitingly to the house at the top of the hill. “Whaddaya say we add breaking and entering to the list?”

—

part 67

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[aira-bu]

༄ anemo boys as shimeji ! 𖧷

☁︎ written as of version 3.3

a/n: i saw some (characters) as shimeji and i got inspired by @midknightwritings so check them out if you want to! (i hope that's ok just dm me if you want anything changed)

sypnosis: shimeji is a type of chrome extension but kinda for your whole computer (i think, it's been some time since i used shimeji) ! if it isn't then just pretend it is lol anyways, anemo boys as shimeji

characters: kazuha, heizou, xiao, venti, wanderer (scaramouche)

disclaimer/warnings: none

☁︎

kazuha

THIS MAN

will absolutely spoil you with work/study tips

he won't give you straight up answers though, he believes that giving you the solution is good enough and that you shouldn't depend on him for answers

but if you're struggling with anything, he won't hesitate to help you

clings to your cursor a lot

and when i say a lot i mean a lot.

but when you need your cursor to do some work then he'll let go (for now) and watch you from either the bottom of your computer or the very top. there is no in between.

he will definitely organise your folders and everything, but he won't touch your latest works or rename anything

loves it when you drag him around the screen with your cursor, do it more!

probably the most sane and respectful to your tabs and apps opened among the rest of the anemo gang and won't meddle with it

whenever there's even just a little suspicious thing on your pc he'll inform you immediately

he'll greet you every time you turn on or shut down your pc

"good morning/afternoon/evening, (your user), how has your day been so far?"

heizou

goodness gracious

mf would clone himself to. the. MAX.

1 heizou is never enough!

he'll let you procrastinate a little if you're tired

but if your near the due date and you still haven't started?

don't even turn on your computer at this point.

the moment you boot up your pc you can find him sitting on top of your minimized empty work tab and crossing his arms at you

anytime you try to open something unrelated to your work he will spam those error messages but with messages like "not yet, finish your work first ;)" or "i'll give your device a virus if you don't finish this >:)" (he won't actually give you a virus)

but when you're actually done with your work or when you have some free time, he will literally hang on your cursor

whether it be him biting your cursor or sitting on it, he will be there

he is your search bar.

you wanna know the whether? he's got it.

you wanna know how babies are made? he'll explain in detail.

you wanna know the average time of how long it'll take for ice to melt inside a microwave at 13°C? he'll find out.

you name it, he's got it.

just expect him demanding a lot of head pats as compensation afterwards

expect him to tease you a lot when you watch any romance.

"if I weren't stuck behind the screen this could be us *wink*"

xiao

he's just

there.

drag him around, hold him down with your cursor, stick him to the sides of your pc, he'll label everything you do as a 'nuisance' and a 'distraction'

but we both know he loves it

he doesn't really interfere with your work at all

just quietly judges you as you make a hella lot of mistakes in your project

he'll correct you though!

will literally jump onto your errors and make a fuss about it

say goodbye to those red squiggly lines when you make a spelling mistake because HE WILL HIGHLIGHT IT IN THE BRIGHTEST RED EVER (only if you somehow fail to notice him making a huge commotion in the middle of your screen)

unlike kazuha, he won't inform you of any viruses

you won't even see them in the first place

with him on your pc, no viruses are safe.

he doesn't tell you though, he likes to keep a low profile and worries that you might panic at the thought if having a virus in your computer

he will mostly definitely judge you at your music taste, movies, anything at all

silently though.

every time you boot up your computer he'll be like

"you humans always waste your time on devices such as this."

but the moment you attempt to shut down your comp he will literally make a 😰 face

venti

mf climbs your screen 24/7

whatever you do, he. is. climbing.

turn on your pc? *climbs.*

open up a game? *climbs.*

on a call? *climbs.*

but when you forcefully drag him down to your taskbar, he just kinda whines and make an "ehe." face

when you're doing something boring like working he'll either attempt to help or just fall asleep

most of the time you can't get anything done with him around

when you're free and have nothing to do though, he'll play hide and seek with you!

in your folders of course.

if you have a lot of files, good luck

when he doesn't get found for a long time though, he'll pop out of the file and look around

if he finds that you're afk he'll throw a tantrum, saying "you don't wanna play with me anymore!" or "you love your coffee more than you love me :("

those are just facades to get your attention though

he knows you love him (i think)

wanderer / scaramouche

it'd be smart of you to not install his shimeji in the first place

he'll rearrange your files, play around with your wallpaper, anything that distracts you

he really just wants your attention on him instead of that filthy google doc

but when you're offline and sleeping, he'll rearrange your folders back for you if you hadn't did so already

he'll revert your pc to its original state before his shenanigans

sometimes he'll rename your folders or works because he is absolutely fuming at the sight of

'actual_final_final_essay_attempt_3_(submit this one).doc'

as your file name.

every time you get a message about a virus he will literally hit the screen

you do online shopping? he'll diss everything you see, pointing out every dislike he has towards that... thing. as he likes to call it

watching movies with him are an absolute pain in the ass

ESPECIALLY romance

he'll openly judge you at anything and everything

just give him a snarky remark or tease him back and just watch him fall into pieces of your control

"hah! your single ass is so down bad to the point you're watching stuff like this?"

"yeah, because the person that i would actually get with is stuck behind a screen."

"w- hey- you're not supposed to- what-.??!"

error message 169

wanderershimeji.exe has stopped responding. close the app?

➪ yes

➪ no

yeah you get the point

[dukeoftheblackstar]

[4] 'Retirement' || Castis Vakarian

[ 1 ], [ 2 ], [ 3 ] by scent.2002 || Meta

With & without glasses because I can't decide which I like best.

Another Castis Vakarian study as the small number of art made for him is appalling considering we like daddies in this binch. I'm also considering adding Avitus Rix in the mix or start on that Saren vs Castis vibe @eyecandyeoz and I went over some weeks ago. Also tagging @yuku78 on here because.. daddy! Might tag the series under : NotQuiteTiredYetTizzy

Here we have:

Retired dad and his new, equally no-nonsense, mid-life existential-crises bought pet bird — a beautifully unimpressed, Gatling-shrieking shoebill to double down on that #TiredDad disappointed look that makes you want to do your best! Right on, Dad!

The 'Well, shit. I guess I'm really retired now" dad coping by actually allowing himself to get shit-faced in his own home because there is no chance in absolute hell that he's going to make a fool of himself in public. Have a slightly drunk-flustered #feelingcutemightdeletelaterforsure daddy on the couch.

Dad and new son pet bonding.

And because I have no self-control, that squiggly, curly-haired bubble person is my OC who I have written in wips as his assistant during his last years before retirement and ya boy shootin' his shot because you know, shipping blorbos with our oc is therapy.

Dad takes to online dating — only because he's a little bit drunk and will definitely deny this the morning after.

Barbeque dad and his special barbeque sauce giving you the "what do you mean you already ate?" — look of disapproval + three seconds before you take that back and sit tf down and eat.

[rottenpumpkin13]

*drops down from the trees by grappling hook with a birthday cake*

Dedicated to @altocat, who brightens everyone's day with her wonderful writing and headcanons 🎂 ❤️ Here's my attempt at bittersweet Glenn and Sephiroth fluff.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Sephiroth liked the smell of what Hojo was quick to label as 'dirt and grime'—the damp earth beneath his boots, the smell of fresh morning raindrops dripping from the trees overhead, the crisp mountain breeze that carried notes of pine and flowers.

It filled his lungs and reminded him that he breathed, as any other human being, and that there was more to the world than his obligations and Shinra's conquests.

Glenn and Sephiroth sat perched atop a rugged cliff, their backs against the cool, weathered rocks overlooking a sprawling ravine that stretched far below. Sephiroth's gaze wandered over the expanse before them. Gently letting his eyes flutter shut, he wished he could drink it all up, treating it like an addictive drug he would consume forever if he could.

Glenn extended a glass soda bottle towards him, its oddly-colored contents gleaming in the sunlight as he gradually opened his eyes. The whimsical label was adorned with a cheerful moogle proudly showing off its drink, and the words Kupo Pop! Secret Flavor!

"I don't understand why the ingredients can't be labeled on the bottle," Sephiroth, ever the skeptic, remarked as he accepted the glass bottle.

Glenn rolled his eyes as the younger boy began turning the bottle around, reading the scattered words for any hints as to what it contained. "Go ahead, give it a try," he encouraged, twisting the cap from his own blueberry soda. "Part of the fun is in the mystery, you know. Maybe the secret is that it's just irresistibly delicious."

Sephiroth looked up, his lips a thin line as he stared pointedly ahead. "Secrets aren't fun.”

"But they can be," Glenn countered, pointing his bottle at him. "They're fun to keep, fun to share, and most importantly, fun to savor." With a light clink, Glenn tapped his bottle against Sephiroth's.

Sephiroth's lips would have easily been confused with a squiggly line drawn by a child on paper. He frowned, staring down at the bottle with unease, his choppy hair falling over his eyes. "Aren't there supposed to be… orange flavors? I've heard about orange soda.”

Glenn nearly spat out his mouthful of blueberry as he pulled it from his lips. "Woah, you've never had soda before?"

Glenn's surprise was evident as Sephiroth shook his head in response. He tried not to let his jaw fall slack as he lifted his hand to his face, scratching at his stubble. “Huh…. How about that. Well don't worry. I'd never give you something you wouldn’t like."

Sephiroth arched a single eyebrow, looking mildly annoyed. "That's what you said about the marshmallows.” His hands clenched around the glass bottle. “They tasted funny."

“Ha!” Glenn nudged him. “Hey, it's not my fault you're a weird little dude who doesn't like marshmallows.”

As he drained the contents of his soda, Sephiroth looked back down at his own. Determined, he grabbed the bottle opener from the dusty ground and hooked it to the cap.

Gradually, Sephiroth braced himself and took a swig of the mysterious soda. Glenn watched, unblinking as Sephiroth squeezed his eyes shut and gulped it down.

Instantly, a sharp sensation tingled and bubbled in his throat. Acid? Not good. He instinctively spat it out, hacking and coughing.

Glenn erupted into laughter, letting his bottle fall to his lap as he clapped. Sephiroth cleared his throat twice, water lining his widened, green eyes.

"Is it supposed to burn?" Sephiroth spluttered, wiping his lips with the back of his wrist. His voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and discomfort, which would've made Glenn feel horribly guilty if it weren't hilarious.

Sephiroth The Great, defeated by a mystery Kupo Pop flavor. Matt and Lucia would never believe it.

Leaning back against the rocky ledge, Glenn's laughter subsided as he regarded Sephiroth with amusement. "Well, what does it taste like?"

Sephiroth paused, gathering his thoughts after the unexpected attempt on his life.

"I don't know. I was caught off guard by the burning. I forgot to notice the flavor."

Reluctantly, Sephiroth took another sip—small this time, less overwhelming. He was cautious as he contemplated the taste lingering on his tongue, his face twisting along with his flickering thoughts.

"Passion fruit," he declared after a moment of contemplation.

Glenn arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Hm. Is it offensive that I doubt whether you know what passion fruit tastes like?"

His tone was teasing, but he was serious. He barely knew what passion fruit tasted like. Exotic fruits were hard to come by in Midgar, and when they did, he wasn't willing to break open his wallet to succumb to expensive curiosity.

Sephiroth shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes as he traced patterns on the bottle's icy condensation. “When Professor Hojo has my dental impressions done, the alginate has a passion fruit flavor.” He shrugged. “Or at least it used to when I was very young. Now it tastes like nothing."

Glenn's unease at the mention of Professor Hojo flickered briefly across his features, but he hid it well for Sephiroth's sake.

He suppressed the urge to make a joke about the mundanity of adult life— “Hey kid! Welcome to the real world, where everything is bitter and sweetness is rare.” That's what he would've said had it been anyone other than the boy sitting by his side, the child who should be able to taste passionfruit—and soda—and marshmallows. And freedom.

Glenn reached around, patting Sephiroth on the back as he masked his discontentment with a subtle grin. "Remind me to buy you a real passionfruit when we're back in Midgar.”

Sephiroth's smile held a touch of gratitude, but he said nothing else. His gaze lingered on the bottle in his hand, lost in thought.

Back in Sephiroth's mind, the passion fruit soda now tasted like a suffocating hand shoving itself down his throat, forcing him to throw everything good and whole he had digested back up in hopes of feeding him misery.

Glenn didn't like it when Sephiroth went quiet. "So!” He promoted, stretching his arms. “Secrets aren't fun? How come?”

"No," Sephiroth replied solemnly, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. "They're barriers—walls built to control and keep you happy."

His conviction weighed the air around them. Glenn needed to distract him. "And do you have any secrets?" he tried gently.

Sephiroth looked up, his gaze translucent, unblinking. "There's nothing I haven't told you," he confessed. “And there's nothing I wouldn't tell you.” He pressed his lips together and straightened his back, probably trying to sound mature but cracking under Glenn's wiser gaze. “Not that I keep anything. From anyone.”

A quiet, almost inaudible “It's not like I can” reached Glenn's ears, but he chose to ignore it in favor of an idea that arose just as it was needed.

Glenn huffed. “Alright. How about I tell you one of mine then?”

Sephiroth listened intently, the cold glass of the bottle pressing against his reddened, ungloved fingers.

"Okay so. A few years ago when I was a rookie…I was a part of this mission out to the Gongaga region. I was supposed to be watching over our materia stash, since the group was small and we were camped out in the jungle. I thought it was a good idea to bury them in the dirt by the river. Little did I know how rainstorms are a daily occurrence in the jungle.”

He paused for dramatic effect, savoring the way Sephiroth's eyes went wide along with his smile.

“They all got washed away.”

The reveal was punctuated by a sudden fit of laughter from Sephiroth.

“But I didn't get in trouble,” Glenn continued, laughing too. “I blamed it on a random bandit attack and told a story about how I valiantly fought them off, but they took the materia.”

Sephiroth doubled over with laughter, leaning back. His bubbly cries echoed throughout the ravine. His cheeks were rosy, the sunlight caught in his silver hair just as the breeze messed it up, making him look every bit the kid he was.

Glenn pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled. "Now that's my biggest secret, so don't go around telling anyone, alright?"

Sephiroth's laughter faded. His demeanor shifted gradually. While he still maintained a small smile, he swung his legs over the rocky drop, looking down into the ravine.

"Don't worry. I don't have anyone.”

Glenn's heart sank, a pang of remorse gnawing at his insides.

After a few moments where they were both enveloped in a cloud of guilt—Glenn with his foot in his mouth and Sephiroth’s desire to eat his own words—Glenn mustered the courage to break the tension.

He turned his body to him fully. "You know, Sephiroth, you're such a great kid," he began, sounding as earnest as he could.

Sephiroth looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes. "I am?"

Glenn grinned. "Duh. You're the coolest kid I've ever met. You're responsible, and fun to be around, not to mention smart as hell."

Sephiroth’s reddened cheeks complimented his smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but was inside of what to say. He wasn't used to being paid any compliments—at least, none about who he was as a person.

But it didn't matter. Glenn wasn't finished. The older boy's expression turned playful as nudged Sephiroth. "So watch out, because one day you'll have a lot of people to tell my secret to, and if you do, I'll kick your ass.”

Sephiroth looked down, clearly unsure. “I don't think…ah…I don't know.”

Glenn knew. He was certain of it. "Tell you what," he said. "When you find those people—and you will—promise me you'll tell them my secret. I'll probably be too old to care anyway."

Sephiroth's gaze softened, a flicker of mischief in the tone of his subsequent hum. "Older?"

Glenn rolled his eyes and responded with a playful punch to Sephiroth's arm, the impact light but affectionate.

"Promise me,” he pressed, his gaze locking with Sephiroth's. He was dead serious.

Sephiroth's expression softened, his resolve firm as he met Glenn's gaze.

"I promise," he nodded.

Sephiroth would only come to realize Just How naive he was at that age years later. Sometimes he could hear Glenn's satisfied “I told you so” whispering to him, and Sephiroth would give anything to have heard it from him.

Years passed since that day.

Sephiroth found himself seated on that same exact cliff overlooking the ravine. The warm, late April sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow, the gentle breeze carrying with it the scents of pine and earth. Just as it had been back then.

Although there were some key differences. In his hand, Sephiroth held an unopened bottle of Kupo Pop, raspberry flavor—since the secret flavor had been discontinued long ago.

He still found no appeal in fizzy drinks, but he hoped the memory concealed within the burn would be bittersweet.

“Hey,” Genesis approached from behind with a bottle of orange soda and a small smile. "Do you want to trade? I'm not nearly as not fond of orange as you are.”

Sephiroth nodded in agreement, accepting the offer and exchanging bottles.

Genesis plopped down on his left, muttering something about the dirt sticking to his coat. The clicks and flash of a camera signaled Angeal's arrival at the rocky cliff edge.

He excitedly snapped as many shots as he could of the trees, the ravine, the waterfall, and several keepsakes of their trek up the mountain.

Sephiroth looked up. "I don't think you got enough pictures" he quipped with a teasing smile.

Angeal settled down on Sephiroth's right—side-eyeing Genesis, who began shaking his soda bottle absentmindedly.

"I can never take enough.” Angeal settled the camera around his neck. “Pictures only do so much. They don't exactly encapsulate the memory you're trying to preserve.” Angeal’s tone was thoughtful as he gazed out at the breathtaking view.

Sephiroth nodded in agreement, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "I guess it's all in the special moments.”

Genesis twisted off the cap of his bottle, only to be met with a sudden eruption of fizz. The red soda sprayed all over them, prompting a chorus of startled reactions. Genesis let out a shriek, his expression shifting rapidly from embarrassment to frustration. Angeal screamed a swear as he covered his camera. Sephiroth laughed, wiping the red drink from his face.

"Is Genesis being an idiot a special moment?" Angeal snapped.

Genesis attempted to deflect blame, his face a mix of embarrassment and indignation as he flicked a soaked lock of hair from his eyes.

"Hey, it's not my fault! Sephiroth handed me the bottle like that.”

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, then uncapped his orange soda. "Genesis, I just watched you shake the bottle.”

“But—!”

“Don't gaslight Angeal.” Sephiroth took a swig of the drink.

Meanwhile Angeal let out a violent snort. "He thinks it's an apple juice can," Angeal chuckled, punctuating his words with a mock shaking motion with his fist. “You know? The kind you have to shake first?”

Sephiroth snorted, pulling the bottle away from his lips quickly before he spat it out.

The pair fell into a fit of laughter, leaning on each other. The moment was definitely made funnier by the way Genesis was completely drenched in the soda.

Genesis shrugged sheepishly, acknowledging his blunder with a self-deprecating grin. "Shit. Muscle memory, I suppose," he admitted, his laughter mixing with theirs.

Once the moment faded into a comfortable silence, they each became lost in their own thoughts as they savored the serenity of their surroundings. Genesis contentedly sipped the remainder of Sephiroth's orange soda, while Angeal focused his attention on capturing the beauty of the waterfall below with his camera.

Sephiroth's mind wandered, his thoughts drifting back to that day, to Glenn, to their conversation and the passion fruit soda.

He was fortunate enough to have to keep his promise.

With a sense of resolve settling over him, he broke the silence. "I need to tell you both a secret.”

[xi1dius]

Good Things Take Time

‼️whole thing (chapter 1/??) ‼️

summary: You’re simons new neighbour, recently moved to manchester to live with your (abusive) step-father and older brother.

tw!: swearing, suggested abuse, OFC THERES A F-BOY (not really mentioned so much, might make it more obvious in next chapters)

a got a ton of people liking and reblogging (for me atleast) the tester, so here is the whole one! <3

again, ask to be added to a tag list if you’d like

‼️NOT PROOFREAD‼️

The move had already been horrible, you’d moved half way across fucking England and it was horrible. Woking to Manchester, very different places but at the same time.. nothing has really changed.

The first day of school had been a living hell. The part you lived in was poor, unkept. It was straight unsafe, really. The school uniform was tacky and poorly made could you could only buy it from M&S or the clothes section in Sainsburys (that happens to be horribly tiny). It hardly even covered the residing bruises scattered round your body, though it was hard to hide the black eyes and bandaged broken nose.

The teachers sucked ass, there was hardly any sports clubs (only football and netball, bare english bloody minimum) or clubs in general, it was just a boring town.

See, as you walked home to your run-down, semi-desolate and gang filled neighbourhood, you notice another person walking just in from of you. Clearly older and part of your school (due to the uniform), but definately not in the same year. He stood impossibly tall for a teenager, messy blonde hair and a huntched over demeanour. His body was too big for the uniform, clearly, the trousers sitting above the ankle and blazer sleeves riding half way up his fore-arm. He was intimidating, in full.

After what seemed like an age of walking in your old and worn clark’s slip-on’s, the boy infront of you met up with another, a boy you had seen around school during the day. He was boisterous and clearly extroverted, having nearly tripped you up three times in the school corridor from him running whiel you tried to find your classes, recognised as Ben, a year 10.

You hastily passed them, not really in for a chat or too get caught up in whatever the hell was going on. Plus, your step-dad would be livid if you where too late and that was never a good thing, you honestly didn’t understand why your mother loved him so much.. it wasnt like the two where very dissimilar though..

Welp, that plan failed.

“Ay, lil’ lady. you’re the one who I knocked over, right? sorry bout that sweetheart.”

Ben stopped you in your tracks, a hand on your shoulder. There was nothing to do but turn round, look up to the honest to god GIANT. You but your lip a little, eyes scouring his chizzled face. You opened you mouth to reply, but the boy you walked behind spoke up.

“leave the girl alone, Ben.”

He spoke sternly, his voice was trough but ever so slightly timid.. something was off wohin, how’s thoughs only miltiplied as you noticed the large bruise over his right eye and left temple. Poor guy..

“God, so stuck up Simon. She’s fine with it, any girl would be.”

Cocky.. okay!.. good to know. back. away. from. Ben.

Ben soon backed off and you took a step back. With a quaint nod you finnaly spoke up, voice proving to be no less timid then Simons.

“That’s kay’..”

You quickly ran off, prompting an amused chuckle from Ben and a miniscule sigh from Simon. After a good few minutes of jogging down the road, holding onto the straps of your backpack so the heavy contents didn’t slow you down as much, you arrived home. slotting the keys into the door and trying to enter a squiggly as possible. you managed to get in without anyone calling out for you, only able to assume your step-father had passed out on the couch again.

You really didn’t want to stay here, i mean.. who would? Your mother, older brother and younger brother still weren’t home and staying here was just.. vile. It felt like your room wasn’t really yours (mainly because you shared it with your younger r brother and his stuff was EVERYWHERE) and it felt uncomfortable to be in generally. This is what prompted you to put your items away, change into something easy going (a Black hoodie and a pair of dark blue baggy dungarees). You put your hair down, it hanging around chest-length.

Putting on a old pair of black and white converse, you grabbed your phone and climbs out the window, hopping into the back garden below, grass brown and no sight of life of any sort. You made your way round and climbe diver the back gate, walking onto the street. It was time to explore, you though to yourself so you took a left turn and began to walk down the street, only to be toppled over by none other then..

Simon.

Simon Riley.

Well, that’s chapter one! i had fun writing this and i’ll probbably write another chapter.. i already have ideas in mind :)

[silliersiluriforme]

@asukiess [batting my eyelashes kicking my feet blushing twirling my hair ect] I’m using this as an excuse to yap :3c

I love putting the child in child soldier. Like. Marinette is NOT mature and she has to deal with SO MUCH so of course putting everyone and everything in a neat little box is the only way she can function. Chat noir is her non threatening goofy male bestie and Adrien is her perfect beautiful unattainable crush who’s too innocent and pure to realise his childhood best friend is evil. Unfortunately 15 year olds aren’t great judge of character teehee.

Now for what inspires me Id say mostly western comics !! I get most of my coloring inspo from golden age marvels and Gerard way’s works (especially the fabulous killjoys) my lineart is heavily influenced by Mike mignolia (and tatsuki fujimoto’s tho like. Way less. I wish I could make the squigglies work but alas.) !!!! Though I would say for panel layouts I’m partial to franco-Belgian stuff. Like I need to cram as many panels in that page as possible or I’ll explode myself. I wanna try making my colors even more fun and adding more fx in the future :3c.

I LOVE THAT LINE. “It means they like you.” ITS SO IMPORTANT TO ME. I think chat noir and ladybug’s different approaches to “The Public” is soooooo fun.

I think adrien living his entire life up on his little pedestal and THEN obtaining incompressible power at a very young age would lead to him to see civilians- The Public, as just that. Civilians. Maybe to a slightly dehumanising extent ? Which is. So fun.

so idk if anyone has noticed the pattern but like. Ok so first page- chat noir’s sat higher up than Marinette but she gets him to lower himself. In this angle of the love square she has control because he relinquished it.

Next page ! Ladybug is sat way higher than chat noir. She lowers herself but she never quite gets to his level.

NOW THE MULTICHAT DANCE OH BOY- he helps her up. Then he tries to push her down. She resists. He pushes her down harder. It’s confusing!! They’re BOTH confused. Marinette’s his friend ! Why is he being a dick to her ?? A question only god (me) could answer.

I think it’s sososo fun when Marinette is left all alone with no one to rely on. Whether it’s her fault or not. Isolate that baby !

[gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley]

what's wrong, my little firework? [f.w. x reader]

Summary: Woebegone, uncommunicative Y/N. Painfully oblivious Fred. What could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: rushed ending.

Over the last few painfully long hours, Y/N had grown morose. 

With a piece of ink-stained parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, she thoughtlessly scribbled quick squiggly lines, supposedly cursive. She paid no mind to the hair-raising sound of the tip of her quill scratching away at her parchment, but instead mindlessly thought about him.

  Fred Weasley, the boy who was out on the quidditch pitch sweating away and batting bludgers seamlessly. 

The boy whose heart supposedly belonged to her, and she the same.

  While he was out there flaunting his beautiful quidditch skills, she was stuck in the library with at least a week’s worth of predictions she had to submit to Professor Trelawney. Forget about how she’d die to a pack of peckish pixies three moons from then, she’d die right there right then if she had to sit a moment longer without Fred.

  “Earth to Lovesick Y/N, earth to Lovesick Y/N?” Hermione waved an ink-smudged hand in front of Y/N’s face, redirecting her attention back to Earth, and not in the clouds.

  Y/N blinked and snapped back to reality, “Huh– yes, ‘Mione?” 

"Merlin, your head was in the clouds!" Hermione's eyebrows knitted together, but she couldn't seem to stifle the tug at her lips, or the glint of mirth in her eyes, "If you had a mirror right now, you'd see- oh. Wait."

Hermione whipped out her wand, and, with a swish and flick, transfigured her quill into a tiny rustic pocket mirror. She glanced at her dubiously but was impressed nonetheless. Top in transfiguration as always, that's my girl!

Then, she glanced into the mirror.

Merlin and Morgana, she was as red as Fred's quidditch robes!

"See? All you ever think about is him!" Hermione chuckled, shaking her head light-heartedly like how a mother would.

"No, I was thinking about..." Y/N trailed off as her eyes darted around the library to come up with a quick lie.

Her eyes then landed on a copy of one of Gilderoy Lockhart's books. His beaming face stared back at her. She swore she saw him wink.

"...Professor Lockhart?" She knew how much Hermione swooned over the Professor, successfully changing the topic.

  She couldn't shake it off, though. He flew around on his broom in Y/N's mind every minute and every second of the day. 

  Did he feel the same, though?

  The nagging feeling tugged away at her heartstrings, now that she had come to think of it. Did Weasley ever initiate contact? On their first kiss; it was Y/N who had pulled him in by the collar of his striped pyjamas. It was Y/N, to both of their surprises, who had grabbed him by the chin (with a little tip-toeing, of course) and leaned in.

  Did Weasley, Fred Weasley, ever care enough to... try?

  Y/N's thoughts shouted at her, screamed at her, drowning out the sound of Hermione boasting passionately about Gilderoy.

With a pained smile, a curt nod, and a tight grip on the mirror, she bid herself to make it through the study session with this tight feeling in her chest.

- -

  Dinner rolled around, and students strode into the Great Hall with ravenous stomachs from scribbling on parchment, snoozing through lessons, and snoring in the common rooms.

  Y/N made it to her house's table, but her eyes were elsewhere but the delectable array of food that lay in front of her. From the front of the Great Hall to the very end, she searched for the head of fiery-red hair. 

  Oh! There he- never mind. It was Ronald. Stuffing his face. As usual.

  Demoralised, she heaved a sigh of resignation and began to swish her wand, floating a serving of pudding onto her plate. Her appetite hadn't been picking up, but still didn't allow herself to neglect her well-being.

  Before she could even take a spoonful, a pair of large firm hands hand snaked their way around her waist, catching her off-guard. 

  "Fuck- What the fuck, Fred!" she swore elegantly.

  Fred chuckled delightfully and lifted her chin so that she was looking at him smiling goofily, "There's my little firework!"

  And, without warning, he picked her up effortlessly (humming in the process too), swished his wand to take her plate of pudding with them, and danced out of the Great Hall, paying no mind to the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at the spectacle.

  A boy carrying a girl (who was quite being vocal about protesting) bridal style out of the Great Hall, with a plate of pudding trailing behind.

- -

  He took her to the Great Lake, where the Giant Squid seemed to be basking in the golden rays of the sun that was setting. It seemed as though it had managed to make a pair of sunglasses for itself with a piece of kelp.

  Never mind that, she was gingerly placed on a checkered picnic mat. 

  "Fred? What's this?" Y/N asked, wide-eyed.

  "Why, a picnic of course! Merlin, do you need glasses like Harry, too?" Fred snickered mirthfully.

  She scanned the containers full of food. Some had sandwiches with the crust removed, some were filled to the brim with glistening golden fried rice, and that.

  A tall glass of trifle, with two boastful glasses of butterbeer to accompany it. 

  This was what they ate on their first-ever date. Trifle and some butterbeer to wash it down.

  For some odd reason, her eyes started to prickle with tears.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, and met his expectant eyes, "You remembered?"

  It was their first anniversary.

  His mouth opened agape as shock painted his face, "Of course, I did, love! The time, place, what we ate, everything!"

  He then noticed the pained look on her face. Quickly, he scooted over and wrapped an arm around her. Y/N leaned into his warm chest, seemingly lost in thought as she kept quiet. Their heartbeats synced.

  "What's wrong, my little firework?"

 It was strange, seeing him like that. By day, he wreaked havoc 'round the school alongside George. He was a ball of fire that no one, not even George, could tame. 

  Then, she came along, and he seemed to fizzle down. Only she had seen this side of him, the Fred that he had kept locked away for someone. And that someone was her, his little firework.

  "It's just that," you licked your lips that seemed to dry out in the evening breeze, "all this time I..."

  She choked on her words that seemingly refused to come out. They lived in different worlds; she was a bookworm, and he was an athlete. She couldn't communicate how she felt, and he had no filter when he was upset. They were polar opposites, yet he still stayed. He still looks lovingly into her eyes. He dedicates every bludger he had ever whacked to her.

However, it seemed that vulnerability was not her forte after all. He intuitively picked up on it. Gingerly, he raked a calloused hand through her hair, massaging her scalp.

Fred leaned into her ear and whispered, "You?"

 Emblazoned by his touch (that she had dearly missed), she swallowed her pride and composed herself. Here goes nothing.

  Y/N turned to face him. She looked up into his eyes with her red-rimmed ones that glistened neath the golden sun.

"All this time, I thought I meant little to you- Merlin, hearing myself say this already sounds ridiculous and I know what-"

A pair of lips shut her up before she could ramble for hours and hours and turn the food cold.

"You mean the world to me, firework."

--

a/n: surprise !!(???) rushed ending i know but i've been reading good shit on ao3 and just suddenly felt the sudden urge to write again and then i saw this request and i just had to and i know i received this a while back but i just had no will in me to write this and Oh My God it just feels great to be back on here (i will still be MIA) but i just had to, yknow?

[stinkyhorsebitch]

Pretty sure i had a little bit too much fun with the squiggly bois in this one

btw the eyes were supposed to be just snake eyes but then i saw geko eyes and i just couldn't resist:p

[obxthornton]

Flirt

JJ Maybank X Reader

Wc: 1141

"Hi Mr. Carrera." I said smiling at kies dad. He smiled back at me. "Hi y/n. Mango smoothie?" He asked. I laughed and nodded. I always seemed to order one whenever I came. "You know me so well."

"Are you going to flirt with kies dad the whole time or come sit down?" Sarah asked. I hit her shoulder and glared at her. "Sarah Cameron." I scolded. Kie was already at a table socializing with her Friends.

I walked next to Sarah as she approached the table, a big smile covered my face.

"Guys this is my bestist friend Y/n." Sarah said.

"Hey." I said as Sarah sat down next to John b, kissing him on the lips. I sat down next to her. Kei infront of Sarah, Pope infront of JB and a blonde boy infront of me.

"I've heard about you and you but I don't think I even know your name." I smiled lightly at the boy infront of me.

"Gosh you don't talk about me kie?" He asked. Kie shook her head "not at all."

"I'm JJ, but you can call me anytime you'd like." JJ said winking.

"See I would but I actually lost my phone number. Could I borrow yours?" I said tilting my head alittle to the side, smiling innocently.

"She's good." John b said earring a nod from Sarah.

About that time kies dad sat down my smoothie infront of me. "On the house."

"Thank you Mr. carrera."

"Can I get one on the house?" JJ asked.

"No." Mr. Carrera said walking away making me laugh.

"What can I say? I'm his favorite." I smirked taking a sip of my drink.

Everyone had gone into there own conversations which led me and JJ to talk alittle.

"So your like really good?" I asked.

"Best in the OBX." He said cockily.

"In little league or..?" I asked Tilting my head alittle.

He smiled alittle bit "What about you? You surf?"

I shook my head "I have an intense fear of the ocean."

Jj laughed "no kidding?"

I shook my head and pulled my leg out to the side showin a bunch of squiggly scars. "Huge jellyfish I don't even know what kind it was." I laughed alittle. "4 years ago i think. Haven't been in the ocean since."

"Woah it looks cool." He said. I smiled lightly moved my leg back under the table.

"I love fishing though. I just avoid getting into the water."

"Maybe we could go together sometime." JJ said making me blush. I looked away towards the door to hide it and My face fell. I groaned rubbing my face knowing I was about to get some sort of leacture. "Crap." I mumbled.

"What's up?" Jj said looking towards the door, his face twitched alittle seeing topper, rafe, and kelce.

I ran a hand threw my hair as I heard the clapping of toppers flip flops. "Y/n what are you doing?" He asked. I rolled my eyes "eating same as you."

"Mango?" He asked picking it up and taking a sip out of my straw. I grimaced and took the straw out and threw it on the table.

"Bye topper. Thanks for stopping bye."

"No I don't think-"

"I think she said it was your time to leave." JJ stated looking up at my brother.

"Dating a dirty pogue now y/n?" Topper questioned. JJ glared at the boy and I sighed "topper please-"

"Or is it him? Or that pogue. whore."

Me and JJ stood up at the same exact time both me and him had the same experession on our face. Jj looked like he was about to punch him so I stepped in front of him putting my hands on toppers chest. "Go. Home."

Topper glared at both of us, "see you at home." He muttered,  before slowly backing off and walking out the door, his minions following.

I let out a deep breath and sat back down. "My apologies for his actions."

"Not your fault." John b stated.

"You live with him?" JJ asked.

I nodded but stopped when I saw his face. "He's my brother."

"A sorry one." Sarah added, Making me nod.

"Your brother. Is topper?" Pope asked.

I nodded "I'm the prettier twin though."

JJ choked on his drink. "Twins?"

——

JJ held a paper football inbetween his finger and the table and John b held up a gold post with his fingers. Jj tongue was placed in between his teeth as he flicked the napkin threw the field goal. His hands shot up and he smiled.

"That's game." He cheered

"Right on time." Pope said looking towards the door where kei, Sarah and a blonde headed girl had just walked in.

JJ turned to look and his smile fell as he looked over at the blonde girl leaning against the table, her head placed in her heads as she was talking to kies dad.

"Dude who's that?" He asked.

"Oh that's y/n, kie and Sarah friend. She's cool." John b stated.

Y/n laughed At something kie dad had said and it seemed as if that was the only doin he could here at the moment. He needed to know more about this girl.

Kie walked up to the table and hit the back of JJ head. "Your drolling."

He snapped his head towards kie "what? No." To which she just laughed.

Sarah and Y/n walked up to the table, JJ avoided the girls gaze and look up at Sarah instead.

"Guys this is my bestist friend Y/n ." Sarah said sitting down next to John b who had just moved down to the end.

"Hey." She smiled.

And y/n sat right infront of JJ preventing him from looking anywhere else but her.

"I've heard about you and you but I don't think I even know your name." She smiled lightly at JJ making his heart Almost stop.

"Gosh you don't talk about me kie?" He asked trying to make a joke to hopefully get him sled back into his normal self. Kie shook her head "not at all."

"I'm JJ, but you can call me anytime you'd like." JJ said winking

"See I would but I actually lost my phone number. Could I borrow yours?" She said tilting her head alittle to the side, smiling innocently. JJ face went white of how attractive that that was to him he he gulped lightly hoping no one has seen his expression or heard him.

"She's good." John b said earring a nod from Sarah.

JJ leaned his head down alittle, Arms crossed on the table as he looked down at the floor. "You have no idea."

[giggly-squiggily]

Hi Squiggly! You can totally feel free to decline my headcanon to drabble request, I would totally understand!! But anyways, I have been obsessed with Haikyuu for forever and the new movie has fueled my love for Haikyuu. So my headcanon is that Suga and Yaku (an interesting pair, I know) during the training camps like to make little challenges against each other (they are not as mature as they may seem) and sometimes when they’re evenly matched the challenge will devolve into a tickle fight, in which, once again, an even match.

(Headcanons to Dabbles: OFFICIALLY CLOSED)

OO, this is so GOOD! I don't think I write Suga and Yaku individually enough- let alone together. This was so fun! I hope you like it anon! :D

Let the record show Yaku Morisuke and Sugawara Koshi were the most mature people on their respective teams.

“Race you to the dorms.” Suga slapped the other boy’s shoulder as he booked it, flying past him with glee.

“Son of a- bring it!” Yaku yelled back as he ran after him, catching up to the taller boy and grabbing onto his shirt. “I’m not letting you get a head start over me!”

“Hah! We’ll see about that, shorty!”

However- when they were alone together; they found that maturity flew right out the window.

Stumbling into the lounge, neither boy knew who truly was in the lead, falling through the double doors in a heap of laughter. Yaku was still fisting Suga’s shirt, and the other had tried to grab onto his hair as they collided. “Ehehehe! Who wohohohn?” The setter asked, giggling helplessly when the hand to his back began to wiggle.

“Me! And I’m about to make it so!” Yaku growled, hopping up and sitting on Sugawara’s hips as he carried on scribbling into his shoulder blades. “Admit I got here first, you jerk!”

“Neehehhehever! Iihihiih wohoohohn’t gihihihive ihihihn!” The pale haired teen cackled, kicking his feet and punching the ground. It did nothing to alleviate the ticklish feeling on his spine. “Aheahahhahaha! Noohohohooh fahhahahir, you cahhahan’t juhuhust go and tiihihihckle sohoohomebody!”

“I sure can, and I will. Don’t be such a baby.” Yaku teased, giving Suga’s ribs a couple scratches to make him scrunch up.

That however would be his downfall. The second Suga’s arms got close enough, he pushed off the ground and twisted, sending Yaku tumbling. “Goohohotcha!” He cried, grabbing his leg and squeezing his knee like his life depended on it.

“Aheahhahahhaha! Whohohohoho’s behehehehing uhuuhunfahhahahir nhohoow?” Yaku cackled, flopping about like a fish out of water as his knees and eventually thighs were attacked. He tried and failed several times to grab Suga’s shirt again, but each reach fell short as a new boom of ticklishness shot up his nervous system. “Aheahhahahahah truuhuhhuce! Truuuhuhuhuce!”

“Juice? What- you thirsty?” Suga called back with a grin, distracted. Yaku used his other leg to pull him down and within reach, tickling once more. “Noohohohoho yohoohou jehehehrk!”

“Thahahake thahahaht, you sohohon of a- gheahahaha nohohohoho!”

“Should we…?” Kenma began, turning a confused expression to Kuroo and Hinata as they watched from the stairwell.

“Nah- let them be.” Kuroo shrugged as he turned them back on course, laughing softly as the squeals and cackles following them out. “They’re both far too mature for their own good- especially Yaku. He deserves to cut loose. Now- where’d you say were those vending machines, again?”

[bloodblanks]

pumpkin head [ticci toby x reader] — chapter i.

After a long day at school, Y/N goes to the park to relax and feed some ducks. A boy that she hadn’t seen before catches her eye... maybe a bit too much.

co-written with @spookyravioli, please check her out! ♡

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mildly dark content, including abuse, alcoholism, mental health issues, unhealthy relationship dynamics, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

Have you ever thought about being a worm?

No, not in the way that girls tend to ask their boyfriends if they’d still love them if they were a worm. Like, actually just being a worm. Being a cute, weird, squiggly little thing inching its way forward on the ground.

Because Y/N was doing so right now.

Y/N was staring at the ground, eyes beholding the sight of precisely three worms wiggling their way around the freshly rained-upon earth. It was odd, but she felt compelled to keep her eyes on the worms, watching them intently, not wanting to look up and away.

She was sitting on a swing, old and rackety and looking as if it was on the verge of collapse. Her beat-up shoes dug into the softness of the mud as she propelled herself forward, cringing at the creaking noise each movement made. The wooden seat was still damp from the humidity that lingered in the air, and the same moisture soaked through her clothes, causing them to cling uncomfortably to her body.

But what drew attention was the plastic pumpkin that covered her head, the only dry part of her right now. The pumpkin fully encased her head, leaving her eyes as the only thing visible, shining through the darkness inside. They were her most striking feature, being her only feature that was visible to others. Other than that, her head was just that of the pumpkin’s cheap plastic orange shell, merging seamlessly with the rest of her body almost as if it were natural.

The hollow inside of the pumpkin was nonetheless a bit stuffy, especially with the humid weather, but it also shielded her from the cold and gave her a certain pressure that kept her grounded to the earth. Without it, she would feel as if she was adrift at sea or perhaps like a ghost suspended in the air rather than a human being with corporal mass and weight. In some ways, she found the pumpkin to be an anchor, keeping her at bay and preventing her from drowning in the stresses of life. Granted, the pumpkin head was by no means physically comfortable, often causing her to sweat or feel like she was breathing her own breath over and over, but she wouldn’t want it any other way.

But that wasn’t her problem right now because, despite the general unpleasantness of being rained upon and the slight condensation building up inside the hollow pumpkin, she found peace in the moment.

What truly bothered her, though, more than the moistened seat of the swing, more than the dirt caking up on her shoes, more than the stuffiness of the pumpkin head, was that as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t stare at the soil forever. So she forcefully tore her gaze away from the worms, lifting her head back up, the scenery changing to one of the forest that started at the ends of her backyard.

Staring out into the vastness of the woods, her eyes examined the various tones of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns that had fallen off the trees, carried through the air by the September winds.

It’s beautiful, she thought, watching the animals scurry about on the ground, the birds chirping joyfully and singing in tune. It was a calming atmosphere, with the earthy scent that comes after rain filling the air, inhaled along with each breath of oxygen.

But that wasn’t what her eyes searched for.

No, they were looking for something else, something different. She didn’t know what exactly she was looking for; all she knew was that what she was searching for was not something harmonious with the ever-so-fascinating ecosystem before her eyes.

What she looked for was something far more sinister. Something insidious, shadowing over her life with every step she took, its mere presence strong enough to throw everything out of balance.

Its gaze, empty and hollow and cast upon her entire being. She shivered, feeling a chill run down each individual section of her spine.

Even if that thing wasn’t even there to begin with, even if it was all in her head, the thought of it staring at her at this moment, analyzing and scrutinizing her for all she was worth, was enough for her to want to bury herself underneath the ground, lying there forever and hidden from its gaze.

Quickly, she dropped her eyes, lowering them back to the ground, back to the worms.

Soon, the worms would be gone, unseen until the next rainfall. Burrowing into the earth, tunnelling through the dirt in search of nutrients, blissful and happy with their simple lives under the ground. Away from its watch. Their only worry being the birds that soared high above, waiting for the perfect moment to sweep down on their prey or the higher-ranking insects on the food chain.

However, she would have to stay there, stay in that rusty old swing set, waiting for her mother to finish making breakfast before she would leave for an even bigger ecosystem: high school. Y/N didn’t have the luxury of hiding away in the ground, the luxury of leaving once things became too difficult; instead, she was forced to face her problems on the daily, dealing with them from behind that measly plastic pumpkin on her head. And even then, after she’d finished the school day, she couldn’t be shielded away from the presence that haunted her so often, the presence that she had been searching for just minutes ago.

What she wouldn’t give to be a worm right now.

“Y/N, breakfast is ready!”

The sound of her mother’s voice snapped Y/N out of her quickly spiralling thoughts, causing her to hop off the swing and then make her way towards the backdoor of her house. Now she would have other problems to deal with, other things to focus on other than that ominous presence that ingrained itself into her mind every day, taunting her with the absence of knowledge as to what it is, rendering her to merely a puppet longing to see its master, yet only able to face the audience.

The brisk air, the grey puffs of clouds, and the worms crawling about the ground were left behind as she entered the house, shutting the door behind her, replacing it with the warmth of the indoors. As she took her shoes off, replacing them with slippers that gently tapped against the tiled floor, that was now the only thing that engulfed her mind, her eyes zoning in on the kitchen table before her. It was almost as if she was ignoring the world around her, with the way she sat down on the chair and looked straight at her plate in silence.

Through the hollow eyes of the plastic pumpkin that surrounded her head, she stared at the food in front of her, her eyes widening with joy, practically sparkling as she gazed at the sight before her. And through the rigid shell of the pumpkin’s exterior, she was able to shut out the man sitting beside her at the end of the table, shut out the words that spilled out of her mother’s mouth as she finished setting the table.

Shut out the world around her, just as it was intended to do. Because sometimes the world got a bit too heavy, a bit too overwhelming, a bit too much for her to handle. Because sometimes her surroundings alone were enough to overstimulate her. The plastic pumpkin served perfectly as a divider between her and the world, shutting her into her own little space, able to safely interact with the rest of her world through invisible glass panels.

And she knew it was strange; she knew that she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Everyone else did too. That didn’t stop her, however. She still kept it on at almost all times, to the point where even her teachers had given up on trying to get her to take it off at school.

Back to breakfast, though.

Her mom had made pancakes, and she couldn’t take her eyes off them, taking in every little detail that seemed to make her head fuzzier by the minute. The way the maple syrup dripped off the sides of the neatly stacked pancakes, the way the slices of bananas laid on top, complementing the glistening brown syrup with their soft yellow colour, the way the texture was so light and fluffy, enticing her, beckoning her to stab into them with her fork, squish them in her mouth…

Oh, and the scent, the scent was ever so divine, a heavenly blend of banana, maple, and freshly made pancake that sent her straight to cloud nine.

There was not a single person in the world who made pancakes as well as her mother did; she was sure of that. Not even Gordon Ramsey could compete. They were so ethereal that the man beside her had to snap his fingers in front of her face to snap her out of her trance.

Y/N jerked her head up at the source, turning towards the smiling man, John, her stepfather, with confusion and slight embarrassment, remembering how her mother was talking, and she hadn’t listened to a single word of it. She worried then that perhaps it was something important.

“Everything alright, kiddo? You looked kind of spaced out there.” John’s voice rang in her ears as she stared into his mocha brown eyes that mimicked that of freshly poured hot cocoa.

Y/N paused for a moment, processing his words in her mind.

“I’m okay,” she stated, her voice so soft that it was almost a whisper, yet she knew the man heard her clearly. Returning to her breakfast, now picking up her fork and beginning to eat, she lifted the edge of the plastic pumpkin up and over her mouth, stopping just above her nose.

“Are you sure? You don’t think it’d be easier to eat if you took that thing off?” John asked while raising an eyebrow.

“I guess, yeah.” Y/N agreed with him, hoping it’d get the interaction over faster. It didn’t.

“I mean, doesn’t it get stuffy in there?” John questioned again, taking a sip of his coffee, yet he didn’t take his eyes off her, making Y/N slightly shrink into her seat.

“No, I’m fine.” was the only thing that left her mouth, unsure what else to say.

“Alright, whatever you think, kiddo.” John shrugged, but luckily that was the end of it, his final remark said before he went back to face her mother.

With a small sigh leaving her lips, Y/N returned to her food, yet she couldn’t truly indulge in it like she previously wanted to, almost as if the magic had dissipated, leaving her with nothing but a bleak morning breakfast. Y/N could feel the occasional glances from John, glances so quick that she could barely decipher them, yet she knew it was something that had to do with her, causing her to shrink more into her seat. What was once delectable flavours bursting in her mouth was now just the chewing of food, each bite more tiring and boring than the last; the fluffiness of the pancakes having seemingly evaporated, leaving her with something that felt akin to rubber.

It didn’t matter. She just needed to finish breakfast and catch the bus to school.

That’s why she was even there in the first place.

—

The room was cold. That was the only thing she thought of as she stood in the school gymnasium. While the flimsy t-shirt and mandatory long shorts that reached her knees did little to protect her from the blasting A.C., her pumpkin head kept her face warm and safe, the feeling resembling the one she got from laying under her weighted blanket and curling up underneath the comforting pressure.

She was in her last period, P.E., sitting on the bench with all the other girls, waiting for the teacher to finish droning on about the benefits of dodgeball. She glanced to the other side of the gymnasium—the boys were already destroying one another, each hurling the ball with such force as if trying to surpass the speed of light. The loud sounds of laughter and yelps of pain felt overwhelming for Y/N, but thanks to the pumpkin head, she was able to shut it out, rendering the sounds to mere background noise.

It was both scary and amusing how the day could pass by so quickly. It seemed like just a few minutes ago, she was still in her first period, staring out the window, gazing out towards the grey morning skies. Now it was already afternoon, and she couldn’t see it, but the rainclouds indeed would have lifted, revealing the brilliant glow of the sun beneath.

“Alright girls, pick your teams!” the coach instructed, finally finishing her spiel. Two girls—it was the same ones each time—stood up and took turns picking from the other girls on the bench, making their teams.

Y/N was never much of a fan of dodgeball or sports in general. The idea of having balls hurled at you didn’t exactly appeal to her, and she didn’t think her hand-eye coordination was the best either. Still, it was mainly the pressure of constantly being alert and moving around that was overwhelming to her. Perhaps she was just lazy, but the thought of her having to dart around, dodging scary foam or rubber—she wasn’t sure—balls was already intimidating, causing her to already want to slump down and lie on the floor. Maybe even play dead.

From what she could tell, most girls felt the same way as her, except for the few that took P.E. a bit too seriously.

She didn’t have a choice here, though, as she was now standing on one side of the gymnasium with her team, the fear of the ball colliding with her body making her tremble uncomfortably.

The game started with a blow from the teacher’s whistle. Some of the girls opposing her dashed towards the center line, picking up their balls while Y/N remained in the back, hoping that she could avoid the crossfire.

Then one of the girls who did, in fact, take P.E. far too seriously (and also did not like Y/N very much) picked up their ball and glanced at her, the way an eagle would lock its eyes on its prey, and at that moment she knew she couldn’t escape. She tried to prepare herself to dodge, but as soon as the ball left the other girl’s hand, she realized her body’s response was neither to fight nor to flight but to freeze.

So there she stood, like a deer still before the headlights of a car that was about to come crashing into them.

And just like that car, the ball was flying towards her, soon to slam into her chest.

And just like that deer, Y/N fell backwards, her tailbone painfully hitting the smooth gymnasium floor, her elbows sliding against it. She couldn’t breathe, the ball having effectively winded her, and everything felt like too much at that moment—the burn from the friction against the ground, the jolt of discomfort that shot up her tailbone straight into her spine, and the feeling of the ball ramming into her ribcage all replaying over and over. It was sensory hell.

The girl who had hit her was walking towards Y/N, stopping a few feet before her. Some of the other girls had paused their playing and were now glancing over at the scene.

“Whoops, sorry.” the girl apologized, but Y/N could tell that she didn’t really mean it, with the way she looked to the side as she said those words, her voice monotone, not conveying either care or regret for the situation; it was glaringly apparent that she did it intentionally and only apologized in fear of the consequences.

And so, Y/N forced herself to sit up with a struggle, slightly wincing at the movement of her muscles.

“It’s fine,” she muttered quietly, getting up and walking towards the bench.

It was what she had wanted originally, to sit on the bench and wait until school was over, but the sight of seeing the other girls having fun playing without her was ever so slightly painful. It was a fun that wasn’t present when she was there with them, a fun that she couldn’t have because she was weird, she was weak.

And she knew that’s what everyone else thought of her, as well. While she wasn’t bullied in school, nor harassed, which she was grateful for, she also couldn’t ignore the strange looks they gave her, the way they hesitated before speaking to her, the whispers behind her back when they thought she wasn’t listening, and worst of all, the snide comment someone would make every once in a while.

‘Weirdo.’ That was the word she heard the most often, but that was from her fellow students. ‘Childish’ was the one most often used by the teachers, as they shook their heads in disapproval of her wearing her pumpkin head at school, calling her mother up for a meeting occasionally to discuss Y/N’s ‘unsociable behaviour.’

Sometimes, she just wanted to tear the pumpkin off her head so that she could walk like all the others, talk like all the others, and live like all the others. And she had tried to do so, she had tried so many times, over and over and over, but every time she tried, she felt so vulnerable, she felt so defenceless.

She felt like a baby bird, freshly hatched from its egg, featherless and unable to fly, just prey for larger animals to feed upon.

So, she wore it for comfort, even if that meant sitting on the bench alone.

—

The crisp September wind was ever so present, making her bring her knees up to her chest as she sat on the wooden park bench, bundling herself up tightly within her own clothing.

In her hands were some uneaten crackers from lunch, and at her feet were some happy ducks quacking for more of said crackers. It made her chuckle, the way they resembled little babies cooing at their mothers, their happiness reflecting in how they waddled closer step by step, like a toddler learning to walk. Y/N felt special, seeing how they were willing to leave the comfort of the pond behind them, walk up to her for food, trusting her like they always did.

And she had rightfully earned it, crumbling the cracker within her closed fist and opening it to throw the crushed pieces towards them, watching them rush towards the food.

She found it a bit pathetic that she felt more of a connection to the ducks in the local park than the peers in her school, but like her pumpkin head, it brought a particular type of comfort to her that nothing else could.

And just like everything else today, that comfort was taken away from her.

Her pleasant moment of serenity was shattered by the sound of a boy laughing at one of the ducks, which had just aggressively ripped a large piece of bread out of his pale hands. The sound was accompanied by the teasing of an older girl, saying how even ducks could beat him for a piece of bread. It was a melody of an interaction that Y/N had never experienced before—the playful teasing of someone instead of subtle, passive-aggressive comments that would confuse her on whether they were jokes or real insults.

Her eyes darted toward and focused on the source of the sound from behind the safety of her pumpkin head, like a cat experimenting with a small piece of yarn.

She could see them clearly, at the other end of the pond; a boy, a girl, and an older woman who Y/N assumed to be their mother.

The mother was sitting on the bench opposing her, watching her children give bread to the ducks and enjoy themselves. A soft yet tired look graced her features; it reminded Y/N of her own mother, who often donned that expression. Her brown hair was tied up neatly in a bun, and her green eyes were reminiscent of the rich colour of summer’s leaves. She was sitting elegantly with her maroon coat and black boots, complete with a beige scarf; Y/N would even say she was overdressed for the weather.

The girl appeared to be a young adult, older than the boy, who appeared to be about her age but not by much, likely his older sister. Her long, platinum blonde hair was tied into a low ponytail, brilliant and shining and impressively long, falling down to her waist in soft waves, her hair reminding her of Rapunzel. She wore a white sweater, cropped short at her waist, with a pair of baby blue jeans that weren’t too tight but at the same time still hugged her curves well; she resembled one of those girls in the magazines you’d see in the store. And her eyes, those light green eyes, were similar to her mother’s; only hers were brighter, like the green grass of a springtime meadow. She was nothing short of gorgeous.

However, no one caught her attention more than the boy.

Freckles adorned his pale skin, pale to an unnatural, concerning degree. If she was younger and still believed that vampires existed, perhaps she would have suspected he was one. Y/N could only assume that he didn’t go out much. His hair was brown and fluffy, tousled and she couldn’t help but find herself yearning to run her fingers through it, to feel if his chocolate brown locks were as soft as they looked. He was dressed in much more plain attire, unlike his mother and sister; he wore a thick striped sweater with the colours of the season, autumn. Aside from the sweater, he only wore some wide-length jeans, darker blue and much more casual and looser than what his sister had on. He looked cute in a strange way. And his eyes, bold and with a fiery spark of amber, practically taking on a golden glow, she couldn’t resist staring at them even though she had learned that it was rude to stare.

It got worse the moment they made eye contact.

His eyes were mesmerizing, drawing her in; so many emotions in one glance alone that made her breath fall short. Even if they were narrowing, confusion and irritation now painted on his face, she couldn’t bring herself to stop staring. It was like she was paralyzed, like she was staring at the scene of a car crash, knowing that she should look away yet not being able to, her body trembling as he was now whispering to his mom and sister, both of them also looking at her with discomfort.

At that very moment, Y/N felt an assortment of feelings.

On the one hand, she was afraid. He was like everyone else, a seemingly ordinary teenage boy just hanging out with his family by the park, likely now creeped out from being stared at by a stranger with a pumpkin head for a face. Now that she thought about it, she was surprised that he didn’t stare at her sooner; most people did. Perhaps now he and his family would leave, uncomfortable with her presence, or maybe he’d start making fun of her to his family, jeering at her appearance and calling her what she was—a weirdo that didn’t know not to stare.

But on the other hand, she was utterly and entirely captivated. She couldn’t stop looking at him even if his reaction was negative. She had never met someone so enthralling; never in the sixteen years she had lived in this town had she seen someone so oddly entrancing. She concluded from that that he must be new, seeing as she had lived in this town her whole life and had never seen him once before. Rarely did they have newcomers in this small town. Thoughts blossomed in her head about who he might be and why he was here.

It was a bizarre feeling. Was this what her stepfather referred to when he spoke of his hormonal teenage years? She didn’t know.

But what she did know was that the boy had stepped away from his family and was now circling around the pond, marching his way directly towards her, sending her straight into a newfound state of panic, her body freezing against her will. At that moment, she was sent back into P.E. class all over again, but this time he was the dodgeball. A beguiling, enchanting dodgeball, but terrifying and approaching her at a rapid pace nonetheless.

And like in P.E., she was paralyzed, continuing to helplessly stare, all the while trembling in her spot as he neared her, stopping a few feet before her and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What are you staring at?”

next chapter soon...

[lovingseventeen]

11: 27 a.m. - h. joshua

a/n: thinking about this instead of my degree LOL

it’s another day of trying to get work done in your university’s doing hall. you like it here because the bustling noise of people around you starts to blur out at some point and you enjoy the rays of sunlight that filter through the windows.

in your second hour of writing a paper, you see a figure in your peripheral start to move from your side to right in front of you.

“is this seat taken?”

you glance up from your laptop to the standing boy in front of you. you take a quick glance to see that the cafeteria is at that state where it’s quite packed and most seats are either taken or nearby louder groups of friends.

“no, you can go ahead” you reply, beginning to go back to your laptop and your third body paragraph.

he pulls out the chair to sit down, soon taking out a notebook and his own laptop, plugging in his headphones.

you usually don’t mind sharing a table with anyone, you’re usually too busy to pay attention to them and before you know it, they’re usually getting up to leave anyway. but not with this boy.

you find yourself stealing glances with him somehow piquing your interest. for someone dressed so casually he looked pretty. even in just a black crew neck, even in the university lighting that you had to try to romanticize for yourself to study sometimes. trying to not be so obvious with your stares, you made yourself look away after a couple of seconds.

this one moment you saw him run his hand through his hair as he stretched back in his seat. a little yawn escaped his lips as he returned to sitting normally, but not before he caught your eye- even for a fleeting moment. this made your heart skip a beat and you quickly averted your eyes, acting like you were in the middle of typing something.

you didn’t notice how he chuckled at your antics as you were too embarrassed to look back up.

the next hour or so passes by without you looking back at him, you wanting to avoid even that little moment of embarrassment. through this avoidance you did manage to get work done, but at a much slower pace because a small part of you wanted to peak at him again. but if you did, you might not look away.

when you hear the chair in front of you scoot away, a part of your heart sank. it felt a little too awkward to start conversation but a part of you didn’t want him to go either.

from your peripheral, you could see him get up and pack his stuff away. you wondered if you’d see him again as your university was relatively big and there as no way you’d know everyone.

but before he fully leaves, he places a post-it to the left of your laptop. when you look up at him he gives you a little smile before walking away.

when you look at the post-it, it says i’m joshua, here’s my insta! with with his handle and a little squiggly smiley face next to it.