#these two are the product of ten years of writing

[jarofstyles]

Put Your Records On

This is a little thing I came up with at 2 am and kept writing till 5 lol. It's pop star y/n x rock star H. I don't do a lot of canon H and some things are changed/ don't fit into the real one but that's on purpose. Part two will be up very soon!

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WC- 4.2k

Warnings- dirty talk, mention of bullying (Brief)

She saw him from across the room- well, more like felt him. The room had a buzz in it that it hadn’t before.

It was common knowledge that he was going to be there. One of his best friends was hosting the after party for the BRIT awards, and she had been lucky enough to be invited considering her manager had been friends with the group for a while. Actually, it was a bit shocking that she’d never met the man considering how close their circles ran. She’d met a lot of his management and production team, even a few members of his band- but never the man himself. 

It was her second year after making it big on the music scene but her entire life, she’d been working towards this. School musicals, voice lessons, guitar and piano lessons, music had become her flesh and blood and she was determined to make it her bread and fucking butter. She’d been blessed with her voice and a talent like hers wasn’t one to waste, that’s what her parents had said as she grew up- and it had all paid off. She went home with Best New Artist and was coming down on the buzzing high of another huge accomplishment of her career. 

Harry was infamous, at the top of the damn world and everyone knew his name. He was just about to hop back on tour, one Y/N had been invited to attend by his manager himself. It seemed like today was the day they would finally meet in person, and judging by the recognition in his eye, he had heard about her too. 

God, that made her want to vomit. Growing up she’d been a casual fan of his band, been to a few shows even after scraping together enough money for a ticket along with her best friend. Said friend was lost somewhere in the room and Y/N knew she had a knack for awful timing, but as the man got closer to her she felt her insides begin to bubble. She wasn’t one to get starstruck super easily, thank god, but it was hard not to feel intimidated as he approached her. A black blazer with a very sheer pink blouse underneath, pants tight on the thighs and flared at the calves, necklaces hanging in a thatch of thin chest hair, she’d felt her mouth dry as his smile was given directly to her. Someone she’d grown up singing to in her bedroom, right into her hairbrush, was grinning at her like she was someone important. 

“So we finally meet.” Harry reached his hand out to shake hers. Clunky rings covered the digits as her own took them, shaking his warm hand with her own smile on her face. She’d been on stage in front of tens of thousands of people, and yet he was a bit more intimidating. Still she was going to do her best to use her brief acting skills and pretend her heart wasn’t in her throat. “I’ve heard so much about you- your album’s fucking brilliant.”

He was tipsy, she could see that much. His eyes were slightly hooded and he had a looser demeanor than he had seated at the table ahead of her at the awards show. Good for him. It wasn’t likely that he did this too much. It was well known that he wasn’t much for drinking during his working season and he’d won two awards! That called for drinks all around. 

What took her off guard, though, was the fact that he’d listened to her album. He listened and he had said it was good? Her cheeks heated as she realized he was still holding her hand, gently letting it fall as he took a step closer. It was a little loud out there but not too bad if you were close enough. “You think so? I’m hoping it’s all good things.” She let out a laugh she hoped sounded natural, adjusting her hair. The girl had always been one to fuss with her clothes when she was nervous but hopefully he didn’t realize that. “So is yours. Got quite a few on my playlists.” 

“Yeah?” His smile grew bigger. “Which ones?” Y/N felt the lump in her throat as she tried not to think about how good he smelled. It was so creepy, noticing that. There was a faint hint of tobacco and the tiniest bit of alcohol, but he smelled really warm. Cuddly, in a way. It made sense in her brain, but she was also a drink in at this point. 

“Mmm, I have a few from other albums but from the latest? Satellite, that’s the go to for the gym for me… Late Night Talking, very relatable for me. Erm… Boyfriends, unfortunately.” She saw him give a playful wince. “Yeah, men are shit- no offence. And then I’d say Daydreaming is a personal favorite. As It Was was brilliant, obviously, but Daydreaming is my favorite.” It felt like maybe she word-vomited a little but he’d listened to every word, seeming pleased with her answers. 

“Daydreaming isn’t one I hear of being a favorite, usually. M’chuffed that it’s yours.” He genuinely seemed happy about it. “I really liked the closing track of your album- it’s so rare to find albums that tell a story, that are thoughtfully laid out, at least at this point in time. I love to listen from front to back and it was laid out perfectly. Usually m’a bit of a snob and would have some critiques but you nailed it.” 

Y/N preened. It wasn’t a compliment she got often and it shocked her because that meant he’d really listened. Really paid attention to her music and took time with her album. It was extremely flattering. Surreal, really. Who could have told 15 year old Y/N that Harry would be a fan of her fucking music? She’d probably pass the fuck out. “I’m shocked you got that, but thank you. Yeah, I did the same thing growing up. It was my favorite part of music I’d find, seeing how stuff flowed together. Top to bottom and then bottom to top, then I can shuffle.” It was said in a slightly joking tone but she was fully serious. 

“You get it, Y/N.” He reached out to nudge her shoulder. “I’ve been trying to meet you for a bit but my schedule’s been hectic. Thought it wouldn’t be since we’ve been going for a bit now but tour prep… can be brutal, y’know?” 

Y/N did know, but on a minuscule scale compared to what his tour probably entailed. He was doing stadiums, for god’s sake! Y/N’s arena tour sold out quickly, but there was a huge size difference in where they were. Hopefully she’d reach his level one day. “I do, I do. It’s not a big deal, I didn’t think you were avoiding me or anything.” For a bit she did, but that was wiped away when she’d realized he released the tour dates. It had been months of almost meetings but she had faith in the universe. When it was meant to happen, it would. 

“God no, I was excited to. Did y’want to come sit with us over there?” He motioned to the private area she was allowed into but not been brave enough to venture to quite yet. 

“Sure, that would be nice.” Y/N hadn’t expected to be invited to sit with him personally, let alone feel his hand on her back as he led them through the crowd of people in the room. The star said hellos as he walked through but somehow had mastered the art of saying hi without being caught into a conversation without seeming rude. That was a skill she sure as hell was envious of.

His hand was really fucking warm. She could feel slight calluses on his fingertips, in true musician fashion, but they weren’t as rough as one would originally expect. Her backless dress did her no favors in hiding the warmth and how nice and comforting his touch felt, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank or scowl at her stylist. It wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the dress they’d pulled for the carpet, thankfully this dress was a slinky, emerald green one with room for her legs to actually move. Her updo had been taken down to a mess of curls that nearly reached where his hands were- the power of extensions. As heavy as her head felt, she couldn’t deny that she felt exceptionally beautiful. Thank god the universe had chosen today to meet Harry. 

“Finally!” Sarah sighed. “I’ve been waiting for you two to meet for ages. Come sit.” The woman had always been very sweet, even more sweet with a few drinks in her. Saying her hellos to the familiar people, she felt Harry sit himself next to her in the booth and immediately drinks were brought over. So this is why it was VIP. It was a lemon drop, something Y/N did happen to like. Harry handing her one before taking his own was unexpected but very appreciated, a gentle thank you exchanged as he settled back next to her. 

It was unreal to be here. To be sat at a table of friendly but insanely successful people, feel like part of the ‘in’ crowd, it had completely blindsided her. This was the sort of thing that she’d always thought about when she was in her bed at home as a teenager, hoping one day to rub elbows with the people she once admired so much they had space on her bedroom wall, and here it was. Someone who’s face was on her favorite bedtime tee shirt (Those merch shirts were expensive and she wasn’t about to get rid of it because a member was now in her circle). 

“Y/N, did you know that H added some of your songs to the preshow playlist in his dressing room?” Sarah hummed. 

“You did?” The girl gasped as she looked at him. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn she saw a bit of a pink glint to his cheeks. Maybe it was the alcohol. 

“He did, and he’s been raving about it to Mitch. Sometimes he’s singing it when we pass, that one song about the… what’s it called? The Raven? Some sort of bird.” 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink.” Mitch had to laugh at her airing a bit of Harry’s business, but she was a chatterbox when she was drunk. 

“That’s so nice!” Y/N said shyly. “You’re on mine too, actually. The dressing room for me and the one the fans listen to, I can hear them sing it from backstage.”

Harry’s leg was pressed into hers so she didn’t have to turn far to look at him, watching him finish his drink as he nodded. “I do, yeah. Told you I liked your music. I meant it.”

“Yeah, if he didn’t he wouldn’t mention it. That’s why when he met that girl earlier he just said it was nice to meet-” Sarah was cut off by her husband asking her if she wanted to see something on his phone, putting Harry out of his misery. 

“M’not an ass.” He groaned. “I just didn’t vibe with the album, y’know? I won’t say things I don’t mean but that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite.”

“Agree, 100%. It’s easy when it’s just a taste thing, but I’ve found it harder with people I’ve seen or heard talk bad about me and it’s confirmed. Dunno how you’re able to do that.” Y/N struggled to not show her nerves or distaste of people sometimes and it was something she was constantly working on. Her best friend often had to tell her to adjust her facial expressions and she’d even gone viral once for a ‘stink face’ she’d made at someone. It was accidental of course, but it’d also caused one of her first big waves of hate. 

“It’s not easy, and anyone who says so is lying.” Harry confirmed. “It’s taken me years. Said something about pussy on tv not realizing the cameras could see, so It’s trial and error.” The joke had the both of them laughing, Y/N not divulging that she indeed already knew that. “I think it’s important to just remember they’re humans and probably just as nervous t’see you. It’s just a short interaction and you can move on quickly. I also think working out, yoga, all of that helps a lot with my inner calm. It isn’t easy, like I said, but you’re also in the beginnings of your career in this sort of light. I’ve got no doubt that you’ll be able to have a good poker face by the end of the year.”

“God, I love that song.” Y/N sighed. “Poker face, loved that one I mean. But thank you. I really do appreciate the advice. I was terrified coming tonight. The award shows are much scarier than your own gigs.” 

“Oh, definitely.” Harry whistled, taking another drink from the tray and handing a fresh one to her. “S’like, you know the people who go to your shows are there for you. It’s like a little family get together, it’s safer. Those people love you enough t’buy a ticket, travel got knows how long, wears a shirt with your face on it. It’s mental to think about but incredible. These things?” He motioned around the room. “All marketing and partying, but more drama. S’crazy how many people have slept with each other in this room.” Harry realized a bit too late that he’d said too much but thankfully Y/N just giggled in agreement. “You seem to take to it quite well though. Not to sound weird but I saw you accept your awards and socialize a bit here, you’ve probably got the whole room fooled.”

That was a relief and a compliment in her opinion. The goal was to make sure no one sensed the weakness. Unfortunately she’d learned early on that these people could sniff it out like a shark in bloodied water. “That’s the goal.” She replied, leaning back into the seat. Her back was killing her from the bloody heels on her feet and how tight her other dress was, so it was a relief to have this reprieve from them sitting here. 

“So tell me about your tour then. What’s going on with that?”

—-----------

Y/N was drunk. Certifiably hammered. She had one too many lemon drops and apparently, so did Harry. Some of the people had vacated the booth and it left them alone as they talked amongst themselves. With the aid of the liquid courage, she wasn’t losing her mind over how close they were. Sure, her heart was still going a million miles a minute, but that was due to his fingers fiddling with the strap of her dress. Harry was, evidently, a touchy drunk. Clingy. He’d even followed her to the bathroom and waited for her outside before they’d returned. 

In all honesty, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t believe all of this in the morning. That Harry had ignored everyone else in favor of talking to her, tucked away in VIP at a round table, his body closer than it needed to be considering the space. They’d talked about a lot of industry things, but more so the fun and personal. She told him about her collection of band tee shirts and admitting to not having listened to all the bands she wore, but he didn’t judge her for it. Said he went through a phase of doing the same while in the band. She told him about her cat, a Siamese named Simon and he’d cooed over photos on her phone about how cute he’d looked with his collar that had a little flower on it. So many topics were covered, so many things discussed in the last two hours that she felt like she was getting a handle on who he was. 

Though this many drinks, it was bleeding into oversharing.

“Your ex was at the awards?” He asked, eyes slightly red but widening as she dropped the tidbit.

“Yep.” The p in the word was exaggerated with a pop of her lips and an eye roll. “Note to you for the future, don’t fuck anyone involved in your production team. Makes for a nasty breakup and a lot of rude ‘inside sources’ with the press.” Her lips flattened. “And he couldn’t even make me finish, so. Fuck him.”

Harry’s eyes widened further before he groaned, his head dropping to the side onto the leather booth seat. “No, not that, Y/N. C’mon.” He seemed a bit distraught. “It’s always those guys that make your life hell, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I did learn that a bit early on.” He seemed to remember it but she didn’t ask. If he didn’t divulge it, she wasn’t going to pry. “You got the shit end of the stick. It’s one of my embarrassments being a male. Y’don’t have to be a rocket scientist to learn how to pleasure a woman.”

“You’d think.” She scoffed. “Swear, men in LA don’t know how to use any of their appendages. Used like a human fleshlight so I stopped hooking up with people. It got discouraging after the fifth time I left. Not a single one know where the clit is.” It was an unfortunate truth. Maybe she was looking in the wrong places or had a string of bad luck, but she’d been voluntarily celibate because of it. “Doubt you know what m’talking about, Mr Watermelon Sugar.”

Y/N realized her internal thought had become an external one when he broke out into his own giggles, her face heating. She’d definitely not meant for that to be said out loud, but thankfully he didn’t seem offended. It was the truth anyways, any man who loved pleasuring a woman so much that he wrote a whole song about it had to know what he was doing.

As his giggles came down, he replied. “Well, I’d like t’think I do. I…” He swallowed. “Know we just met, but overshare?” Scooting closer, he watched her nod. “I think I get off more on getting other people off, if that makes sense. Like, making someone feel good. I dunno if it’s some sort of ego thing, but I enjoy it a lot. Being the cause of pleasure. Think it probably ties in to a bit of a praise kink I’ve got, but it’s the truth.” 

Y/N had never thought she’d get into this sort of conversation with the man, let alone in a dark corner at the BRITs afterparty, but she wasn’t about to complain. “So it’s true then?” She rose an eyebrow. “You really love eating pussy?” Drunk Y/N had officially taken over. A bit of a drunk, horny Y/N she’d been trying to repress. In the morning she would be mortified that she asked that, but right now she was genuinely curious. 

“I do.” He smirked. “I dunno there’s just something about it. Being the one to make someone gasp. When it feels so good they try and push and pull you at the same time. Love the taste, love t’hear the noises. Maybe it’s a little arrogant of me but your name sounds better when it’s said with pleasure, don’t you think?” 

Y/N should have known better than to ask. Harry was a very attractive, alluring man, he was close to her and smelled so fucking good and god damn it, she was already horny. Her cunt throbbed and she knew she was going to have a wet patch in her thong when she left, but she was a glutton for punishment. “I do. I like giving for the same reason.” She admitted. “I’ve always had a lack of gag reflex so, it’s made it easier for me than other people probably have it.”

Harry’s interest seemed to be stroked, fingers brushing over her bare neck as she spoke. It was hard to concentrate here, with him so close. But Y/N always did like to be a bit of a tease, brushing the tip of her foot over the back of his leg. Maybe they were playing a dangerous game talking about this, but no one else was around. She didn’t fall back when his head dipped slightly, getting closer than necessary. “Look at us then. What a pair.” 

“I know. You’re just bold enough to write a whole song about it.” Her finger poked him playfully in the chest. 

“M’not apologetic about it. A woman’s pleasure is important and often overlooked. Makes me sad that no one’s made you feel good in that long. I hope you’re taking care of yourself at the very least.” Oh, she was. And she would be when she got back to her hotel tonight. Thank god for the suction vibrators. 

“I do, but it’s not the same as having someone else do it for you.” Her drunk self told her it as a good idea to pout, trying not to breath too hard as his fingers caressed the nape of her neck. “Sometimes I just miss the touch of another human, you know? Even innocent touches but, there’s nothing like being fucked so hard you feel it the next day. Feels like it’s impossible to find it anymore.” 

“It’s not.” He replied. Eyes were staring into her own. “You’re fucking stunning. Especially tonight, you could pull anyone in the room.” Gaze dipped down to her cleavage, not hiding that he was looking. Heat that had been bubbling in her stomach spread through the rest of her body, his touch igniting a bit of a spark. 

“Anyone?” Her head tilted to the side. The tension had been growing a bit with the two of them but now it was thick in the air. There was no denying that there was an attraction between them but it was palpable now. “So if I wanted to, I could pull you?” Y/N had no idea if he was even available for anything right now. It wasn't’ a smart idea considering how closely they worked near each other, but right now all she could think about was the fact that she had full confidence that Harry could give her the feelings that she wanted- the fuck she needed. 

“Absolutely. M’hanging on by a thread here.” His voice deepened, face far closer to hers than should be appropriate for two people who just met. “I’ve been trying to be a gentleman all night. M’a bit of a slut sometimes but hookups aren’t usually my thing. Was trying to figure out a way to ask you out but, I’ve been a little nervous.” Fingers curled around the back of her neck as their noses brushed. ‘But fuck it, right?” Warm breaths puffed against each others, leaving the ball in Y/N’s court. 

“Fuck it.” 

Harry took that and ran. Lips pressed against hers as he cradled her neck, angling her how he wanted while he slowly kissed her. It was shockingly intimate despite the setting, smooth, soft lips sucking lightly against hers. There was no sign of stopping as her mouth opened for him, letting their tongue brush and the heat rise between them. His body angled slightly to cover hers from view, he let out a low groan in his throat as her hand raised to his hair. It was soft and a bit long for him as of late, but it felt good between her fingers. His other hand held the side of her face, so gentle but solid that she knew she’d give into any of his demands. 

The party raged on behind them but they got lost in the kisses, one turning to three, turning to ten and they hardly came up for air. There was no doubt her makeup was going to be fucked up, that her lipstick was done for, but there was no better way to ruin it. “Y’taste so sweet.” Harry’s words were whispered against her swelling lips. “And you smell so good. Been driving me a bit crazy. Wanted to meet you for ages cause I knew we’d get on… but didn’t think we’d get on this well.” He chuckled into the kiss, squeezing the back of her neck and making her melt slightly into him. “Hoped for it, though.” 

“You did?” Her own voice was breathless as she tried to catch up to his kisses.. It was hard not to get butterflies when he hummed in agreement. Harry had been excited to meet her. “Had a little crush, did you?” The statement was fully meant to be a tease, but he agreed. 

“Suppose I did.”

[jacks347]

Y'all know I love making fandom content but honestly...I can't remember the last time I wrote something just for me so fuck it

Meet Mars and Ollie

Ollie didn’t sleep much. Mars had noticed that from the very beginning but hadn’t known what to think of it. Hey, he was stressed with a moderate to severe case of Gifted Kid Syndrome, the stress probably kept him awake. Or at least, that’s what he thought. How Mars wished that’d been it. This was so so much worse.

“Insomnia? So you can’t sleep?”

“It’s not just insomnia, Mars. Fatal Familial Insomnia is chronic sleep deprivation until it kills you. I won’t live to see my thirties.”

No…no. This wasn’t right. Ollie was the sweetheart who ran the flower shop across the street, the clumsy dork who tripped over his own feet so many times he had to switch to iced coffee at risk of burning himself anymore and causing serious damage, the man he loved. And he was…dying?

He wasn’t processing this correctly. His heart had turned to ice-cold lead inside his chest, freezing the very air in his lungs along with it.

He would watch the man he loved die. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Mars had once controlled the stars, the very cosmos themselves, and yet he was helpless to do anything but watch the stars in his lover's eyes die one by one.

Time had meant so little to him before. Now each second was a blessing. Each second sat next to Ollie's hospital bed, each minute he explained their love story again as Ollie's mind began to leave him, each hour he watched Ollie trace over the tattoos on Mars's arms while he still had the strength, each day he prayed for the gods to grant him one more.

"I've tried to stop calling him mine. The blank confusion on his face whenever I do is like another knife through my heart. But it's so hard. I can't bear to spend a single second not giving him every ounce of love I can manage. I don't think I ever will. I'd rather tell him our love story every day than settle for being a stranger."

Decades of faces and personalities all blurred together but Mars could remember every detail about Ollie.

His name was Oleander. He was 22. His favorite flower was marigolds. He couldn't handle spicy foods. He was terrified of Final Destination but always watched it cause he knew it was Mars's favorite. He loved to read. He learned Turkish from his grandmother. He'd loved Mars for two years.

"He's not there. I don't know when he stopped being there but I know he's gone now. He's been gone for a while but this feeble heart of mine didn't want to believe it. It still doesn't. I still don't. My Ollie, my beautiful flower, my eternal starlight, why of all the places you could go did you have to pick the one where I can't follow?"

What a beautiful twist of fate, for an immortal to fall so deeply in love with a mortal such as this. What a cruel path of destiny, to be forced to watch that love die as time stole him away.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Corporate Rivals

Bruce is really excited to hire a boy genius from a small time town. He found him by accident while scrolling through some creative writing competition past winners on various school sites. He originally wanted ideas for his own contest for the annual Wayne Young Writers Scholarship when he stumbled up Amity Parks Youth Authors.

Daniel Fenton's science fiction had won second place, and Bruce thinks he only lost due to the judges not realizing all the science of the gadgets his charaters used were real. Real, well explain and proper research. Daniel obviously knew his stuff and knew it well.

He had reached out to Daniel with a science scholarship opportunity, wanting to see what he would come up with. He gave him a basic assignment asking him to fulfill a prompt "Software or Hardware development for disabled" in either theory or model. If he created something worthwhile, Bruce would send him ten grand.

Daniel did not disappoint, not only doing the theory paper but also sending back a prototype of a pocket ASL translator. It would be an app on a phone that would have an AI watching through a camera of the person doing sign language and say out loud what the person was saying. It had a few bugs here and there, but for a high schooler, those were very impressive accomplishments.

Bruce found himself sponsoring the boy for early high school graduation. The young Fenton boy was a genius just like his parents, but he lacked proper motivation. Bruce suspected it was due to his school not challenging him enough much like Tim.

When Daniel got his diploma Bruce offered a few rid to Gotham University with the condition he would be a employee at WE. Daniel agreed under the condition it was as a proper employee and not a unpaid intern. A little daring for a kid getting already a amazing deal but Bruce liked his moxy and agreed.

Daniel Fenton was to be a worker in the RD department for WE tech in one week.

He couldn't wait to introduce him to Tim. Two young geniuses would get along swimmingly with their shared brain prowess!

______________________________________

Tim hated the new guy.

They were the same age, but everyone acted like he was amazing for finishing high school and starting university while also being a top WE reseacher and Devloper at such a young age.

Oh Tim was CEO, but as many people have whispered, he didn't graduated Highschool or have a GED so the only reason he got to be CEO was because of nepotism. Danny on the other hand got his position through hard work.

Which was ironic, seeing as the company has never done so well since Tim came on board. Their sales, PR, and production numbers all tripled because of him. Danny, on the other hand, was a sloth with little to no ambition. He didn't even work well with others! He mostly did solo projects and everyone seemed fine with that since genius "need their own space"

Tim has been networking since he was three years old, and failure to do so had always reflected badly on him and his company. He spent his entire life careful choosing his words and his actions. Even his appearance, what he wore, his hairstyle even the hand gesture when he talked, were planned before hand.

Then comes Fenton, who avoids crowds, dressed in the worst formal wear Tim has ever seen . Black jeans were not formal!- and acted like this important office was just a after school hang out spot. Now Tim was much more laid back than his board co-workers, who were all in their fifties or older, and even more relax then the mangers or superiors of lower stations but even he could not understand Fenton blaring music, bags of chips lingering everywhere and his ordination skills were none existing!

Not to mention the fact Daniel didn't believe in using computers unless he had to. His office was covered in towers of paper that he scribbled and work on! It was such a waste!

And yet, despite all of that, Daniel was rapidly becoming an asset to WE. His ASL translator app wasn't finished, but it had everyone buzzing with excitement and would be well received when it was released with Wayne Phones as a built in app.

Tim tried to avoid him as best he could least he get offended by his lack of work proper behavior

Daniel Fenton did not understand what it meant to put your all into something that you lost yourself along the way. Best to ignore him.

________________________________________

Danny couldn't stand his company CEO. Timothy Drake reminded him a little too much of the A-listers but without the bulling bit. Somehow, that made it worse.

Timothy was popular because he was well liked. He didn't need to relay on his good looks or aggression to make other yeild to him like Paulina or Dash. Even if he was ridiculously good looking to the point, Danny confused him for a siren when he met him.

He had the ability to walk into any room and take command if it. Timothy didn't even need to speak, his very presence commanded attention and awe. Not to mention how great he was at his job.

WE had always been a popular corporation but under Timothy's command they rose to one of the most important corporations in the world. Bruce Wayne was raised to run a company, Timothy Drake was born to run it. There was a large enough difference between the two that anyone could see Timothy was superior at running things.

Danny was nothing like that. He couldn't talk to people, couldn't make them like him, and often he was overlooked for his sister or his wacky but loveable parents.

He was the other Febton. The one that was there and nothing else. A few months ago he was even considered the dumb Fenton, who somehow was skipped over for intelligence.

Then he wrote a little story and everything changed.

Danny turned out to be a proper Fenton, after all, having gotten the attention of Bruce Wayne for his mind. His parents haven't been so proud of him in a long time, and he found himself accepting the job position after graduating high school early before he knew it.

Along with the job came a move to Gotham city. He went after debating it a great deal with his family and friends, but the deal was too sweet to turn down. Now he was in Gothem and he knew absolutely no one.

Danny didn't know how to make new friends here. Tucker and Sam had been the ones to approach him at the beginning of their friendships. He also was scared of getting close to his co-worker less they suspect his Phantom powers.

He knew that Metas was not welcome, and he thought Batman wouldn't care that he was technically dead and not with a meta gene.

So he focused on his work, avoiding large crowds and keeping his head down. He would turn on music to help pass the loneliness and would gater papers to write down his thoughts less they made him mad by running around his head all day.

This anxious insecurity was something Timothy Drake would never understand. He just shone like a fallen star, dazzling the masses with his neat press suits, easy charisma, and intelligent bedroom eyes. Best to ignore him.

________________________________________

Dick never really ventured to WE now that he moved out. He made a habit of trying to visit Tim every two weeks for lunch to fix this. He also really wanted to spend more one on one time with his little brother now that they reconsidled from Bruce's timeline fiasco.

He was still well known by the employees, even new ones, so when Dick arrived to the lobby he was waved in by security. The receptionists were all huddled together muttering to eachother and missed his entrance since security didn't call out to him.

Dick could tell the gossip they were talking about was juicy based on the way Lola was wiggling her eyebrows and Stacy and Isaiah's reaction.

He creeps closer to the front desk, hoping to hear something good.

"Isn't that against the rules?" Isaiah asks.

"WE doesn't have anything like that. Not since Thomas Wayne married his old PA and had Bruce. I think it's cute that Mr.Drake is following in his adoptive Grandfather's footsteps."

Dick paused, shocked. Tim liked someone at WE!?

"They aren't even dating yet, Lola"

"Yeah but you can cut the sexual tension with a- Mr. Grayson! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you. How can I help you?"

Dick blinks. "Oh I'm here to see Tim for lunch. But what was that about Tim you were saying?"

The woman pales as the other two quickly become busy with some email or another.

"Oh, um, I'm so sorry, sir. I shouldn't have -"

"It's fine I don't mind a little chat between co-workers. I'm just curious"

Lola stares before nervously blurting "Rumor has it that um, Mr.Drake has a thing for Daniel Fenton"

"The new boy genius?" Dick thinks about it considering what he knows of Tim's type and his past preferences in partners before nodding "That tracks actually"

He says his thanks and hurries away to Tim's office unaware he may have confirmed a relationship between Tim and Danny.

The gossip circles in WE exploded with the news everyone careful not to let the two subjects hear a whisper.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[emo-batboy]

Things Battinson Totally Did During His First Year of University

Using Unhinged or Odd Things I Also Did as a College Freshman :D

Note: for this list, let’s believe Bruce was living in an (admittedly expensive and swanky) dorm because it is required for first-years, especially those entering at a young age, and Alfred told him he needed to make friends. Also yes I did every single thing on this list. I never claimed to be a role model

Bruce, to his TA: I’m so sorry I’m late to class. I gave blood a few hours ago and almost fainted on the way here, but it won’t happen again.

Signs up for a class called “Age of Dinosaurs” despite it not being required whatsoever and proceeds to work his entire schedule around it

Bruce: Your mental health is super important. If you think you should see the on-campus therapist, go see them. Friend: Fine. I’ll sign up for therapy if you sign up for therapy too. Bruce: Hold on-

Finds a loophole in his housing contract that allows him to get a pet frog, calls him kermit :)

Gets a second frog because Kermit was lonely, names it Constantine after Muppets Most Wanted, then realizes that they’re gay for each other. Wonders if the rainbow-colored rocks he got them triggered anything

Swings dramatically between calling Alfred every single day and ghosting him for weeks, cries when he realizes what he did

“Accidentally” joins the student body council, doesn’t know what he’s doing, gets re-elected anyway

Molds a dragon out of Laffy Taffy instead of doing his work

Bruce: *joins Honors, gets all A’s, takes the max amount of classes, has several minors, overachieves* Also Bruce: I’m a failure.

Breaks into a building after hours to study because NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AT THE LIBRARY

Bruce: I will not get seasonal depression this year. Bruce: *gets real and seasonal depression that year*

Meticulously schedules his day with a color-coded planner because if he sits down for too long, the thoughts will consume him

Gives a presentation to his rhetoric class on how much he likes Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (it is 20 minutes long)

Successfully allocates funding from the student body council to pay for free feminine products in the dorms OUT OF SPITE because someone said it couldn't be done. fuck you, Andrew

Bruce: It is not an all-nighter if I go to sleep before my first class. Friend: It is 7:30am, the sun is in the sky, and your first class is at 12:30. Bruce: But I am getting sleep.

Refuses to go anywhere without his backpack because what if he needs three notebooks at once

Loses over 20 pounds because ✨stress✨ and scares the shit out of Alfred when he comes home for Thanksgiving

Argues with his TA over the one (1) question he got wrong on his Dinosaur exam

Bruce, calling Alfred: Hello father figure. How do I do taxes? Do I have to do them myself? Also, I think I’m having a panic attack.

Joins in on a charity arts-and-crafts project that gives kids books with matching activities made by volunteers, proceeds to commandeer the project because “it’s not color-blind friendly” and rewrites the instructions for everyone

Makes a murder wall

Goes to one (1) sports game and proceeds to leave in the first ten minutes because it’s way too loud wtf is wrong with people

Professor, addressing the lecture hall: I dare you to write an essay about these two sentences. Bruce: *writes an essay about six words, gets a 100, never even read the book*

Crawls into the ceiling for some alone time

Ghosts someone after a date because he’s too scared to tell them he didn’t know it was a date in the first place and now he feels bad

Classmate: How tf does he walk across campus that fast? I go in the same direction he does on my bike, and he’s always ahead of me. Bruce: *is gay sprinting to Dinosaur class*

Refuses to let others use his Favorite Pen TM

Constantly gets mistaken for a Grad Student because he is “so wise and mature” (bestie, that’s the autism)

Alfred: *casually mentions he got into a car accident through text* Bruce: *replies with a meme while hyperventilating because he doesn’t know what to do with that information??!*

Wears a suit to one of his finals

Regularly eats non-organic food for the first time in his life, proceeds to learn about several allergies Alfred forgot to mention he has

Writes “What is a Hot Pocket?” in calligraphy and proceeds to laugh his ass off alone in his dorm because he is so exhausted he’s reached the point of delusion

Locks himself out of his dorm right before class, frantically asks the floor group chat if someone can help, proceeds to tell the nice gay man on the floor who saved him “I love you” because his social skills have hit rock bottom

Makes a little music album display next to his desk for his favorite band (Nirvana) His friends call it a shrine, and they are technically correct

Has a blacklist of people he refuses to interact with because Reasons

Counselor: What do you want to do when you graduate? Bruce: *gestures vaguely*

Refuses to take the bus because there are people in there and he doesn’t like those

Loses one of his frogs, how tf did he do that, they’re fully aquatic, oh fuck, this is probably why they got rid of that loophole a year later because unbeknownst to Bruce, he accidentally started a frog revolution in the dorms, btw he SWEARS he did not mean to do that

Has two trash cans in his room: one for the Good Garbage, and one for the Bad Garbage. Only Bruce knows which is which

Bruce: *writes a creative piece about a ship’s final thoughts as it sinks, bringing its passengers down with it* TA: Absolutely lovely, Bruce, but are you okay?

Goes on Night Walks, keeps himself safe by maintaining a level 12 resting bitch face at all times

Earns the nickname “8th floor cryptid” after pacing the halls at 3am when it’s too cold for Night Walks (honestly tho how tf didn’t he get the nickname earlier?)

Bruce: Do you think a depressed person could do this? Bruce: *has a manic episode*

Okay that's all love you BYE

[ham1lton]

TEN THINGS F1 DRIVER Y/N L/N CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT — GQ.

— part of my maneater series ꕤ

Y/N (throwing her hat in the air with one hand and catching it in the other without looking): see? told you i could do it! not my only party trick.

Y/N: hi gq! i’m y/n l/n, formula one driver and i’m here to show you my ten essentials.

NUMBER ONE: IPAD

Y/N: first, has to be my ipad. this was my first big purchase and seeing my bank account being drained of that money almost caused a heart attack. but this bad boy helps me to organise my life, stops me from being bored on flights, keeps me in contact with my family and lets me write my notes. so yeah, thanks apple. also you guys should sponsor me.

NUMBER TWO: NOISE CANCELLING HEADPHONES

Y/N: i never used to travel a lot. when i was younger, my family couldn’t afford it so flying around a lot was a big shock to my system. obviously as in f1, drivers are required to fly to different races and it means i had to get over my fear of flying. these help a lot with that. these plus a spotify playlist made by my angsty teenage self will make me forget about the fact i’m flying. these are my favourite ones, i have multiple pairs just in case.

NUMBER TWO AND A HALF: MUSIC.

Y/N: i guess this sort of goes off the second one? but music. i keep trying to bribe the engineers to build a blue tooth radio in the car but to no avail. spotify has been my biggest supporter all of these years. i know i’m sponsored by them now but i have been using my account for almost seven years now? so my algorithm is perfection. it truly has helped me so much. i listen to music on the way to races, on the way back from races, in my house, outside my house, cleaning, cooking and even when i’m in the shower. yes, i’m a shower singer. once i get in there, i’m beyoncé!

OFF SCREEN VOICE: what was the last song you listened to?

Y/N: one second, let me see. it was the twilight soundtrack in particular decode by paramore. told you i was an angsty teen!

NUMBER THREE: EMERGENCY BAG

Y/N: okay this sounds bad, it’s not as much an emergency bag as in like medical supplies but more so like extra toothbrush, toothpaste, menstrual products, lotion and other stuff like that. i always carry this with me anywhere in case my suitcase goes missing. it has helped me and my friends out so many times so it’s definitely an essential for me.

NUMBER FOUR: HER CAMERAS.

Y/N: i picked up photography relatively recently and this was the starter camera that the guy in the shop recommended. so this is that camera. for this one, i vlog, which you guys might have seen and this is the camera i use for those videos. i actually don’t record my videos, one of my friends or family or colleagues or whoever will film and i will be in front of the camera. it’s my favourite part when i ask the camera person to reveal themselves and they do their own little introduction. i obviously provide the camera for it. which is this beauty right here.

OFF SCREEN VOICE: who has been your favourite person to film you?

Y/N: i have had a lot of people film me. my most recent being rihanna for my recent holiday vlog! so many people to the point that i genuinely don’t think i could choose a favourite. i mean, i’ve had my sister do it a lot so i guess i can choose her. she knows my angles best!

NUMBER FIVE: LIPGLOSS

Y/N: when i won my first championship and i kissed the camera, the amount of calls from makeup companies my manager received was actually obscene. i think i got so many comments on social media asking what makeup i use and how it stays on throughout the race! to be honest, i don’t always wear makeup but in the original video, i was wearing this fenty gloss. it’s in the shade fu$$y. so, yeah, at least no one can call me a gatekeeper! i always keep it on me. i feel a little more ready to face the world with lipgloss. now, i have my own fenty collection! so check that out.

NUMBER SIX: HER LUCKY SHOES.

Y/N: okay i know i say i’m not necessarily a superstitious person but these shoes have been with me from f3 until now. every race i’ve worn these, i’ve won. so i like having them around. i think they bring luck. i can’t wear them any longer as they’ve worn through the soles now. really annoying but we power through.

NUMBER SEVEN: WINGSTOP BLACK CARD

Y/N: i was really craving wingstop one night. so me and my sister were in london? i think and i vlogged our hunt for wingstop and they reached out to me to give me a black card. i know, isn’t it gorgeous? i was so happy. too bad i have to cut down on what i eat thanks to my nutritionist, but my siblings and friends love this thing.

NUMBER EIGHT: SKINCARE ROUTINE

Y/N: okay, so i’m trying to get more consistent with my skincare but it’s not necessarily working the way i want it to. however, i still stick to the basics. sunscreen, cleanser and moisturiser. i really like keeping my skincare on check as there is this unsaid rule that women have to wear makeup in their jobs and if i keep my skin looking good then i can skirt that rule. i love this cream in particular, it’s moisturising but very light on the skin. best of both worlds.

NUMBER NINE: NECKLACE

Y/N: this was given to me as a gift from my family when i turned eighteen. it was a necklace that i’d had my eye on for a very, very long time. they saved up for so long to buy it for me and it’s become my signature piece. i wear it around my neck constantly. it’s weird having it off my neck to show you.

(she fastens it around her neck quickly)

Y/N: now i feel normal again.

NUMBER TEN: MY PADDOCK PASS

Y/N: i am so bad with keeping my paddock pass on me. for people who don’t know what this is, this allows me access to the garage and things like that. i usually keep it around my neck because if its in my pocket or my bag i’ll forget. my assistant sometimes carries mine. i’m not going to show you my picture because it’s awful. i had woke up really early after no sleep and one of the staff had made me take the picture. now i am forced to wear this monstrosity at work. i keep it hidden as much as i can. last time, lando saw it and laughed so hard he cried so yeah.

author’s note: this was hard as i wanted to keep it as vague as possible so that you can relate it to your own maneater! i’m still taking questions/asks/requests so please send some in!

[minnieminshi]

Pucking Chemistry

Summary: You never should’ve agreed to tutor the captain of the hockey team. Who shows up a full hour after the agreed meeting time? Choi Seungcheol, apparently as you’ve come to learn. And now you’re stuck tutoring him because for some reason, you're his last hope to pass chemistry so he’s eligible to play in an upcoming tournament. 

Warnings: cursing because I can’t help myself lol, mentions of your father abandoning the family (it's minor and only mentioned like once)

Word Count: 9.9K (I was possessed lol)

Extra info: high school setting, Cheol uses the term "princess" a lot and I'm a sucker for calling people by their last name, mentions of Monsta X’s I.M (aka Changkyun) and Kard’s Somin (but she gets mentioned like once lol), your little brother’s name never gets mentioned but you do call him Frosty lol, and my knowledge of hockey is limited to watching Dr. Mike on yt talk about hockey injuries so there’s not a whole lot of hockey action in this fic lmao.

Author's Note: this fic made me realize my little brother is turning 13 this year and I can’t handle that because what do you mean he’s a teen now he literally turned one the other day and I think that shows in this fic lol. Also if I only count the days I actually sat down to write this fic it only took me 3 days lol, but I had 3 tests this week and had to be productive so that nerfed me. This is also the first fic I'm posting in this app so bare with me lol and in honor of Scoups and Jeonghan getting cleared to return to activities, I present the beginning of this series

Sporteen Masterlist

Sitting in the school’s library, all your chemistry notes laid out, you began to rethink agreeing to tutor the school’s hockey captain, Choi Seungcheol. With another glance to your phone, you sighed, ten minutes passed what the two of you agreed to meet at. If you didn’t like your chemistry teacher as much as you do, you would have never agreed to do this. 

He’s a sweet guy, I’m sure he won’t give you any problems!

But it’s only ten minutes and sometimes things come up. Maybe he’d walk in after a few more minutes and then you two could finally start. 

Except those ten minutes slowly morphed into thirty minutes, forty five minutes, and now suddenly it’s an hour and not a single word from Choi Seungcheol about where the hell he’s at.

And while having to wait an hour for someone to show up to something they needed sucked, that’s not what pissed you off. What pissed you off was the fact that after this tutoring session, you had a date with Changkyun, set up by your friend Somin, but thanks to the no show Choi Seungcheol, you’d have to rush home, get your little brother ready for the evening and get ready for your date. And while you could hypothetically get everything done in time, you would prefer it if you didn’t have to rush. Your little brother’s probably gonna complain about his quick dinner of chicken nuggets and macaroni after you promised him yesterday you’d make him what he called an “actual meal.” You reminded him that he was twelve and fully capable of cooking for himself and suddenly the quick meal was the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

So he could survive a rushed meal, however getting ready for your date was a different story. Rushing to get ready in the morning for school was one thing. You could halfass an outfit and get your brother out the door in fifteen minutes flat if your mom was already at work, but you needed a little more time to actually look good enough for someone who wasn’t related to you or hasn’t seen you slumped over your desk with textbooks and notes sprawled all over the floor. 

Now, because of Choi Seungcheol, you’d have to rush, something you wished wouldn’t happen. 

“Sweet guy my ass,” you mutter under your breath as you begin shoving your things into your backpack. Just as you finished shoving the last textbook into your backpack, a deep voice caught you off guard before you rolled your eyes.  

“Where’re you going princess, aren’t you gonna tutor me?” 

Oh? 

Letting out a low chuckle, you turn to face the captain who you wished you could smack that smirk off his face and crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned against the table. “Tutor you? I agreed to tutor you an hour ago, and since that’s passed, I’m heading home to go enjoy my evening.” 

As you turned around to grab your backpack and go home, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see him holding onto you, a hesitant look in his eyes. Your brows furrowed as you shook his hand off. 

“Look, I’m sorry about being late, but something came up.” He muttered, his hand falling to his side as he shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. You scoffed as you shouldered your bag. “Too busy to send a heads up?” 

You look up to see a light blush dust his cheeks as he looks away from you, and if you weren’t so pissed at him, you’d find him kinda cute. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You sighed as you glance at the clock on the wall, and with a sigh, you turn to the hockey player. “Look, I have plans so I can give you 45 minutes.” 

“Forty five minutes? That’s barely any time to learn anything,” he complained with a small pout on his lips as you rolled your eyes. “Take it or leave it Choi, you’re the one who was late.” 

He let out a small huff before agreeing to the terms, pulling out a chair as you pulled out your phone, setting an alarm for exactly 45 minutes. Thankfully tutoring him wasn’t terrible, he actually seemed to listen to you and he even took notes while you explained the most recent lesson to him. Maybe if he was kind enough to send a message earlier you might actually feel bad about leaving, but alas that wasn’t the case. 

With the default alarm ringing, you began packing up your things once again, this time, really just throwing everything with no regard as to how things landed in your bag. With a little speeding you should be able to make it home in about fifteen minutes which gives you about ten minutes to make your brother’s dinner and have about thirty minutes to get ready for your date. Perfect timing as long as you leave right now. 

Just as you begin to walk away, pulling up your little brother’s contact to tell him you’re on your way, Seungcheol calls you out. “Are we still good for next week?” You freeze, slowly turning to look at him as your phone rings. “Next week? Listen Choi, I think it’s best if you find someone else to tutor you.”

Before he can say anything, you cut him off. “Listen, I have things to take care of after school and I can’t wait for over an hour, wondering if you’ll show up. I’ll tell Ms. Park to find someone else and we don’t have to worry about seeing each other again.” With that, you walk out the library, your little brother having finally picked up and making things easier for you as he grabbed all the food you told him to. 

Looks like things will be going back to normal after today, no more having to worry about Choi Seungcheol. 

Or so you thought. 

What you didn’t expect to see when coming to pick up your little brother from his little hockey club practice is Choi Seungcheol out on the ice, with your little brother excitedly talking to him about who knows what. 

You internally groan, why, just why did he have to be the one to coach your little brother’s team. And why did you have to say you’d never see him again, it’s like you were asking for the universe to play a cruel prank on you by making sure this would happen to you. 

Weeks ago, when your little brother asked you if you could start taking him to a hockey club he joined every Saturday, you didn’t see any issue with it initially. As long as he had the proper gear (that your guys’ mom provided) you thought it was great he found a sport he enjoyed after he burned through basketball, soccer, tennis, and baseball in a matter of a few years. Plus it meant you could have Saturday to yourself for a few hours while everyone else was out of the house. So a win-win in your book. 

Or so it was a win before you were left in disbelief, standing off to the side as you watched him talk to Seungcheol. You shook your head, calling out his name as you made your way to the plexiglass wall, wanting to go home. You made the rookie mistake of walking into the rink with no jacket, thinking it would be a quick run of picking him up and going back home. How foolish of you to think things would work out for you. 

You let out a small gasp as you made eye contact with your little brother, holding it for a few seconds, only to have him ignore you and continue to talk to his coach, who you knew was aware of your presence. You groan, grounding the heels of your palms into your eyes. Oh how you wished you were an only child in moments like this. Instead you were cursed to be a big sister to a little brother who made your life oh so difficult. 

Calling out his name one more time, he finally looked over at you and started to make his way off the rink. You sighed, thankful you weren’t going to have to resort to actually going out on the ice to drag him out. 

“Took you long enough, I’m freezing over here,” you said once he was at the wall, carefully stepping onto the non-frozen ground with his skates. “That’s on you for not bringing a jacket into the rink.” 

“And that’s on you when all you get for dinner is a slice of bread,” you say when you hand him his sneakers that he had put on the seats before practice had started, and where his backpack was. “Can’t believe you feed me like I’m some paperboy from the 1900s,” he grumbled, but he took the shoes. 

Before you could shoot back a reply, Seungcheol skates up to the wall, a smirk on his face. You roll your eyes, wishing he’d go back to doing figure eights or whatever the hell he does on the ice. He calls out your name but you choose to pretend you don’t hear him, instead leaning down to grab your brother’s backpack, a small groan leaving your lips from the sheer weight in his bag. It’s like he carries rocks in this thing, you complain as you shoulder the bag. He shoots you a look as if asking why are you carrying my backpack, but he doesn’t question it, you know the whole gift horse saying. 

Just as he finishes tying his shoe, Seungcheol crosses the threshold, leaning against the door as he eyes you. You could feel your eye twitching as you watched him what looked like inspect you, and you fight back a groan when he smirks at you.  

“What happened to never seeing each other again prin-” 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you grit out, hoping your little brother could help you if he truly cared about you. You glance over at him, and just from the look in his eyes, you know he’s not helping you out. It’s like his eyes are shining with awe just from being near Seungcheol and you wonder what your little brother sees in him. 

He can’t be that great, you still– well hate’s not the word, that’s too strong, it’s more so you greatly dislike him for what he did a week ago. You still think it was shitty of him to not tell you anything about being late. And of course his cocky personality is really starting to get on your nerves, especially when he calls you princess, as if you two are that close. You’ve only spoken to him a handful of times and yet he calls you a petname as if you’ve known each other for ages. It just makes your skin crawl. 

“You know each other?” Your brother asks, poking his head into the conversation as he looks between the two of you. Before you could say anything, Seungcheol butts in, “she tutors me.” 

Your jaw drops as he smiles, as if he didn’t just lie to your little brother. It’s like every time he opens his mouth he finds a new way to piss you off. You dryly chuckle as you grab your brother’s shoulder, trying to guide him away so you can leave. “I don’t, now come on, I gotta start prepping dinner.” 

“But it’s Saturday, we usually eat out today,” he says and you give him a tightlipped smile. “I just feel like cooking today so why don’t we go home now.” 

At that, it seems like your brother finally puts the pieces together, and nods his head. Just as the two of you are about to leave the rink, Seungcheol calls out your name once again. Already knowing what he’s going to ask you shake your head. “I’ll tell Ms. Park on Monday to find someone else to help you.” 

And with that, you’re gone and Seungcheol’s on his own again, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to get his chemistry grade up without your help. 

“Do you hate Scoups hyung?” Your brother asks once you pull out of the parking lot, your car currently playing I’ll Make a Man Out of You as you let out a confused sound. “Scoups? Is that what you guys call him,” you chuckle, finding the nickname a little silly. 

“He said he doesn’t like people calling him his full name,” he explains with a shrug. “Now, do you hate him?” 

Wow, he’s really not letting this go. 

You sigh as you look over to your right. He’s looking at you expectantly, as if there’s this great and terrible backstory to explain why you wanted to leave the rink as soon as the hockey player approached you. When you tell your brother what happened a few days ago between the two of you, he just rolls his eyes. Yes rolls his eyes, as if being forced to wait an hour for someone to show up isn’t a good enough reason to dislike a person. 

“He apologized, what’s the big deal?” He asks, and it’s moments like this when you're reminded your brother is just a boy. “It’s the fact he made me wait an hour with no heads up that I’m still upset about.” Your brother looks over at you, a small smile on his face. “I think he’s a good guy, I’m sure he had a reason why he was late. I don’t think he meant to blow you off like that.” 

You blink, letting his words sink in for a moment before shaking your head, focusing back on the road. “Let’s stop talking about Choi and focus back on planning your essay that you have due on Monday.” 

He groans, throwing his head back onto the headrest, complaining about why his teacher needed them to write about an important person in their life. “I’m going to write about our dog,” he mutters once the two of you pull up into the parking lot of your apartment. You chuckle, locking the car as he holds open the elevator for you. “We don’t even have a dog.” 

“Ms. Kang doesn’t know that.” He shrugs and sometimes you wonder how your brother’s made it this far. “Whatever you say Frosty, but that essay better be done by tomorrow since mom wants us to go out to eat for dinner.”

“Hey Frosty’s a pretty good name for a dog, you think I could use it for a husky?” 

“You know what, go crazy dude.” 

The last thing you expect when you were walking to the parking lot, heading over to the middle school to go pick up your brother, was to be pinned against a wall in the science building, much less to see Choi Seungcheol, on his knees, begging for you to not talk to Ms. Park. 

You could only blink, wondering what the hell has gotten into him. Did he hit his head too hard from a fall on the ice or something? Feeling a little embarrassed, you try getting him back on his feet before anyone walks down the hall. Thankfully he gets up, but unfortunately he keeps you pinned to the wall, towering over you. 

“Choi, what the fuck’s gotten into you,” you mutter, trying to push him slightly away from you, putting some breathing space between the two of you. 

“Please don’t talk to Ms. Park to find a replacement tutor.” He quietly says and you could feel your jaw drop. No fucking way he’s still on this. You put your hands on his shoulders, effectively getting him to look at you. “You can’t be serious.” 

He groans as he closes his eyes, as if he was thinking of what the best thing to say is. One of your eyebrows raise as you wait to see what he says, and what looks like great reluctance from him, he finally confesses his woes.

“There’s a big tournament coming up in a month and if I wanna play, I need to get my chem grade up.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds. That’s it? Why would this concern you? Feeling a little nice, you don’t voice out your thoughts and instead ask, “so what does that have to do with me? You can just find another tutor.” 

He shakes his head and you tilt your head to the side, now intrigued on what he could possibly say. 

“You’re the only person who actually makes chemistry make sense so if I want a chance to pass this class,” he looks up and your breath hitches when you look into his eyes. You never noticed how pretty his eyes are, or how fucking long his eyelashes are. Shaking those thoughts away, you notice what looks like hope in his eyes, and you realize he really thinks you’ll help him. “I need your help.” 

You blink, trying to weigh your options. While you still hold a grudge against him for the first tutoring session, this tournament’s important to him. The two of you are seniors, and depending on his plans for after graduation, this may be the last time he gets to play the sport. Then of course, you can’t stop thinking about what your brother said the other day, and unfortunately for you, you trust your brother’s judgment. And if Seungcheol’s ineligible to play, you really don’t want that to affect your brother’s team. He’s grown to love the sport in the weeks he’s played and you really don’t want him to lose his growing passion. 

You sigh, closing your eyes as you lean your head back against the wall. “Fine, I won’t talk to her.” He smiles and before he could thank you, you cut him off. “But just know I’m doing this for my brother, he really seems to like you and I don’t want you failing to affect your coaching.” 

“I’ll take it as long as you’re agreeing to keep tutoring me,” he smiles and you’re stunned into silence for a few seconds when you see dimples dot his cheeks. You shake out of it and wiggle out of his grasp. “Yeah, just make sure you’re not late without a heads up, Choi.” 

The next few weeks are filled with Choi Seungcheol, and you’re not sure how you feel about that statement just yet. In the beginning, you were still a bit reluctant, still fearing he’d be late with no excuse, but at your first tutoring session, he had arrived at the library before you. You were walking to some of the tables at the back of the library when you heard someone call your name, only to see it was Seungcheol, who had reserved a study room for the two of you and already had all of his notes out. 

You felt a little bad even though you arrived on time. You had to drop your brother at home so you couldn’t meet right after school, but you did your best to get there as soon as possible. 

He was very attentive while you explained everything to him and you wondered how he was failing chemistry in the first place when it seemed like he knew all the topics. It was when the two of you got to the practice problems did you see where the problems were coming from. 

Your teacher, Ms. Park, has the tendency to make half of your homework situational problems, where you had to apply the basic knowledge that, on its own, was quite simple, but once put in a non-laboratory setting became a lot more difficult if one didn’t have a complete grasp on the concept. And that’s what you suspect is happening to Seungcheol, and the reason he was failing the class. Good thing you caught on in the beginning of these sessions and you could plan accordingly. 

It was another tutoring session when your phone started ringing, you grabbed your phone, confused on who was calling you when you excused yourself, leaving him to work on a problem on his own while you stepped out into the study room next door to take the call. 

Your eyes widen when you hear your little brother’s quiet voice on the other end, hoarse as he asks if you could come back home. You tell him you’re on your way before hanging up the call, and rushing into the study room you were just in. 

Seungcheol jumped at your sudden intrusion, but before he could complain about you scaring him, you started to throw your things into your bag, grabbing your keys. “I’m sorry but my little brother’s sick so I gotta go take care of him.” 

You were halfway through the door when you turned to look at him, “I’ll make it up to when he’s all better!” And just like that, you were out the door, apologizing to the little kid you almost bulldozed down in your rush to your car. 

You make it back home in a new record, most definitely going past the speed limits as you skid into the parking spot in the parking garage, haphazardly raising your hand with your keys in hand in the air as you run towards the elevator, not double checking to see if you actually locked your car. If you didn’t live on the fifth floor, you’d actually consider taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, but alas, not even the haze of trying to get to your little brother was enough for you to suddenly have an increase in stamina. 

Thankfully the elevator didn’t take long and you were able to make it to your apartment, throwing open the door as you tossed your backpack down the hallway. You rush into the living room to see your little brother laying across the couch, buried under a pile of blankets. He’s really out of it if he didn’t even bother to look up at all the noise you made trying to get in. You sigh before heading to the bathroom, looking for a thermometer and to check if there was anything you could give him over the counter. 

Tsking at the 100.4° on the small screen, you wiped a damp towel over his forehead, wondering how he got this bad in the span of the 45 minutes that you were gone. He didn’t look too bad when you had picked him up from school, tired sure, but not knocking on death’s door like he is now. You were about to give him the medicine you found when there was a knock at the door. Not knowing who it could be, you quickly gave your brother the medicine and headed to the door. 

You check through the peephole and take a step back, your jaw slacking as you realize who’s on the other side of your door. 

Choi Seungcheol. 

How the fuck did he figure out where you live? You don’t remember telling him and last time you checked, your address wasn’t public knowledge. Shaking off the initial shock, you open the door, now curious as to why he’s here. Before he could explain his sudden visit, you beat him to the punch. “How the hell do you know where I live?” 

He pointed to the floor above you. “Jeonghan told me, plus it was listed on the emergency contacts your brother filled out.” You blinked at him, wondering why your upstairs neighbor would rat you out like that, or how he knew your exact unit number. Whatever, what’s done is done. You point at the convenience store bag in his hand, asking about what he has. 

He brings his free hand to scratch the back on his neck, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips, avoiding eye contact. “I- uh got kinda worried and wanted to check up on you guys.” He brings the bag up, “I don’t know what he’s sick with so I just got the generic stuff and I brought snacks.” 

You stare at him for a few moments before chuckling, thanking him as you take the bag from him and gesture for him to follow you into the apartment. He hesitates for a second before you nod at him, assuring him that it’s okay. He slips his shoes off and sets them down next to yours, following you into the apartment. 

Your little brother looks a little better, actually looking up when the two of you walk into the living room (it’s only a few steps past the little entryway). He looks at the two of you for a second before laying back down. He shoots back up, as if wondering if Seungcheol is actually in your guys’ apartment. 

“Real or am I hallucinating?” 

You laugh as you adjust the towel over his forehead, “as crazy as it looks, he’s real. Now you should lie back down while I make you a porridge to eat.” He nods his head, laying back down as he adjusts the towel to sit over his eyes. You expected Seungcheol to stay in the living room with your brother, you didn’t expect him to follow you into the kitchen, asking if he could help you. Getting over the initial shock, something that keeps happening whenever you’re around him apparently, and start telling him to grab everything that you need. 

It was funny to see him panic everytime you left him on his own to check on your brother, his eyes wide as his head kept snapping from the stove to you. Who knew the tough hockey captain could get so nervous by being left alone in the kitchen? 

Thankfully it didn’t take long for the porridge to be made, and once you confirmed that your brother was able to keep his food down, you went back into the kitchen. “How do you like your ramen Choi?” 

You turn to see him pouting and for some reason you feel the urge to poke his cheeks. Weird. 

“Why do you keep calling me Choi?” He complains, leaning against the counter as he watches you take out another pot and two packages of your favorite ramen brand. You look over your shoulder, closing the cabinet before standing back up. “Would you prefer me calling you by your full name?” You tease, smiling as you see his cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. He stumbles over his words before you hear him mutter a quiet no, and you just laugh. 

“I just don’t get why you call me by my last name instead of what everyone else calls me,” he says, handing you an egg when you ask for one. You shrug, “it started when you blew me off the first tutoring session and it kinda stuck.” 

“What do I have to do for you to call me something other than my last name,” he begs, and you laugh at how serious this is for him. You didn’t think his name would be this sore spot for him, but it is amusing to see him so stressed over something so small. You look over at him while the water’s boiling, biting your lip as you pretend to think it over. “Get over a 90 on our next chem test and I might consider it.” 

His jaw drops as he stands there frozen for a few seconds before groaning. “A 90? Listen, you're a great tutor but our next test is in literally three days and the best I’m getting is probably a mid 70.” 

“Then Choi it is,” you reply, grabbing two bowls. At least he believes he can pass this next test, that’s some progress. Before he can start complaining, you both freeze when you hear your little brother yell out, “can you two stop flirting and get me another bowl of porridge,” and before you can yell at him for even saying that he throws in a little “please” at the end. Wow, how polite of him. 

“We’re not flirting!” You say, walking into the living room to take his bowl, and as much as you want to tackle him to the ground for even suggesting you’re flirting with the hockey player, you decide to take pity on him, this time. He’s lucky his body failed him today. 

Once your sickly brother is content with his second bowl of porridge, you take your and Seuncheol’s bowls to your small dining table. He follows and you go back for utensils, asking what he’d like to drink. Once everything is set on the table, the two of you start eating in a comfortable silence, the show your brother was watching filling the otherwise silent apartment. Your eyes fall to his backpack that was by the door and you swallow what’s in your mouth before motioning to his bag. 

“Wanna continue with where we left off? I really think if we can get past this topic you can definitely score somewhere in the 80s.” His eyes follow at what you’re pointing at, and he nods, finishing his bowl before getting up to grab his backpack, and even getting your backpack that you had thrown earlier. 

The two of you pick up where you left off, occasionally taking breaks when your little brother claims he needs your assistance with what he calls “surviving” when in all actuality it was just him wanting another refill of his water. 

It was nearing 8 o’clock when the two of you were done for the day. As he was gathering his things, your brother got enough strength to get off the couch, heading to his room before waving bye to Seungcheol, telling him he’d definitely be good to go to practice on Saturday. The hockey player laughs as he leans over the table to fist bump him, telling him he better keep his word. You smile at the exchange, happy to see your brother doing better. 

“Come on, I’ll see you down,” you say when he’s gotten all his things. Before he can argue with you about it being unnecessary, you wave him off, saying how it’s the least you could do after he came all the way over to check up on the two of you.

The two of you are in the elevator when he finally speaks again. 

“Is it usually the two of you this late into the evening?” He asks, his eyes hesitantly flitting from your face to the wall next to your head. You hum, leaning against the railing with your eyes closed, “our mom works late at the hospital and…” You trail off, opening your eyes to see Seungcheol watching you, something in his eyes that makes you look away, the floor suddenly a lot more interesting to look at. Why does he look at you with so much care? 

“Our dad left when my brother was a couple of months old so it's just been us three,” you say, not quite believing you're actually telling him this about yourself. Hell, you don’t even know if he has siblings and yet you’re out here telling him your family life. Crazy what some dimples and pretty brown eyes can do to a girl. 

“Oh.” 

Ah, probably should’ve lied about your absent father. Something about him working late should’ve been excuse enough. Well, too late for that you internally groan at. Before you can apologize for making things awkward, he interrupts you. 

“Can we move our tutoring sessions to your place?”

Your jaw drops for a few seconds before you snap out of it, blinking to try to get your brain caught up to speed. “Why?” 

He sighs, turning away to face the elevator doors and you’ve never been more thankful for someone to stop looking at you. “I kinda hate the idea of your little brother waiting at home by himself while you’re tutoring me.” 

“He’s twelve, but as long as you don’t mind coming over here,” you say, glancing over at him, “then okay, we can move to our apartment.” He smiles and you feel this weird pang in your chest. The last time you felt this excited over a person was when you were getting ready for your date with Changkyun the other day. Does that mean you’re starting to actually enjoy Seungcheol’s company? 

Bound to happen considering you spend your Monday and Wednesday afternoons with the guy. It’s just, it feels different than what you felt with Changkyun and part of you just wants to bury that thought away and focus on anything else. Thankfully the elevator ride didn’t last too long and you walked Seungcheol to his car, your chest feeling a little bit tighter as you watched him drive away. 

It’s Saturday and you’re back at the rink to pick up your brother from practice. He’d gotten better and while you were hesitant to drop him off at practice, he insisted that he was all good to practice. You let him go, but not without texting Seungcheol before heading over to practice, asking him to keep an eye on your brother. This was the first time you texted him about something other than about your tutoring sessions and while your hands were shaking just thinking about talking to him about something other than chemistry, thankfully he agreed to keep an eye on your brother. 

You grab a jacket from the backseat, not wanting to freeze while you wait for your brother. He always manages to be the last one out of the rink, always talking to Seungcheol while everyone else skates towards the door to change out of their skates and into their shoes. 

And just like the past couple of weeks, your brother was still out on the ice, except instead of the two standing to the side talking about their practice, the two were skating over across the ice, the small black puck gliding between the two of them as they pass the puck amongst themselves. If you squint, you can see what you assumed is Seungcheol giving your brother tips because soon he nods and adjusts his hold on his stick. 

Then, catching the two of you off guard, he steals the puck from the hockey player, successfully scoring a goal on the unguarded net. Your mouth falls open before cheering for your brother. Sure it wasn't a game changing play, but you were still proud of him. Upon hearing your cheering, your brother skates to the wall where you’re standing, the short wall and the plexiglass the only thing separating the two of you. 

“Did you see that! I totally got him good!” He excitedly told you and you smiled. “Sure did dude, next time I think you should go for his knees, then you’d have no one stopping you,” you joke, smiling as your little brother laughs, complaining how that’s “not very good sportsmanship” but winks at you when Seungcheol skates over to the two of you, wiping off some of the ice shavings off his pants. 

“I can’t believe you’re telling your brother to kill me, princess,” he pouts and you roll your eyes, glad it’s so cold in the rink you can’t tell if your face is burning from the petname or from the freezing temperatures. You roll your eyes, pulling the collar of your jacket higher in an effort to cover your face. “Isn’t that part of the sport Choi, pushing and shoving each other?” 

He shrugs, a smile on his face. “Glad to see you know something about the sport, I see Frosty over has been teaching you.” Your brother groans when he hears his coach use the nickname you gave him once he started hockey. It started off as a small joke that somehow morphed to having the whole team only ever calling him Frosty. Hey, at least he’s already got a marketable name, you told him one day when you were driving back home after practice a few weeks ago.  

You shrug, tugging your jacket tighter. In all actuality your brother hadn’t explained the sport all that much besides the occasional “you don’t do that” or “that’s a good thing” or other vague explanations when you ask him questions. Instead, after a tutoring session with Seungcheol, and as a way to procrastinate an essay you had to work on, you decided to look into the sport. It wasn’t much, just a quick google search about the rules that had you clicking off the site after a few paragraphs and instead watching a couple of matches on youtube. You had half the mind to ask Seungcheol but decided against it. You were just supposed to be tutoring him in chemistry and you thought learning more about the sport he put years in was a little much for you. (And the thought of him in his full uniform was starting to make your heart ache just a little much.) 

“Might as well since I come here once a week,” you say, and Seungcheol smiles, and you wish he didn’t have such a cute smile. His gummy smile is going to be the death of you, you think as you look over to see if your brother’s got his shoes on. 

You don’t know when you started to see Seungcheol in a different light. Probably around the time your brother got sick since that was the first time you got to see him not in a school setting. Or to be more exact, the moment he asked if your tutoring sessions could be moved to your apartment so you could watch over your brother. Whenever it was, you wished it didn’t happen. 

After the results of the chemistry test the two of you have a week, your tutoring sessions would be over since by then you’d know whether or not he’d be good to compete in the tournament. While a part of you was sad to think about not being with him every Monday and Wednesday with him, you’re at least happy about the fact his grade’s would be doing better. And sure, at first you were helping him out reluctantly, but after spending so much time with him, you realized he was nothing like you originally thought he was like. 

Your first meeting really was just a fluke, and he was just a nice guy. You actually had asked him after a few sessions why he was so late to the first tutoring session and you can remember the cute blush that grew on his face as he explained how he was planning the youth hockey team’s practice and lost track of the time. He looked so cute, his cheeks a rosy pink and a small pout on his lips, and that’s when you thought, yeah, he’s not that bad of a guy. 

“Okay, I’m good to go,” your brother says, and you blink, snapping out of your thoughts. You nod, extending your hand to help him carry some of his gear. Noticing your empty motions, Seungcheol takes a step towards you but you shake your head. “I’ll see you on Monday Choi.” 

“Yeah… see you later, princess.” 

You’re really, truly fucked, you come to realize as you stare at your phone. Why, just why did you have to send that text? 

Your friend, who was under the impression you still hated Seungcheol for blowing you off the first tutoring session, asked if there was a way you could set her up with him for a date. And you, still not wanting to admit the fact that you’ve definitely started catching feelings for the captain, agreed to set the two up. And trying to convince yourself that the warm feeling you get in your chest from just seeing him smile meant nothing, you sent a text wondering if he was down to meet with your friend over the weekend. 

And now you’re waiting for a response, hoping that he won’t agree to the date. Hell, you’re on your knees hoping that even if he does say yes, that it goes horrible so they don’t keep meeting. Terrible, yes, but your heart can’t handle the idea of someone who isn’t you by his side. And yet you still won’t admit that you have a crush on him. (Denial is one hell of a drug.) 

When you hear your phone go off from a notification, you push yourself off the floor, where you’ve made home the past couple of minutes. With a shaky hand, you flip your phone over, clicking on the notification. 

Choi 🏒: tell her sorry, I’m not interested in dating right now 🫤

Oh. 

He’s not interested in dating right now? For some reason that hurts more than if he said he is interested in the date. With a shaky inhale you text him back, letting him know you’ll let her know and you toss your phone away, burying your face against your knees. 

Okay so maybe you do have a crush on Seungcheol, big fucking hurray. 

You’re walking back to your car when you hear someone calling out your name. You recognize the voice and freeze, wondering what Seungcheol wants with you and wishing he’d just leave you alone. Despite him doing nothing wrong, you really don’t want to see him right now, especially since you were going to use the drive back home to prepare yourself for your tutoring session with him. 

He runs up to you, a smile on his face as he blocks you from opening the driver’s side. You cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. “What’s up Choi?” 

“I came by to tell you that I can’t make it to today’s session.” He explains and you notice how his cheeks are tinted pink. Just how far was he running from? You give him a look as you lean against your car. “So why didn’t you just text me then?” 

“I wanted to see you.” 

Your eyes widen as you turn to face him fully. You feel your face burn as you try unsuccessfully to say something in return. He smiles and you want nothing more than to wipe his adorable smile off his face. The fact he doesn’t even know the emotional turmoil he’s putting you through is insane and you wish he didn’t have this much power over you. You try coughing, covering your face as you look away from him. “Yeah, whatever, is that all you have to say?” 

He nods and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats and still with that frustratingly cute smile, his stupid dimples on full display, “I’m still good for Wednesday though, I want to celebrate our last session before the test Friday.” You nod, a tight lipped smile on display as you wave him goodbye. 

Once in the comfort of your car, you groan, dropping your head on the steering wheel, wishing you weren’t so crushed over this. Things come up all the time, it’s not a big deal he can’t make it today. If anything you can just use this time to get your homework done for the week so you don’t have to worry about it later. Maybe instead of groveling over a guy you could actually be productive for once. 

Wednesday rolls around and you don’t think you’ve given yourself a chance to think about Seungcheol. How could you when you’ve been busy doing your homework, planning what you’d cover in today’s session, helping your brother with his homework, doing all the chores around the apartment, and if you weren’t busy with all that you had your headphones on, not even giving yourself the chance to think. Who needs to think when you’ve been so busy? 

You pull out of the parking lot of the middle school, your little brother grabbing your phone to change the song that was playing. Sticking to a song that you hoped wouldn’t show up on your spotify wrapped, you keep driving, your thoughts starting to drift off to Seungcheol. Catching yourself, you will yourself to listen to the song your brother chose, and you wonder which was worse for your mental health. 

Once in the comfort of your apartment, your little brother heads off to his room claiming how he doesn’t want to watch his older sister flirt with his hockey coach while he does his homework. At first you’d argue that you weren’t but as of late you knew there was no saving yourself and didn’t even try to fight back anymore, only groaning as you started to set the table. 

A few minutes later you hear someone at the door and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself to get through your last session and as a way to prepare your heart for the inevitable. Seungcheol smiles as he steps inside, slipping off his shoes as he places them next to yours. You turn around and your eyes widen as your face heats up as you take in his appearance. He was just wearing a pair of sweats and a black shirt and yet you could feel your heartbeat race at the sight. You quickly turn around, pretending to adjust your notebook as you try to calm your beating heart. He’s worn that outfit combo tons of times and yet now your heart decides to give you trouble. 

If he notices your internal struggle, he doesn’t say anything. He takes his seat at the table, taking out his things as you finally look at him to start. Hopefully your heart can take the next few hours, if not, thankfully your mom’s a registered nurse. 

“Hey princess,” he starts and you, against your better judgment, smile at the petname, “can I ask you something.” You put your pencil down, turning to face him as he put his pencil down, the problem you had given him to work on an afterthought. “Sure, go ahead.” 

“If I ace this test will you come watch me play in my tournament?” He asks, his eyes sparkling with hope and you find yourself leaning against your hand to cover your mouth so he can’t see the dopey smile on your face. “When you say ace, how high of a score are we talking here,” you tease. You don’t know where this sudden confidence came from but if it helps you from burning away in your seat, you’ll take it. 

He smirks, leaning close to you and your breath hitches, freezing in your seat. “I say at least a mid 90.” You chuckle, leaning in close as you internally scream at yourself to back the fuck away from him. “Sure, you got yourself a deal, but I’m expecting the best from you Choi.” You say, beginning to turn away so he can’t see the dopey smile on your face.

“Of course, can't disappoint my princess, can I?” His pointer finger and thumb gently hold your chin, making you look at him and his stupid smug face that you so desperately want to kiss. 

Oh yeah, your heart’s definitely going to explode. 

You think you mutter something along the lines of “in your dreams Choi” but at this point you’re not even sure you can still rangle up enough brain cells to formulate a coherent thought. Heat floods your cheeks as he still holds your face and you swear you see his eyes fall to your lips, or at least you think they do. You’re too busy staring at his lips to really be too sure. 

Somehow your one brain cell manages to scramble enough thoughts to control your body, except it makes you lean in closer to him, close enough you can feel his breath hover over your lips. Your eyes flutter shut and just when you think everything is going great you hear your little brother yell your name from his room and that’s enough to snap the two of you out of the daze you’re in. You clear your throat, excusing yourself as you push out your chair and head to your brother’s room, wondering what the hell he needs that he just needs you right now.

“What do you want?”  You hiss out, leaning against the doorframe of his room. He looks up from his desk, papers scattered across the wooden surface as he turns his swivel chair to face you. He shrugs, “I felt this weird disturbance in the force and called you over here.” 

It takes everything in you to not throw him across his room. You sigh, “yeah that disturbance was born twelve years ago.” 

“Hey!” He throws a pokemon plushie, piplup if you remember correctly, at you. You duck and the plushie hits your bedroom door behind you. You turn around to pick it up, only to immediately throw it back at him, and successfully manage to hit him in the head with it. He stumbles back in his chair and you laugh at him. He glares at you for a moment before breaking out into laughter as well. “Okay fine good aim, I’ll give it to you,” he acknowledges with a surrender of his hands, the plushie back on his shelves, joining the rest of his collection. “Now go back to tutoring Scoups hyung so you can make dinner.” 

You shake your head, a small smile on your face. “You can always make dinner, you should probably start now since I’ll be going off to coll-” 

“Don’t say the c word!” He interrupts, a new pokemon plushie in hand. His eyes are wide and your smile softens before it’s turning into a small pout. The past year you’ve been trying to teach your brother how to take care of things around the apartment since soon it’ll just be him waiting for your mom to come home, but each time he always changes the subject, or even resorting to throwing his plushies to stop the conversation. In that moment you don’t see your twelve year old brother who loves to get on your nerves, instead you see your baby brother who never left your side for anything. Your other half despite the six year difference between the two of you.

Before you know it, your throat tightens up as you watch him lower the plushie, turned away so he’s not looking at you. “Um… you should probably go back to Scoups hyung.” His voice is small, like if speaks any louder and he might start crying.  

You nod, slowly backing out of his room, “yeah, just let me know if you need anything.” You turn to walk out when you turn back to face him, “I’ll make your favorite for dinner tonight.” His head perks up and you smile at him, to which he returns. 

You make it back to the living room to see Seungcheol working on the problems you had left him. You let out a small chuckle, and he looks up, smiling when he notices your back. “Everything okay?” 

You nod, “he’s fine, he was just a little bored.” He smiles and the two of you get back to your homework. Soon enough, the two of you finish, even with the practice you gave him to really prepare him for your upcoming test, and you relax in your seat, a smile on your face. Seungcheol faces you, his smile growing as he looks from his papers to you. “Thank you, I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.” 

You wave his compliment off, your smile perpetually stuck on your face when you're around him. “Nope, it’s all you Choi, I’m simply here to help you. Now you’ve gotta ace this test so I can go watch you win this tournament.” He smiles and you don’t think you’d ever find dimples this cute on another person in your life. 

“Anything for you, princess.” 

You’re walking out of your last period class when you hear Seungcheol call your name out. You turn around, already smiling since you know what this is going to be about, and judging by his voice, it’s going to be good news. 

He runs up to you, stapled papers in hand and you just know it’s his chemistry test. He makes it infront of you, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders in an effort to stabilize himself, his test pressing against your shoulder. “I got my results back!” 

You laugh, your hands coming up to rest over his, smiling and feeling heat begin to creep up your face at the close proximity. “I can tell, but come on I’m dying to know what you got Choi.” A light blush grows on his face as his smile grows, his hands moving away from your shoulders as he straightens up his test since it had gotten crumpled during everything. 

Once it was straightened out, he flipped it over, handing the test to you. You take the test and your eyes widen when you see the large 100 written next to his name. You look up to see him smiling and in your excitement, you pull him into a hug. “Oh my god! I knew you could do it, this is amazing!” He tightens his hold on you, picking you off the ground to spin you in a hug. You’re laughing as he gently sets you down, you’re smiling so much your cheeks are starting to hurt but you don’t even care right now. You’re just so happy for Seungcheol, happy that this means he gets to play in his tournament. 

He pulls you into another hug, muttering into your hair, “thank you, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” You pull him closer, “of course Cheol.” 

The day of the tournament arrived and you don’t know why you’re so nervous. Seungcheol and the team have been doing great all day, moving farther and farther up the rackets, and yet you’re still nervous. It probably has to deal with the fact neither of you really discussed what happened last week, the whole really intimate hug in the middle of the hallway and all that. You two actually were texting back and forth the past week, and yet neither of you dared to talk about the hallway incident. 

Just like how neither one of you spoke about the almost kiss back in your apartment. 

So your nerves are most definitely tied to whatever you got going on with the captain of the hockey, the very same captain who’s leading his team to victory. This is the first time you’re seeing Seungcheol in his full uniform and damn, he looks good in his uniform. Something about how it makes him look larger just makes your heart beat faster every time he skates by where you’re sitting. 

The first time he skated by, you watched as he did a double-take before smiling his gummy smile, dimples on full display and waving at you and your brother, who insisted on coming along. (You weren’t going to tell him no, of course you’re going to bring him along.) Occasionally, he’d shoot you a look, smiling at you and you’d wave at him, feeling your face burn up every time. 

It’s the final match of the day, and you don’t think you’ve screamed this much in your life. You always make sure to cheer for Seungcheol every time he makes a goal, and halfway through the day, it turns into a competition between you and your brother on who could cheer the loudest for him. And you’re not about to lose against your brother. 

Somehow the match had gone into overtime due to the teams being tied and you’re at the edge of your seat, your little brother in the same position. At some point he grabbed your gloved hand, squeezing tight as they entered the sudden death overtime. (Why the hell is it called that?) You squeeze his hand as you watch Seungcheol go head to head against someone on the other team and you hold your breath watching as the two try to steal the puck from the other. 

Just when it looks like the other guy’s about to steal the puck, Seungcheol finds an opening, sending the puck into the unguarded goal, making the winning shot. 

You and your brother shoot up in your seats, and you pull him into a hug as you both jump in excitement and happiness. Seungcheol gets affectionately tackled by his teammates as they swarm him, and you can hear them chanting their captain’s name as the announcer relays the winning team. You look over once you’ve calmed down a bit and somehow manage to make eye contact with him. You smile and you mouth “I’m so proud of you," hoping he’d be able to understand you. 

It seems like he does because soon enough it looks like he mouths something along the lines of, “all for you, princess.” 

The tournament’s over now and you’re waiting for your little brother to finish in the restroom before you two head back home. A part of you wishes you’d get to see Seungcheol before leaving but he’s probably busy with after game things and celebrating that you’ll just settle with talking to him some other time. 

You’re about to text your brother to ask him where he’s at when you feel someone come up from behind you, spinning you around. You shriek, holding your phone close to your chest, about to curse out whoever it was when you hear the person laughing and you immediately soften, knowing exactly who it is. 

He sets you back down, turning you to face him. You smile and before you can even open your mouth to congratulate him on winning his senior tournament, he cups your face, leaning in to kiss you. Your eyes widen at the contact before they flutter shut, your own hands coming up to rest over his. His hands are freezing but you don’t mind, not when your face is burning up enough you’re sure you could warm up his hands in minutes. Your hands drift from his to rest over his shoulders, pulling him closer as you lean slightly back, with him following. He pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath, causing you to chase after his lips, already missing the pillowy feeling of them on your own. He chuckles before dipping down to kiss you again when someone clears their throat. 

You groan, already knowing who it is, dreading whatever comment he has to say. You look over your shoulder, only to see your little brother smiling. You definitely expected him to be pulling some disgusted face to make fun of you. Instead he was smiling, smiling so big you would think he just won a year’s supply of his favorite food. 

“If you’re done making out with your boyfriend, do you wanna ask him if he wants to join us for dinner?” 

Seungcheol's hand slips into your own, squeezing your gloved hand as you look up at him. His smile is so big and his cheeks are a pretty pink blush. “I really like the sound of that, what do you think princess?” 

You like that a lot, you think, squeezing his hand as you drag him to follow you and your brother, laughing when you hear his teammates cheering for their captain, for finally getting his girl. 

Maybe tutoring the captain wasn’t so bad after all.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Husk with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario

warnings: aged-up!reader [early to late twenties], spoilers for episode 4 to the season finale, mentions of physical abuse and attempted drugging, violence, Husk's language, dismemberment, mentions of cannibalism.

Hey guys, and welcome to another Hazbin Hotel fics, this time featuring our grumpy bartender and one of my favorite characters, Husk! :) This is a collaborated project with not just @isuckatwritingsobenice, but also with @vikkirosko, @witch-of-the-writing-desk, and @riddle-simp, who gave me honest feedback on the rough drafts and how to make it the best fic I could create before sharing it with the world.

If you would like to see more of Husk x Violet, please do let me know know in the comments section or as an ask! Like always, bullying is not tolerated here so if there is any implication of it happening here, this scenario will be taken down immediately. If you have nothing nice to say, do not say it at all.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see who will win the full house at the card tables tonight :)

Reblog to support content creators!

Husk isn’t gonna deny it. It ain’t like him to deny the truth when it’s staring at him right in the fucking face. He thinks you are a little bit of an oddball. You don’t smile, you wear the same outfit every day, and you don’t eat much either unless Niffty practically drags you to the staff’s dining room from wherever she found you hiding. Normally, it’s one of two places: out in the backyard, or the greenhouse, because you’re the hotel’s groundskeeper. And that was on your days off.

 Like Angel, you worked for an overlord, but your boss wasn’t that shitbag Valentino or Vox or Velvette. Your boss is Rosie, the owner of Rosie’s Emporium in the Cannibal Colony. You were her personal secretary. You had been on her payroll for over ten years, working from nine to five unless you had to stay later. She did not seem to mind you staying at the hotel so long as it did not affect her reputation or your work ethic in any way. 

So far you’ve kept your word. Alastor actually seemed to be happy that you were around. 

Maybe. Husk couldn’t fucking tell what that son of a bitch is thinking anymore. But back to you. 

You, who believed in Charlie’s work.

You, who participated in each activity and helped around without getting paid for your time.

You, the expressionless ex-military soldier, has been on his mind recently and he did not like it. 

He lost the ability to feel anything years ago. 

Nonetheless he continued to observe you from afar. When you weren’t busy with watering plants, you were seen in different parts around the hotel with the others. 

You would sit with the princess in the parlor, comparing ideas on what tomorrow’s group exercise should be, even when the only two ideas you’ve suggested were shot down immediately by Charlie. She didn’t like the idea of group bonding through hand-to-hand combat but loved the concept of showing appreciation to one another through handwritten letters. Vaggie approved the former. The latter? Not so much. 

In the kitchen you would go through the cookbook with Niffty and Alastor, trying to decide on tonight’s dinner.  They allowed you to help out, at least when it didn’t involve cracking eggs. Apparently you were not very good at separating the yolk. 

When Sir Pentious was away from the hotel doing God knows what, he trusted you to look after the Egg Bois until he got back. You kept them busy around the greenhouse though they tended to make a bit of a mess. 

Angel started to work extra late at the studio after his show and tell presentation. Something about making a big commercial and Val wanted to make big bucks on this new product that the Vees were launching in a week. You must have noticed that something was off about him, but you didn’t say anything to him. No words of encouragement, no comforting hand on his shoulder. All you did was clench your gloved hands into fists, watching him leave and…unsure of yourself. What you should do. 

Husk heard you asking Niffty what were some of the kid’s favorite foods about that time, and she was more than happy to help you with whatever it was you needed as long as you left the kitchen sparkling when you were done. You were concerned about the kid. Least from what he could remember. He drank a lot that day. 

When he woke up much later after falling asleep at the bar, hearing your footsteps descend down the grand staircase and towards the kitchen. Groggily, probably stupidly on his part, Husk thought it would be a great idea to know what the fuck you were up to so early in the morning. Turns out you were trying to cook something, judging from how you looked at the ratty cookbook propped up on the counter and the wide array of ingredients spread out. 

He saw you cook  finely chopped onions, garlic, and minced ground meat in the large frying pan on the left side of the stove. You stirred something in a smaller sauce pan on the right side with a wooden spoon. He saw you handle all of the ingredients with great care, placing them in a baking dish  even when you weren’t wearing your leather gloves. A small shudder crawled down his spine at how the kitchen lights bounced off of the adamantium skeletal prosthetics that acted as your hands. 

He didn’t even wanna know how exactly you lost them in the Great War. 

Everything was soon laid out, layer by layer and placed in the oven. He didn’t know he stood there for so long, even when you began to clean up the kitchen with a rag. Time ticked by slowly, and then a delicious aroma tickled his nose even as he took another swing of the half-filled booze bottle he was holding. He was about to leave you alone, knowing you’d be fine when he saw you pull out the dish with your hands and no oven mittens on, you fucking moron! Then his mind remembered something that stopped him from making an entrance. You couldn’t feel anything with your prosthetics, not even as you placed it on the stove top to let it sit. 

A couple of hours later - maybe he can’t keep track of time anymore so it might have been the following morning - he saw you giving Angel a large paper bag every morning before both of you left the hotel, and telling him to have a good day. 

Angel grudgingly thanked you later on that evening when he got back…though did say your garlic bread needed some work. The next day, he gave you a paper bag, telling you to taste real Italian grub and try to replicate it. 

Guess it became a game between the two of you, ‘cause Angel was slowly being someone real and not some fake  whiny bitch. 

As odd as you are….you cared about everyone in your own way, even when the words that came out of your mouth angered someone or made them cry, you tried. You never asked for help unless it was necessary, trying to learn everything on your own. And you were smart, Husk will give you that. 

And he…he doesn’t know if he had the heart to tell you that redemption might not be possible. Unlike him, you still carried a spark of hope. You believe in the princess. He doesn’t want to be the one to see you reach your breaking point, to be dragged into a swamp of despair and get drowned in all sorts of addictions to cope with the pain. He was…anxious. No. He was scared for you. He wanted to help you but he was afraid that by intervening, he would just make matters worse.

It was better to just stick to the sidelines with a bottle of booze and watch everything happen like the bartender Alastor wanted him to be, right? Well, turns out he was wrong. 

One night after he made Angel a drink and called him out on his bullshit for being fake, the whiny little bitch stormed out of the hotel. Vaggie tried to make him go out and bring him out, but Charlie intervened. All she asked him was to make sure that Angel was okay. Do not force him to come back if he isn't ready. Obviously judging from the distraught look on her face, something happened between the princess and Angel. 

Husk did not know what or why, and he really did not want to play the role of a goddamned babysitter. Not when it was actually a slow evening and he didn’t have to hear these fucks bitch and moan for hours on end. But Vaggie’s glare, knowing Alastor would force him to do it because he fucking can and not knowing what would happen if he actually violated the terms of their contract, he left the hotel. The first place he went to were the streets. No luck. And no one had seen him. When he moved his search to the bars, he spotted Angel going inside one of them. 

Long story short, he was going to hang back and just keep an eye on Angel getting drunk off his ass with some shady sharks in a corner booth until he saw one of them pour something into Angel’s drink. He took care of the fucker, got Angel out, and listened to him. Angel Dust was not just an act. It’s who he needs to be. Drinking and getting high is his escape. He wants to be damaged so that he won’t be Val’s favorite toy anymore. 

Then when it seemed like they came to an understanding with a song, those bastards opened fire on the streets, targeting him and wanting Angel to come back to have some ‘fun’. Yeah, fuck no. 

That was when he heard car tires screeching against the asphalt, doors opening and closing with more shouting. Husk gritted his teeth. “Shit.” He turned to Angel. “Stay down. I’ll take care of this.” He pulled out his cards, ready to hop onto the roof of the pink Volkswagen they were hiding when he heard a  shnk, a high pitched squeal, then a gurgle. 

THUD.

Shnk.

THUD.

C-crack.

THUD.

“Who the fuck is this bitch?! Kill her, kill her you stupid asshats!” 

“Holy shit, toots?! The fuck - why is she here?!” Angel cried. Husk raised his brow, craning his head as far as he could without being in range of a bullet to see what was going on. There were only two people Angel called toots and he was pretty damned sure they were back at the hotel, safe and sound. Not one of them blitzing across the street, dodging bullets and slicing enemies down with a hunter’s knife in one hand, a large carpet bag in the other. 

He blinked. Nope. He was sober. Shit. He thought as you weaved between the shitheads, disarming, decapitating, and snapping their necks in no particular order. You weren’t exaggerating when you said you were a weapon for the army.  When he saw a flash of movement from the smaller grunt, twirling a knife and aiming it for your head as you pumped lead into his friend, Husk made his move. Hopping onto top of the car and threw his cards. One cleanly sliced the asshole’s neck. 

He quickly made through the growing crowd, running towards you as he threw some dice into a hammerhead’s mouth. But when he turned his back towards them, he felt something light and strong coil around his neck, cutting off his air supply. 

Fuck. Garroting wire! Husk flailed around  scratching, kicking,  and trying to get loose but the fucker was too damned strong. Black spots began to appear in the corner of his eyes when he felt a white hot stinging pain graze his left cheek, then something warm and sticky with a metallic scent. Blood.

The body behind him dropped, and so did he, yanking the wire off  him and inhaling deep gulps of  precious oxygen. Husk looked up and saw Angel with a shit-eating grin and a Tommy Gun in his upper hands. 

“Eat lead, sucker!” The porn star cackled, firing several more bullets into the corpse and his buddies that were closing in on them. Angel grinned at him, extending a hand to help him up.”I told ya. I can handle myself, baby.” Husk felt a grin stretching his own face as the fella pulled out more weapons with more arms. Well….not something he was expecting. 

Between the three of them, they made quick work with the rest of the gang and their reinforcements. Like him and Angel, you were covered in grime and blood but you were all right. 

“Are you two all right?” You asked as you wiped off the blood from your knife with a handkerchief, the carpet bag by your feet and in pristine condition. “No limbs missing that weren’t missing before you arrived?” 

“Yeah, we’re good.” Angel said, putting away his guns and extra limbs. “More importantly, why the fuck are you out here instead of the hotel?!” He interrogated, his voice lowering an octave as he glared at you, stomping towards you. Before Husk could stop him, Angel grabbed  your cheeks with his hands and pinched them. “You know these streets are dangerous, toots! How many times do Vags and I gotta tell ya?! Come straight home when you’re done with work!” Then he blinked, his face turning white, his eyes widening in horror. “Toots,” He said slowly. “Y-you ain’t hooking up with anyone around here, are ya?!” He yelled, now pulling your cheeks outwards as if you were a cartoon character. 

You didn’t flinch from the cheek pinching or pulling; instead, you looked at him in slightly confusion. “I don’t understand. What does fishing have anything to do with this except that these men were quite literally loan sharks standing outside a nautical-themed bar?” You asked. 

“Toots.” Angel said warningly. “If you don’t give me a straight answer, I swear to fucking God I am going to yeet you off a rooftop.”

“ ‘Yeet’?” You repeated.

“[First Name], just tell us why you’re here.” Husk said, already feeling a headache coming on and in need of a drink. You turned your attention to him, then back at Angel before you spoke.

“Rosie sent me out on a last-minute errand to get fertilizer for her plants. But by the time I got there, the shop was already closed. I was on my way home when I heard the gunshots, and saw the two of you being pinned down. I was not going to leave my comrades behind when I could help them. So I did. And now,” You looked over at the bodies strewn across the street. “I have what I need. Two birds with one stone, as Rosie says.”

“Ya mean ‘kill two birds with one stone’, toots?”

“Yes.”

“So, by fertilizer, ya mean these schmucks that we just totally obliterated.”

“Yes.”

“Food for plants.”

“Carnivorous plants. And if the fertilizer is fresh, the better it is for them. Rosie loves her plants very much.” You said, pulling away from Angel and grabbed the carpet bag off of the ground, walking towards the nearest body. “If you do not want to be here, I suggest you leave quickly.” You knelt down, laying the bag down and opened it, laying out assorted tools. Bone saws, knives, a large roll of plastic wrap, etc. “Rosie says I have gotten much quicker at dismemberment.” You carefully peeled off your gloves, replacing them with gray surgical ones. 

Husk glanced at Angel, eyebrow raised. It seemed like they were thinking the same thing because the latter spoke up with a toothy grin. 

“Baby, I was a mobster long before I was a porn star. ‘Sides, hacking up a body all by yourself is gonna take you all night. Better to have more hands to get the job neater an’ faster, am I right Whiskers?” 

Husk smirked. “Can’t argue with that, Legs. Guess you’re stuck with us until this job is done. You got another bone saw in that bag of yours?” He asked with a grin, somehow…happy to actually be doing this. Who would have thought a new friendship started with cleaning up bodies?

You stared at them for a moment, obviously stunned because you must have thought they’d leave you here alone, before you pulled out two more bone saws and more rubber gloves. Your instructions were simple enough: the severed pieces couldn't be any bigger than your body, and they needed to be wrapped up tightly in the plastic wrapping or else you’d have to pay a hefty cleaning bill to get the blood out of the bottom of the bag. Angel’s extra limbs came in handy for the latter task. Between the three of them, they made quick work with the dead loan sharks and everything was loaded inside the carpet bag, and no one was the wiser. This was Hell, after all. Cannibalism, gun fights, and dismemberment was commonplace in these parts. 

You thanked him and Angel profusely, bowing your head to them before you shyly asked if they would be interested in getting a bite to eat. To Angel’s knowledge, the closest place that is still open late at night is Devil’s Diner, which is half a  block from Jackpot, the casino Husk had owned from his glory days as an overlord. The food wasn’t too bad there, and cheap too. 

Now that he thought about it, Husk had worked up more of an appetite after the fight and so did Angel. Better to do that than trying to cook something and waking up Niffty. So, the three of you went to Devil’s Diner. Of course, you tried to just have a cup of coffee, but neither he nor Angel were having it. Conditioning your body to minimize nutrients to complete a mission, his ass. 

Both he and Angel persuaded you to try the day’s special with some water plus dessert. Whatever you couldn’t finish, get a to-go box. Husk himself ordered a sandwich with chips. Angel got pancakes, sausage, strawberries, and a strong drink because he fucking deserved it. 

Conversation started slow at first, but as the orders were placed and drinks were served by their waiter, words were exchanged, and stories were shared. Angel revealed he had a little brother and more family down here, though he rarely talked to them anymore after getting into the show biz. Husk confessed that he used to be a magician in Las Vegas, showing off a trick with his cards. 

They shared a good laugh over Val’s shitty eyesight. It shouldn’t take thirty minutes to count three bills, but it fucking did for the moth man.

You told them that you were once commissioned to help a playwright finish his newest script after being on a hiatus for many years, but he had been a difficult man to work with because he had no interest in doing anything else except drinking his days away. You had actually acted out a scene on the lake where the hero would journey home to be reunited with her father after vanquishing a monster. That was when you began to understand how grief affects people in different ways…and how your actions affected the people you had killed on the battlefield. People who had families and had one-day wishes that would never be fulfilled because they died by your hand. You are here in Hell because you are, you were, a weapon to be used in war. Reconnecting with people, with your emotions…it’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. 

“That’s what being human is all about.” Husk said. “Ya make mistakes, ya regret the choices ya wish ya would have made, or should’ve made, and ya need to live with it.” He knew that better than anyone. 

“The old timer’s got a point but look at how far you’ve come!” Angel exclaimed, spreading his arms out as he began listing all the good things you have done and accomplished since you came to the hotel, though you still needed to learn how to bake real Italian bread, not just heat up the cheap frozen ones in the oven. Husk silently agreed with him, taking another swing of his whiskey. In the end, you got a to-go box, but Angel said he could take it back with him to the hotel. You still needed to deliver the body parts to your cannibal superior and Husk said he’d go with you. But you insisted that you would be fine on your own, and that he and Angel should get some rest. 

“Rosie will not let me stay long in the emporium with how late it already is. She’s very particular about keeping the lights on after business hours.” You said, the corners of your mouth tugging downwards into a frown as your gaze fell upon his wings. “Husk…you were twitching a little and I heard your spine crack earlier, and your voice sounded a little raspy. I do not know what the cause of your ailments beyond the scuffle with those loan sharks could be because I am not a doctor…but it would be better if you and Angel took it easy for the rest of the night.” 

Keep in mind that Husk had once been an overlord. Yes, he’s been out of the game for a while, he won’t deny it. But he was not going to admit that you might be right.  “There’s nothin’ to worry about, I’ll be fine. If I can handle a fight, taking you where you need to go will be a walk in the park.” He grumbled, ignoring Angel’s snickering. 

He watched you raise your hand, fingers outstretched towards one of his wings, and then you pulled it away to clench your hand into a loose fist. Husk saw your hesitancy isn’t because you were disgusted at the sight of them, or his appearance. Hell, you had more bloodstains on your clothes than him and Angel combined. No. You were hesitating because you were afraid that your touch might hurt him, or make the pain he was feeling worse. 

Husk grinned as he grabbed your wrist, pulling it forward and carefully coiling the gloved fingers around the outer part of the left wing near his forearm to give it a squeeze. “See?” He flexed the muscles. “I’m fine. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” It took him a second to realize how impulsive his actions were, seeing how your eyes widened and hearing Angel release a low, teasing whistle, muttering “Kinky~!” under his breath. Great. The kid wasn’t going to let this go, not even after a few drinks. Shit. Fuck. 

He tried to ignore the warmth flooding his face as he kept his gaze on you until you nodded your head, removing your hand from his wing. You were convinced that he was more than fine to accompany you back to Cannibal Colony, at least for the moment. You turned to Angel. “Are you going to be okay, heading back to the hotel on your own?”

Angel smiled toothily. “Toots, you should know me by now. Sex isn’t the only thing I’m good at.” He winked, holding up the to-go boxes as he turned on his heel, waving his extra hands over his shoulder. “See ya back at the bar! Ya still owe me a drink, Husker~!” Now that he left the diner, it was time for the two of you to make your exit. 

You walked down the steps and looked at him. “Ready?”

Husk nodded. “Yeah.” He then held out his paw to you. “Let’s get going.” You nodded, placing your hand in the center of his own, covering the golden-heart shaped paw  before he scooped you up in his arms, one claw under your legs and the other around your shoulders. You stared at him.

“What-”

“Hang on tight.” Husk did not give you a chance to respond, unfurling his wings to their full length before putting all of his weight on his back leg, catapulting the two of you into the crimson skies of the Pride Ring. Walking was fine and all, but as you mentioned, it was already pretty late. Why waste more time when he could fly there? 

So here you were, held like a princess with one arm wrapped around the carpet bag and your hand placed on his shoulder. But instead of screaming your head off or pleading with him to land somewhere, your attention was elsewhere. You were captivated with the multi-colored pin pricks of light down below,  your mouth partly open and [Eye Color] irises widened by a fraction. It was obvious that you hadn’t seen Hell from above. Or maybe you hadn’t traveled by air before. Either way, seeing such an expression on your face, one that wasn’t calm or expressionless like a doll who lived by someone else’s order.

You looked like a living, breathing human who had her own thoughts and could find beauty in the most bizarre of places. 

It almost made Husk consider extending this flight for a little longer until he realized he’d have to explain to you in great detail as to why he did decide to do it. So he brushed it off, and followed your instructions to your destination. 

Twenty minutes later, the two of you arrived at the stone steps leading up to the glass double doors of Rosie’s Emporium. The dimly lit streets were mostly empty, the bars were still open and echoed with raucous laughter and jazz. It was tempting to slip inside there for a drink, but Husk wasn’t too keen on being around cannibalistic drunks. Alcoholic he might be, he wasn’t that stupid. And he didn’t want you to get in trouble with the overlord who ran this place. She was your boss, not his. 

He watched you put a hand into your coat pocket and pulled out a small golden key. You put it in the dead bolt, twisting it to the left before pushing the door open. “Miss Rosie?” You called out, stepping inside the darkened establishment. “Miss Rosie, it is me. I am back.” 

A moment of silence enveloped the place, but only briefly because soon a tall, thin woman in a burgundy dress with an oversized hat and feathers materialized in front of you. She was at least two or three heads taller than you, smiling down with rows of sharp, gray teeth and pitch black orbs. “Oh there you are, I was startin’ to really get worried! Did John give you everything for my precious little sprouts?”

You quickly explained what had happened, how you could not see John because he had closed the shop by the time you got there but the fertilizer you collected from a gun fight you got into and came out victorious should be more than enough. Rosie was all but delighted, twirling in a small circle as she cooed.

“Ohh, I knew it was a good idea to hire you from the moment you came for the interview! I wish I could’ve seen you at work, using that bone saw and hacking away at corpses, but there’s always another day~! You know how many people come in wishing to have their husbands or wives ripped from limb to limb, at least the ones that taste bad! Ah?” She stopped dancing, craning her long neck to stare at him. “Who’s this you brought with you, [First Name]?” She looked over her shoulder, wagging a finger at you with a raised brow. “Come now, I know I said I wanted you to find a good fella someday, but this one’s way too scruffy for you and you’re much too young for him! Oh, I’m just kidding, I know you’re dedicated to your job! Well? Introduce us!”

You did, introducing him to the overlord as Husk and the hotel’s bartender. Alastor must have told her about him because she immediately called him ‘Alastor’s kitty cat’ and ‘how he used to be such a sophisticated-looking fella until he gambled against Alastor’. She laughed. “Well, small world, after all! [First Name], be a dear and take that bag into the back, will you? I’ll feed the little monsters myself, and you can go home! Oh, did you want some pinky fingers to go? I’ve got plenty of them and you probably didn’t eat dinner again, am I right?”

“Understood. And no thank you, though I will take up on the offer to try one of those roasted legs next time.” Husk almost gagged at your monotone words and Rosie’s cackle, but he had to keep his composure. As far as he knew, you were not a cannibal. And if you were…well, you probably wouldn’t have gone out of your way to help him and Angel, or at least order something from the Cannibal’s Section at the diner instead of force feeding yourself on the daily special. 

You might have only been gone for a few minutes, but it was awkward to stand near Rosie, the way she smiled at him like she was thinking about adding him to her menu for not dressing up in a vintage outfit. At least he hoped not. He could barely contain his relieved sigh when you appeared again, hands empty with no bag in sight. 

“It’s done.”

“Wonderful~! Now, you march up to bed as soon as you get in the door young lady! No staying up late!” She said, following the two of you to the door. “Give my regards to Alastor and tell that man he must come back soon! These halls have lost their sparkle without his lively presence! Oh! Before I forget~!” She snapped her fingers, and in a puff of dark red smoke, a large wad of bills materialized in your hands. “Here’s your paycheck! I know it’s a little early but I have a very important task for you to do tomorrow!” She grinned. “Go to town and buy yourself some new clothes for work!”

You faltered. “But -”

“Tomorrow is your day off I know, and I really, really love your enthusiasm when you try to come in to help around, but a proper lady of society cannot live on just one dress and a pair of boots! Oh, and you will also need to get a Hellphone in case something like this happens again! No ifs, ands, or buts! If Alastor throws a fit about it, I’ll talk to him! Now, shoo! Husker, be a dear and get my darling worker back to that hotel safely, all right?” She added with a wink.

Husk grunted exasperatedly but did not say a word. The last thing he wanted to do was go pissing off an overlord who just happened to be the Boss’ friend. So he just nodded, and followed you out of the door. When it shut behind them with a click, things got…awkward. Now that you weren’t carrying around a bag full of body parts, there was no need to fly all the way back to the hotel. Or at least that he thought you were thinking. 

But he told you that he didn’t mind, since Charlie was probably already worried about the two of you even if Angel had somehow managed to persuade her otherwise. So…you agreed, albeit hesitantly. Husk didn't waste any more time. He scooped you up in his arms and took off into the night skies, though with this being the Pride Ring, there was really no way to tell if it was day or night anymore. Cannibal Colony soon became another darkened spot, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared from sight. 

As soon as the two of you made it back to the hotel, Husk had no doubt everyone would be giving him shit. Angel would make comments on his little ‘date’ went, which he’ll deny in every possible way, and the princess might be cryin’ from anxiety or relief knowing that two of you were all right. But that was then. This is now. And…he’s come to like holding you in his arms. 

“Husk?”

“Yeah?” He felt the arms around his neck tighten slightly…but not that it wasn’t too uncomfortable. It felt…okay. Like you were trying to say something, but you struggled to find the right words to say without sounding like an ass. 

“Thank you…for everything.”

His lips stretched into a grin. "You're welcome." 

He felt the cold of your palms, it would seem, through the gloves, but it was not so important. Because as the two of you flew back to the place you called home, he saw you smiling down at the Pentagram in wonder, whispering the places you had visited and or wondered what they were or if he knew anything about them, to which he either answered yes or no. It was such a small smile, but how could he not commit not it to his memory? 

And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to get a drink with you on a night around town. Or make one for you at his bar. He knew how to make a good non-alcoholic pina colada, even an alcoholic version of it. But who knows? He’ll take things one step at a time, and see what happens. 

What Husk did not realize at the time, not too far in the distant future, you would be the one to close the gap between them…and there would be something more between the two of you. Something that made his days in Hell just a little brighter. 

Taglist: @riddle-simp @kanroji-san @star-fawn21 @luthefriendlywitch @kameyo-kumo @solesurvivorjen @solandis-does-stuff @ladydoe8 @victheauthor @anielly-2010 @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @bones4thecats @mmelionsblog @frompeach @nixie-writes @tired-of-life-86 @trecllllllll @lanxianschoenheit @22carolina08 @justamegafan @the-cat-queen-peasants @oucx @diamondzoey @alyriaschoenheit @lbcreations-blog @alastorsart @nunezs-stuff @sillypenguincats @theunknowntravel3r @imperfectbloodmoon @no1sillybilly @likesugarandcyanide @bladeismine @bones4thecats

[byoldervine]

Motivation For Writing

Getting Off Your Butt:

1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way

2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing

3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft

Maintaining Motivation:

1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept

2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done

3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on

Afterwards:

1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe

2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it

3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point

[honnelander]

wedding bands

SURPRISE! 🤗 this is just a quick idea I had and wanted to write…. I still feel a bit weird about this and I might delete this at any point if I want to (just be warned!) if you don’t like real people actor fic, well I’m sorry, then this isn’t for you! please enjoy my other works then! (hate will not be tolerated) sorry, no taglist for this since this is a one-time thing. the picture above is what I envisioned when writing this. enjoy 🤗🫶🏼

WARNINGS: none

word count: 1.3k

pairing: Taz Skylar x reader

summary: Taz wants to marry you.

masterlist

“Let’s get married.” 

You glanced up from your dinner, a delicious meal that Taz had lovingly prepared for the two of you that night, like he always did, your brows furrowing, staring at him to make sure you heard him right. You were probably looking at him like he was speaking a foreign language. 

“Wait- what?” you asked after a few beats of silence. 

Taz, however, continued eating his meal unbothered, spearing a piece of asparagus with his fork, raising it up towards his mouth. “Let’s get married, tonight,” he repeated in the same casual tone, looking down at his plate, like he was discussing something as simple as the weather. “I mean- I love you, you love me, right?” A small laugh escaped his lips as he turned his gaze towards you, his blue eyes holding a spark of mischief within them, a small smirk dancing on the corner of his lips. “Let’s make this thing official,” he said, putting the food into his mouth. 

“Well- uh,” you started, looking down at your meal, at a loss for words. “Of course I love you,” you said quickly, not wanting him to doubt your affections towards him for even a second. “It’s just...” 

“Sudden?” he asked with his right hand in front of his mouth, fork in hand, voice muffled slightly from the food. 

“Soon,” you said at the same time. 

You both giggled at your answers, realizing you were always in sync with one another no matter what on earth you two were discussing.  

Taz swallowed, reaching for his glass of white wine. “Look, I know it’s sudden and seemingly out of nowhere, but,” he picked up the glass, lifting it up and bringing it to him, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and...” he looked at you, his bright eyes scanning your face as he sucked on his teeth for a second with a small smile. “I figured, why not? What’s stopping us?” 

You laughed breathlessly. “Uh, well, for starters, what about time? It takes time to plan a formal wedding.” 

“Who says it has to be formal?” he countered, taking a sip of his wine before placing the glass back on the table. “A wedding doesn’t need to be this big, whole production. It can just be with two people: you and me.” 

“Ok...” you relented slowly, trying to digest the whole situation. You pushed your food around with your fork absentmindedly, resting your head in your propped up hand. “But don’t we need a pastor or something? Or someone who’s ordained? To you know... make things official?” 

He shrugged. “We’ll go down to the courthouse tomorrow, get a judge to sign our certificate.” He picked up his knife to cut another piece of meat. “You know, make it legal and all that.” 

You put your fork down, both of your forearms resting on the table now as you watched him continue to eat. “And our vows?” you asked, trying to stump him. 

Taz continued cutting. “Easy,” he scoffed playfully with a good-natured smile. “We’ll just speak from the heart.” He looked at you, his smile morphing into a smirk. “And I can tell you how much I love you all night, if you know what I mean,” he winked. 

You blushed, averting his suggestive look as you looked to the side as you heard him laugh. You were quiet for a moment, the only sound filling the room was Taz’s silverware hitting against his plate. 

“What would we wear?” 

 “What we have on now,” he replied easily. “No need to get all fancy. We can, uh, save that for our vow renewal in ten years,” he said cheekily, his smile growing, as he quickly raised his eyebrows. 

That roused a laugh out of you, causing you to look back towards the love of your life, meeting his eyes. “Oh, so now we’re already talking about vow renewals?” you giggled. “One thing at a time, Taz.” 

His smile turned tender; his eyes filled with love as he kept looking at you. “What can I say?” he asked softly after a moment. “I’m just excited.” 

As you both held eye contact, you could feel the reality of his proposition become more palpable by the second. Taz was serious, he wanted to marry you.  

And you couldn’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t. You loved him, and he loved you. Taz Skylar was the love of your life and you wanted to spend the rest of your time on this earth with him, however long or short that might be. 

“What about wedding bands?” you asked quietly. 

He broke eye contact, shifting in his seat slightly as he looked to his right. “Yeah, about that- I had a crazy idea, and you don’t have to agree to this if you don’t want to, of course,” he quickly started, moving his hands slightly. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Do what? What’s crazier than a last-minute wedding?” 

Taz breathed out a quick, humorless laugh. “Ha, yeah, so, I was, uh, thinking...” 

“Yes?” 

“What if we got our wedding bands tattooed?” he quickly asked, like ripping off a band-aid, his shoulders becoming stiff as he braced for your response. A couple of quiet seconds ticked by, feeling like hours to him. “Now I know it’s crazy and all, but-” 

“I love it,” you said, quieting him instantly. 

He exhaled slightly, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. His shoulders relaxed as his trepid eyes found yours. “You do?” 

You nodded, your eyes watering as you looked at him with a closed lip smile. “Yeah,” you answered, your voice breaking slightly. “I love it. It’s perfect.” 

You always wanted to have a matching tattoo with him, both of you floating around the idea but never actually pulling the trigger, and what could be a better matching tattoo with him than a wedding band? 

He laughed quietly, a wide smile of happiness and relief overtaking his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah?” he asked breathlessly. His eyes started to mirror yours, unshed tears pricking at the corners. This was serious now; this was for real. He was going to marry you.  

And he doesn’t ever remember being this happy before. 

“G-good,” he said, his throat feeling thick suddenly. “There’s a shop not too far away, open late. We can go now.” 

You nodded and blinked, a few tears escaping your eyes and rolling down your cheeks as you tried not to cry. “Ok,” you whispered. 

“Ok?” he repeated in the same soft voice, his eyes full of wonder. 

“Yeah. Ok.” 

Taz let out a breath, his smile as wide as can be, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked down for a second, placing his utensils on the table before standing up and making his way around the table towards you. 

“Now, there’s only one question I have left for you,” he started, clearing his throat. He came to your left, getting down on one knee as he pulled out an engagement ring from his pocket. “Now I had this all ready to go, in case you didn’t like the tattoo idea,” he said, causing both of you to laugh tearfully.  

You put a hand over your mouth, swallowing thickly, the tears spilling over your cheeks quickly. 

He looked up, the most tender smile on his face, a look of pure, unfiltered love in his eyes. “Y/n, I love you, with all my heart. You are the love of my life and I can’t imagine doing this thing called ‘life’ without you,” his crooked smile deepened. “Will you do me the honor of a lifetime by becoming my wife? Y/n, will you marry me?” 

You nodded quickly. “Y-yes. Yes of course I will,” you answered, letting out a cry of happiness as you practically tackled him in a hug. “I love you,” you cried into his neck as he wrapped his arms around you. 

He laughed, enveloping you in a hug as he kissed the top of your head. “And I love you.” 

You pulled away from him slightly to look up at him and saw a tear roll down his cheek. “Now and forever,” you whispered. 

“Always,” he said before closing the gap and kissing you. 

[almostgenerallyalways]

mamas (don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader Category: angst / fluff / run-on sentences Word count: 3,1k CW: language, I’ve been to Texas once okay forgive me, divorce Author’s note: this was supposed to be a holiday fic but I got stuck on it and almost abandoned it, but here it is rescued from my drafts, shoutout to all the amazing tgm fic writers your writing truly astounds me

Summary: Every year around the holidays, you hear from your ex. This year when you don’t respond, he decides to show up at your door. 

2022

Jake UT  [November 23, 2022 at 10:24 PM]

Hey stranger

Visiting my mom for Thanksgiving

How’ve you been?

You ignore the message. How you’ve been in the last twelve months is not something you feel up to discussing with him.

You spend the next weeks dealing with crisis after crisis at work, leaning into the chaos like you have been all year. Your personal life? Garbage fire. Reconfiguring your entire pump setup two weeks before going to production, because the DoC slapped an import ban on one of your key suppliers in China? You’re on top of it.

But then, the week before Christmas, another message comes in:

Jake UT  [December 17th, 2022 at 3:47 PM]

Hey

In town for the holidays

Would love to see you if you’re free

Brett welcome too, of course

A pang in your chest, but curiosity gets the better of you, so you text back:

Thanksgiving and Christmas? Judy must be thrilled.

You’ve met Jake’s mom all of one time, ten years ago, but she made a lasting impression. Fiercely protective of her only son, she’d been wary of you at first (you were, in order of importance: Too non-Texan, too vegetarian, and too focused on trying to rescue an almost-due group project for your sustainable water management class in which no one was pulling their weight).

And yet, over the Thanksgiving weekend you’d spent at Jake’s mother’s house in Colton, she’d slowly warmed up to you. You’d asked her endless questions about her job as a project manager at Austin-Bergstrom, and she’d poured you half glasses of wine (still exotic, to you, back then) at the kitchen island, shooing Jake back into the living room.

She’d even called you, after you guys broke up, to say she was sorry to hear it, and to tell you to call her up any time you needed someone to talk to. You’d tried your best to keep your voice even, not to break down in tears for the seventh time that day, and never called her again.

* * *

“Dude. Put your phone away for two minutes.”

Jake looks up apologetically at his friend, and pockets the device. “Sorry. Just expecting a text.”

Sandeep holds out his bottle of Lone Star, and Jake clinks it with his own. “It’s good to see you, man. Sorry I wasn’t around at Thanksgiving, we were visiting Jed’s family in NC. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

Jake takes a swig of his beer, the cold liquid feeling like a balm to his throat. “Yeah, well. It’s been a big year, work-wise, so they owed me one. I wanted to spend some extra time with my mom.”

Bringing up his drink to toast again, Sandeep says: “Here’s to you, bud. And to getting that permanent assignment in California. At least we knew where to send our holiday card this year.”

Condensation drips down the neck of his bottle, and Jake spins it slowly in his hand, stopping himself from peeling off the label. He feels on edge, unmoored, despite this 6th Street dive bar being as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Sandeep’s got his number. “Seeing anyone else while you’re in town? I don’t know, Myers?”

Jake doesn’t look up, but feels his cheeks heat up fractionally.

His friend takes another swig of his beer. “I guess I should stop calling her Myers. You know, with the divorce and all.”

The bottle escapes Jake’s grip, and amber liquid sloshes across the table, into Sandeep’s lap. “Shit, Seresin! Grab some napkins, will you?”

* * *

 2012

 You’d always known there was an expiration date on this thing with Jake, which is why you’d been reluctant to meet his mom to begin with.

You wanted fundamentally different things. He, the Navy: Adventure, excitement, a chance to serve his country. You: Stability. A family. A place where you belonged.

Both of you: an opportunity to prove yourself.

It’s civil, as far as breakups go.

“You always knew I wanted to fly.” He says, over breakfast at Magnolia Café. There’s a hard set to his jaw that makes you soften in contrast, because of course you do, everyone who’s ever been near Jake Seresin for longer than ten minutes knows he’s always wanted to fly.

From your first date he told you about how Judy used to park him in her office at the airport when her summer childcare fell through; little Jake happily spending the day watching commercial jets taxiing and taking off in quick succession.

How her coworkers, the civilian engineers who’d stayed on after Bergstrom Air Force Base was decommissioned and commercialized, would regale him with stories about generations of F-4 Phantoms. Or the British Airways Concorde, one of only twenty of the ill-fated aircraft ever made, bringing the Queen to Austin in a little yellow hat. The Reconnaissance Air Meet bringing in the best fighter pilots from across all divisions of the military and abroad, to compete and show off their skills.

Jake would listen to them with stars in his eyes.

You pick at your migas, your appetite gone. “I know, Jake. I would never stop you.”

But you look at him, and you know your face mirrors his determination. “But I can’t come with you, Jake. I can’t start my career following you around from camp to base year to year. I’m forty-thousand dollars in debt getting this degree, and I need to follow my own plan.”

You haven’t moved in together, though Jake spends most of his nights at your tiny off-campus apartment, where you’ve made him countless cups of black coffee trying to fuel weekend study sessions. Where he would come in past midnight, back from the late shift at his part-time job at the H-E-B, and bury his face in your neck, waking you up even though you’d been asleep for hours. Where you would hold his sleeping head to your chest, his deep breathing somehow felt inside of you, and run your fingers up and down the bare skin of his back, trying to memorize him.

You’re twenty-two, you tell yourself. This is not the end of the world.

So you see him off at the front door, a box of his things clutched to his chest, and you force yourself to be strong. “You better be,” and you try to smile up at him, but you’re not sure you’re doing a convincing job, “You better be the best goddamn pilot the Navy has ever seen, Jake.”

For a second, he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just puts down the box, and pulls you into a last embrace. You sink into it, the fundamentally safe feeling of his arms around you, then make yourself pull away after a minute, pretending you don’t see the wet stains on his shirt.

Later you look at all the spaces in your apartment he is now conspicuously absent from (no dog-eared volume of Game of Thrones on the nightstand, no boots by the door), and it hits you then; the crevasse he’s left in your life. It may run deeper than you thought.

* * *

Jake had gone to Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island, then designator-specific training in Pensacola, Florida, and done his best not to think about you.

It helped that his days were intense and exhausting. It helped that, on liberty weekends, girls would flock to him and his friends in bars.

It helped to be several states away from you.

It helped to be living his dream.

* * *

There is a bit of a backslide, that first Thanksgiving after, where you both think it can’t hurt to see each other for one drink, for old time’s sake, which ends in him taking you up against the door in your new apartment, your legs wrapped around his waist because he does not have the willpower or presence of mind to figure out the way to your bedroom.

He knows it was a mistake, at about five AM the next day, when the blue light of morning starts streaming through a gap in the curtains, illuminating your tousled hair fanned out over the pillow, the steady rise and fall of your chest so familiar to him he could cry.

Untangling himself from you hurts, and he does perhaps the most cowardly thing he ever will: he sneaks out before you wake up. But next week he’s shipping out, and the thought of the same dead-end conversation over coffee made just the way he likes it is unbearable, so he makes himself walk away.

Somehow it’s worse, the second time around.

* * *

You’d met someone else, like he’d known you would. He sees the engagement announcement on Facebook, browsing on his phone between drills, and likes the post. It’s the third year he’s been away, and he’s at TOPGUN by then, so he has a lot on his mind. He has a girlfriend, even, a local: cute as a button, beats him savagely at pool.

It doesn’t fully hit him until the first time he sees you with your then-fiancé, at a little holiday reunion of college friends. He sees you with that ring on your finger, another man’s arm around your shoulders, and he gets an acute sense of the alternate reality that could’ve been his.

It feels a little like losing altitude too fast.

Your initial reception of him is understandably frosty, but you seem too genuinely happy to hold a grudge. By the third round, when he sidles up to you at the bar, you give him a quick hug, looking up at him with a smile that squeezes his heart: “I’m so proud of you, Jake.”

He nods, not quite trusting himself to speak, and pulls you back in, just for a moment, tucking your head under his chin. You smell like apple and magnolia, like nights spent with his nose pressed into your back.

You don’t invite him to the wedding, and he’s all too glad not to have to make up an excuse not to go.

* * *

Things settle, after that. Jake gets deployed and reassigned, breaks up with his girlfriend and eventually gets another. You get promoted to senior engineer, then project lead. You see each other, not every year but close enough, sometimes with your husband there, sometimes without.

He braces himself for the next Facebook post; that you’re pregnant, but it never comes. Over time, even that seems to lose some of its potential emotional impact on him.  

Until three weeks ago, when you don’t text him back.

* * *

 2022

 You kick your shoes off in the entryway, then head into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Before you can reach the tap, the doorbell rings, and for a second you think somehow, some way, your terrible Bumble date has followed you home.

Grabbing the biggest kitchen knife you own off the magnet strip over the sink, just in case, you creep back to the door, barefoot, to press your face up to the peephole.

You don’t really expect to see the guy you just left, the ice in your glass not even melted before you were thinking up excuses to get out of there, but you sure as fuck don’t expect to see Jake either.

The door feels heavier than usual as you slowly slide it open, or maybe you’re just a little stunned. The night air hits your skin, and you can make out the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

For a long moment, Jake just looks at you, but then he says: “What were you planning on doing with that, sweetheart?”

You follow the jut of his chin down the line of your arm, and contemplate the knife for a second, Jake’s sudden appearance having made you forget all about it.

“I thought someone might have followed me here.”

“Ah.” He says, a spark in his eyes, clearly suppressing a smile. “If you were going to defend yourself in hand-to-hand combat, a knife is a terrible choice. I could give you some tips, though.”

Putting the damn thing down on your entryway console, you turn back to look at him. It’s not cold, exactly, in December in South Central Austin, but he looks underdressed: a long-sleeved light grey t-shirt, hands shoved in the pockets of a faded pair of jeans.

He looks good, you can’t deny it: he’s always had an immediate effect on you.

Jake, your somewhat gangly, sweet college boyfriend had it. Jake, ten years of military training later: older, filled out, fine crinkly lines starting to appear at the corners of his eyes (helped along by the California sun and God knows what far-off places), irrevocably still does.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “What are you doing here, Jake?”

At that, his expression sobers, and he looks at you for a long moment before he says:

“You didn’t tell me.”

* * *

Fucking Sandeep, you think, rubbing the back of your hand across your eyes, because that fucker has not been subtle with the hints lately, tutting like a Victorian matron while you pass the time evaluating your Bumble matches with his husband during Monday night football’s ad breaks.

The granite of your kitchen countertop feels reassuringly cool beneath your thighs, and you take a deep breath, keeping your eyes on the tile below:

“I wasn’t ready.”

Jake huffs, or so you assume by the little sound that escapes him, as you determinedly face only his sneakers: “It’s been a year. You sure told everyone else we know.”

That makes your head snap up, emotion rising in your chest in a way you don’t like, have always had to tamp down when it comes to him, these last ten years. “Fuck off, Jake. You know it’s different when it comes to you.”

He leans back against the fridge, arms folded, just slightly lifting his right eyebrow at you in that irritating way of his: “I could’ve been there for you.”

Fuck it, you think, all cards on the table then. “I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, and trying to figure out how to exist on my own again after being married for five years to someone who didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was, Jake. Sorry my first impulse wasn’t to come cry on my hometown hero ex-boyfriend’s shoulder.”

His eyes soften, and he pushes off the fridge to come stand next to you, running his fingers over the edge of the countertop. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter than a moment ago. “I’m being a dick. It’s just, you have to know, I would’ve been there for you.”

He pauses for a second, takes a deep breath: “It’s always been different when it comes to you too, sweetheart.”

You start to shake, a little, or maybe it’s your imagination. But your voice wavers as you say his name, everything about your tone a warning: “Jake.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head: “Our timing sucked, and I don’t regret our decision from back then. I’m proud of who I’ve become in the last ten years, and I’m proud of you. You think I don’t keep up with what you’re doing? The articles you’ve published?”

This stuns you, momentarily. “No, Jake Seresin. If I’m completely honest, I didn’t think you gave a shit about the latest advances in Texas drought management.”

Just being near him, the familiar smell of him bringing up memories you’ve had years to unsuccessfully repress, is overpowering.

He makes it worse by turning to you, face so goddamn heartbreakingly earnest as he says: “I couldn’t give you what you deserved, ten years ago, but I always told myself, if I was ever in a position to…” He swallows. “I tried to forget about it when you got married, I tried to root for you and Brett, I swear.”

His hand settles next to your thigh, not quite touching, and your hand comes down on its own accord to cover his. He straightens almost imperceptibly, uses his other palm to wipe a tear that’s made its way down your cheek.

Cupping your face, he draws a deep breath. “I have a permanent assignment now, in San Diego. I know it’s…”

“Jake.” You interrupt, squeezing your eyes shut, grabbing the hem of his shirt. “I’m not remotely the same person I was back then.”

He moves to stand in front of you now, and you draw him in between your thighs. Suddenly it seems imperative that you feel him, that he holds you.

Dipping his head to yours, you can hear the smile in his voice, watery, tentative: “Then let me get to know you again. Get to know me again.” He leans one hand on the counter, the other tracing your cheekbone. “No pressure. I’m totally very cool about this. Whatever you want.”

You laugh, a little choked up through tears, but genuine. It feels liberating. “What if I say yes? How does this work?”

His smile broadens, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so goddamn close, nudging your nose with his. “Come visit me, for a start. I’ll show you the sights.”

You draw him in a little closer still, legs wrapping around his waist, one hand finding its way into his close-cropped hair, and you could cry for how familiar he still feels after all these years.

But when you close the gap between your lips and his, it’s like coming home and yet not at all: he’s different and rougher and sharper and it floods you with emotion, something big and terrifying and old and new.

He leans into the kiss, grinning, cards his fingers through your hair before he moves to cover your chin, your brow, the space next to your ear with kisses, and you remember this with a jolt to your heart – how singularly intense it is to be the focus of Jake Seresin, like the strength of the sun is aimed at you, how he never does anything by halves.

You take his chin in your hand, kiss him again for good measure, before saying, into the stubble of his jaw: “One visit. No pressure.”

The grin he gives you in return could power half this city: “One visit. No pressure.”

He dips his head to yours again, kissing the skin behind your ear as he tells you: “Southern California has a lot of drought problems, you know. I’ve actually been reading some really scary articles about it.”

.

.

.

i hope you enjoyed :):) - if you liked this I hope you’ll check out some of my other work:

where the wild things are (rooster x reader)

cross my heart (hangman x reader) masterlist

[oceantornadoo]

hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.

im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!

bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)

you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.

that explains a lot.

and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)

"evenin', duckie."

"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."

john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.

"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.

"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.

"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...

"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."

"anythin' for you, duckie."

list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner

shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.

"all ok, john?"

"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.

"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.

"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.

"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."

"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.

"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.

30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?

john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.

that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.

john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.

"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.

you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.

"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.

"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."

--

ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.

[larkingame]

hello all! been a moment since we last discussed some things, so I'm coming online to discuss the progress of Larkin's development and make a few announcements :)

over the last ten months, larkin has gone through a lot of changes, some of which I've documented here--but most of it I've kept pretty private. I realized that over the few short years I've been developing the game, I sort of grew an unhealthy dependence on my presence within the 'interactive fiction' community that I really, really needed to take a step back from and break, all in order to ensure that I could enjoy working on what originally started out as a passion project for me.

since july of last year, I've completely reshaped and rewritten how larkin exists as a project, shifted it's genre and started collaborating with a few others to ensure it can be of the highest quality it can possibly be. uptop, i'd like to mention @tapeworrmart who's taken on the immense task of putting together most of the game art for me, @khiita and @ann1a-1 who have both taken on the roles of my editors (and also sounding boards for when I am being absolutely insane) and my production manager phillip, who without his assistance, larkin would barely exist. with that, let's do a progress report. the intended demo of larkin, or what i've taken to calling 'episode one' (yes, i said, 'episode,' more on that in a minute) has stretched to just over 200k words worth of content. it stretches all the way from the earliest versions of larkin's original prologue, to the end of the original chapter two. so far, we've completed 3 out of the intended 20 character portraits, as well as some more art that's slowly been in development.

now, on to the announcements. probably the biggest, and the one I am most ashamed of is--due to the fact that I've been slammed with graduate school work and some other external factors, Larkin as it currently exists is not the best that I think it can be. I'm deeply sorry for this, but I want to ensure that you all are getting the highest quality game you could get from me--and right now, I know it's just not that. Which is why I am unfortunately, pushing the release of the demo back until Friday, June 14th, 2024. Patrons will be granted access to the most recent edit of the demo two weeks earlier on Friday, May 31st 2024. In the meantime, I will be working day and night (quite literally) to get what I'm dropping on you up to par and something that I'm happy with.

To make up for this disappointment, I'm planning on repopulating the blog with a lot of content over the coming months, rewriting new versions of old asks, posting art and short stories.

Next on the agenda and also an equally important announcement. I'm changing the rating of Larkin to Mature or 18+ As I've been writing these past few months, working through a lot of themes and figuring out the story I want to tell, I've found that I think the change in rating is entirely necessary. While I don't think I've ever had that big of a minor fanbase--I think that this is just what I am most comfortable doing. There has consistently grown a little bit more of gore, and trauma exploration, which is the main reason for this change in rating, but, this does allow for the inclusion of something that I've been toying with since the intial release of the game. There is going to be explicit sex scenes in this new version of Larkin--all of which, you the player are able to opt out of, or completely avoid if that's something you want--but I just thought a little announcement would be warranted. This does not mean however, I am comfortable with answering thoroughly explicit asks or getting unsolicited sexual messages. The goal is to keep this game blog mainly tame.

Please respect this boundary of mine.

Third thing to be announced. I've also changed the format in which Larkin will be released. Rather than around the twenty-five chapters in one of a series of 'Books'/'Games', Larkin will be released episodically over four 'seasons' with eight-ten episodes of around 200k-250k words each (though, this is just an early estimate--they could grow longer, as I'm basing this purely off the demo/Episode One)

Finally and a little bit of a fun note: there are now twelve romance options throughout larkin, five male, three female, one non-binary and three gender-selectable. With those upcoming asks, you'll hear more about each in the coming days :)

With all that being said, I wanted to lastly thank all of you for supporting me over the years and putting faith and your interest in this project. truly, the support of all of you means the world to me and I can't wait to share more of larkin with you all.

thank you 💖

[doe-prince]

I love Golden Shrike! I've had my own comic idea for about a decade now, but I'm wondering, for you, how long did it take you to be confident enough with your art to start your comics? had you attempted panels and backgrounds earlier and didn't put them out because you weren't happy with them yet? I'm almost done with my characters and writing but I'm worried I'm not good enough to actually start doing panels

(these are just my views and experiences! there's as many approaches as there's artists)

I was BAD when I started comics, but then I again I was a kid who didn't care if my bunny-cat-digimon comics weren't good enough, it was just fun to do. Which is what it should still be, fun and a fulfillment to you. I think the happiest an artisit can be is when they can draw like they have no audience.

My comics stopped in my teenhood when I actually wanted to make something good. I made so much groundwork but VERY rarely got to the actual page production because I thought everything should be perfect, but we all know there's no such thing. When I noticed all my attempts were doomed, I stopped making them for like ten years until I was zapped with Fuck It We Ball-mentality. And it's the best thing that has happened to me. Childhood whimsy. Make your own toys.

Did I make test pages for Golden Shrike before starting production? Well, the first page of the comic is a test page. And the second page. And the whole first chapter. I just never stopped. Not smart but it's what works for me. Starting these 'test pages' has kickstarted two bigger comics for me, Golden Shrike and Jet and Harley.

Sure I made couple of style tests for GS even though I had a clear visual vision from the start, but Jet and Harley I just started to draw without any real practice pieces, just based on couple of CSP brushes I wanted to use. This isn't very smart as you'll likely find out later that MAN, this style takes too much effort, but if you're unlike me and don't care so much for consistency, you can always simplify it on the fly. And even I've had to change it: I stopped shading after chapter 5, briefly used 3D assets in upcoming pages, now I'm gonna shrink the font a little. They're teeny tiny things for readers, but huge for me.

There's many comic authors who like to plan every little detail before getting to work, but it doesn't work for me so I can't say much about it. I have a skeleton to follow, but I fully flesh out each chapter one by one when I reach them with pages, because I like to revisit my old visions with fresh brains. When you actually get to work, you might realize some scenes aren't needed, or they'd be better changed. Don't be scared to crack some ribs off your story skeleton. Being too loyal to your old vision can often hinder you.

Starting production is the biggest monster in comic making, but after the first step you'll mow over it leaving it in your dust and create a baby you can be so proud of. I wish you, and everyone else on the cusp of their projects GOOD LUCK, HAVE FUN, LOVE YOUR WORK.

[sansaorgana]

— NEW MEMORIES

PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader

SUMMARY — You're excited to celebrate holidays for the first time in a long time and you prepare the school for Christmas and Hanukkah but your husband's attitude differs, which leads to an argument. You accidentally reveal too soon that you're expecting, which ruins a surprise.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — As usual, Reader’s mutation is NOT specified. I checked online Hanukkah's date for 1973 and I hope it showed me right that it started December 19th, which means it would overlap with Christmas. I also tried not to specify if Reader would celebrate only Hanukkah with Erik or Christmas, too, so I hope it's not very exclusive, because I imagine that even if she is not a Christian or Jewish, she would still want to celebrate Hanukkah because of her husband. In this fic, Erik and Reader are both teachers at Xavier's School, probably after Days of Future Past happened but with less shitty ending for Erik 😂 I also wanted to write a part when the baby is born but I decided the time difference between the scenes would be too big so I'll just write another fic 😁

WARNINGS — mentions of parents' death (Reader's backstory is similar to Jean Grey's)

WORD COUNT — 2,220

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

NEW MEMORIES

December has never been your favourite time of the year. Most of the time it was a reminder that you weren’t normal, that your life wasn’t usual and that whatever all these people in Christmas commercials had was out of your reach.

But in 1973, for the first time in your life, you were actually excited. And since Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was open again, you had plenty of people to share your excitement with. Lots of students volunteered to help you with decorating the place for the upcoming Christmas and Hanukkah celebrations. That year was one of those when the two of them overlapped.

After all your classes on Friday, you worked on yet another room of the house with the help of a few students. When you finished it was almost ten pm so you told them goodnight and went straight to your bedroom. Erik was already there, reading a history book and making notes.

“What is it about?” you asked him with a smile as you began to take off your clothes. You were so tired that you decided to take a shower in the morning and now just change into pajamas.

“Napoleonic wars,” your husband answered without looking up. “I have a feeling he might have been one of us.”

“Aren’t we, like, a product of this century?” you asked and put a nightgown on. “Come on, it’s late, let’s go to sleep,” you stood behind him and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“I’ve only just begun,” he explained. “I need these notes for Monday.”

When you managed to convince Erik to join you at school and teach history, he was unsure about it but he promised to give it a try. Just like you promised you would leave with him to live in peace somewhere else if he wouldn’t like the life at Charles’ school. But one semester later he was already very engaged in his work. Students respected him although you could see that they were also a bit scared of him, which was understandable.

“You’ve just begun?” you laughed a little.

“I was playing chess with Charles earlier,” Erik answered with a nod and hummed after underlining a line in the book.

“Is this why you’re so tense?” you asked as you slightly squeezed his stiff shoulders. “Did you lose?”

“I’m not tense,” he tried to shake you off.

“Talk to me, Erik. It’s not gonna work if you refuse to talk to me,” you reminded him sternly and he sighed before putting the pencil down and closing the book. “We need to be open about what is bothering us, you promised me we’d make it work this time,” you added.

“Yes, I know. But I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” Erik turned his head around to look at your face. You took a step back and furrowed your brows.

“What do you mean, Erik?” you asked.

He hesitated before saying anything and a million of possible scenarios started to come up to your mind.

“You don’t like it here?” You inquired. “You want us to move out?”

“No, it’s not about that… But…” Erik swallowed thickly and took a deep breath in. “I don’t like what you’re currently doing. I’m sorry. I don’t want to take your happiness out of it.”

“What am I currently doing?” you couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“Christmas and Hanukkah preparations,” he explained and you blinked a few times as your brain needed to process that information.

“Wait, what?!” you raised your voice a little. You didn’t want to scold him for expressing his feelings but you just couldn’t understand his reaction. “We’re going to celebrate for the first time in such a long time, and what’s more important, we’re not gonna be alone in this. We have our friends and students here. For the first time December is a positive time of the year to me… to us,” you tried to explain your point of view nervously. Erik was only looking at you and blinking slowly, patiently waiting for you to finish. “But I don’t do it for myself. I mostly am doing it for you, Erik. I wanted you to be happy, too. I wanted you to enjoy something that had been taken away from you a long time ago.”

“It reminds me of Hanukkahs with my parents,” he finally spoke up and you pursed your lips for a moment before opening your mouth again.

“So you don’t want to ever celebrate again?” you asked to be sure.

“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head.

“Why can’t you let yourself be happy, why are you torturing yourself further? I don’t get it, I’m sorry,” you tried not to be irritated but you felt utterly disappointed. You sat on the edge of your bed and hid your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be a killjoy.”

“Too late,” you murmured, fighting your tears back.

“I know that most of the students will be celebrating. I think I’ll just leave for a week somewhere. I have already discussed it with Charles and he said there are a few things I can do for him at that time,” Erik’s voice sounded casual like he was discussing business for you.

“You want to leave us during Christmas time?” you moved the hands off of your face and looked up at him angrily.

“(Y/N), please, I don’t want to fight about it…” Erik sighed. “Why can’t you just understand that I don’t want to…” he clenched his jaw and looked away. “I don’t want to create new memories like this because it would remove the ones I already have… with my mother.”

“And you think she wouldn’t want you to celebrate holidays with your new family? You don’t think she’d want you to be happy?” you stood up and looked down at him. You felt like a bitch but his explanation made you even angrier.

“I don’t know what she’d want because she’s dead!” He stood up and raised his voice.

“So, I won’t be able to celebrate ever?! Because you don’t want to create new memories?” you put your hands on your hips.

“I’m not forbidding you to celebrate.”

“I don’t want to celebrate without you, don’t you understand?!” you yelled and rolled your eyes. “And when our child is born, you won’t celebrate Hanukkah with them either?” you asked and then you closed your mouth quickly. Your anger made you reveal a few things too early.

“What child?” you could see Erik’s face becoming pale within a second. “(Y/N)?”

“It was supposed to be a Christmas surprise… But since you won’t even be here, I guess I can tell you now,” you shrugged your arms. “I’m pregnant,” you announced and turned around to avoid looking at his face. You were scared of his reaction.

You didn’t know how long it took him to finally do something. Was it a very long minute or was it ten minutes of a heavy silence between you two…?

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he finally whispered. Apologizing wasn’t his strong trait. You sensed him standing behind you and putting his hand on your shoulder shyly. You didn’t push him away but you didn’t lean back towards him as usual either. “For how long do you know?”

“Two weeks. It’s the second month,” you answered, your eyes focused on the wall in front of you as you tried to fight the tears back. “Are you even happy?” you dared to ask and your lower lip trembled because asking it out loud made your heart break.

You were trying to give him a normal life, to give him family and happiness, joy around Christmas time and all that. But he seemed to prefer to dwell on his past. You didn’t expect him to forget about his mother or about the pain, of course not. Your past wasn’t exactly pleasant either. But you wanted to be happy despite that, you wanted to have a family, you wanted a new start in life, another chance.

“Of course I am,” Erik answered and gently turned your body around so you would face him. However, you tried to avoid his eyes. “But I’m terrified,” he confessed.

“And you think I am not?” you looked up eventually as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. “I’m a monster, Erik. You think I’m not scared of hurting them by accident?” you asked.

When you were about twelve years old, you caused your parents’ death after having an argument with them. Your powers were out of control and you were locked in a mental institution for underage girls by people who didn’t understand that you weren’t crazy nor really dangerous. That was where you met the person who made you realize who you were and who was the only person there who wouldn’t treat you like a monster; although that was the word you could easily call him with. His name was Sebastian Shaw – but he introduced himself as Doctor John Smith. He was experimenting on you for a few years and although it had been a traumatic experience, you learnt how to control your mutation thanks to him. That was also how you met Erik – he found you not so long after you turned eighteen years old and left the institution. You started to work as a waitress and he was hunting for the man who had used your pain and suffering to perform experiments on you to deepen his knowledge about the various mutations. You decided to join Erik because your life didn’t seem to have any purpose anyway.

“You’re not a monster,” he sighed and pulled you closer to wrap his arms around you. With one of his hands he held the back of your head and caressed your hair. “You were just a child and now you’re older, you can control your powers. You’re extraordinary,” he whispered the words of comfort and kissed your forehead. “I’m not scared about you hurting our baby, I would never. I trust you with my life,” he assured you and it was comforting to hear that.

“Creating new memories doesn’t wipe out the old ones,” you cried out and pressed your face deeper into his chest. “Believe me, I wish it worked this way. I wish I could forget. I begged Charles to make me forget but he refused to do it to me,” you confessed and Erik raised your chin to make you look at him again. He hadn’t known about that before.

“You haven’t told me that,” his face was full of pain and worry.

“It was when you were in jail. I begged Charles to remove all the pain, the memory of my parents, the memory of Shaw… Even you. I begged him to even remove you from my head. But he told me I wouldn’t be myself any longer. He was right and I hate that. I hate that what I am is made of pain and suffering,” you sniffled. “That’s why I want to make good memories so badly, do you understand? I want to celebrate with you like we never have before. I want to laugh and feel safe. Like I belong somewhere, surrounded with friends and students, with my husband by my side and my baby growing inside of me. Do you understand my point of view now, Erik?” you bit on your trembling lip.

“Yes, my liebling, I do,” he nodded and leaned in to kiss your forehead and then the tip of your nose, which made you giggle through the tears, until eventually he pecked your lips.

“But I don’t want to force you either,” you sighed. Now, when all your emotions were finally out and you calmed yourself down, you decided there was no point in pushing him into something that would make him feel uncomfortable. “If you don’t want to celebrate, it’s alright. We both have our right to deal with whatever that has happened to us in our own ways. I’ll still have fun with all the rest, don’t worry about me,” you assured him.

“No, you were right. About me choosing to torture myself instead of allowing myself to enjoy my life,” Erik caressed your cheek and you cracked a smile. “And I can’t miss my child’s first Hanukkah either.”

“I want them to have a happy childhood,” you told him. “Like we never had.”

“I know. I do, too,” Erik placed his hand on your belly and caressed it gently, like it was made of glass. “I will protect them from everything, I promise. No human will hurt our baby.”

You smiled at him and cupped his face before leaning in to give him a proper kiss this time.

But you didn’t tell him that what you feared more than humans hurting your child was actually the child turning out to be perfectly normal. You were afraid that a man so prejudiced towards humans as your husband wouldn’t love his child fully if they weren’t a mutant. You couldn’t tell him that, though. You didn’t want to fight with him anymore that night. Instead, you just kissed him. After all, you’d still have a few years before you’d find out if the baby was a mutant or not.

MASTERLIST

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Boeing, Spirit and Jetblue, a monopoly horror-story

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables TONIGHT (Jan 22) at 8PM. Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

Last week, William Young, an 82 year old federal judge appointed by Ronald Reagan, blocked the merger of Spirit Airlines and Jetblue. It was a seismic event:

https://storage.courtlistener.com/recap/gov.uscourts.mad.254267/gov.uscourts.mad.254267.461.0_6.pdf

Seismic because the judge's opinion is full of rhetoric associated with the surging antitrust revival, sneeringly dismissed by corporate apologists as "hipster antitrust." Young called America's airlines and "oligopoly," a situation he blamed on out-of-control mergers. As Matt Stoller writes, this is the first airline merger to be blocked by the DOJ and DOT since deregulation in 1978:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/antitrust-enforcers-block-the-jetblue

The judge wasn't shy about why he was reviving a pre-Jimmy Carter theory of antitrust: "[the merger] does violence to the core principle of antitrust law, 'to protect] markets –- and its market participants — from anticompetitive harm."

The legal arguments the judge advances are fascinating and worthy of study:

https://twitter.com/johnmarknewman/status/1747343447227519122

But what really caught my eye was David Dayen's American Prospect article about the judge's commentary on the state of the aviation industry:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/01-19-2024-how-boeing-ruined-the-jetblue-spirit-merger/

Why, after all, have Spirit and Jetblue been so ardent in pursuing mergers? Jetblue has had two failed merger attempts with Virgin, and this is the third time they've failed in an attempt to merge with Spirit. Spirit, meanwhile, just lost a bid to merge with Frontier. Why are these two airlines so obsessed with combining with each other or any other airline that will have them?

As Dayen explains, it's because US aviation has been consumed by monopoly, hollowed out to the point of near collapse, thanks to neoliberal policies at every part of the aviation supply-chain. For one thing, there's just not enough pilots, nor enough air-traffic controllers (recall that Reagan's first major act in office was to destroy the air traffic controller's union).

But even more importantly, there are no more planes. Boeing's waitlist for airplane delivery stretches to 2029. And Boeing is about to deliver a lot fewer planes, thanks to its disastrous corner-cutting, which grounded a vast global fleet of 737 Max aircraft (again):

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-01-09-boeing-737-max-financial-mindset/

The 737 disaster(s) epitomize the problems of inbred, merger-obsessed capitalism. As Luke Goldstein wrote, the rampant defects in Boeing's products can be traced to the decision to approve Boeing's 1997 merger with McDonnell-Douglas, a company helmed by Jack Welch proteges, notorious for cost-cutting at the expense of reliability:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-01-09-boeing-737-max-financial-mindset/

Boeing veterans describe the merger as the victory of the bean-counters, which led to a company that chases short-term profits over safety and even the viability of its business:

https://www.airliners.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=213075

After all, the merger turned Boeing into the single largest exporter in America, a company far too big to fail, teeing up tens of billions from Uncle Sucker, who also account for 40% of Boeing's income:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/its-time-to-nationalize-and-then

The US government is full of ex-Boeing execs, just as Boeing's executive row is full of ex-US federal aviation regulators. Bill Clinton's administration oversaw the creation of Boeing's monopoly in the 1990s, but it was the GOP that rescued Boeing the first time the 737 Maxes started dropping out of the sky.

Boeing's biggest competitor is the state-owned Airbus, a joint venture whose major partners are the governments of France, Spain and Germany – governments that are at least theoretically capable of thinking about the public good, not short-term profits. Boeing's largest equity stakes are held by the Vanguard Group, Vanguard Group subfiler, Newport Trust Company, and State Street Corporation:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-01-18-airbus-advantage/

As Matt Stoller says, America has an airline that the public bails out, protects, and subsidizes but has no say over. Boeing has all the costs of public ownership and none of the advantages. It's the epitome of privatized gains and socialized losses.

This is Reagan's other legacy, besides the disastrous shortage of air-traffic controllers. The religious belief in deregulation – especially deregulation of antitrust enforcement – leads to a deregulated market. It leads to a market that is regulated by monopolists who secretly deliberate, behind closed board-room doors, and are accountable only to their shareholders. These private regulators are unlike government regulators, who are at least nominally bound by obligations to transparency and public accountability. But they share on thing in common with those public regulators: when they fuck up, the public has to pay for their mistakes.

It's a good thing Boeing's executives are too big to fail, because they fail constantly. Boeing execs who are warned by subcontractors of dangerous defects in their planes order those subcontractors to lie, or lose their contracts:

https://www.levernews.com/boeing-supplier-ignored-warnings-of-excessive-amount-of-defects-former-employees-allege/

As a result of Boeing's mismanagement, America's only aircraft supplier steadily has lost ground to Airbus, which today enjoys a 2:1 advantage over Boeing. But it's not just Boeing that's the weak link aviation. US aviation is a chain entirely composed of weak links.

Take jet engines: Pratt & Whitney are Spirit's major engine supplier, but these engines suck as much as Boeing's fuselages. Much of Spirit's fleet is chronically grounded because the engines don't run. The reason Spirit buys its engines from those loveable goofballs at Pratt & Whitney? The Big Four airlines have bought all the engines for sale from other suppliers, leaving smaller airlines to buy their engines from fat-fingered incompetents.

This is why – as Dayen notes – smaller US airlines are so horny for intermarriage. They can't grow by adding routes, because there are no pilots. Even if they could get pilots, there'd be no slots because there are no air traffic controllers. But even if they could get pilots and slots, there are no planes, because Boeing sucks and Airbus can't make planes fast enough to supply the airlines that don't trust Boeing. And even if they could get aircraft, there are no engines because the Big Four aviation cartel cornered the market on working jet engines.

Part of Jetblue and Spirit's pitch was that they hand off the routes that they'd cut after their merger to other small airlines, like Frontier and Allegiant. But Frontier and Allegiant can't service those routes: they don't have pilots, slots, planes or engines.

Spirit hasn't been profitable since 2019 and is sitting on $4b in debt. Jetblue was proposing to finance its acquisition with another $3.5b in debt. The resulting airline could only be profitable by sharply cutting routes and massively raising prices, cutting 6.1m seats/year. With a debt:capital ratio of 111%, the company would have no slack and would need a bailout any time anything went wrong. Not coincidentally, the Big Four airlines also have debt:capital ratios of about 100-120%, and they do get bailouts ever time anything goes wrong.

As William McGee reminds us, it's been 14 years since anyone's started a new US airline:

https://twitter.com/WilliamJMcGee/status/1747363491445375072

US aviation is deeply cursed. But Boeing's self-disassembling aircraft show us why we can't fix it by allowing mergers: private monopolies, shorn of the discipline of competition and regulation, are extraction machines that turn viable businesses into debt-wracked zombies.

This is a subject that's beautifully illustrated in Dayen's 2020 book Monopolized, in the chapter on health care:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

The US health care system has been in trouble for a long time, but the current nightmare starts with the deregulation of pharma. Pharma companies interbred with one another in a string of incestuous marriages that produced these dysfunctional behemoths that were far better at shifting research costs to governments and squeezing customers than they were at making drugs. The pharma giants gouged hospitals for their products, and in response, hospitals underwent their own cousin-fucking merger orgy, producing regional monopolies that were powerful enough to resist pharma's price-hikes. But in growing large enough to resist pharma profiteering, the hospitals also became powerful enough to screw over insurers. Insurers then drained their own gene pool by combining with one another until most of us have three or fewer insurers we can sign up with – companies that are both big enough to refuse hospital price-hikes, and to hike premiums on us.

Thus monopoly begets monopoly: with health sewn up by monopolies in medical tech, drugs, pharmacy benefit managers, insurance, and hospitals, the only easy targets for goosing profits are people:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international

This is how you get a US medical system that costs more than any other rich nation's system to operate, delivers worse outcomes than those other systems, and treats medical workers worse than any other wealthy country.

Now, rich people can still buy their way out of this mess, but you have to be very rich indeed to buy your way out of the commercial aviation system. There's a lot of 1%ers who fly commercial, and they're feeling the squeeze – and there's no way they're leasing their own jets.

Stein's Law holds that "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." America's aviation mergers – in airlines, aircraft and engines – have hollowed out the system. The powerful, brittle companies that control aviation have so much power over their workforce that they've turned air traffic controller and pilot into jobs that no one wants – and they used their bailout money to buy out the most senior staff's contracts, sending them to early retirement.

Now, I'm with the people who say that most of US aviation should be replaced with high-speed rail, but that's not why our technocrats and finance barons have gutted aviation. They did it to make a quick buck. A lot of quick bucks. Now the system is literally falling to pieces in midair. Now the system is literally on fire:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/19/us/miami-boeing-plane-engine-fire.html

Which is how you get a Reagan appointed federal judge issuing an opinion that has me punching the air and shouting, "Yes, comrade! To the barricades!" Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. When the system is falling to pieces around you, ideology disintegrates like a 737 Max.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/21/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever/#will-eventually-stop

Image: Vitaly Druchenok (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:ECAir_Boeing_737-306_at_Brazzaville_Airport_by_Vitaly_Druchenok.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

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Joe Ravi (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Panorama_of_United_States_Supreme_Court_Building_at_Dusk.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en