#my dreams and wants as a kid was to be skinny blonde small + skinny nose i wanted smaller lips (mine aren’t even massive idk what i was on)

[betterthanu333]

⭐️ diary July/1/2024

Day 5:

I fucking hate myself. I binged like 3 days ago and couldn’t stop. Last time I’m doing it bc I wasted 4 days on being closer to my dream body and for what? My friend and I were joking about how we need someone to break up with us so we can glow up and drop the weight, and I was like that’s not gonna do anything for me bc I would hypothetically just binge myself into depression after a break up. But no, today I found my equivalent to a break up glow up.

I was out walking, and I passed by 2 hot college boys walking their dogs with their fathers which are kinda hot as well. I hated my self so much bc first of all, I passed by one of the boys before on a walk as well and he was good looking and I was wearing a fucking oversized twilight t-shirt. Never again. Oh but it did happen again because I today I saw him and 3 more hotties ( the other boy and the dads) in an oversized Nike t shirt. But I didn’t cafe about that, my hair was a mess and I looked beat. I was looking on the floor most of the time and then I just glanced up and I could swear I saw one of the boys like smile just a little bit. And I swear it was because they could sense my anxiety and embarrassment on how ass I looked. After that I hit my cheek so hard, I hated that I didn’t lose weight and even if I do, I do look as good as the skinny blond girls they probably fall for. It’s not that I hate the girls, I just wish I could look like them, and I’ve always wanted to have their bodies. I was a kid when I first felt that, & was like it’s fine I’m a kid. But I’m 18 now and there are girls younger than me who are prettier are are probably the same type those boys like. I’m barely keeping myself from crying right now bc what the actual fuck am I doing. Like it’s now or never, and I hate that when I’m on a grind with fasting/restricting and then my mom telling me to eat and just bugging me. When I have little to no food noise, she just brings it back when she throws a quick and small comment about when was the last time you ate?

Anyways, it’s day 1 for the last fucking time bc I’m crying right now because I hate how I look so much and just wish I can wake up and have my dream body but I know it’s not that easy. I hate that I see fashion inspo that I love but I know I can’t pull off because of my big thighs and loose fat arms. All I can do for now is walk because I’m not allowed to go to a gym. And the only work out I do is the blogilates arm workout but I feel like it’s not gonna work.

Please please please, I beg you, if you have any tips tell me! Especially concerning restricting or food, because sometimes I want food just to chew or have something in my mouth. Love you guys, and just know ur not the only one struggling with losing the weight but I swear we are gonna fucking do it I don’t care anymore it’s my only goal in life.

[justme315]

Family 2/?

Elephant

Next part:

!Warning!

fear, angst, hurt/comfort, course words, speaking of mental ilnesses, it's rather fluffy i think..

--------------------------

James POV:

It froze me in place. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Was it real? It looked so real even though it sounded like a lie. Like a fairy tale. Or have I really lost my mind. My head is playing tricks on me. Or maybe still dreaming? I'm fucking mental! What the-

I stop overthinking about all the possible scenarios as I hear more sobs leave this tiny child. It's crying. It's real. This baby is really here. And it's crying. I observe it. She looks like a little girl, possibly no older than 7, and very skinny. Her blonde hair falls all over her face and her tiny (I think) ocean blue eyes turn red with tears. Her whole body is bound with a rope from which it looks like she can't get free from. She looks terrified. She looks like she can't move, she breaths deep between sobs, and every single tear falling down her tiny face breaks my heart into a million pieces. I just want to grab, hug and comfort her, but I'm pretty sure that would scare her even more. I must look like a monster in her eyes! She tugs at the rope, probably wanting to be as far away from me as physically possible. Still, I can't leave her like this, she's still a small child and at this point she can hurt herself.

"Hi" I say in the softest tone I can manage. I whisper very quietly, because I'm afraid that even a little louder might scare her even more. Her little oceans close on my eyes. Her whole body begins to tremble horribly. She cries harder and harder, each tear breaking my heart more and more.

"I promise it's all okay, I won't hurt you sweetheart" I say very gently without taking my eyes off her tiny, terrified body.

"There, let me help you" I say as I bring my hands closer to her. I just want to untangle her, but when she sees my hands coming, she only panics more and screams:

"No, no, no! Mr. Giant, please don't kill me! No! Cain! Cain!!"

Her cries and screams make my blood go cold. I pull my hands away from as quickly as possible.

"Okay, I understand, no touching. Sweetheart, you're safe, I won't hurt you" I repeat, but the tiny child doesn't seem to believe me. She only struggles more and her cries get louder. I didn't want to scare her, I meant to help! Although now that I think about it, I'm really huge compared to her. I understand that she's scared, but I can't leave her like this because she'll hurt herself. I have to help her somehow. I look around the kitchen for something to help me. I see one of the stuffed animals, a tiny one, probably not much bigger than this girl. An elephant. A pink elephant that Mark and I bought some time ago. It was so small that it easily fit in my hand. I quickly grabbed it and looked back at the kid.

"Hello sweetpea, this is Mr. Elephant. Mr. Elephant is very worried about you and wants to help you. Will you let him?" I speak very quietly and gently, showing her the toy, hoping it will work. The tiny girl looks at me from time to time for a moment, but she can't take her eyes off the toy. I can see that she wants to hug it, but she can't. It works!

"It's okay honey, Mr. Elephant will help untie you and then you'll give him a big hug, okay?" I speak very softly and carefully, taking advantage of the fact that since she has focused on the toy, she cries less and calms down. I approach her with a toy in my hand and when I don't see any negative reaction I get close enough for her to touch the toy as I grab the top of the rope with my other hand and lift it, incredulous how light this child is. As soon as I manage to lift the rope, I lower the toy on the countertop located under the girl and put her on my hand. Fear returns to her eyes.

"It's okay sweetheart, Mr. Elephant has no fingers so I have to help him untie you, but you're about to give him a big hug" I say as I start to untangle her. She's shaking, you can tell she's scared, but she's trying to be brave, she doesn't cry that much. Every now and then I whisper some gentle words to her to comfort and calm her down, until I finally manage to untangle her.

"You did amazing, you're very brave" I say, putting the stuffed animal next to her in my hand and she immediately hugs it tight. I smile to myself and place my finger gently on her back, massaging it. At first she looks like she wants to push me away and run away crying, but after a while she calms down and doesn't run away from my touch.

"I'm James. What's your name sunshine?" I ask as I slowly walk over and sit down in a chair by the table. The tiny girl doesn't respond for a moment and looks like she's about to panic again, but then she manages to say a quiet:

"Lizzie"

------------------

Cains POV:

I just woke up and I knew something was wrong. Or more likely everything was wrong. Lizzie wasn't with me. I searched the entire hideout, but I couldn't find her here. I checked my stuff afterwards and it turned out she had taken my bag and hook. She went borrowing. I can not believe it! How could I have let this happen?! What if something happens to her?! How if a human finds her? I have to go save her!

----------------

Marks POV:

I heard strange noises coming from the kitchen. I knew James was already up but I didn't understand what's going on so I decided to go.

"Hey, hey, there's no reason to cry" I heard my husband's voice. I walked into the kitchen and saw that he was sitting at the table holding a stuffed elephant in his hands. Oh no. He went crazy.

"Baby?" I said in a worried voice as I stepped closer.

"Honey, please stay calm and quiet, you'll scare her" he said in a soft voice. Oh hell. He's lost his mind. He really lost his mind.

"Baby, please put that stuffed animal away. It's a girl, right?" I speak in a soft tone. I don't want to scare him. Who knows what it will be now? Should I call an ambulance? James stares at me askance for a moment, then has a sort of epiphany.

"I'm not talking about that stuffed animal. Come closer, look" he says, I decide to listen to him. I move closer and see that he has something else in his hands. I look and see... a little girl. Oh my God.

We are both insane!

[smallerplaces]

Zoe, Varsity Captain

I found where I put her!

I keep my smaller dollhouses and all my fashion dolls in a pair of big white cabinets with doors. Turns out that I had shoved Zoe's box in sideways next to a dollhouse painted the same blue as the box edge, in a space where I thought only a miniature taco truck fit. So here she is!

Zoe is a find from Five Below a couple months ago. At the time, she came in this blonde version and in an Black version. The faces were the same, and I impulsively went for the doll who looked like I did as a child, though I was never that athletic. Her brand is Brooklyn Lollipop, which is a real brand with its own web site (as opposed to the kind of white label brand that exists only to slap a name on a box). Alas, Zoe is not currently on their site, only Sophie (an ordinary Barbie clone) and Sophie Sixteen (who is not a teenager, but an Evi Love clone with one Chelsea-sized girl).

For a minute or two, I was worried the locker didn't open. I actively want the locker as storage! However, some pushing and prying did the trick.

Here she is! Zoe is a skinny girl with a large head, and overall pretty cute.

At some point, I thought she might be the same size as Kid Kore Katie. Obviously, I was very wrong about that. Kid Kore Katie is about 8 inches tall (classic Skipper). Kid Kore Jodi is about 5 inches tall (slightly larger than classic Kelly). Zoe is in between. So while "varsity" implies high school sports, she would seem to be about seven years old.

I bought Zoe for her extensive articulation! She has knees, elbows, and wrists -- that's all unusual in her small size. She cannot touch her (flattish, very Sparkle Girlz) face, but she can post a lot. Oddly, she does not have molded underwear. I grew up in an era when dolls didn't, so I don't care.

Zoe's tiny clothes are pretty good. The sweater and jeans are constructed as a single piece, which gave me an idea. Can Zoe wear the Four Friends clothing from Dollar Tree that I use for Evi Love and other taller, sturdier toddlers?

She totally can! Even the shoes are a perfect fit.

In fact, the dresses that look wrong on Evi Love because they're too long for a toddler fit Zoe perfectly!

Zoe is definitely a different species from Arvin Lebec, my Mego Lion Rock war hero.

Then as I was fiddling with photos, I realized that (a) I'd probably bought her to fill the Chelsea "larger than a Kelly" niche and (b) that would make her a peer of Creata Today's Girl Hilary.

Or... not. No, I have somehow managed to acquire a uniquely sized doll with a large head, which is high on the list of "things I will not do," but darn, look at that articulation!

Here she is with a crowd of variously sized young girls, including Emma Dreams, the "looks like me as a kid" pick from the demise of 99 Cents Only.

[strandsofgold]

a/n: i have been wanting to write this fic for so long and it's finally done. i disagree with a lot of the opinions on eliza in the fandom, so i wanted to write a fic about their first interaction after eliza finds out she's pregnant based on my own personal headcanons. also, this fic was originally supposed to be from arthur's pov, and i kind of want to write that also, but idk.

rating: teen and up for things that are mostly implied (see warnings).

warnings: implied/referenced racism (very implied and nothing explicit in any way, more so black woman historically not being allowed to own property at this point in time), implied/referenced racism, implied/referenced death.

When Arthur shows up at her front door, Eliza is both relieved and terrified and so so tired.

It Will Rain Eventually

There are three sharp knocks on the door. The sound reverberates through the house, and Eliza awakes with a start. Her back is aching.

“One second!” she yells, scrambling out of her seat.

She opens the door. It’s still outside, no wind, but no sun either. The sky is dark, clouds hanging low–swallows fluttering about closer to the ground than they usually do–and the trees surrounding her quaint little home look more gray than green in the dim obscured light of the midday sun.

“Sorry, I was just…”

She trails off. Something hard and cold grips her throat, an invisible fist tightening around her larynx.

Arthur is as she remembers him: tall, a bit to the skinny side–even if he’s filled out since they last saw each other–and handsome as the day is long. His shaggy blond hair has been cut short and close to his face, accentuating his cheekbones and strong jaw. He looks apologetic.

It’s like déjà vu.

For just a second, she’s back in the saloon, handing out drinks, taking orders from rude customers. Getting heckled and tripped and harassed. It hadn’t stopped when Arthur entered, their eyes meeting briefly–and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from being taken by the simple handsomeness of him, the hat low on his forehead, striding across the salon in a way that conveyed earned confidence. It had only earned her another leer and a sharp comment about eyeing her next payment.

She wasn’t a working girl but that never stopped anyone from assuming. They always assumed. Everything.

But they had gotten to talking, perhaps a bit of flirting–he was kind to her and the rest of the waitress’, and she was sure she was not the only one throwing either curious or coy glances his way.

And then one of their regulars had something real nasty, and Arthur’s eyes had narrowed. His fists had stirred.

He had found her after it ended, knocking on the door to her small chamber, space for nothing more than a bed, a dresser, and a mirror. He had apologized–asked for forgiveness for disturbing her while she worked–for causing trouble where there shouldn’t have been any, his knuckles an angry red shade. And then she kissed him. And he kissed back. And then she was up against the dresser, and the wall, and–at last–the bed, the mirror fogging up as she caught glimpses of their reflection, of the state they were in.

I’m staying in town for a bit, he had said, and they met again and again and again, and it was all like a dream–a flurry of touches and tongues. It hadn’t been love, she didn’t kid herself like that, but it was something burning and hot, and she had drunk it up. Right up until her throat got scorched.

She should have known better. But when she found that out it was already too late.

He’s got his hat in hand, held against his stomach: an honest pretension of manners.

He swallows; clears his throat. “Miss Autumn.”

The air between them is cold and curdled–a sort of awkwardness that stems from knowing what conversation they’re about to have. A conversation none of them want to have.

Eliza stays silent. Keeping her breathing in check, she takes a step back and motions for him to follow her inside. Still, neither of them say anything.

She pulls out a chair and Arthur sits, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He folds his hands and lowers his head. He looks like a man in prayer. But she’s kidding herself–his hands are nothing like that of a priest whose hands are cold and unfeeling and impartial. Arthur’s hands are warm and kind and steeped in blood and violence she knows he has never attempted to wash or rid himself of.

“My pa died.” The splintering of silence is almost too much to bear. It’s a truth she has yet to speak out loud, as if keeping it locked behind her teeth would somehow make it not so. If Arthur is in any way affected by her words, he doesn’t let it show. “Two months ago. That’s the only reason I reached out.”

He nods, pointedly looking anywhere but her. She’s sure he’s taking in the state of her home, how cold and empty it is, the fireplace in the corner gathering more dust than anything else. She hasn’t had time to clean much–not anything besides the essentials–too exhausted and aching and heartbroken all the time.

“No one knows yet,” she continues, pulling out a chair for herself, tries not to cringe at the way it scrapes against the ground. “If they did, they’d take the house.”

She doesn’t really know why she adds that. To gain more pity? To make him understand the danger he’s put her in?

To simply air out a bit of the worry that’s been gnawing at her soul bit by bit ever since she buried her father?

It’s so still and quiet, Eliza is sure she could hear a needle drop. It’s been like that for so long.

A part of her wants to reach out, wants to press her hand into his–tell him it’s all gonna be okay. That she doesn’t regret what they did; what they shared.

But Eliza isn’t a liar.

“I’m alone. And it won’t be long before I’ll have trouble working.”

At that, Arthur turns to look at her. He still isn’t looking her in the eyes, but he runs his gaze from top to bottom, before his eyes settle on the undeniable swell of her stomach. She hasn’t felt a kick yet, she’s not far enough along, but when he stares at her belly, she swears she can feel something move. She’s probably just getting sick again.

Arthur’s face is blank, expressionless, save for a twitch at his jaw, like he’s grinding his teeth.

The silence is unbearable.

“I ain’t no kind of father,” he says eventually. And there’s this, this–this acidity to it, this sharpness to his words that nearly make Eliza flinch.

The air is thick with tension. She feels like she’s choking on it. This is what she expected. “I understand.”

Then Arthur sighs, squares his shoulders, and, with some sort of quiet, kind defeat, says, “But I’ll do my best.”

Arthur’s words are like lightning in a bottle; completely unfathomable and unendingly unrealistic. For just a second, Eliza believes she must have misheard him, but then she turns her head and he’s staring directly at her and his eyes are so earnest and open and beautiful, and it’s concerning how easily she believes him to be telling the truth. Even if it is a lie, she thinks, it’s a really pretty dream. One she’s willing to indulge in. Just for a bit.

The idea of Arthur living with her, breathing life into their home, even if the only thing they shares is love for an unborn child, has Eliza breathing hard. Her hands are shaking, she realizes with a start, and she feels like laughing, but oh it would sound hysterical even if it’s born out of the simple joy of having someone care just a bit.

“Come with me,” he continues. “You know what I am, who I run with. We’ll provide for you. We have other women. You won’t be alone.”

And just like that, the pretty dream is shattered – like the glass of a bottle she thought she could catch lightening in.

She stares at him, knows disbelief is written clearly across har face.

He had told her of his life under the open sky–of robberies and hunting and playing dress-up to fool rich folk. Had talked of patching up injuries. Of moving from town to town to clearing to forest to cliff to town. He had told to her of the loss of fellow men.

Of beauty and nature and freedom. It had sounded so wonderful, so fantastic and unreal and she knows that it is. The loss written in the lines of the crinkles around Arthur’s eyes speak for themselves.

“That ain’t no place to raise a child.” She knows she’s being cold, knows she sounds angry, but what does he expect from a proposal like that?

It’s faint, but she recognizes the twitch in his lip, that twitch of annoyance people get when she talks back a bit too much, and she feels herself shrink back into her chair.

Arthur seems to notice because he clenches his fists and sighs.

“Sorry,” he says, “I just... I think it’ll be good. She’ll have more people looking after her than I did most of my childhood.”

At that, Eliza allows herself to smile, the slightest sliver of fondness, as Arthur lets his private thoughts slip out. This softness is what she experienced in the aftermath of their lovemaking – the featherlight touches and warm embrace as he tangled his legs with hers. Held her close. Like he never wanted her to leave.

“You want it to be a girl?”

Arthur lowers his head. He’s quiet for some time.

“I guess.”

And Eliza can only nod. She understands, or knows, what thoughts must go through his head. It is so clear that he, this man of mud and violence and tenderness all in one, will never understand the situation he has put her in.

If it is a girl, she thinks, she will live a life more horrid than that of her mother. She does not say this, doesn’t articulate or explain why a baby boy would be much easier off under the scrutiny of those surrounding him. The logistics of her pregnancy, the target it has put on her back, is too much to bear and she does not have the energy to sit Arthur down and explain to him exactly what it is that he has done.

“The life you live…” she continues, schooling her face, “it ain’t a life I want our child to live. It ain’t a life I want to live.”

Arthur chuckles–sort of, it’s more of a snort really–and shakes his head.

Eliza narrows her eyes. “What?”

“It’s nothing, just…” He shakes his head again and runs a hand through his hair. “You sound like someone I used to know.”

She can feel her brows furrow. Has he gotten someone else pregnant then? “Whoever they was, they sound sensible.”

Arthur blinks, sighs in a sort of dejected way and says, “Yeah, something like that.”

“I don’t expect you to be a father.” She ignores the way her words make him cringe, the way he clenches his eyes shut as if punched in the stomach. “I just need money. Money to put shoes on our baby’s feet and food in their belly. I need money to keep this roof above their head.”

“I understand, and I’ll do my best. I can’t promise anything extravagant, but–“

“I don’t need extravagant.” She sets her lips in a hard line. “I just need to survive. It’s what I’ve done all these years in this lion den of false politeness and– and propriety. It’s what my parents did and it’s what my grandpa did. I don’t pretend to be something I’m not, and I don’t want you doing that neither.”

Now, for the first time since he entered her home, Arthur looks her in the eyes. They’re as startlingly clear and beautiful as they were last time they spoke. But they’re also sad. And regretful. Somehow, Eliza fully understands that the regret is not aimed at her, not something she’s had a hand in.

On some level or another, she understands that Arthur has lived and lost.

And so, she softens up. “All I want from you, is effort.” She finally reaches out and grabs his hand, notes the way it dwarves her own, the rough, callouses of his palms pressing into her equally worn skin.

His other hand comes to lay on top of hers, her hand know caught between his, and he runs his fingertips over the back of her hand. She doesn’t know whether he does it absentmindedly or not, but it feels nice. It feels nice and homely.

“I’ll do my best,” he says eventually, and squeezes her hand.

Eliza could have cried.

“They’ll get my surname too.” She says it fast, rips the plaster off and quietly prays that it doesn’t sting too much.

Arthur only nods. He looks deep in thought.

“Why?”

“My grandma’s name was Autumn. My grandpa chose it to remember her, after he ran with my pa. And he didn’t wanna keep the Adams name.” Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, and Eliza almost scoffs. “I just… I wanna keep it. I want them to have it. They won’t be recognized as a Morgan anyway.”

“I guess that’s… true. I’ll do my best,” he repeats again, but it’s more to himself than her really, muttered under his breath.

She allows herself to smile, tired as she is. It’s as though a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Like there’s a hand around her heart, like there usually is, but for once it’s not squeezing and hurting but warm and protective.

There are birds singing outside. Close to the ground.

It’ll rain eventually. Arthur’s kindness cannot stop that. But it’s nice to pretend that it can.

“Thank you.”

He nods at her and stands. He reaches into his satchel, fiddling around with its contents until he finds what he’s looking for. He pulls out a little pouch that clinks and clanks when he reaches out toward her with it in his hand.

“Here, take this.”

It’s almost a question, something pleading in his voice.

“Thank you, Arthur.” It’s heavy in her hands, the pouch, but the promise in the coins held within grounds her.

She watches his back as he leaves.

“You’re a good man.” The words blurt out of her mouth before she can stop them.

At once, she’s embarrassed, but also… it’s the truth, she knows it is. A lesser man would have never showed up, would not have even entertained her pleadings and asks. Would perhaps have done something horrific and awful and all too common.

Arthur stops in the doorway and looks at the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I try to be,” he mutters before closing the door behind him.

[lixiebokie]

through his lens

———————————————————————

idol: hwang hyunjin x reader

photographer!hyunjin x artist!reader

———————————————————————

chapter 2: new life

📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼

“you sure you’re gonna be okay alone?” hyunjin tugged at your hands standing at the doorway you were trying to push him out of.

“i’ll be fine? make sure you don’t stay up too late. okay?”

“hmm.. what if i miss you tho?”

“then knock and if there’s no answer i’m sleeping dreaming of you!” hyunjin wrapped his arms around her before walking out the door waving goodbye.

“so how long have you and lover boy been together?” her roommate ash asked.

“hm? hyunjin? oh he’s not my boyfriend.”

“but you were litterally about to kiss?” she asked leaning against the door frame.

“we’re just really close, we’ve been friends since we were little.”

“so he’s single? good to know. feel sorry for his future girlfriends.” y/n was confused at her words. hyunjin has had girlfriends in the past just none of them have last more than 8 months without then getting jealous of her.

the dorm was small, but alright size for two people. and her roommate ashy was nice. they’d met while hyunjin was helping move box in, he was not fond of her at first but neither was y/n of his roommate. he was a small black haired boy with round eyes. she’d said hi while hyunjin was setting up his desk, but he ran away instantly and avoided any conversations with her or hyunjin.

atleast ashy was nice.

y/n still hoped she’d be able to swap rooms to maybe be with seungmin or even hyunjin if she was lucky. she heard jiha talking about how seungmin had been to the office trying to switch his dorm to share with hyunjin, as he’d ‘be more comfortable’ but they dismissed him as soon as he arrived. he must of not been the first that day to ask. seungmin was roomed with some boy called felix. over text min described him as really sweet, and someone she’d get along with very well.

jiha also has sent messages about her roommate to the groupchat. she was blonde, skinny girl with ‘the most stylish clothes’ she’d ever seen. jiha only judged people off looks, she didn’t say anything about what she was like. but that was typical for her.

ashy invited y/n to come visit her friends not wanting to leave her in the dorm on her own for the first night. y/n would have went but ashy wasn’t in her first year so the thought of older friends scared her. especially when ashy walked out the door with a cigarette in hand and some spray paint.

hyunjin had made his way back to her room.

it was no surprise. seungmin and jiha had betted how long it would be until he was back. seungmin won with the guess 1 hour and 5 minutes. he’d made himself at home. throwing his boots off as soon as he walked in, and threw him on the bed sheets she’d just put on. curled up in her bed scrolling through netflix on her laptop.

“y/n im serious, if we out her to the office and say you’re not comfortable they will have to switch you!”

“seungmin said there’s no free dorms for two people so i’d be stuck with another random person. and ashy’s nice.”

hyunjin groaned rolling his side.

“maybe we could get a flat off campus just us. not jiha or seungmin, us.”

she liked the idea but the 792,205 won in her bank said different. the idea of waking up to hyunjin every morning made her so happy.

when she was little, on the weekends if she wasn’t spending the night at his house she’d be straight over as soon she woke up. summer time was the best, they would play in the paddling pool in his garden until it was cold, then would be in his house building forts to watch movies until they fell asleep.

she wanted to be a kid again.

the only reason she had grown up was because hyunjin was by her side the whole way through.

hyunjin was now curled up against her tired of waiting for her answer. she knew if ashy came back any time soon she’d wake hyunjin up with the amount of screaming she do asking ‘how they were just friends’ but her and hyunjin weren’t just friends, they are best friends.

y/n also hoped the next day at uni hyunjin wasn’t so clingy. she loved him and his clingyness but it also attracted lots of attention between the two. ever since they were little, everyone thought they were meant to be.

when each set of parents talked about their wedding they’d always end it with ‘and one day you’ll be married to y/n / hyunjin.’

when they were 5 the other kids asked if they kissed each other, and kids having no common sense hyunjin would kiss her cheek every time they asked.

when they were 10 teachers had to ask them to stop being so cuddly because it was ‘inappropriate’

when they were 13 their friends whloe heartily shipped them, even though they knew how much it pissed them off.

even up until now at 19 they still get old woman asking how they were so lucky enough to find each other or how cute they were. like the other day in the shop.

hyunjin was never bothered by the comments, it was a sort of compliment to him, showing him and his best friend were proud to show each other off. but y/n on the other hand hated it. when she was younger it wasn’t t as bothering, but when hyunjin started getting noticed by girls and them shipping them that’s when it pissed her off.

but hyunjin never cared he’d not want to be shipped with anyone but his best friend.

📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼📸🌼

[lovethesequelbaybee]

me & kurt.

10 Famous People With Scoliosis. That's how it started. I don't often admit that my obsession with Nirvana and Kurt Cobain as a 14-year-old in 2008 came from some ugly html website meant to make kids feel more at ease with their spinal deformities.

It was always cooler to explicate a more cinematic moment; the first time someone puts on "Smells Like Teen Spirit" for you, the first time you see that yellow squiggle subversion of the smiley face adjoined to the serif-font NIRVANA t-shirt on some doomy mall goth, the first time the local classic rock station in town injects "Come As You Are" into your earlobes.

But the truth is though I was abstractly aware of the magic in those melodies and production, I didn't really feel and understand the music until I learned more about the person's life who'd written them.

Seeing Kurt as the only cool, shaggy-haired, and haphazardly-dressed person on the list (also the only dead person), my pre-teen raised-as-a-boy brain was firing and I began watching YouTube docs on his life, his drawings, his art, his lamentations, his sarcastic quips, his gravely low drawl affixed to his dry humor, his blue eyes that burst so lively even in black and white photographs.

Like this dude, I was a skinny blonde depressive, friends with the theatre kids and music kids and newspaper kids and ridiculed with homophobic slurs by the jock breeds. I also lived in a small, lame town that was frequently cold and whose only hangout was a single coffee shop and whose only excitement could be found via vandalism, cursing, Apatow-era comedies, and loud music.

The chronic pain in my spine and my weak frame didn't feel so brittle when I could blast through Nevermind and In Utero in between watching and rewatching live performances, interviews, and eventually reading three different biographies of the man (which, surprisingly, I all rented from my Christian-ass high school library, known to not carry certain books that may have been too edgy or subversive. Fuck, in that town, Pepperjack Cheese was subversive).

I ripped holes in my jeans and grew my hair long and washed it less. I got droopier sweaters with bigger stripes and exclusively wore sneakers.

I don't know that I would've been cognizant of or able to articulate this then, but I had never before seen an artist be so capable of humor and melancholy simultaneously. Around my friends, I was jocular and amiable and the facilitator for hangout or party logistics. Internally and corporeally, I was in pain, deep, constant, chronic pain. Walking, sitting, standing, sleeping, it all hurt. It made me resent the things around me, the people I loved, the books I had to carry.

Every chance I got to implement Kurt or Nirvana into an English paper or journalistic endeavor for the school paper, I would. Knowing the band's impact and lifespan were so immense yet so limited made me crave every single detail, even though so many of them were yarns by Kurt himself. I related, often embellishing my own personal stories and dreams into something resembling a caricature of myself.

I may have been a lithe, witty kid to everyone around me, lustless and harmless to boys and girls who felt no pain and were fortunate enough to experience that "immortal" feeling so consistently and often inappropriately affixed to teenagers.

I was very aware I was mortal, I couldn't think from all the misery my body was inflicting on me. I wanted to die.

But at the same time I felt like if this emaciated and misunderstood kid across the country in some other shitty frigid town could make a big impact on the world and art, maybe I could too. Maybe I could do it and not die. I mean, at the time I honestly was young enough to believe the conspiracy theories about his death. I, like many people used to and many still do, considered suicide weakness, a failure, something someone I loved who was so dead could and would not succumb to doing.

So in the minutiae of Kurt's short life, I would cling to the similarities: On freezing bus trips to neighboring towns for improv and other speech/theatre-related meets or competitions, I would look out the window and reread Heavier Than Heaven and find solace in Krist describing he and Kurt befriending some kids in Iowa on the road while waiting in line for Taco Bell, I would wonder which Iowa town and if my school bus was passing by it on the way to my performance and I would feel an almost spiritual kinship to thinking it might have been that town right there. If I had been the right age and the universe had been kind I might have met him. I wore converse and Levi's because he did, bought "grandma sweaters" as my girlfriend at the time would call them because he did. I drowned myself with all the influences he indicated he was inspired by or straight up "copying": Pixies, REM, The Vaselines, etc. etc. etc.

And though this obsession would fade as I got into other music and issues and as my back surgery in late 2008 quelled a lot of my physical ailments, the flame would fail to burn out over the years. And, perhaps due to my back surgery or all the stress and pain pills I'd had to take over the years, my stomach soon mimicked many of Kurt's stomach issues, IBS a blanket term for what doctors gave up on learning about (according to both Kurt and me now, at 30, having just had a colonoscopy and still not having many answers on why my stomach can handle less and less types of food every year).

It's comical how much of a poser I felt like for getting so into Nirvana in the mid-to-late 2000's, as if it was my fault I was born too late to see them live. Now in 2022 I'll see comments on YouTube videos of Gen Z folks typing about how much they love Kurt and Nirvana unabashedly, praising his prescient feminist, genderqueer, and anti-racist and capitalist tendencies, alongside his knack for high-powered, heavy pop and rock melodies with lyrics that could be stupid and sagacious all at once.

I felt wrong for the false nostalgia I had held onto, felt like I was disrespecting what real grunge kids in the 90's had really experienced. This was before I understood that nostalgia doesn't always have to be one's own; the kids playing teens on That 70's Show were making a living off of other people's nostalgia for god's sake.

And now I'm nostalgic for that nostalgia. For 2008. For the moments in between class where I was smartphoneless and rereading the same passages about the Reading Festival or SNL performance. For my stomach's previous durability and the simple existence of completing homework without a job or taxes or the knowledge of true intimacy with another person.

Being a teen is one of the most miserable times in your life, especially if you're chronically ill, furtively queer, and so full of emotions and creativity that seems to have no vehicle for existence. And I miss it dearly.

"Teenage angst has paid off well, now I'm bored and old" Kurt sang. And I'm happy to know more of who I am now. Grateful to have lived longer than Kurt. But I do miss the spark of that intense emotion sometimes. I have to focus more to try to access it now. Trying to access it is like trying to write when you don't feel like it, it simply can't happen. The "psychodelic angel" from Conor Oberst's "Landlocked Blues" is not always "tugging on your hand." You need a breakup or song or film or conversation to ignite the embers of youth, of intense hormones, of that particular throb.

Part of what he was looking for and trying to explore is what has kept me alive. Part of him lives in me, or so it feels like it. That's an amazing thing for art that was written off as depressing junk by a lot of my parents' generation to do.

Sometimes I'm depressing junk. Sometimes I'm attempting to be the life of the party. I'll probably always be skinny and blonde and physically feeble. But when I'm doing standup or writing a song or editing a script or drawing a picture, nobody can stop me from needing to endure those processes and the catharsis they provide. Nobody can pilfer what I feel.

[isajynx]

Chapter 1 Part 2

“Wow, ok tell me about your childhood”.

My childhood? My home is a land of a different color. Texas is my home state, and my hometown is in the geographical center of that state. Despite being grouped in the of “West Texas”, I was bour into the center of no action land. Home is centered in landscape rugged as it is often depicted in old western movies. Hills, woodlands, and densely populated with mesquite trees that surely out number of the people, easily by two or three. Wild animals are often seen in my front yard, often being fed scrapes from dinner the night before. A gated community full of trailer houses, situated in the county’s lake. My fellow childhood friends often called the community, “The Commune”. We were all convinced that the community was really an elusive cult run by a set of self-righteous hippies. “A village to raise the kids”, right? Anyway, if any child was caught misbehaving in any way, any and all adults had full clearance to unleash fury across our asses. I had my ass chapped a few times, a rebel through and through even then. When I would grow weary of the commune and the people in it, I would run off and hide in the woods. Just me and my walk-man. Singing along like no was listening, dreaming I would be discovered, moved away from there, and be famous. I love the woods, they are still my safe place, even today. It was the place I could be whoever and whatever I wanted to be.

“What about the family in your life”?

Ah! The fam-damly… Let me start with my granny, my mother’s mother. She was a force to be reckoned with, to say the least. The matriarch of our small family. Average size for a granny I suppose gray permed hair. To a child my granny was bigger than life, a giant. The easiest way to describe my granny, is a Kelley green wearing, three pack a day smoking, scrabble playing, sassy ass country girl. Her will was the law and when she spoke you listened. She often spoke her mind, regardless of the feelings of others. She was the first to move to the Commune, opening a café in a nearby town. She fed many other peanut farmers in a tri-county area, until the industry fell out of favor as many farming things do. The home she created was a single wide trailer home, situated on four, one acre lots. She loved to care for her pecan trees, and garden in our back yard. My mother, Viva, is my grandmother’s 5th child. She was tall around 5’10”, and I always remember her being a “bigger” woman, a beautiful smile often hidden behind big glasses. She had a loving nature however, often a very sad woman. She often self-treats her depression with food, as many of us do. My father was not in the picture much, I remember only a hand full of times that I had spent time with him. Viva left my father following bouts of infidelity. My father tended to sleep with my babysitters. Viva gave my father multiple chances to gain his wit, to no success. My mother’s attempt to maintain a fruitful marriage with my father was about as successful as threading a needle with a jumper cable. Her leaving my father is how my family I remember growing up with became what it was. When she left with me in tow, we moved into my granny’s home. Little did my mother know, she was pregnant at that time with my soon-to-be little brother. My brother, he got all the good genes. Tall, skinny, blonde, hair, blue eyes, it’s enough to just make you sick. The day I met my brother, I almost killed him. Yes, you heard me right, I almost killed my brother his first day at home. My granny gathered friends and local family to come by the home and have a meet and greet with my little brother. I was one at this time, awoken from my nap by all the noise in the living room. I round the corner of the living room and find my mother on the couch. Without thinking I ran, yes ran to my mother. I did not see or care to see my baby brother on a pallet on the floor. In my mad dash to the comfort of my mother’s loving arms, I stepped on my brother’s chest. He cried, I cried and so began the sibling rivalry. Even until this day my brother has a dent in his chest wall from my big foot.

“Goodness, I mean you could have killed him”.

You’re right I could have, but he was tuff, always has been since.

“How was summertime for you, was it fun living on the lake”?

Sometimes… I was bored most of the time. Even at an early age I knew I was meant for more than what the Commune had to offer. Once my brother and I were old enough to venture outside the confines of the front yard, our summertime schedule was predictable. Always the same,

9 a.m. Wake up, Mother usually screaming at us to get out of bed, “you can’t sleep all day!”

9:30 a.m. Breakfast, usually pop tarts, or something simple that I could make for my brother and I, often watching cartoons.

10a.m. The children were scooted outside, the door locked behind us. If you were hungry, you waited till lunch. If you were thirsty, there was the water hose. Yes, we were smart enough to know that the first shot out of that water hose in the summer heat was boiling hot. We watered the grass with the hot stuff and drank the cold stuff that would come after. The garden hose was an oasis. We drank from it, played with the water. Granny would occasionally yell out the window to go water her trees. Water never tasted so good. If we needed to use the bathroom, we went to the park a block or so down the road, or a shady spot under a tree. 

1-2p.m. The door would be unlocked for lunch. It was a fend for yourself type event, again, me foraging food for both of us. Because by that time of the day, the “stories” (soap-operas) were on, and the children did not bother the adults during that time. If you didn’t make it to the house during the allotted time, you didn’t eat. At 2p.m. without a minute spared, we were scooted back outside, and the door locked behind us. 

5-6p.m. The door unlocked again, dinner was waiting, same rules applied. 

10p.m. Time to come home for the night. Our alarm was the porch light, about 30 minutes before time. A beacon of it being almost time for bed. The local news station had a saying every night, “It’s 10 o’clock, do you know where your children are?”

My brother and I knew the consequences of not being home at the appointed time.  It meant more chores, let’s be honest what child ever asked for more chores? None! So, I always made sure we got home on time. As we got older, our stay away time would grow, but never passed 11 p.m. I usually did not need the extra time, because I have always been a light weight in the “stay up all night” game.  

“Really? That sounds like child abuse”.

I can see how you can feel that way, based on today’s standards. However, remember I said that it takes a village to raise children. The Commune was always watching. Playing land line phone tag to other parents, my mother knew exactly what her “little shits” were up to. In the 90’s the Commune, it was safe. Nothing big ever happened, at least not that I can remember. Mom would tell us which houses to stay away from, and we stayed away. As I grew up the illusion of my safety diminished quickly. In my teen years, all my friends were way older than me, which led to several bad decisions with shady people. But that is how we learn. This was how I was introduced to alcohol and weed. My friends kept me safe, making sure I made it home safe. Looking back, I am sure it was because they did not want to go to jail for allowing a rebellious teen to broaden her horizons and learn my limitations to the fun parts of “adult life”.

Looking back at the formidable 90’s, it was a decade of booming changes. The dawn of in-home technology is making huge strides. Dial up internet provides an access point to the epic world wide web. Where in my earlier childhood, if you needed to look something up, I had two options. Ask an adult and get their answer it was, or you found an encyclopedia and looked it up yourself. However, now, with only a few keystrokes of a keyboard and mouse, all information was within my grasp. It was liberating to a point. With my family being lower class, technology was expensive, and obviously well outside our family’s wheelhouse. Viva was able to obtain home internet in the form of Web TV, an access point much like Roku to turn the family television into a computer. Before I knew it, Viva was set free on the “inter-webs”, an endless barrage of chat rooms and the original OG Myspace. At this time in my childhood the telephone was only used when necessary. The chat rooms gave my mother a platform to meet new people and fly away without going anywhere. For Viva the internet became an addiction. She would spend endless nights chatting with strangers, all while my brother and I continually begged for any kind of attention. She remained strapped to the internet, snacks in tow as the rest of the world continued without her. The chatroom did nothing for her depression, other than enabling an already disconnected reality. This was our new life, the children playing second fiddle to a shitty fucking chat room.

The only time my mother was seen outside the home was to go to church. One not so particular Sunday, Viva was introduced to a man named Dax, by our preacher. Sigh… Dax. Dax was an odd man to say the least. Average size, wispy gray hair, beady almost rat like eyes. He was a literal fence post compared to my mother. He seemed desperate for attention from anyone, successfully spinning whatever line he needed, to spend more time in MY family. Of course, Viva, just as desperate for any attention other than that of her children, fell head over hills for this rather odd fellow. She did not believe in her worth, so Dax was a descent change of pace for her. After only one month, and a bend in his boney knee they became engaged.

“Really! After only one month”?

Yes, after only one month we collected a new family member and lost a family member. Granny decided that she would move out into an apartment near her work, “so we could start a family”. There his beady eyes were, eating our food, living in my house, taking my mother away, as if he had been there this whole time. After only three months, I was playing maid-of-honor in an obviously doomed single wide trailer wedding. Viva thought this marriage would make us a complete family. I had a gut feeling that something was just not right about this guy.  I was not sold on his intentions with my family, they needed to be protected. Before I knew it all my doubt, would not be unfounded. I noticed that the “happy newlyweds” would fight A LOT. The arguments were always behind closed doors of their bedrooms. No altercations were ever witnessed by the children, but we heard it all. The walls of a trailer aren’t as solid as you might think. The reasons for the altercations were usually trivial, none-the-less, it created a riff in our home. Each argument would end the same, Dax running in a dead sprint outside, slamming the door behind him. As you can imagine, being the extremely nosey rebellious child that I was, I would sit at the window and would watch my “new dad” outside. He would dive into self-destructive behavior that boarded on attempted suicide. Parades in the front yard of trying to hang himself from a tree to short, and a rope too long, or even tossing a cinder block into the air, standing under it and moving just before is landed on his head. It was a pathetic attempt to gain attention, nothing more. He used this childish behavior to gain the sympathy of Viva. So, she would feel sorry for making him upset, and fighting with him, a true narcissist through and through. Dax was unreliable when it came to gainful employment. My mother by this time has been on disability due to obesity for around 2 years. Dax hardly contributed to our home in any aspect. At this time dirt poor would have been a step up.

I know what you are thinking.

“Do you”?

Yes, I mean I could have given him a chance, right? I could have tried to be a solution and not part of the problem.

“Not really, I agree that your gut feeling was true. Does the happy couple ever make it”?

Now, look here you’re trying to get ahead. I thought you said you wanted stories and now you’re here trying to run ahead of yourself.

“Ok, ok, Please, let’s keep going”.

Are you sure? Because I am telling you right now the stories do not get better for a while.

“Well Isa stories good or bad, I want to hear them. Like I said I like meeting people, and really listening to their stories is the best way to learn someone”.

Alright then, buckle up sugar it is going to be a bumpy ride.

[riarevenge]

Stupid question from a dumb American. In England is it a thing where white girls who have some questionably dark tans use POC emojis? I feel like I’ve seen that a lot recently from English white girls I’ve run across on Insta. (Also this is not me saying white girls in America aren’t ignorant. Just that the two groups seem to do ignorant differently)

yeah, i see it quite a bit. and really, not to rant, but i just think it’s a marker of other behaviours for most of em. people are shocked jesy nelson still has supporters but it doesn’t shock me, she got away with this for YEARS when poc were the only ones talking about it because it sparks a conversation i think many girls, especially british ones, find uncomfortable. the fact is, it feels like the majority of white girls here tan and/or get lip fillers. and that in itself isn’t an issue, but a very large portion of these girls do this to the point of looking almost racially ambiguous. and for a lot, they’re tanning very dark, to the point it’s problematic, and getting lip fillers but it doesn’t hide the fact it’s clearly a white woman. and i think these girls keep quiet during conversations about jesy nelson, or defend her, because it’s easier to do that than have to examine your own behaviours and inspect if you also are a culprit of stn like this. it’s to the point where a lot of woc are being accused of black/brownfishing themselves, like jade thirwall! because people can’t even tell who’s white half the time here. i have olive skin, (my fam calls my natural skin colour light caramel but i hate the food reference😭), but because i live in a fucking cold country, have severe anemia/vitamin deficiencies and an ED, im a lot paler than usual at the minute and yet, for the most part, people can tell i am not white by my features. these girls that overly tan, a lot of them you can tell, but some get so many fillers and work done that you can’t even discern who is under all of that work. and let me be clear, i don’t care at all about people tanning, getting surgery or cosmetic procedures done but i do care when it makes woc have to constantly explain ethnicities and backgrounds bc nobody can tell who’s white anymore! it’s frustrating because they get to look how they want to look without facing what woc have to because of looking that way. nobody is racially abusing lydia smith from edinburgh because no matter how hard she tries, she’s a white woman! she can still make herself look racially ambigous and not receive the abuse woc get. and like under all that tan, you’re still 👱🏼‍♀️ this! i don’t care if you make it the slightly tanner emoji, the older members of my fam use 👩🏽‍🦱 for all the girls in our family bc they deem it the most similar even if certain ones of us don’t use it ourselves, i have poc friends who use a shade lighter or darker depending on hair colour. but when emily from newcastle and lydia from edinburgh are using 👱🏿‍♀️ instead of 👱🏻‍♀️. that’s weird.

[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 15

Request: Yes or No

Nebula and Tonys friendship was v cute and we deserved to see Tony be a dad to her. This feels v short so I'm sorry

~

"Maybe some company will do you good, (Y/N)." Natasha said softly, rubbing your arm. You stayed silent, staring at the table. Rhodes had offered you your old room back but you couldn't give him an answer. Your gaze shifted to the glass of water, brows furrowing when the water in the glass began to move. Natasha followed your gaze.

"I'm not doing that." You said softly, glancing at her. Steve entered the room, heading towards the exit.

"Something's coming." He called. Rhodes and Bruce quickly followed him out. You stood up, doing the same. You walked out onto the field, seeing Pepper staring up at a ship. You watched the woman set it down, looking back at you all. Steve ran forward, helping Tony off the ship. Pepper sobbed, running forward as well. You turned, walking back towards the facility.

"Great, the douchebag survived." You muttered, opening the door and sitting back down. You knew loss would come with trying to save the world but you didn't expect to lose everyone you loved. Clint and Natasha were still around but they were grieving as well.

"(Y/N), this is Carol Danvers, a friend of Fury." Natasha said as she entered the room. You turned to look at the blonde, giving a small nod. You watched as Rhodes pulled up images of everyone who had been lost to catch Tony up. Your gaze dropped onto the table when you saw your friends images appear.

"World governments are in pieces. He did.. He did exactly what he was planning to do. He wiped out.. 50 percent of all living creatures." Natasha explained, voices getting softer. You took in a shakey breath, sitting up and glancing at everyone. You made eye contact with Tony. He was skinny and weak but he held sadness in his eyes.

"Is Barton..?" Tony trailed off.

"Clint survived... Laura and the kids are gone." You told him, voice threatening to crack. Tony inhaled deeply, nodding.

"Where is Thanos? Where is he now?" Tony asked, looking at Steve. Steve frowned.

"We don't know. He just.. Opened a portal and walked through." Steve said, staring down at the floor. Tony hummed, turning to look at Thor.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's pissed. He thinks he failed. Which, yeah he did but so did the rest of us." The talking raccoon, Rocket, said. You didn't have enough energy to question how a raccoon ended up in space, much less question how it could talk.

"Honestly, until this exact last second, I thought you were a build-a-bear." Tony said, looking at him.

"Maybe I am." Rocket muttered in a tired and defeated tone.

"Thanos has been missing for three weeks now. We've got nothing. Tony, you fought him."

"Who told you that? No, he wiped my face with a planet while the magician gave away the stone. That's what happened. There was no fight-"

"Okay, okay.. Did he give you any clues?" Steve asked. Tony blew some raspberries, shrugging. You sighed at his childish response.

"I had a vision. I didn't want to believe it.. Thought I was dreaming-"

"Tony, I need you to focus."

"-And I needed you. As in past tense. That trumps what you need. You know what I need?" Tony knocked over some glasses, standing up from his wheelchair. "I need to shave."

"Tony, Tony, stop." Rhodes approached him as Tony ripped off his IV needle.

"What we needed was a suit of armour around the world! Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not." Tony looked over everyone.

"Your project got Sokovia destroyed and ruined." You reminded him, finger running over the rim of the glass cup. Tony began stumbling as he argued with Steve, stumbling towards him. He ripped off the Arc reactor, putting it in Steve's hand before falling to the ground. He fainted afterwards so Rhodes and Steve got him to the medical unit.

"This is such a shitshow. I'm going home." You said, standing up and picking up the glass. Natasha turned towards you.

"Stay for a little longer-"

"For what? So I can be told nothing's gonna bring back by family? My best friends? I had nothing then I had something and now I have nothing again." You flinched when the cup shattered, pieces of glass and water landing on the ground. You sighed softly, taking the shards stuck in your skin out.

"Sorry. I'll clean this up." You mumbled, using your other hand to get the water off the floor. Carol blinked, watching in surprise. You opened one of the cabinets, pulling out the first aid kit. You turned your head when Carol stood beside you.

"Hey." You breathed out, running your hand under water to wash away some of the blood. Carol picked up the antibiotic cream, using a cotton ball to dab it onto your cuts. You didn't really feel like healing yourself.

"I'm sorry you lost so many people." She said quietly, picking up the bandages and wrapping them around your hand.

"Well, shit happens." You looked at your bandaged palm, sighing softly.

"I lost two best friends." Carol said, leaning against the counter.

"Nick and Monica, the daughter of a good friend." Carol looked at you, arms crossing.

"Sams' sister calls nonstop and I don't know what to tell her. She has two toddlers, both parents passed away, and she's a widow. How can I tell her that her older brother turned into dust and I couldn't do anything to save him? Dad and I can't even look at each other without noticing how empty the house feels. I wake up everyday hoping it was all a nightmare but then I don't hear Laura telling the kids to get up or Clint going on about teaching Lila archery." You looked away from her, eyes watering. Carol placed a gentle hand on your arm, giving it a light squeeze.

"You did what you could. What you have to do now is be there for the people who are still here. Your friends sister needs you. She needs someone familiar. Someone close to Sam and someone who was there in his last moments." Carol said, watching you.

"You'll never get back up if you keep knocking yourself down." She said softly. You let out a shakey sigh, nodding and sniffling. Carol offered you a napkin, patting your back before she walked away. You wiped away your tears and splashed some water on your face, patting your face dry. You turned and grabbed the broom and collector, taking care of the glass. You put the first aid kit away as Carol re-entered the room with Natasha and Steve following.

"Hey, we usually do things as a team here." Natasha said as Carol spun around to look at her.

"We realize up there is your territory but this is our fight too." Steve added.

"Do you even know where he is?" Rhodes asked, head tilting. Carol shrugged lightly.

"I know people who might."

"Don't bother." You looked at the blue android girl, Nebula.

"I can tell you where Thanos is." She revealed. The humans glanced at each other before gathering in the office to hear what she had to say. You leaned against the doorway, semi interested.

"Thanos spent a long time trying to perfect me. When he worked he talked about his great plan. Even disassembled I wanted to please him.. I'd ask where we would go once his plan was complete. His answer was always the same." Nebula turned her head to look at everyone. "To the garden."

"That's cute. Thanos has a retirement plan." Rhodes mumbled as Rocket climbed onto the table, making a hologram of Earth appear.

"When Thanos snapped his fingers, Earth became ground zero for ridiculously high cosmic proportions. Nobody's ever seen anything like it." Rocket said, making the hologram change to a different planet.

"Until two days ago on this planet." Rocket motioned to the planet shown. Nebula nodded, leaning forward.

"He used the stones again." Natasha whispered. Everyones attention shifted onto the planet.

"You can count me out. I have a therapy session soon." You called, turning around and walking down the steps.

"You go to therapy?" Rhodes asked, brows furrowing as he turned to face you.

"Yeah, it's called napping."

~~~~~~~~~~

You entered the house, taking in a deep breath. Neither you or Clint dared clean up the place. Everything was left exactly how it had been left after Thanos snapped his fingers. You entered the livingroom, gaze landing on the metal on the ground. You sighed softly, picking up the monitor. Clint had broken it. Clint not following the rules of his house arrest was probably the least of the governments problems. You tossed it onto the couch, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"Beer, beer, beer, leftovers, beer." You mumbled as you sorted through the fridge. You shut the fridge, looking at the drawings and pictures pinned to it with magnets. You swallowed, leaving the kitchen. You stepped over the Legos on the ground, going to the front door. You watched as Clint drew an arrow, shooting it at a target in the distance. All Clint did was practice. Probably to get his mind off things.

"Should I head into town for food?" You called out. Clint stayed silent so you took it as a no. You took out your phone, looking at the contact.

Sarah Wilson

You watched it ring, guilt creeping into your heart. You sighed, licking your lips and answering.

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank god! I've been trying to reach you for the past few weeks. I haven't heard anything yet about Sam and the others. How is Sam? Is he with you?"

"Sam.." You started, biting down on your lip as you shut your eyes. You let out a heavy sigh, taking a seat on the stairs.

"I should explain everything in person, Sarah. I'm not gonna make you wait until I get to Louisiana. Sam.. He, uh.. He didn't make it. I'm s-sorry." You sniffled, hearing a soft gasp leave Sarah.

"Oh, God.." She whispered.

"I-I'll stop by. I tell you everything but.. Sam.. Sam was a hero until the end." You said softly, hearing the kids in the background. You were relieved she wasn't completely alone.

"C-Could you just stay with me on the phone?" Sarah asked softly.

"Yeah, of course." You replied, answering her softly cry.

"What the hell am I gonna do now? Half the folks in town are gone and.." Sarah sniffled. You listened to her soft sniffles and sobs, sighing softly.

"I'm not gonna leave you, Sarah. Sam would have my head if I did." You smiled softly, hearing her chuckle.

"Thank you."

[ipuckwithhockey]

History Repeats Itself- B. Boeser

a/n: This somehow ended up being around 11k words, so I hope y’all enjoy it! Also, I only did a quick scan for grammar and spelling so sorry if there are errors!

summary: You and Brock met once back in college when you were still committed to your high school boyfriend. Years later you’re single and older and just starting a new job in Vancouver. The only question now is whether or not you will take the opportunity to rewrite your own history.

warnings: None that I can think of

“So, are you in or no?” Y/N’s roommate asks her as they walk out of the library and toward their dorm. 

“I don’t think so Mags, I actually have some studying to catch up on.” You reply unconvincingly. Midterms of your first semester at the University of North Dakota just came to a close, and your excuse of having homework on a Friday night wasn’t convincing anyone. 

“Y/N, seriously? You aced all of your midterms and we just spent three hours in the fucking library! Live a little! The hockey team is having a huge party, and the guys are really fun AND super hot! You deserve this!” Maggie tries to convince you to come out to a party that the UND Hockey team is having tonight, and you tell yourself not to give in. 

“Maggie, I have a boyfriend. And you know they don’t let guys who aren’t on the team into their parties. God, it’s basically a frat.” You scoff at the idea of a frat party, but there’s still a small part of you that wants to experience the chaos of a real college party. That’s probably why it ends up being so easy for Maggie to convince you to slip into a pair of skinny jeans and a cute top before embarking on a night out.  

“Y/N, this is Nick and Brock. They’re both in my econ class. Nick is a sophomore, but Brock here is a freshman like us!” Maggie happily introduces you to the two tall boys as you enter an old musty house, full to the brim with college kids. The air smells like stale alcohol and you take note that your shoes are somehow already sticky. You’re not sure if it’s from something you stepped in or if it’s just the floor in general. 

“Hey, nice to meet you.” You shake Brock’s hand that he’s extended for you and you can’t help but stare a little too long, taking in his blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes. 

You had to admit though, Katie was right, these guys are super hot. You can already tell your roommate has her eye on this Nick guy, and it actually looks like he might be interested in her too. He’s just her type— He’s hot and he knows it, and his dark hair and striking features draw the eyes of nearly every girl in the room. The blonde boy who stands across from you is quite honestly the opposite of Nick. Brock is also undeniably good-looking, but he’s shy and his light hair and soft smile make him seem less intimidating than his friend. 

Nick finds you and Katie some drinks and some other girls you’ve become friends with show up to the party a little later. The boys come and go as they mingle with other people and their teammates, but Nick tends to stay close by to Maggie and you catch glimpses of Brock occasionally. Apparently his shyness doesn’t apply to his teammates. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch him and his friends dance together to some shitty remix of a song you used to blast on your way to school. You’re actually having a great time, but you can’t hear your phone ringing over the music that’s blaring through the house you’re in. Later, Nick offers to walk you and Maggie home after a few hours of living like a real college kid, and Brock ends up tagging along since he apparently lives in the same building. 

“So, how come we haven’t met you before tonight? This one talks about you all the time.” The four of you are walking across campus and Nick has Maggie under his arm as he asks why you never seem to be with your roommate. 

“She has a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to having fun.” Maggie quips as some of the alcohol she’s consumed tonight gives her the courage to openly criticize your relationship. 

“Maggie.” You say in a warning tone. “He’s just not a big partier, and usually I’m not either.” You shove at her shoulder lightly. Maggie was nice and you liked being her roommate, but when you first met and told her you had followed your high school boyfriend across the country to attend a university in “North fucking Dakota” she immediately expressed how crazy she thought you were. In her eyes there was no way that a couple who started dating when they were fifteen would last forever. You disagreed, which is why you turned down your scholarship to an ivy league and followed your boyfriend to North Fucking Dakota. His family was from North Dakota, and for some reason everyone in their family had to go to school there too. At the time, you didn’t see it as giving something up, you saw it as you and your boyfriend starting a life together outside the confines of your hometown. 

“So, what floor do you live on, Brock?” Maggie asks as the four of you make your way up to your building. 

“I’m on 4— Room 405. What about you guys?” Brock asks back. 

“We’re 219.” You say back before you’re startled as you hear another voice you’re not exactly expecting.  

“Y/N! Where the hell have you been?” The group you’re with is almost to the doors of your dorm building when a perturbed voice yells for you.  

“Uh- Owen. What are you doing here?” You’re surprised to see your boyfriend standing in front of you, looking like he’s seeing red. You weren’t even supposed to be seeing him at all tonight. He had told you he was going to be occupied for the evening while he was studying for his physics exam. You hadn’t told him you were going to the party, but at the time you didn’t think it was important. Owen preferred that you didn’t bother him while he was studying, so you decided against calling him before your night out. 

“I’ve been calling you for like two hours— God have you been drinking?” The rest of the group you were with tonight looks uncomfortable to say the least, and you can’t blame them. Owen wasn’t the best at saving face, especially when he felt like someone hadn’t upheld the standards that he had set out for them. Now he just looked like a dad reprimanding their child, and a wave of embarrassment quickly washed over you.

“I just- We went to a party. I didn’t think you’d mind. You were supposed to be studying all night,” You say sheepishly, as you begin to regret letting Maggie convince you to go out. Before Owen can clap back again, Maggie nudges you and tells you that the three of them are going to go, not wanting to invade on your private life any longer. 

When they’re gone, Owen starts again, “This just isn’t like you. I’m so disappointed.” You feel bad now, you know you haven’t done anything wrong, but Owen’s words make you feel like you have, so you tuck your tail between your legs as follow him back to his dorm and apologize for what you did. 

That was almost five years ago. You dated Owen for longer than you’d like to admit but eventually you removed your rose-colored glasses and broke up with him. You graduated from UND and got a second chance at your Ivy League dreams when went to graduate school. Now, you’ve completed your masters and have been offered a promotion at you job. The only catch was that the new position required you to move to the west coast… of Canada. 

You moved almost two months ago, and your raise was enough to allow you to move into a nice building downtown. Work takes up most of your time now, so you haven’t been able to explore the city as much as you would like, but you can already tell your decision to make Vancouver your new home was a good one. The laid back and easy feeling you get from this city is completely different from the big east coast metropolis you had been living in before, and even though you’re working more than ever, you feel like you can actually breathe here. 

Since your breakup with Owen your senior year at UND, you’ve taken time to take back your life. You try your best not to ponder on the past anymore, and you focus on your own future. It can’t be denied that at first it was hard not to remain bitter at the idea that you had so willingly given up many things in your life, for a boy who took them too eagerly. You worked through it though and took back your life by focusing on your own goals and working on furthering your own career. The past is the past now, and you were ready to start this new life in Vancouver. 

*

“I actually can’t believe you’re wearing that.” Elias mocks at Brock as they step out of the elevator and into the lobby of Brock’s apartment building. Brock is sporting a bucket hat, and even though he knows Elias is joking, he wonders if he shouldn’t have just left the hat sitting on his kitchen counter. The two of them are bickering back and forth about their fashion choices, and Brock almost misses you as you walk past him. Almost. He recognizes you immediately even though your hair is longer, and your face doesn’t look so much like a kid’s anymore. 

“Hey, nice to meet you.” Brock extends his hand, hoping he doesn’t seem too nervous to the pretty girl he has just been introduced to. He’s a freshman, and a star on the UND hockey team, which kind of makes him North Dakotan royalty. Since starting college, he’s learned what to say and how to say it, to get a girl’s attention, but he’s not the overly confident guy that his friend, Nick is. Nick lays it on thick and loves the attention he gets. Brock likes it, it’s fun, but he’s more laid back, and not as worried about getting the girl. He just likes to have a good time with his friends and doesn’t really need all of the extra attention. 

He would however like to have your attention. He makes some friendly conversation with you over the course of the night, but you stick close to your girlfriends, and he can’t tell if you’re not interested or if you just aren’t catching what he’s putting down. 

Later that night, when Nick tells Brock that he is going to walk you and your roommate home, he’s quick to tag along. Even though he lives in the same building, he probably would have stayed at the party a little longer if you hadn’t been going with them. On the walk across campus, the four of you make some small talk, and Brock knows that Nick definitely thinks he’s getting laid tonight. 

Brock can’t help but hope that Nick getting laid will mean you will need a hideout for a couple hours while your roommate occupies your shared room. Even though he’d happily accept it, he doesn’t think he’ll be getting laid. Brock just hopes that he’ll have some time to get to know you a little bit better, maybe get your number, and then eventually ask you out. It’s right then that Nick asks why they’ve never met you. 

“She has a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to having fun.”  Maggie replies, and Brock can’t help but be disappointed. You had a boyfriend. So it wasn’t that you weren’t interested, well it was, but it was only because you were already taken. Maybe you had even caught on to his light flirting, and he can’t help but think how embarrassing that is.  

This embarrassment honestly wasn’t as bad as what was to come next. Brock isn’t sure if his secondhand embarrassment is worse than the embarrassment that you’re probably feeling as the guy, who is presumably your boyfriend, yells at you for going to a party. He can tell that you’re trying to play it cool, you’re definitely uncomfortable with scene that is unfolding. Brock isn’t sure what to do, and him and Nick exchange a few quick glances as to say, “what the fuck?” And next, he’s incredibly thankful that Maggie steps in to tell you that they’re going to head into the building. 

“What the fuck was that?” Nick asks as the three of them get out of earshot from you and Owen.  

“Meet Owen, the illustrious high school boyfriend.” Maggie’s sarcasm is clear, and Brock is surprised that someone who seems so sweet could be dating a guy like that. 

That hockey party his first semester at UND was the last time Brock spoke to you. He left after his sophomore year when he signed with the Canucks and before he left, when he would see you on campus, you were usually with the jerk he only briefly encountered that first night. When you would pass him in the hallway of your dorm or even around campus you would usually avoid meeting his eye or offer one of those awkward tight-lipped smiles. Brock would always smile back, and he would wonder if you were actually happy with that guy, and occasionally he would tell himself that he could make you happier. 

You felt bad as you essentially avoided him for the first few weeks after that party, but it got easier as time went on. The two of you barely knew each other, but for some reason every time that you did pass him, you were still enamored by his kind eyes and generous smile that only made you feel worse for avoiding him. Over time your friends, like Maggie, would eventually fall to the waste side too as your boyfriend continued to control your life. Maggie stopped asking you to hang out and when you moved in with Owen after your freshman year, you basically lost all connection with her. Everyone probably thought that you were a massive bitch because they perceived your actions as you choosing your boyfriend over them. They weren’t wrong, but you didn’t know at the time, that your priorities were extremely misguided. 

Brock’s little crush was soon forgotten when he dove headfirst into the NHL. He was busy trying to establish himself in the league, and he found himself in a few lackluster relationships that usually ended in a mutual agreement that it just wasn’t working. He was a good guy, and even though he wasn’t a saint, he preferred to get to know a girl and take her to dinner before anything else. The girls he dated usually fell pretty hard for him. He’s unmistakably attractive and his endearing personality make him incredibly charming. They knew that they couldn’t hold on to him forever and that he didn’t want to hurt them, so they let him go and hoped that they would find another guy that was half as good.

Seeing you now is like a breath of fresh air for Brock; his little crush immediately rising to the surface after being buried away for so long. 

“Y/N?” Brock lightly touches you on your arm to get your attention. You’re lost in the email you’re replying to on your phone, and you’re more than surprised when you turn to see the same light blue eyes that you met your freshman year of college. 

“Brock?” It’s the only thing that your brain can formulate right now. Brock Boeser is probably the only person you know in Vancouver and yet he’s standing in front of you right now. You haven’t seen or spoken to him in years, and you can’t believe that he even remembers you. 

“Hey, I thought that was you.” Brock says, as Elias notices the big smile that’s plastered across his friend’s face. “What are you doing in Vancouver?” Brock asks, wondering how a girl from the east coast who went to school in North Dakota, somehow ended up in Vancouver. 

“I um- I live here. I just moved for my job a couple months ago,” You tell him.

“Oh, no way! Vancouver’s great, I’m sure you’ll love it here.” He replies, still taking in the fact that you’re standing in front of him. 

“Yeah, I like it so far,” you say. “Do you live here? – Or I guess, in the building?” You ask. You know that he lives in Vancouver, you’re aware of his hockey career, but you’ve lived here for a couple months and have never seen him around. 

“Yeah, I’ve been back in Minnesota for most of the summer, so I just got back a couple days ago.” He tells you. You never really put much thought into where athletes go after their season ends, but it makes sense that they would go back to wherever they call home. 

Elias nudges Brock to remind him that he’s still standing awkwardly beside him. “Oh, this is Petey,” Brock turns to introduce you to his friend that you already recognize, “It’s Elias, nice to meet you.” Elias says as he offers his hand to you. 

“Yeah, I know.” You let out a light laugh and think about all of the Vancouver Canucks posters you’ve seen him on throughout the city. You’ve seen posters of Brock too, but you barely even know the guy, so it’s never really struck you as anything out of the ordinary. 

“Are you a Canucks fan?” Elias asks.  

You laugh a little, “Oh, no. I don’t follow hockey or really any sports, but everyone at work does, so I’ve been trying to learn a bit about it to keep up with the water cooler conversations.” You laugh again because it’s true. You’ve never really been tuned into sports, but your new office is basically all men, and they’re all huge Canucks fans, so your google searches of the team’s stats and roster have helped you become familiar with the team before their season starts. 

“Well, you’ll have to come to a game some time.” Brock tells you. 

“Um yeah. Maybe.” You offer back, mentally debating on if that would ever actually happen, but knowing that he’s only being polite. “I um- I’ve actually got to go, but it was great running into you.” You smile, and say goodbye to the two blonde boys and make your way up to your apartment. 

Brock Boeser lives in your building. Again. You laugh, thinking about how funny it is that history is repeating itself. He’s just as cute as he was the first time you met, but the truth is you barely know each other, and you’re sure he remembers that you were probably a massive bitch in college who avoided him at all costs. You don’t let the thought of him linger too long and push it to the side to get on the realities of your life instead of continuing to mull over the past.  

*

Over the next month or so, you continue to run into Brock in the elevator or in the lobby of your building. He always says hi and greets you with the same sweet smile. You make polite conversation and he’s so charming sometimes that it makes you blush. It starts off with awkward hellos and goodbyes, then you start to make small talk, and soon enough conversation between the two of you becomes pretty effortless. His little jokes are usually so dumb, but they make you laugh and you truly appreciate that he’s always so nice. You start to open up a bit more and aren’t as hesitant when he asks you innocent questions about your life. 

You got to meet Coolie and Milo the other day, and Brock says that they are particularly fond of you. They both seem to be the sweetest dogs in the world, so you’re sure they’re just as good for everyone else. You see them ever so often when Brock takes them on walks around town, and he loves the way your eyes light up when you see his furry kids.

Brock usually asks you how work is going, even though your advanced corporate job goes way over his head, and you ask him about hockey, which you also have little to no knowledge of. You both usually give short and uninteresting answers like “great” or “it’s going.” Then, just as Brock is trying to find more ways to get to know you, you tell him that you’ve been trying to educate yourself more on hockey. You explain that you primarily work with men, and these men happen to be very keyed in on the sport and particularly on the Vancouver Canucks. Now, every time he sees you, he asks you what you’ve learned. 

Your conversations are still fairly short, but you tell him when you’ve finally learned all of the NHL team names, and understand each of the hockey positions. You explain some of the penalties and you’re pretty proud of yourself when your explanation of offsides gets an approval. When he asks you who you’ve decided your favorite player is, you tell him you like “that Boeser kid,” but not as much as you like Elias Pettersson. This gets a big laugh from him, and he tells you he doesn’t disagree with your analysis. This is a turning point for the two of you. Brock can tell that you’re becoming more comfortable with him, and he likes seeing this lighter side of you. 

One day when you pass him in the parking lot, he’s on his way to a game, dressed in suit, but with a beanie on his head. You’ve seen him like this a number of times before, and you really don’t understand why he insists on covering up his beautiful hair with various hats. You also don’t mind admiring how good he looks in his game day apparel. He’s good looking, and it’s not a crime to admire that. 

As you walk toward each other in the parking lot he calls out to you, “Hey, you learn anything new this week?” You laugh, because he usually starts the conversation like this, asking if you’ve studied up or done your homework. 

“Actually, I have a question for you.” You tell him as you come up, stopping before you would pass each other. 

“Okay, shoot.” He says. 

“Well, that’s actually your job, but my question has to do with goalie interference. I just don’t really understand it. I was trying to find videos of calls during games, but all of the calls seem kind of inconsistent.” You tell him, and he laughs at your shooting joke, leaving you feeling proud for a moment. He’s also laughing because you’re right. No one fucking knows what goalie interference is. 

“Yeah, I’m not even sure what goalie interference is half the time. But if you figure it out let me know!” He answers. You laugh, and the two of you begin to part ways. 

Before he makes it to his car you shout back, “Oh, Good luck tonight!” 

He smiles and thanks you before opening his car door and on his way to the rink he thinks about all of the little conversations the two of you have had over the course of last couple of months. His crush has only continued to grow, and Elias keeps nagging him to ask you out, but he’s not even sure if you’re single. With his luck, you’re probably married to that asshole from college, although he hasn’t noticed you with anyone and he hasn’t seen a ring on your finger. 

After that night Brock decided he needed to figure out if you were single or not, so that he could move on from his infatuation with you instead of wasting his time pining over a girl who was already taken. You’re always polite, and more recently you’ve become more and more comfortable joking and bantering with him, but sometimes you give him a look like you’re not sure what to say. 

That look is the look you get when you contemplate how you got here. Years ago, you couldn’t have fathomed having a simple conversation with Brock, but now you see him on a regular basis and make conversation like you’ve been friends for years. You appreciate his willingness to talk with you, and you enjoy your interactions more and more every day.

Brock knows that on Sunday morning you usually go for a walk down to the coffee shop on the corner, so today he grabs Coolie and Milo and heads for the door, hoping he’ll be lucky enough to run into you. He makes it all the way to the coffee shop without seeing you and he’s praying that when he opens the door to the store that you’ll be waiting inside. 

No such luck. 

When he doesn’t see you standing inside, he decides he should at least buy a coffee instead of awkwardly walking out. After he picks up his drink he walks across the street to the park so that Coolie and Milo can get some exercise. For some reason, the gods are on his side today, and a few minutes into his walk he sees you sitting on a bench under a tree, reading a book. 

He doesn’t get to secretly admire how pretty you look sitting there, with the sun streaming down through the limbs of the trees, because Milo and Coolie have spotted you and are actively dragging him in your direction. You’re stirred from your reading and when you look up you see two big fur balls running toward you, their owner not far behind them. 

“Hey! Sorry about them.” Brock apologizes as he tries to calm the dogs down. You’re laughing and smiling because Coolie has jumped up on the bench beside you. Brock tells them to get down as they continue to try and jump for your attention, and they eventually settle at his side. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind at all. I feel the same way when I see them,” you say, and it gets a light chuckle from Brock. He loves that you get so excited to see them and he cherishes the way your eyes light up when you reach down to pet them. He’s not sure what to say now, and before the silence gets too awkward you ask him if he wants to sit while motioning to the spot next to you. He gladly accepts your offer, and he sits down next to you.

“What are you reading?” He asks, attempting to facilitate some conversation. 

You turn over the book in your hand so that he can see the cover, “It’s called Normal People.” You say before giving him a brief description. You also tell him it’s a series on Hulu and he says he’ll opt to watch that instead of reading the book, earning another laugh from you. 

“So, did you leave the boyfriend behind or did you bring him with you?” He asks referring to some of the plot points of the book you had described to him. The question surprises you because one, there wasn’t a boyfriend, and two, why would Brock think there was a boyfriend? Your mind works fast enough to figure he might think that you’re still with Owen, but over the last couple months you don’t think you’ve given him any reason to think you would still be with him. 

“Neither I guess. I didn’t have a boyfriend to leave or bring.” You answer, looking over at Brock. You’re sure you almost hear what sounds like a sigh of relief from him, but it happened too quickly to tell. 

“I guess you and that guy from college didn’t work out?” Brock asks cautiously. He’s trying not to seem too eager, but he’s dying to know what ever happened between you and that jerk. 

You let out a light laugh as you think back to your previous relationship, “No, it definitely didn’t work out.” You say back. “We were obviously super young; we started dating when we were fifteen,” you sigh. “Anyway, I think it just took some time to realize I wasn’t going to marry a guy I thought was cute in my 9th grade biology class. We just didn’t have anything in common anymore. And he turned out to be a total jerk.” It feels surprisingly easy talking to Brock about this. You’ve felt so much shame and embarrassment for staying with this guy from high school for so long, but Brock’s eyes don’t convey any judgement or reason to feel ashamed. 

After that you gracefully shift the conversation to Brock’s love life. It was only fair, and when you asked him if he had a special lady- or man in his life, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. It isn’t because you asked him if he was perhaps seeing a man, but because he was just so flustered by you and your questioning of his love life at all. 

“Nope. No ladies... Or men for that matter.” He says with a little laugh. 

“Really? A star hockey player like you doesn’t have girls lined up waiting for their chance to be with you?” You tease, as you can see, he’s still blushing a bit. You don’t think much of it, other than that he’s probably just shy about those things, but you don’t really feel too bad about teasing him.  He continues to convince you that there aren’t any other ladies in his life, and eventually the topic of conversation is forgotten. 

Brock walks back to the apartment building with you, and when you get in the elevator you remember that you’re going to be attending a Canucks game next week, “I almost forgot! I’m going to the Preds game next week!” You tell him, and his expression lights up hearing you say that you’ll be attending one of his games. “Some of the guys from work invited me to go with them. I think I’ve really won them over with my new hockey knowledge,” You tell him proudly. 

Some of the guys from work who are particularly invested in the hockey team invited you to come with them to a game, and you happily accepted the invitation. You had proven yourself to them as a colleague and now as a hockey fan too. 

“I guess we’ll have to get a win for you guys.” Brock replies confidently. The Canucks have had a great record lately and it looks like their winning streak is just getting started. “You better!” You say before the elevator stops on your floor and you tell him you’ll see him later, leaving Brock to think about everything he’s learned about you that morning. 

*

It’s Thursday, and this week has been hell. 

Sadly, you’re used to dedicating most of your time to work, but this week has been a total shit show, for lack of better words. A big account you’ve been working on decided at the last minute that they wanted something completely different, causing you and your team to have to work some crazy hours this week. By Thursday you’re practically a zombie due to your lack of sleep. The hours you have spent at home have been minimal, as you’ve gotten home past ten almost every night this week, and you leave in the morning again before 7. 

The guys on your team have all been working crazy hours too, but you’ve been taking the lead on this campaign, so you’ve made sure to be there early and late every single day. They can tell you’re just about out of gas, and they send you home early, telling you to rest up for the big presentation tomorrow. You try to argue, but they’re right, you need a break. You surrender and head home after stopping to get some takeout, knowing that your fridge at home is starkly empty. 

“Ms.Y/L/N, I’ve got a package for you.” Paul, the concierge of your building tells you as you pass him on your way to the elevators. You haven’t made any online purchases as of late, and you don’t remember anyone telling you they were sending you anything. Still, you wait patiently as he goes to the back room to grab it. When Paul returns he’s holding a decent sized shopping bag. You’re not sure what it could be, but you take the bag and thank him, too focused on getting up to your apartment and out of your work pants. 

As soon as the door to your apartment is closed behind you, you drop your bags onto the kitchen counter and slip out of your dress pants. Your bra follows shortly, and you settle into your couch with your take out. The rest of your evening is spent lounging on the couch, catching up on your shitty reality tv shows and taking a break from work. When you look down at your phone and see that it’s only 8:30 you tell yourself it’s too early to go to bed, but you’re exhausted and you bed is calling to you. As you gather your dishes and clean up your kitchen you’re reminded of the package you picked up on your way in. 

The bag is still sitting on the counter where you left it a few hours ago. You take a minute to think about what it could be or who it could be from, but nothing comes to mind. When you open the bag all you see is some blue fabric. It feels like clothes, so you dump it over on to your counter and come to find that the bag is full of what looks like Vancouver Canucks gear. You’re in surprised to say the least. There are multiple pieces of clothing laying in front of you, and you’re sure it’s at least a few hundred dollars worth of apparel. There’s a note too, but you choose to look through the other contents first. 

First off, there’s a navy blue hoodie with the classic Cancuks logo. There are two t-shirts, one has the Canucks throwback logo on it and the other has the pride logo printed on the front. You smile at that, knowing that he obviously knew you would like that one. Next, is a Canucks beanie with a pompom on the top. Finally, you unfold a royal blue jersey. You’re expecting to see a number six on the back but instead your eyes land on the number 40. You can’t help but feel a little sad for a minute, knowing he didn’t get you a jersey with his number on it. 

Alas, you unfold the piece of paper that was sitting in the bottom of the bag and it reads:

I figured you might need some gear for the game Saturday. I hope everything fits okay. 

If you ever need anything I’m Apt. 859, *his phone number* 

-Brock

P.S. Petey insisted that I include his jersey since he’s “your favorite.”

You don’t feel as bad about it not being a Boeser jersey now, and you use a magnet to hang the note up on your fridge before folding your new gear and heading to bed, grinning ear to ear. 

Your presentation goes off without a hitch the next day and you and your coworkers are ready to let loose a bit for the Cancuks game the following evening. You meet up with them at a bar that’s not far from the arena, and you grab a round of drinks before you head into the game. The four co-workers you meet up with take note of your Pettersson jersey, and you smile, satisfied with their praises. A couple of them are sporting jerseys too, one with Horvat and the other with a Boeser. You don’t mention that you know the guy who actually wears number 6, and when he scores the game winning goal you cheer just as loud as everyone else, but secretly you’d like to think it was because he knew you were there in the stands. 

When you get home after the game you shoot Brock a quick text.

You: nice goal tonight! i think this pettersson jersey is lucky! (10:54pm)

You: this is y/n btw (10:54pm)

You’re not sure if he’ll reply so you set your phone down and start to go through your nightly routine. A few minutes later you hear your phone buzz from your night stand. 

Brock: petey didn’t even score tonight and you’re still talking about him? maybe i’ll just take that jersey back (11:01pm)

You: hey, no take backs. but it was a very nice goal!  (11:03pm)

Brock: how was your first game? (11:07pm)

You: my second favorite player scored, my team won, and my co-workers were impressed with my vast hockey knowledge so i’d say it went pretty well! (11:13pm)

You spend some time debating on how to word your message, not wanting to send a reply too fast, and not wanting to seem to flirty, but you still let yourself tease him a little bit more before hitting send. 

Brock: HAHA. very funny. (11:14pm)

Brock: i’m glad you had a good time. (11:14pm)

Brock: we’ll have to get you to more games. it looks like you might be good luck. (11:15pm)

*

Sunday morning is your time to relax. You try not to do any work and opt to take some time for yourself. This can take many forms, like lounging around the house or even reorganizing your bathroom. Today you opt for baking. You bake a couple dozen brownies and place them in a container before slipping on some shoes to head up a few floors. 

You hadn’t given it much thought until you were standing outside of his apartment door, but the two really only interact in the hallways or elevator and you’ve never been to each other’s apartments. The brownies in your hand are probably getting colder by the minute, and you know they taste the best when they’re still warm so you convince yourself to bring your knuckles to the door. 

The person who answers the door isn’t Brock. The boy who answers is shorter and has dark hair. You recognize him as Quinn Hughes. Brock told you once that they call him huggy bear, but you’re not totally sure you know why. 

“Uh-“ There aren’t words coming out of his mouth, it’s more like an awkward sound that you think it is meant to convey some sort of confusion. 

“Um, Is Brock here?” You ask, offering a smile to the boy in front of you. 

“Oh, yeah. Um, come on in.” Quinn doesn’t really know if he should be letting someone into his friends apartment, but Brock made him answer the door so he didn’t feel so bad about inviting a stranger in. 

You walk through the door and take in Brock’s home. It’s similar to yours, but slightly bigger. He lives on a different side of the building so the windows are slightly different too. You follow Quinn into the living room where you see Elias and Brock and Jake Virtanen sitting on the couch playing video games. The dogs notice you first as you walk in and Quinn nudges Brock telling him someone is here for him before he turns around to see you. 

“Y/N! To what do we owe the pleasure?” He asks as he stands from the couch. 

“I uh, I just wanted to bring you these. I figured it’s the least I could do since you got me that lucky Pettersson jersey.” He lets out a solid laugh at that. You liked it when he laughed like that. He lets his head hang back and his hand rests on his stomach. 

“Well thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.” He says as you hand him the box of brownies. He walks over to the kitchen counter and pulls the lid off.  The smell of freshly baked brownies starts to fill the room, and the other boys are at the counter before you know it. 

“Oh shit. Those look good.” Jake says as he eyes the baked goods.

The boys are quiet for the next couple minutes except for some humming and “yum” sounds that escape between bites.  A couple dozen brownies is apparently no match for four hockey players. You swear half the box vanishes in front of your eyes as they compliment you on your baking abilities. You mentally thank your mom for the perfected family recipe that you practically have memorized. They make friendly conversation, besides Quinn who has remained rather quiet, except for offering a few side comments or sounds of agreement. Eventually Elias asks you more about how your first game hockey game went. 

Elias is observant and incredibly well spoken, and he’s making what could have been an awkward situation a very pleasant one. He guides most of the conversation as Brock becomes more comfortable with the dynamic of you being there with his other friends. It’s cute how close Brock and Elias are. Even just standing in the kitchen you can tell the two of them have a bond that’s different than the ones between the other boys. Brock is sometimes shy and blushy when the two of you talk, but with his friends he’s more bold and sure of himself. 

The small talk is getting thin, and you’re about to politely end the conversation and tell them you should go when Jake asks how you and Brock know each other. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do, and you look at Brock who is standing next to you. Before you can decide how to answer Brock replies simply, “We went to UND together back in the day.”

“I guess we don’t really know each other very well, but we had some mutual friends.” You try to add and clarify.  

“Oh cool,” Jake replies, not really giving it much thought. “So are you liking the city so far?” he asks. 

“I like it a lot , I just haven’t had a lot of free time outside of work to explore. But, my co-workers finally like me since I know all about hockey now, and the one girl in our office is my best and only friend!” You laugh at yourself a bit, because you know it sounds a little sad that you’re a young twenty-something with zero signs of a social life. It earns some laughs from the guys too. 

“You should come out with us next weekend, you gotta experience Vancouver’s night life! Plus, we’re celebrating my dog’s birthday!” Jake exclaims, and you can see Elias rolling his eyes and Brock and Quinn are both laughing while shaking their heads. 

You look between the boys, a bit confused, “Your what? Your dog’s birthday?” 

Jake laughs too when you seem so confused about it, “It seemed like a good excuse to go out. Gotta keep it loose, ya know?” He seems serious about this and you can’t help but laugh. The guys explain that they don’t get out too often during the season, and some of them don’t even like going out, but sometimes it’s good to just let loose with the boys. Jake is one who particularly enjoys a good night out, and so occasionally when the boys haven’t frequented a bar in a while, he comes up with “reasons to celebrate.” Elias sounds like a dad when he says that they all just go along with it to make Jake happy, and Jake looks like a little kid when he rolls his eyes at them. He’s also quick to make the point that they always end up having a good time. 

“You obviously don’t have to come, but I think it’ll be fun, and you should bring your friend. Her name’s Jade, right?” You’ve talked to Brock about Jade a couple times in the past, but you didn’t really think he would have listened that intently or that he would remember your co-workers name. It’s nice knowing that he does. 

“Yeah, it’s Jade. I guess I could ask her if she’s free and let you know.” You tell him, still contemplating if you even want to go out to some busy club on a Saturday night. 

*

“So, uh— What are you doing this weekend?” You ask Jade, your co-worker as you walk into her office. She’s the only other girl in your office, and you’ve become good friends over the last few months. Her dark hair and dark features match her bold and strong personality. Jade constantly bugs you to get out more, especially on the weekends, but you usually curb her requests saying that you’re still getting settled into the new city. This excuse was wearing thin since you’ve been here almost four months now, and you knew you would have to give in to her requests soon. Instead, you’ve opted to invite her to go out with Brock and his friends this weekend. Or rather, pray she would go with you because there was no way you were going alone. 

“I don’t know, probably nothing because my friend is a loner who doesn’t ever leave her house.” Jade looks over at you with a knowing expression causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Your loner friend actually wanted to ask you if you wanted to go out this weekend.” You say mimicking her cadence.  “That guy from college who lives in my building is celebrating his friend’s dog’s birthday, so him and some of their friends are all going out.” When you explain why Brock’s friends are going out you realize again just how ridiculous it sounds, and you know it’s not really why they’re going to a bar to get hammered, but you relay the information anyway. 

You told Jade about “the guy from college” that you had run into in your apartment building, but you didn’t tell her that the guy was Brock Boeser. You were sure she knew who he was, even if she wasn’t shy with her discontent with sports. She’s just not a sports person, but anyone in Vancouver would immediately recognize the name of one of their biggest players. All you told her was that you had gone to UND together and that you had never really been friends, just that you had mutual friends. 

She never asked more about who he was, but she did ask if he was cute. You couldn’t lie, it would be sinful to do so about a man who was as good looking as Brock, so you told her the truth. You also told her how good of a guy he was and that he never hesitates to start a conversation with you. Since then, she has asked for regular updates on your interactions together. Even though you withheld some crucial information, you still told her about how he liked talking about hockey and that he had gotten you some Canucks gear to wear to the game. When you told her about that she insisted that he liked you, and part of you wanted to believe that, but another part of you knew that you and Brock still barely knew each other. 

He seems really sweet, but you can’t help but feel like he still has plenty of girls vying for his attention. Girls who are prettier and smarter and nicer than you. When you think back to those brief interactions with him it still gives you a feeling of anxiety. It’s the kind of anxiety that you get when you remember something embarrassing you did as a kid or when you’re trying to fall asleep and you remember that you said “you too” to the barista who said “come again!” Either way, you weren’t convinced that your limited interactions warranted any feelings on either of your parts, so you continued to try to suppress your growing feelings for him.

Luckily, Jade was happy to oblige your request of going out. She asked if your friend had any cute single friends, and while you weren’t quite sure if they were single, you said yes figuring that one of them had to be.

“Y/N, It’s me!” You hear Jade come in through your apartment door that you had left unlocked for her. It’s Saturday night and you’re getting ready to go out with Brock and his teammates. You still haven’t told Jade who he is, and you’re hoping she doesn’t freak out when she finds out. 

“I’m in my closet!” You shout back to Jade as she makes her way through your apartment. She finds you sitting inside your walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear, “I’m having a crisis. I have no idea what I should wear.” You look over at her precisely curated outfit that’s perfect for a night out. She looks hot and it’s just enough to not be overdone. He hair is flawlessly sleek and her make up looks like an artist painted it on. 

“Stop moping. You’re just nervous because he’s cute and you like him. Go make us some drinks and I’ll pick out your outfit.” You don’t put up a fight, knowing that she’ll probably be able to piece together a great ensemble that you never would have thought of. Your strengths were probably better suited for making cocktails anyway, so you go to the kitchen and whip up a couple of drinks. 

On your way back to your room you turn on your “going out” playlist that hasn’t been touched in ages, and when the first drop of alcohol touches your tongue you automatically feel less anxious. She’s right, you totally have a crush on this guy, and you’re super nervous about going out with him and his friends. What’s worse, is that this was pretty much a pity invite, and him and his friends feel bad that you don’t know anyone else in the city.  

Brock’s night was going somewhat similarly to yours. When Elias got to his apartment for the pregame he found Brock standing in only his boxers with a pile of clothes covering his closet floor. Elias couldn’t help but laugh at him. He hasn’t seen Brock act this way about a girl in a long time. Come to think of it, he’s not even sure if he’s ever seen Brock act like this. Brock was sensitive, but he wasn’t anxious like this. He wouldn’t get tied up in things like what to wear or what to say to a girl. He did however, have the issue of falling way too hard way too fast, ending up in situations where girls left him after they got what they wanted. Over the years he’s learned how to guard his heart a bit better, and his friends, Elias especially, were always there to protect him. 

Elias likes you. He liked you the minute he met you. He was intuitive and was a good judge of character, which made him and Brock a good pair. Brock has a tendency to trust a little too much, but now Elias is there to help guide him toward the right people. When Brock introduced you to Elias, he could immediately tell that you were a good person. He could see it in your eyes, and in your genuine appreciation that Brock would recognize and say hello to you. Elias liked that you were sprightly enough to make a joke about knowing who he was. Most of all, he liked how Brock talked about you. Elias immediately recognizes when Brock has had a conversation with you before practice or a game. He comes in with a little pep in his step, that causes some of the guys to question if he got laid the night before, but now Elias recognizes that he must have seen you on his way to work. Brock gushes about your interactions and about how cute you are when you explain the hockey things you learn.  The day that you told him Elias was your favorite player Brock was so excited to tell him. He wasn’t even mad, he just loved how light hearted willing to joke around you were. 

Brock occasionally thinks back on the times he saw you after that first night at UND. He thinks about what would have happened if your boyfriend hadn’t been waiting for you outside of your dorm. It’s not that he thinks he would have gotten lucky or that you would have cheated on your boyfriend with him, it’s just that maybe if you had had a bit more time to get to know each other you could have at least become friends.  And maybe that friendship could have grown into something more and you would have broken up with that asshole to be with him. Brock thinks about what could have been, but he also knows that hindsight is 20/20. He doesn’t consider himself a superstitious guy, but he can’t help but think that you came to Vancouver for a reason. 

When your wardrobe crisis has been averted, you’re fully dressed in skinny jeans and a cute top that’s revealing enough but doesn’t exactly come right out and say “I want to have your babies right now.” (That’s how Jade described it, anyway.) The two of you have had a round of drinks and you decide that it’s probably an appropriate time to head up to Brock’s. You didn’t want to get there too early and be the only ones there, so you made Jade wait it out in your apartment until it was at least thirty minutes after the time he had said to come. 

Brock texted you letting you know the door was unlocked, and when you get out of the elevator you can already hear music playing from behind his door. “I can already feel it. This is going to be fun!” Jade tells you excitedly as you reach out for the doorknob. You laugh thinking about how she has no idea she’s about to be drinking with a bunch of professional hockey players for the night. 

When you open the door you see some of the guys you’ve met mulling about, most of them with drinks in their hands. Brock comes up to you almost immediately. Without even thinking he wraps you in a hug, and it feels so natural even though you’ve never had any sort of physical interaction with him. Your suspicions were right, he gives the best hugs, and you wish that you could stand there in his warm arms forever, but it only lasts a second before he’s pulling away and turning his attention to your friend who looks likes she’s surprised to see Brock Boeser hugging her coworker and Elias Pettersson coming up behind him to say hello. 

“Okay, you didn’t tell me that “your friend” was Brock fucking Boeser.” She doesn’t even try to whisper it, and it’s kind of what you love about her. She just expresses herself freely, and it’s honestly so funny when she says it.  It has Brock’s head falling back as he lets out a laugh. 

Brock and Elias introduce you and Jade to the other guys who are in the apartment. There are a couple girlfriends among them and even though they all look like they just walked out of an instagram ad, they all seem genuinely nice and aren’t nearly as intimidating as you thought they would be. You don’t get too much time to mingle before Jake informs the group that the “birthday party” is ready to move to the bars, followed by packing into various Ubers. 

When you’re all at the bar, a few other guys show up, some single and definitely ready to mingle, but to your surprise some have even brought their wives. The drinks are flowing and you’re actually having fun. You notice that Jade and Jake have spent a lot of time talking, and he offers to get her a drink before they head off to the bar. You laugh, and shake your head as she turns back to give you wink before heading off with the hockey player. 

You turn your attention back to the guys standing around the table, when one of them asks you, “So, how do you two know each other? I feel like somebody said you went to UND?” It’s Brandon Sutter, you didn’t recognize him when Brock first introduced you, seeing as most of the photos you’ve seen of him include a hockey helmet covering most of his face. It’s probably the alcohol— no, it’s definitely the alcohol that has you responding to his question, “Yeah, we went to UND together, but we didn’t really hang out or anything, I think everyone just thought I was massive bitch.” You laugh, but you can see some confusion setting in on Brock’s expression. Brandon laughs too, not thinking much of what you said. 

“What do you mean?” Brock asks. He never thought of you that way back in college. He knew that guy you dated was jerk. He dimmed your light, and that wasn’t your fault. 

“I don’t know, I just figured you guys all thought I was kind of a bitch because I just hung out with my boyfriend all the time.” You don’t really know what else to say, thinking back to those days where you would follow Owen around like a lost puppy. 

“I don’t think anybody thought that, we just thought your boyfriend was dick.” He says, and before you can say anything else he adds, “No offense. He just didn’t seem like he treated you very well. That night he yelled at you in front of the dorm when he found out you went to our party left a pretty bitter taste in my mouth.” 

“Sounds like a dick, to me.” Quinn says matter-of-factly. You’re sure it’s the alcohol for him too, he’s been more talkative in the last hour than he has been in the two other times you’ve seen him. 

“Yeah, he was.” You answer back.

“So I guess you’re not still dating this guy, are you?” Brandon asks. You can feel sets of eyes all resting on you now, like you’re about to reveal a big secret. 

“No no, we broke up right before senior year of college. I dated a little in grad school, but when I found out I was moving to Canada I didn’t really bother with trying to find boyfriend.” You tell them, as they nod in response.

The rest of the night isn’t as serious. Jade and Jake tear up the dance floor, and when she nudges you to signal she’s leaving with him you tell her to wrap before she taps it, earning a laugh and wave goodbye. Brock stays by your side the entire night, neither of you wanting to join the others dancing. His arm stays perched on the back of the booth you’re in, while you listen to JT tell some elaborate story from their recent road trip. 

When Brock sees you yawn for the third time in a row he asks if you’re ready to head home. “Yeah, I’m tired. I’ll probably just head home soon.” You think he might offer to go back with you, but you don’t want to assume. Instead of yelling over the loud music he just nods and pulls out his phone. He tells the boys that you’re both heading out and they all say goodbye before Brock nudges you out of the booth. 

On the car ride home he asks you what you thought of the boys, laughing when your first response is that there are just so many of them. “It’s like trying to keep track of puppies. They’re there one second and then they’re off doing something else the next,” You laugh at yourself thinking about how many of them probably have undiagnosed ADHD, or maybe some of them are diagnosed. “But it’s cute, you guys are like a little family.” This earns one of those genuine Brock Boeser smiles. He’s proud of his little family. He loves them all, and he’s glad that you like them because he can tell they like you too. 

That night out leads to a few more texts back and forth, and eventually to full on conversations that go one for days at a time. One night he asked what you were doing and you told him you were going to watch the Battle of Alberta game. You had heard a lot about this rivalry since you embarked on your hockey education, and you figured you should see what all the hype was about. To your surprise, Brock asked if he could join you, and the two you spent the night watching hockey from your couch. 

You hadn’t watched a game this intense before, and when Matthew Tkachuk drops his gloves to fight Zack Kassian, Brock can tell you’re on edge. You knew there were fights in hockey, and you had watched a few clips on youtube, but it seemed more real watching it in realtime. You wondered what it would be like to see something like that in person. As the two players are ushered off the ice, you can’t help but wonder if Brock would ever find himself in a situation like that, and when you ask him if he ever fights during games he chuckles a bit before he answers, “No, I’m not really the fighting type. I think it’s better for everyone if I leave that up to guys like Zack and Jordie.” 

You’re not totally convinced by this, and you don’t like that the thought of Brock in a fight makes you feel so sick. He can sense your hesitation and he wants to try to ease your mind, “When fights like that break out, it’s usually because both players have agreed to it. You can see that they’re talking right before, they’re asking each other if they want to do it.” He narrates as the fight replays on your TV. “Occasionally someone will still throw a punch even if the other guy says no, but that’s not common. It’s kind of an unspoken rule that you have to stand up for your team, so most guys who are asked will fight, but I’m not usually the guy in that position. I haven’t fought once in the NHL, and I plan to keep it that way. I’d get rag-dolled by both of those guys.” He says pointing back to where the players now sit in their respective boxes.

It’s nice to know that Brock hasn’t fought anyone before, but you still worry about him getting hurt. What if he was the one who got caught by a bad hit? You can’t keep thinking about things you can’t control, so you try your best to shift your attention back to the game. 

You and Brock find yourselves in each others apartments more often after that. The two of you will make dinner and watch a game, or just watch TV for the night. Occasionally you walk down to the coffee shop on the corner together or walk over to the park with Coolie and Milo. You’ve started to become friends, and you feel like Brock is letting you get to know him more and more everyday. The conversation is easier, and the flirting is probably more noticeable than either of you thinks it is. Your positions on the couch have drifted from opposite sides of the couch to having your thighs touching while his arm sits, resting behind you across the back of the couch. He always greets you with a big hug, and lately you’ve noticed his arms lingering around your body a little bit longer than the time before

He hasn’t made a move yet, and you haven’t either. You think that maybe he just isn’t interested in getting closer, and you’re admittedly too self-conscious to try to make a move yourself. Tonight os just like any other night that the two of you spend together but you don’t notice that Brock is pretty far gone in his thoughts. That may be because you’re lost in your own as well. A few minutes later his voice brings you back to reality, “Are you okay?” You look up from where you’ve been staring down at the wine glass in your hand. You’re sitting at his kitchen counter, and he’s standing on the other side of the island looking back at you. You tell him you’re fine but you can see that he doesn’t buy it for a second. 

“You know you’re like a really good guy, right?” You ask him, after taking another sip of wine. 

He smiles back at you with a bit questioning in his eye, “I mean I’d like to think that I’m not too bad.” He says back. 

“No, Brock. You’re like really good. You help old ladies at the grocery store, and you talk about your nephew like he’s your own kid, and you’re nice to me when you really don’t have to be.”  You try to tell him just how genuinely good he is. You wish you could explain it more eloquently and you wish you could show him how good of heart he has. 

“That just sounds like normal people stuff,” he replies with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

He would say something like that, and think that normal people were just as nice as he is, and maybe they were, but the people that you’ve met throughout your life have somewhat tainted that idea for you.

“I think maybe you don’t realize how good you are.” He says back, looking you directly in the eyes. “You’re a good person, and just because I knew you back when you dated some jerk in college, doesn’t mean that it has any impact on how I feel about you now.” He’s so serious in this moment, and not at all like the usual lighthearted guy you’re used to. Somehow he knew just where your insecurities laid. He’s so genuine and honest sometimes that it hurts and the butterflies you feel in your stomach are getting harder and harder to ignore. 

The two of you don’t talk much for the rest of the night, and instead settle in a comfortable silence while Brock catches up on the episodes of Gossip Girl that Elias watched without him. Brock isn’t paying attention to what is happening on his TV. His mind is way too busy thinking of what he’s going to do next. The guys have all been pestering him to get a move on, saying that he’ll miss his window of opportunity with you, and he knows that they’re right. If he’s lucky he hasn’t missed his opportunity yet, but if not, he might just be screwed. 

He doesn’t even notice when his eyes shift away from the screen and move to rest on you. He’s taking his time, studying every feature, taking in every soft curve of your face. He loves the subtle crinkles on the sides of your eyes that deepen when you smile, and it’s even better when it happens because of something he said or did. If he could, he would make sure that smile stayed on your face for every second of the day. Your hair flows naturally without being fixed and he knows that you often let strands fall in front of your eyes when you’re too concentrated on your work or like now, when you’re invested in the show that you’re watching. 

Without a thought, and on instinct alone, Brock slowly moves his hand up toward your face and softly tucks the strand of hair behind your ear. You’re a bit caught off guard at first, but you remain still as you feel his fingers linger on the side of your neck. Eventually you let your eyes meet his and you realize just how close you are to him. The two of you stay like that for a minute, staring at each other, taking each other in. It’s too easy to get lost in Brock’s ocean-like eyes, and you swear you hear the enchanting sound of waves crashing on a beach.  

You’ve been staring at each other for what feels like too long, and you’re about to pull away when you feel Brock’s hand on the side of your face again. He’s slowly inching toward you and his eyes are still glued to yours. He’s searching for any source of panic or concern in your eyes, but he doesn’t find any. Your heart has taken over at this point and you can’t keep yourself away any longer, before you lean in and your lips finally meet his. 

Kissing Brock feels like everything good in the world. It’s feels like the first time you road a bike or the first time you tasted ice cream. It’s new and invigorating and yet you feel totally safe and secure. Before you know it, you’re deepening the kiss and Brock lets you lead him to where you’re comfortable. It just so happens that you find comfort when you reposition yourself so that your legs are straddling his and his hands are resting on your hips. It’s only when your hips shift on top of him and he can’t help but let out a deep moan that also he makes himself pull away from you. It’s then when you start to panic, and think that maybe this was a mistake, maybe he’s realizing that now. 

“I don’t want you to think that I just want this.” He says as he motions to the small space separating your bodies. “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing…” he mutters out, like he’s a bit embarrassed, and nervous that you won’t want the same thing. 

“Brock, the only reason I wouldn’t want this is if you didn’t want it. But if you do, then I do too.” You say steadily. Brock smiles and it’s one of those big toothy smiles he only shares when he’s truly happy. You can’t say anything because you’re just as elated, so instead you lean down to kiss him again. 

*

It’s only been a short six months since that night on Brock’s couch, but now you get to call his bed your own, and when you come home to your shared apartment you’re greeted by your beautiful blond boyfriend and your two dogs. Brock insists that you’re their adoptive mom now, and to make it official he bought the two of you matching hats that say “Dog Mom AF” and “Dog Dad AF.” You both wear them when you walk your fury kids together and even though you tell him you think they’re cheesy he knows that you love them.

Brock is somehow everything you need him to be. He’s strong when you’re not and he makes you laugh when you’re sad, but most of all he’s your steady companion. It’s crazy now, thinking back to when you met him. You were just a kid, barely out of high school, and you really hadn’t had the chance to think about what you actually wanted for your life. 

Then you graduated, went to graduate school, and started to find out who you were without a boy to dictate the ins and outs of your life. When you were given the opportunity to move to Vancouver you saw it as a new beginning, but you didn’t realize that it was going to be a gift to more than one part of your life. Your work life and your career goals were finally falling into place and that just left one more thing—your love life. You had stopped worrying so much about finding a boyfriend along the way as you focused on yourself, but when Brock Boeser reentered your life you couldn’t ignore it. 

Brock’s reemergence was a surprise to say the least, but now you both see that it was a gift of a second chance. When you first met, neither of you were ready for the kind of commitment you now share with each other, and you know now more than ever that those years with Owen and the years you spent alone were all worth it, because when history repeats itself you have the power to change the narrative. 

[zeppelinlovies]

sick again

kinda sad at the beginning?? ends up being pure fluff lol

[future lover boy]

y/n: hey robert?

future lover boy: what’s up?

y/n: can you inform the school i won’t be there today

y/n: my parents are kinda busy

future lover boy: of course! but can i ask what’s wrong? :(

y/n: i just got a cold lol

future lover boy: poor y/n :((

future lover boy: do you want me to bring something for you after school?

y/n: no no it’s fine

y/n: you don’t need to do that

future lover boy: are you sure? it won’t be a problem i promise

y/n: maybe just your presence?

future lover boy: wow smooth one y/n lol

y/n: i’m serious rob :((

future lover boy: don’t worry lol i’ll be there after i take this bird out

y/n: oh

y/n: you found yourself someone?

future lover boy: yeah her name is victoria

future lover boy: i’ve had my eye on her for a while i guess

y/n: oh good for you robert lol

y/n: pretty sure you and jimmy can get anyone you want around school

future lover boy: nahh not all of them

future lover boy: but i promise i’ll be there about 30 mins after school gets out

y/n: i bet you will

future lover boy: i’m gonna tell the office you’re not here rn

future lover boy: see you later!! take care of yourself too

y/n: i will lol you too

future lover boy: :))

you have changed goldengod69’s nickname to robert!

———

i sighed, slamming my phone against my bed.

how could i be so dumb? of course someone like robert didn’t like me. he could have anyone, yet it’s always down to his decision for who he wants.

i’ve been his closest friend since forever. since we were young kids running through random forests. i had been there through every breakup and rough time in his life.

i was certain he liked me at some point. the way he looked at me wasn’t a way you look at just anyone. the way he hugged me much longer than one should, or the innocent kisses on my forehead.

maybe he was just a natural flirt and i had too much of an ego.

either way, my heart dropped at the thought of victoria.

she was a stunning girl. she was as skinny as that model twiggy, had this flowly blonde hair…just the type of girl robert would write about in his songs.

my body felt dull, even though i should be happy for him. i tried so hard to be the slightest bit joyful, but it didn’t work.

instead, i was met with tears that lasted much longer than i would’ve liked.

it was worse since i was sick. the tissue box was now empty and my head pounded like hell.

i took a nap, deciding it would stop all this misery i felt.

——————

a warm and saturated place. one that didn’t seem real, one that was so dreamful.

one where the grass was bright green, yet soft to touch. the sky was a soft blue, with clouds that seemed like paper cutouts.

in front of me was robert. a cake in the middle of us for a reason unknown, and wine glasses. yet, no wine.

i couldn’t speak, but it was as if we didn’t need to. we just looked at each other and understood.

robert’s hair was more fluffy and more golden. it looked so soft, yet so delicate. he had a white blouse on, decorated with small scattered red flowers. the wine glass he was holding looked like it was floating, just with how soft his hands looked.

i reached out to him, just to start hearing my name and being shoved.

my eyes fluttered awake, being met with the same golden curled man i was dreaming about.

“y/n?” he asked one final time as my eyes fully opened.

“r-robert?” i asked, even though i fully knew it was him.

“oh, my sweet angel.” he put his hand on my forehead, “christ, you’re freezing.”

it was moments like that made me genuinely feel like i was his only. it confused me. was he just always this sweet or was there something else? there couldn’t be though, he likes victoria.

“i know. one blanket doesn’t really help.” i spoke through my clanking teeth.

he pushed a strand of my hair back with a pout, “you want some warm soup? or more blankets..?”

“soup would be nice… but only if it’s not much of a hassle.”

“nothing is a hassle if it’s you, y/n. the soup is in the pantry right?”

i blushed at his first statement, “yeah.”

he simply smiled before walking out of the room.

i sighed, curling into myself once more. he confused me so much, sending all the mixed signals. my chest felt so empty, yet here he was, making soup for me because i’m sick. maybe he just cares for me a lot, maybe he’s just a natural flirty person …all the maybe’s filled my head and all of them for robert.

once robert popped back into the room, he stood next to me, helping me sit up a bit.

“i tried making it as the instructions told me, but i’m not the greatest cook.” he laughed.

i shrugged, “either way, it’s food. thank you, rob.”

suddenly, he climbed over my legs and sat next to me on my bed.

i looked at him, a confused smile on my face. he returned the smile, softly.

“how was victoria?” i asked, even though it hurt so much.

“eh. she’s not as interesting as i thought. she’s got the looks, but not the personality.”

“oh, i’m sorry.” my mind felt a bit more at ease.

“it’s alright. what about you though, y/n? you never seem to have a crush for someone.” he asked.

“well, i have liked someone, but it could never happen.” i sighed, continuing to eat my soup.

“well, does this fellow have a name? maybe i can help?” robert offered.

god, it was awkward. it’s always awkward when your crush of fucking 4 years asks you that even though it’s them.

“y-yeah but he’s out of my league, it could never happen.”

“do i know him?”

“pretty sure you do.”

“well, who the hell is it?”

“…uh someone… in the band?” i regretted saying that. now he’d definitely figure out.

“someone in the band?! is it jimmy?”

“god no, love him as a mate, but he’s not my type.”

“is it bonzo?”

“nope.”

“jonesy?” he flailed his arms around, his face a shy tint of pink.

i shook my head, looking down at my soup as if it were my lifeline.

“is it me?” he finally asked, his gaze in my direction.

“yep. wasn’t really planning on telling you.” i sniffled, due to my cold.

“w-wait, you’re not crying are you?” robert panicked.

“what? no, it’s from my cold.”

“oh, okay.”

the next few minutes were spent in awkward silence. somehow, i didn’t feel anxious one bit about what his answer would be.

“y/n…”

“yeah?”

“god, y’know, i’ve loved you for the longest time! i just never said anything and dated other people cause i didn’t think you liked me.” he covered his face with his hands.

“y-you what? love me?” i stuttered, shock obvious in my tone.

“yes! too bad we didn’t tell each other four years earlier.”

“well, maybe it’s fate.” i coughed, continuing to eat the remains of my soup.

“i suppose so…hey, you almost done with that soup?” he peeked at the bowl.

“yes, just finished about now. why?” i set the bowl aside on my desk, covering myself with the blanket.

suddenly, robert flung his arms over me, his head next to mine.

“perhaps, i’ll help keep you warm?” he chuckled.

i put my hand on top of his head, playing around with the soft curls, “perhaps, but i don’t want you to become sick too, robert.”

“oh, it’s alright. just another cold to add in with the rest.”

i laughed at that, feeling content in his arms.

“well, i suppose i might as well ask. you wanna be my babe?” robert asked sweetly with a laugh, his eyes looking up to meet mine.

“of course i will.” i smiled.

he grinned back at me. his adorable lopsided smile that belonged to a man i could now call mine.

[serrj215]

Road Trip

"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair"  He sang with the radio. He couldn't be more off-key if he tried.  As the song went on he fumbled and mumbled half the words.  "da da Hoooteeel California"

Beast Boy found himself looking out a windshield. He was in a car, traveling on a highway heading north. It was either very late or ungodly early. Rain was lightly falling on the windshield and save for the headlights and the occasional street lamp it was pitch black. His head was resting against the passenger window. He sat up in the seat, straitening his back trying to remember where he was and what was going on.

"There he is!" The driver says. "You've been out for almost 300 miles, you missed me doing a heartbreaking rendition of Margaritaville about an hour ago. I might have missed my calling."

Beast Boy turned to see a skinny but older man in the driver's seat. He had shaggy blond hair that was months overdue for a trim, and was graying around the temples. When the street lights passed through the windows, he could see he had grey-blue eyes behind chrome wire-rimmed glasses. He must not have shaved for the last few days. The driver's voice was friendly and familiar but Beast Boy couldn’t place it.

The driver arched his back in his seat, stretching tired muscles. "Aggh, I am fading.  Don’t get old Gar, trust me. You ready to switch?"

Beast Boy just sat there staring at him as the music ended and the driver turned down the radio.

"Gar, you still asleep?"  He asked glancing at him before turning his attention back to the road. "Will stop for gas soon, I will buy you a cup of coffee. Three sugars right?"

"Um, Yea." Beast Boy didn’t know what to say which was new for him. He knew the driver and the driver knew him or at least knew him well enough to know how he likes his coffee. He just couldn’t pull the name from his mind. This man was important, he was safe with him but at that moment he would love to see his driver's license.  

"If you pay a few more bucks for the good stuff you don’t need all that sugar. There used to be a little coffee place near the university, they roasted their own beans. I will take you, If it is still there it's been almost 20 years."

"What time is it?" Beast Boy asked.

"Well it's too early for breakfast and too late for dinner " He replied with a smile "but we’re making good time."

Beast Boy knew he had heard that expression before. In fact he was sure that he had used the expression before.  But before he could think too much about it.  

"Please thank Raven for me," he said.  "You found a good one Gar,  It's not many women that would be okay with this.  I mean especially with a little on the way. " He flipped the turn signal and started merging to the right. "I just hate planes. I think it's worth it taking 14 hours to get someplace if it means I get to pick what and when I eat and I am not stuck in a metal tube with no leg room."

"I guess I am lucky I can fly myself " Beast Boy responded then in unison they both said.

"But boy do your/my arms get tired!"

They both started laughing at the very old humor.

"So when is Raven due again?" the driver asked

"Late September."

"So that means you and Raven got frisky right around New Year’s or the Christmas party?

"HEY!?"  He responded he could feel the blood rush up his neck.

"Oh, what?!"  The driver expounded.  "I am one of the foremost experts in primate biology, also I used to be 22 with a hot wife. " He laughed to himself. "You going to tell me that you and Raven go out and save the world, then go home and play Jenga?"

Beast Boy just retreated a bit in embarrassment leaning back against the door.

"You know you should keep it up, it can help with a lot of the pregnancy symptoms. The stress management and blood pressure benefits alone-"

"I do not want to talk about this!"

"Okay. Okay, changing the subject. Have you settled on names yet?" He started again not letting this conversation end.  "I know its tradition to name the firstborn son after the Mother's father but I doubt you're going to do that!"

"Yea that’s a no."  "We were thinking of Marie for a girl."

"Your mother would love that."

The exit came up and the driver pulled off the highway into a gas station. He turned off the car and tossed Beast Boy the keys.  "Okay throw $20 in it, I will get the coffee and you one of those peanut butter jobs if you don’t tell your mother I am getting one too. She worries"

"Dad?!"

"Yea?" he said looking at his son straight on.

Beast Boy really saw him for the first time with the car's dome light.  

"Your dead."

Mark Logan heard that statement and mentally weighed it, after a moment. He said with a smile that Beast Boy had only seen in old photos. "Yea, but I am still around."

The door slammed.

Beast Boy shot up in bed and then tumbled out of it onto the floor, taking the covers with him.  He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees trying to get a hold of reality.

"eg Gar are you okay?" Raven struggled a bit to sit up in bed. She wrapped her arms around herself. "And may I have the blanket back?"

Beast Boy got up, gathered the covers, and made the bed over his pregnant wife.  As he tucked her in he told her about the dream.

"Are you okay? She asked laying on her side looking up at him.

"Yea, I mean it was weird but it was just a dream."  he said not sure if he was buying that himself.

"Was it?"

"Rae? Are you saying that was real?”

"Gar, we have seen so much, different dimensions, time travel, different levels of existence. We have been to so many places and met beings that can use reality as a plaything. it wouldn’t be  unheard of that you were visited." she said just before a long yawn.

"Really?"

"No." she put a small but sympathetic smile on her sleepy face. A pale hand slipped out of the blankets to take his. "We have talked about this before Gar. I know you are-"

"Scared shitless"

"Apprehensive." she corrected "But I know you are going to be a good father. I know you wish your parents were here to help, but we have family and we are going to be okay."

"Yea I know Rae, there is just so much I wish I could ask."

"We will figure it out. Try to relax we have a big day tomorrow. Now come to bed, you neglecting your duties as my personal bed warmer."

He kissed her hand before letting it disappear back under the blanket.  "Okay, I will be there in a minute," he said before walking off.

Beast Boy looked flipped on the bathroom light and went to the sink.  He splashed some water on his face a few times and ran his wet fingers through his hair.  He straightened up and looked in the mirror, when he saw his face he jumped back a bit.

He slowly touched his face, making sure that the person in the glass was doing the same. Somehow he had missed it. He would look at himself every day, and see the goofy kid he was when he joined the Titans. That night he looked in the mirror and saw his father. His skin, eyes, and hair were still green but his chin, and nose, even the barely controlled chaos of his hair was the same as his Dad's.

Maybe Rae was right. Could it be he was trying to tell himself something? Could it be that in the vastness of creation and all of the unknown his father did visit him? Could it be that he just saw the Lion King too many times?  

He took a few deep breaths and headed back to bed.  He found his wife where he left her lying on her side, the blankets pulled tight around her.  He carefully climbed into bed kissing Raven's head.  But before he settled in he leaned over to whisper to his wife's belly.  "Grandpa says hello, and he loves you."

***************************

This story has been with me for a bit.  My father passed a year ago this month. We didn't see eye to eye about many things as I got older.  When I do remember when we did get along it was when we were on the road together.  Long road trips going up and down I-95, where we could talk.  In the passenger seat is where my father would forget that I was his son and we could talk like two men. 

[mrs-cavill-wife]

Forbidden Witch (1/?)

Pairing: Charles Brandon x Female Reader (Cassandra of Boudicca)

Warning: Fantasy. Language. Forbidden Love. Tell me if I miss something.

Author's Note: Here I go again writing inspired on a dream I had. I can say, besides "The Tudors", there's a little of "The Witcher" too because there's familiar monsters and characters. Most of the name of places on this fanfic is all my creation but some I searched on Google or asked help from my friends. Hope you guys enjoy it, reblog if you do and I'm all ears to feedback! My tag List this time is for my last followers, THANK YOU SO MUCH! Part 2 coming soon!!

Tag List: @lexyvaldez26 @thereisa8ella @natura1phenomenon @mrsavery @number1chonie @themanfromu @littlefreya @legendarywizarddetective @lovingbearherringhairdo @zealoushound @deangal-101 @everydaymultifandom @summersong69 @jgtfvhsg @tellingyouastory @sillyrabbit81 @nuggsmum @pussyverson @oh-for-fic-sake @foodieforthoughts @fanficlover91 @r-t-doll @its--fandom--darling @poledancingdinos @hlkwrites @rmtndew

Riding under the moonlight, this is definitely one of the things that brings me peace. I love to run aimlessly with my horse, Atlas.

Was having a little party in the village, my village, the place where I was born. Boudicca. In fact, I spent more time at Aretuza, a school for witches, sorceress. I was "discovered" when I was about eight years old. My parents were simple traders, workers, but the income was never enough for the three of us.

I remember the day when I was playing with the pigs, few of which had not yet been sold and that woman appeared. Skinny, with a beautiful gray dress, perfectly neat hair, looked like a queen at the time. Tissaia. I saw her watch me for a long moment, before the question that would change my life.

"How much do you want for the girl?"

Yes. She wanted to buy me. I was in shock for the moment. She and my parents argued for a long time and I just wondered what would a rich woman want with a muddy little girl? A new servant, perhaps? No, she must surely have millions.

Today I know, Tissaia is tricky, smart, knows the words to use. Like a snake observing the prey, taking notes of the moves, the weakness and the best moment to the first attack. She had been watching me and my family. I had called her attention when she was passing through Boudicca, she saw a lot of potential in me, despite my young age, I would be her apprentice.

And so it was done. She made a deal with my parents. She would pay them a kind of penance, a new house, enough to live in safe and happy, but they would have to forget me. I could hate them but I know they didn't have much of a choice. I knew that they loved me and did it to save me, they had in mind that I would have a good life and become something bigger than any opportunity I would have there.

And technically, that's what happened. Aretuza was difficult, the other students were much older than me, more sure of themselves, some came from noble families. I was scared but over time I became determined. I became one of the best and youngest witches in Aretuza, Tissaia said that my power was pure chaos and more. I could destroy an entire kingdom if I wanted to. So good, Tissaia said that I could become a dean just like her, or maybe something like an assistant, she would love to have me by her side but it was never my will and unfortunately for her, I went down my own path when she had nothing more to teach me anymore. It was the first time that I saw a small hint of sadness in her strong image on the day I left.

She is the one who gave me the Atlas. She said it was an albino horse, rare, just like me. I hugged her. Tissaia of Vries is a tough woman, obviously she didn't return my action, but she watched me as I rode away. Until my image disappears from her field of vision.

It was a long journey but I returned to Boudicca. A few years had passed and unfortunately, when I arrived, the city lived in poverty and my parents.. had died of an illness. I blamed myself for a few days. I could have helped them but I couldn't have known they were succumbing.

I remember visiting our old house, or what was left of it. I felt something so strong inside me, I think it was the first time that I lost control, when I realized, my hands were red, bleeding from my nose and fire was mirrored. After that, with the help of the surrounding residents, I built a new home.

And since then, I decided to stay. I help people. With their illnesses, attacks by monsters, thieves, disappearances and every kind of problem you can imagine. I even once helped a poor gentleman who was "unable to fulfill his duty as a husband" with his young wife.

There is a bit of everything here and I venture to say, since I stayed things improved a lot, I was known, at least here. "The famous Cassandra of Boudicca, our savior".

My thoughts of my story went away, a noise in the water caught my attention. It was night, everything was dark, except for the moonlight. I left Atlas eating grass and went looking for the sound. I passed through a bush and saw. A little blonde boy. Swimming. All by himself. What a dumb idea.

I was determined to leave but something in the water caught my eye. A pair of eyes? Oh no. At least, six pair of eyes. Getting closer and closer to the little boy. FUCKING NEKKERS.

"BOY, GET OUT OF HERE"

My scream was enough to make the Boy look at me and stop. Of course, an opportunity for those monsters to attack, and so they did. FAT FUCKING SHIT.

I ran towards the boy, held out my hand and he grabbed it. I pulled him out of the lake and behind me, casting a spell towards the group of Nekkers. It was enough to push them away, but not enough to make them give up.

Now, I was the first option. They tried to attack me but they are nothing to me. I lures them out of the lake, with the boy behind me, and as soon as they are all on dry land, I cast a fire spell, turning them into a "beautiful" barbecue in a few seconds.

Seeing their dead bodies, I took a deep breath and looked at the boy, crossing my arms. He signed, it seemed like something part of his everyday because he knew what my first question would be and answered me.

"I know it is late and dangerous. I ran away. I was to swim a little and knew that my father would not let me. But don't worry, the royal guard must already be behind me, it's not the first time."

Dear lord, what's up with those kids those days?

"Do you know your way back home?"

He nodded and I huffed. I grabbed his hand walking on my way back to Atlas.

"Where are we going?"

I put him on my horse's back, climbing immediately afterwards and starting to ride.

"Back home, little troublemaker"

It wasn't a long journey, but that boy talked a lot. I learned that his name was Eric, son and heir to the kingdom of Aluma, his father was Alexander, and his mother, Queen Madeline. I also learned that he loves to escape. Poor parents.

[rosierin]

Studying with you

pairing: tsukishima x fem!reader

synopsis: after finding out about your gradually decreasing grades, your teacher urges you to change your studying methods and decides to find you a tutor among the class. shame that tutor is literally the biggest jerk known to man. you swear he knows nothing but insults and that his heart is made of stone. or is it?

genre: fluff

type: oneshot

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i hate love this guy, srsly

"Oi, (y/n). Wake up, we're not finished." 

Your head jerks up and you let out a loud, drawn out groan as your eyes refocus on the man in front of you. He's sneering, same as usual, and you wish you could suddenly go back to dream land where you were happily baking cookies with Hinata and Kageyama. 

Beneath your arms are two gaping algebra textbooks. One is riddled with scribbly notes and an unnecessary amount of pointless doodles, except the one of Tsukishima— scowling with a head drawn way too big compared to the rest of his skinny body. The other is filled with neat, detailed formulas, pastel highlights and all the correct answers which you've been struggling to find for the past two hours.

"I'm up, I'm up, geez.." You yawn with your head still on the table and look up at Tsukishima with drowsy eyes. "You could've woken me up a little nicer, ya know."

"Yeah.. no. How about you hurry up and finish so I can go home?" He looks more than done at this point and huffs, pointing at a formula jotted messily on your paper. "And you got that one wrong again, by the way."

You squint at your work, then realize he was right. "Oh. My bad."

Wanting to get things over with, you get back to work but your eyelids are so heavy it's ridiculous. Not to mention your brainpower has reached its limit.

You can feel your grip on your pen loosen as you try and correct your work but before you know it, your head drops again, only to be jolted awake by a sudden smack to the back of the head with what feels like a textbook.

"What the— Do you mind?!" You snap. 

Tsukishima doesn't react to your outburst in the slightest, just nods to your unfinished work with a look of lazy authority. "Algebra." He stares at you with a deadpan expression when you pout. "Now." 

"Fiiine." You sigh, annoyed that your puppy dog eyes didn't work on Tsukishima. Not that you thought they would. Tsukishima didn't seem like the type to particularly like animals, except maybe for dinosaurs. He had a small keychain of one buried deep within his pencil case, you found. "You know, you'd make a terrible teacher."

This time, it's Tsukishima's turn to yawn, stretching his long limbs and you have to force yourself not to focus on the pull of his lean muscles despite yourself. Then, he turns to look at you with a look of false innocence. "Sorry, go on?"

"I hate you."

"Great. Now ask me if I care."

You suck in through your teeth as you hold back from socking the blonde straight in the face. He's been sassing you non-stop since the beginning of your study session and you'd think you'd be used to his perpetual cocky remarks by now but alas, he was still a huge pain in your ass.

"Where're you going?" You ask as Tsukishima gets up from his chair that's in front of your desk, dusting the eraser shavings off your textbooks.

"Aw. Think you'll miss me?"

You bite your lip down and he notices, smirking contently before deciding to answer: "going to get some water. That question better be finished by the time I get back."

He's gone before you can retort, long legs granting him a quick escape. However halfway down the hallway you hear him add: "or I'll make you do three more."

Great.

"Yessir," you sigh, though you have absolutely no intention of following through.

You glance down at your textbooks for good measure— textbooks which are practically staring at you, and you can picture them with beady little eyes as though they're chanting— soooolve ussss.

You shudder. Man, you really were tired.

"Yeah, no. Sorry, Tsukki."

Pushing your homework aside, unfazed by your salty tutor's threats, you decide it's time for an actual break. You deserved it, right? Yeah, yeah you did. So without second thought, you let your attention drift to the scenery outside instead.

You'd been so focused on your homework (and Tsukishima's sass) that you hadn't even noticed the beautiful sunset that was now setting over the hills of Karasuno High. You always loved the way it looked at this hour, basking the buildings and tall, lush trees in its warm light. It was all too soothing, so soothing that you hadn't even realized you were once more falling asleep, eyeslids fighting to stay open until they finally gave in and what little willpower you had left, left your body.

"Right, time's up. You better be finish—"

The moment Tsukishima walks back into the classroom, eyes settling on your current state— sprawled out on your desk, mouth slightly agape and completely out cold, he's overcome with the urge to sigh.

He walks over to your desk and sits down opposite you, then as he leans his cheek into his palm, he lazily pokes your cheek— once, twice, but gets no reaction in response.

"You've got to be kidding me.." He sighs. But he decides to not bother and wake you up this time. What'd be the point? You clearly weren't in any shape to study and honestly, he didn't have the patience in him anymore to try in case it'd drive him crazy.

For a second he debates just leaving you there, passed out of your classroom desk, but quickly decides against it in case he gets an earful from your parents about leaving you alone or something. The last thing he wants is any extra trouble.

Therefore he agrees, albeit begrudgingly, to let you sleep. Just until you were rested up enough to work again.

⭐

Thirty minutes go by, you're still fast asleep.

During that time, Tsukishima took it upon himself to slip his headphones on and listen to some beats, hazel eyes flitting beyond the window to watch the last of the sunset, hoping it'd make the time go by quicker.

Usually, this would be right up his alley; peace and quiet, chill lofi and a sunset, however when sat on a painfully uncomfortable, wooden chair rather than his comfy and plump single bed, the experience was significantly less appealing. Therefore, after trying to find a comfortable sitting position and failing for the fourth time he decides to take his headphones off and focus back on his studies— he might as well, only when he reaches for his pen, he realizes it isn't there.

Amber eyes scan the table. Usually it'd be in his pencil case; he doesn't remember taking it ou—

Ah, never mind. It all makes sense when he sees it. Not in his pencil case after all, but balanced precariously between your fingers.

He rolls his eyes.

Why didn't she just use her own pen?

Reaching for it, he attempts to pull it out of your grasp only to freeze when you begin to stir.

He doesn't know why at this point— he could just wake you up, that's what he'd initially planned. But now, for some reason, there's something that prevents him from doing so. Maybe it had something to do with the way you were sleeping so peacefully.

He tries to pull at his pen again— gently— but this time, it isn't you stirring that makes him seize up, but the way your index and middle finger hook around his own.

His brain stutters.

Well, this is new.

Tsukishima's back straightens an awkward amount, completely unsure of what to do. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before. He becomes painfully aware of that. He's also painfully aware that you could possibly wake up while holding him like this.

Thankfully, you don't. And although the tenseness of his body is beginning to hurt, he still takes the time to admire your sleeping form.

You're laying crossed armed, head nestled between them, facing him. He watches your body rise and fall ever so gently, can almost hear your quiet breaths. It's picturesque, almost; the way your hair glows beneath the bright full moon. Unknowingly, his thumb twitches nearer, gravitating towards the warmth of your hand and he can almost feel—

"Enjoying yourself there?"

Suddenly he's frozen. Though it only lasts a second, for the next he's already retracted his hand, folding it under his arm like it was never there to begin with.

"Wh— How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough," you say, smiling curiously at him and for once the tables have been turned; the teased having become the teaser. "So you can be nice sometimes."

Tsukishima's expression is anything but impressed as you mock him, his face caught between confused and annoyed, and dare you say even a little bit embarrassed? He's quick to shake it off though, sparing himself of any sly comment as he regains his usual cool demeanor.

"Please. You're the one who grabbed me first," he scoffs.

"But you didn't try to move," you shoot back.

There's a strange atmosphere that settles in the room as your mishief-glinting eyes bore into his, and Tsukishima doesn't dare talk back for once, having been robbed of all witty comebacks. He hates being at a loss for words, but he hates even more so, the beginnings of a grin forming on your features, one that he knows is a result of his shortcomings.

"Whatever, (y/n) just pack up your stuff. We're done for the night," he says as he himself starts tidying his belongings.

You chuckle then nod your head. "Sure thing, sensei."

"...don't call me that."

"Sensei."

"Urgh, shut up."

⭐

⭐

⭐

Later that night, when you're lying in bed, ready to fall asleep, your eyes snap open as your phone buzzes underneath your pillow. You pull it out and press the home button, wondering who could possibly be texting you at this hour. When you do, you're surprised when it's Tsukishima's ID that pops up.

He had sent one message:

"Oh and by the way, you drool when you sleep."

[petitelepus]

Hi! I couldn't find your rules so I hope everything is alright!

I would like to request a match-up please

My name is Daisy Lafleur (please no joke on my name I'm a bit tired of them) I'm 18 (I'm turning 19 in 5 days) , 4'11, she/her, I'm skinny I was the kid and still is the one that you can use 2 fingers to make the whole way around my wrist, I get sick really easy

I have long blond natural hairs but I dye them a pastel pink and wear them as 2 ponytails, I have blue eyes, I'm INFJ, I love philosophy, theater and reading. My fashion style is Lolita I mostly dress like @miladeblois on tiktok she is my favorite.

My love language is physical touch I'm very clingy with the people I like, the tip of my noise is always a bit red even when I don't put any makeup

People think I'm like a child because of how small I am and how I dress but I'm still an adult with my responsibilities and I take them seriously I'm not some 100% pure being even though I don't understand most of THESE jokes, I work at a daycare and I love the kids I want to be a mom one day

I'm also really shy and it's annoying when people think I'm doing it for attention when it's just how I am, theater help me with my anxiety because I like it so much

I have 4 older brothers that can be a bit much overprotective but they are still my brothers and I love them!

I always bring a cat plushie with me because my bf put his parfum on it and it helps me calm down in social events and that's all!

Thank you! I hope you have a good day 😊💕

I match you with Rook Hunt!

Oh, his sweet petite Princesse! Rook wouldn't even dream of making fun of your name or remarkable size. You're his little Princess and he has sworn to treat and love you as one.

Based on what you've told me you're a heroine. You have high morals and know wrong from right and you aren't afraid to get your hands dirty if it means that justice will prevail. You could say that helping others is your true vocation.

Rook admires all these beautiful qualities you have and he would never change a thing in you. He encourages you to be yourself because you are kind, and noble, and did he already mention beautiful?

Your style is just to die for! You really hit the spot on with your dresses and their styles and colors! Your way of doing your dresses and hair really reminds him how sweet you are.

Rook knows to honor your wishes to be treated as a grown-up because you are one, just like him.

Careful, Rook is a hugger. Tell him you like physical shows of affection and he feels like his heart could burst! He immediately asks your permission to touch you! Not in an inappropriate style, he is a gentleman, but with pure and genuine love... And slight obsession.

You might be having a break in the middle of the school's classes when Rook suddenly appears from out of thin air and picks you up so he can twirl you around while praising you and telling you how he missed you.

"Rook, we just ate dinner together an hour ago."

"Love knows no boundaries or time!"

If you ever got sick Rook would be there ready to treat you and help you turn healthy again. It's also a great reason to spend more time with you so he can worship and spoil you rotten.

He also insists on hugging you, claiming that it makes your heal faster if he absorbs some of your sicknesses. DumDum ends up getting sick and has to have you take care of him. Still, worth all the hugs and attention you were giving to him.

You said you wanted kids of your own? Well, Rook can certainly see the appeal. Babies are so innocent and children cute and if you and he made kids, they would no doubt be as gorgeous as their mother and charming as their father.

If you're happening to be in a bashful mood or otherwise feeling a little anxious around Rook then he will more than happily let you cling to him as if he was your precious cat plushie. The thought of you trusting him so much makes him so happy.

Rook isn't scared of your brothers. If they are related to you then they must be just as kind and gorgeous as you are. If the pretty words have no effect on them then Rook proceeds to tell them how much he loves you and promises to keep you safe.

He knows and understands that your brothers only mean good and what's best for you, but Rook asks them to have a little faith in him also. As your partner, it's his honor to serve and love you.

Later on, when it's just the two of you, you might ask if he meant all those sweet things he said about loving and cherishing you. Rook smiled as he gently took your hand in his and placed it over his clothed chest so you could feel how his heart beat for you.

He meant every word.

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY, I HOPE YOU HAD FUN!

[harringrovetrashrat]

Tagged by @disdaidal !!!  Thank you!  Omg I’m like 🥺💖🥺💖

So, I figure since I have so many things I’m working on, and no idea when I’ll actually finish them (outside of my Big Bang Project), I should share the bits of them that I do actually have dhfoiahfiosh

What we have are these:

A fic where Billy meets some older queer people while kicked out, and learns from them how to love himself

“So I’m guessing you’ve never met a queen before,” they said. Billy shook his head.

“I’ve never met any royalty.” Juicy laughed and it made Billy feel like he’d said the wrong thing until she looked at him again, practically beaming.

“Well honey, there’s queens abound in here. Drag Queens, specifically.” Billy’s mouth formed a small ‘o’.

“So, you’re a… man?” Juicy shook her head.

“Personally, I find man and woman too limiting. All gender is a costume, darling. I just think dresses are prettier than suits.”

“You haven’t been in the right suits,” Cindy said with a smirk. Juicy gave her the finger without looking.

“It’s called taste, sweetie.” Cindy just laughed. Billy stared at Juicy, feeling awed by them. They were so tall, toned and beautiful. Their skin was dark and glistened with the glitter they’d spread over it. “I’m sure you have taste, don’t you munchkin?” Billy couldn’t help it and he pouted.

“I’m not short, I’m average for my age,” he snapped. Juicy just smiled.

“I like you,” they said, pointing a long nailed finger at him.

A Cheesy Summer Camp Horror fic, with romance and comedy because Like.  Y’all know me.

“Let’s stop talking about her,” Heather cut in. “Let’s talk about this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Billy asked, perking up. “What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking we could celebrate the end of the first week with a skinny dip,” she said, eyes sparkling. Billy didn’t miss the flush that crossed over Robin’s face, though he wasn’t entirely sure who it was directed at. He definitely had a guess.

“I’m game!” Tommy piped up, grin wide, anger disappearing from his face. Billy rolled his eyes and snorted, but raised his hand, tongue running over his top teeth.

“Why not,” he said, giving his eyebrows a quirk. “I ain’t no pussy.”

“Of course,” Adam muttered, rolling his eyes. Billy’s eyes snapped over and narrowed. “Isn’t it a little, I dunno, juvenile?”

“Oh come on,” Steve chimed in, munching on the cookie now, relaxing with the change of topic. “Maybe so, but it’s summer, it’s camp, why not, right? Start it off with a bang?” His smile was teasing, bright, and Billy found it hard to look away, hard to deny that smile what it wanted.

The Reverse AU where Steve moves to Hawkins with his father and step family, Claudia and Dustin, and Billy was adopted into the Mayfields

“I’m not--! It’s just midterms! That’s what has me all out of sorts.” He opened his notebook and tried to will his blush away. There was a soft thud and Nancy joined them.

“What has you out of sorts?” She asked.

“Mid--”

“Billy so has a crush on that new guy from New York,” Heather said. Billy made a noise of protest when Nancy smiled, leaning over.

“Oh he’s so cute! Truly impeccable taste you have,” she teased. Billy rested his head on the table.

“I hate both of you so fucking much,” he hissed.

“No you don’t,” they chorused.

“I do, I really do,” Billy replied.

Mermaid AU where Steve and Billy were young friends before being separated.  Steve tries to reunite them obviously

“I can show you a bunch of cool stuff,” Billy said, feeling oddly proud of himself. And well, the ocean was his home. And he never got the chance to really show it off to someone who didn’t already know it. “If I show you the ocean, will you tell me more about humans?” Steve nodded. “Like, why are all the ships girls?”

“Huh,” Steve said, tapping his chin with his finger. “I don’t actually know… Usually I think ‘cause a guy names them. I’ll ask my tutor. He knows everything.” Steve wasn’t a huge fan of Professor Owens, but he was nice enough. He let Steve find things to bring in and ask questions about, he didn’t get mad like Steve’s other tutors had when he had trouble reading. So even though Owens still pushed for Steve to focus more on his future, he was better than the other adults in Steve’s life.

“Tutor?” Billy asked. “What’s that?”

“Like a teacher,” Steve replied. “But like… Different.” In fact, Steve wasn’t totally sure what the difference was. Billy just squinted, looking confused.

“Different… how?”

“Uh, tutors are… are taller,” Steve replied matter of factly. Professor Owens was taller than Ms. Joyce had been, so there wasn’t anything to argue against that. Billy nodded seriously, making a note.

There was a ringing bell and a distant voice calling Steve’s name, making him sigh dramatically. It was already time? Billy’s ears twitched a little and he looked at Steve.

“What’s that?”

“That’s my nanny,” Steve said, mopey and pouting.

More of You’ll Find Me Looking Over the Edge of the World

“Oh, King Steve thinking about skipping?” Billy tugged him down, making Steve stumble as a fist started rubbing against his scalp and messing up his hair.

“Fuck, dude!” Steve cried, nearly dropping his tray. Billy just cackled, letting him go and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No,” Nancy said through grit teeth. “He’s thinking about staying and taking--”

“He can’t go around looking like that,” Billy said with faux concern, eyes all worried as he leaned on the table with one hand and used the other to point at Steve’s, now fully messed up, hair. “I think Steve’ll have to take the afternoon, don’t you?” Billy turned to look over his shoulder, not seeing the way Nancy rubbed at her temples as Jonathan very obviously tried not to snicker. Steve almost felt bad. Billy knocked on the table with his knuckles, pushing up with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him home safely.”

“Get me home--” Steve began, but before he could finish his sentence, Billy was shoving him around and out of the cafeteria. Nancy sighed, shaking her head, giving Steve a look he knew would turn into a talk later. “Sorry guys!” Steve tossed over his shoulder.

Billy with a rat he named Max to piss off Max (he calls her human Max and she hates it)

“And what the fuck are you doing here?!” He asked her. Max, the little trouble maker, just squeaked at him, wriggling in his grip. “No fucking wonder I didn’t see you in Barbie’s house this morning, you decided to be a fucking Houndini, didn’t you.” She squeaked again, tail swirling and dragging along his wrist. He heard footsteps behind him and moved to shove her back into his jacket sleeve when Steve approached.

“You okay-- Oh!” Steve blinked, brows raised as he saw Max reach with her small, cute little pink hands to grab for Billy’s hard nipple again. “So…”

“Cut that out!” Billy hissed, moving her down to cradle her against his stomach. She settled in, but she was definitely hungry and would get restless again quickly. “I didn’t see her this morning but just assumed she was hiding in her little pile.”

“Me too,” Steve said, checking around the hallway for anyone who was late. Luckily, there was no one around to see them trying to hide a rat in Billy’s jacket. “How’d she even get out?”

“I mean, we are keeping her in a Barbie dream house instead of a cage--”

“Really? You’re gonna sass me now? After you insisted that she ‘live like the princess she is’--”

Stranger Than Fiction AU

“Billy, I swear to fucking god if you don’t get out there right now--” Billy stumbled out from the back, head turned to glare at Max, who was pushing him from behind. She pushed until he was at the counter, face to face with Steve. He glared, though his face was flush. Max crossed her arms. “Like we fuckin’ practiced.” Billy shot her another angry glance, but then looked back to Steve. Who was so confused.

“Max may have, uhm, brought it to my attention that I may have overreacted just the tiniest little bit.”

“That’s not at all right,” Max said under her breath. Billy swatted behind him without looking, missing her completely.

“Anyway,” he pressed on, “I just,” he sighed, pushing an errant curl behind his ear. Steve watched the movement before snapping his eyes back to Billy’s. “I don’t often take the chance to be nice, so I got maybe a little offended.” Max scoffed. “Okay a lot offended,” he said with an eye roll. Steve couldn’t help it; he snorted. Billy’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes lit up, like a kid who just learned Santa was real. Steve blushed, looking away, but he couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

“It’s okay,” he replied, turning back to look at Billy. The sun lit up the stray blonde hairs poking out of his messy bun, making a light halo around him. Steve had to catch his breath.

It was like looking at an angel, vengeful and dangerous, but exciting all at once. His eyes seemed to shine, bright and gleeful, but also full of mischief.

“It’s okay,” Steve repeated, feeling his face heat up more. “I would have taken them if I could. They were amazing.” He smiled, nodding towards the stairs. “I should get to it though. Last day and all.” Something sad briefly flickered over Billy’s face, but it was gone as soon as it was there, and Steve thought he must have imagined it.

“Yeah, good luck,” Billy said. Max was smiling, smug, and she punched Billy’s shoulder.

Leverage AU

“Well,” he said slowly, letting the trio shake off their shadows. “The lab closed.” This isn’t about the kid was the underlying message. “But, what’s happening now is that Mayor Kline accepted a lot of weird bribes. They’re from a company called Starcourt Industries. Now, that’s the name of the mall that opened, Starcourt, but what’s weird--”

“--Is that they didn’t exist for very long before suddenly popping up in Indiana,” Alec cut in. “It reads like one of our companies. General background, seems legit, but I did a lot of poking around most of this stuff leads to loose ends. It took a while to get there, so at first glance…” The group nodded. At first glance everything checked out, and even a little digging would provide a general cover that most people wouldn’t think to look past.

Of course, none of them were most people.

“So who are they?” Eliot asked.

“All of the loose ends lead back to Russia,” Alec said. “But nothing concrete or connected, just more companies that do really general stuff. It goes real deep.” The implications there were discomforting. Alec was a genius, and excelled in his line of work, but this kind of grand scale cover up meant one thing: this was bigger than just a few bad apples in a company. This was a plan.

“So who’s the client?” Sophie asked. Nate pulled up a picture of a grumpy looking man, mustache groomed and eyes hard, but kind.

“Chief Jim Hopper.” That got Parker’s attention, bringing her out of the funk she’d been in since the mention of San Diego and Billy.

“Like, Police Chief?”

“Yep,” Nate said, popping the P. “He’s the one who found the kid, found out there was something going on at the lab. Now, he’s positive something weird is going on. Knows he’s done everything he can to legally take the Mayor down, but the man has a lot of friends in high places, and Jim can’t do anything. And that’s,” he smiled, “Where we come in.”

That’s still merely some of what I have going on, but that’s what I’ll share rn. Anyway, tag me in ur WIPs! I’d love to read them :) tag ur it