#watch me find the most boring snippets because all the rest

[everlastingdreams]

A little Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart   snippet :

The walk back to the monastery was awful, you had hoped to stop crying by the time you got there, often you had to stop as the heartbreak and humiliation got too painful to bear.

The sound of hooves hitting the ground pulled your attention back to the present.

Had it been so long?

The Monk let out a loud disappointed sigh and halted Goliath next to you “It is late, Lady y/n.”

It had been more than an hour.

Your voice sounded so weak that it was like it wasn’t even yours “I’m sorry, Lancelot.”

If your voice had not betrayed your state, then the quiet sniffle would have.

He reached down, the irritation now absent from his tone “Are you alright? What happened?”

With a shake of your head, you refused to answer the inquiry “I just want to go home.”

In the dark, you moved your hand until you found the one he was reaching out with.

It clasped around yours and proceeded to help you mount Goliath, seating yourself in front of him.

You were shivering…

What on earth had happened ?

[hcdragonwrites]

River (Jttw-Monkeybuisness)

Ok I wrote another thing for @jttw-monkeybusiness there art inspires me and makes my brain itch and honestly I love Sophie to death so here you go!

And yes I suck at naming things when they are snippets of stuff I just usually name it what it’s about.

‘Getting water should be easy’ Sophie thought.

However it seemed that whatever gods were watching their trek today through China must have been bored and made this their entertainment for the evening.

Force the girl Buddha had plucked out of time to get water. Well it was unfair to assume it was the Buddha but whatever magical force actually had pulled her out of her time? Well that being was a massive dick. Sophie strained her arm, feeling the sway of the tree branch she clung to bobbed under her weight.

The banks of this river were steep as Trip and the group were making their way through mountains. The steep sides slide right into the dark water, rushing by in silent swirls of black- and offering no safe place for any traveler to easily reach it. The tree branch that Sophie now climbed upon, hung low enough off the steep riverbank, almost kissing the water with its bark. Moss had begun to grow from its limbs from the constant moisture. It offered Sophie a perfect opportunity.

She had both legs and arm hooked around the branch as it swayed, one free hand straining forward and dipping the water skins into the dark flow.

Jesus it’s freezing, she thought as her fingers dipped beneath the black current. Must be a runoff from a snow melt… If she fell into it she would be soaked and cold to the bone. Sophie shook herself, scattering that intrusive thought.

‘Only two more skins to go…’. She yanked the first one up, muscles burning. She lay flat, stomach hugging the branch and trying not to slip. Sophie wasn’t the most athletic person but she wasn’t a pushover either. Getting water was something she could do. Maybe she couldn’t fight Gods and humble the heavens like Wukong. Maybe she couldn’t breathe underwater and spear demons like Sandy.

Pigsy- well he was a fighter but mostly she had seen him run either away from a fight, pick a fight with Wukong, or fight to run towards women. Most of the time those women were demons in disguise that Wukong warned about. Sandy and her had a betting game going on silently between themselves as to which women were women and which were demons that wanted to devour Trip or herself. Mostly Trip but sometimes she would be mentioned.

So far the score was tipping in Sandy’s favor(who guessed mostly that the women they ran into were real women)- but only because the last village they had been in had been plagued by a child devouring rat demon. It was a morbid kind of way to make light of a situation that just kept recurring as Pisgy never learned.

Tripitaka even had his own abilities to commend, if some of those abilities didn’t translate over to combat. Staying still, meditating, being able to see the good in everyone - Sophie could hear Wukong now, thoroughly ripping into Trip for that belief- those were all traits that helped.

Sophie- a Girl out of time- was determined to have her own uses.

And if that was just doing minimal tasks then she would be GRAND at them!

She uncorked the last water skin and dipped it beneath the water as twilight began to descend into the gorge. The water turned black by the lack of light made Sophie’s stomach twist just a bit. There’s nothing in the water Sophie- nothing at all.

Her reassurances fell short. She had seen too much of demons and gods and magical mojo to really believe that nothing was staring up at her.

What happened next was a factor of several things. The first of those things we can lay blame at the feet of one Monkey King.

Sun Wukong had been given the task of collecting some fresh meat for the stew Trip was preparing and had sent Wukong to find some. The meat was mostly for Sophie and the rest but Trip would also partake. Being a Buddhist he usually kept to a strict vegetarian diet of noodles and soups. However, even he understood that on the road the pilgrims did not have much choice in diet.

So Wukong had gone, easily catching several rabbits and a large goose from further down the river. After his return and depositing them at Pigsys feet to be cleaned and prepped, Wukong was disappointed in the lack of praise. Usually bringing in a haul of food would give him some thanks- however the person that usually did the thanking was … missing.

“Where is the Reader?” Wukong demanded, arms crossing and tail lashing in annoyance.

Pigsy looked up at him from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Sophie,” Pigsy drawled, taking the first rabbit and cutting it clean of its pelt, “went to fill the water skins.”

“Alone? No one thought to go with her?” Wukong made a scoffing noise. Between her and the Monk there had been too many occasions where a demon had taken them as bait to lure out the infamous Monkey King. Didn’t she know by now that she couldn’t just wander off?

“She is not a Child, Brother.” Sandy interjected. The great water demon was sitting cross legged at the fire, stirring the pot. As Pigsy quickly and methodically cleaned the animals, Sandy was just as quick in adding them to the stew. The aroma was already becoming tantalizing. “She wanted a task and was given one. You know she does not like to be idle when there are things to do.”

“I wasn’t saying idleness was the correct answer.” Wukong picked at an invisible dust mote on his sleeve and flicked it away. He was feigning boredom when in reality he felt an itch under his fur. It was his responsibility to keep the mortals safe on this quest.

That included Trip and Sophie. The monk was easy to keep in one place, unless there were people that kept begging for help. Which - happened more than Wukong would care to admit.Sophie was … not so easily manageable.

That stupid women wanted to be as helpful as possible. Whether that be fetching supplies in town, carrying messages for the monk, or even tending to Yulong, she was always trying to keep busy. Which wouldn’t have been a problem for the Monkey King if it didn’t make his fur itch terribly so.

The itching would only go away after he knew she hadn’t gotten eaten by some wannabe river god.

“She needs to wait until I am back. Then she could have asked me for my help and I would have obliged.”

“I think the monkey likes Sophie.” Pigsy mock stage whispered, earning a murderous glare from Wukong. Pigsy flinched back, rubbing at the phantom pain on his head from the last time he had egged Wukong on a bit too much.

“She is only down by the river.” Sandy peacefully interjected before Wukong to react to Pigsys tone. “Just past the bend- I made sure she knew not to go farther.”

At least Sandy knew how danger inclined the mortals in their group were.

Wukong turned and left the camp, walking to the river not far off. The women wasn’t too far away to warrant an escort- she had learned from the last couple of times of almost being devoured or snatched up to not wander so far- but his fur wouldn’t lie flat on his shoulders. It itched terribly so. The sooner he could see her, the sooner the itching would go away.

As he came around the bend he saw her. Sophie was clinging to a tree that looked like it could be swept away into the river at any moment, legs hugging the branch as one hand dipped into the water. Her hair hung down, almost skimming the black surface. Wukongs fur stopped itching and he smoothed it down. Since no one but he was near Sophie to see, and she being too occupied by the river to even notice, he decided to indulge himself and stared openly.

When she had first joined their pilgrimage he had been pissed. Another human to take care of, to babysit, to feed was not what Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, had signed up for. If he was being honest with himself, none of this pilgrimage was what Wukong had voluntarily signed up for.

Sophie was strange to boot. Fair of skin, eyes and hair, she looked like a spirit from some heavenly court. However she did not act like any women in the Jade Emperor's Palace, because on one of the more ridiculous of their days where The monk had almost been married to a demon queen and Wukong had to break through and kill a little too much, Sophie had let loose a string of curses that were so foreign and colorful that the Monkey King had been momentarily shaken from his indifference at her to turn and inquire to what those phrases even meant.

It had been the start to something Wukong would never admit openly to. It had grown since that day as he learned that, while she may look pretty, she was no women in courtly garb or village outpost. She had a sharp mind, always asking questions and trying to figure out the why and the how of everything. Why did Wukong have a staff that could shrink and be tucked in his ear? Where had Wukong learned to shapeshifter? How had he been able to master duplicating himself with just a bit of fur and spit?

Sophie was open about questions of herself- where she had come from, what she had done before (something about being an artist) and why she looked the way she did (this last bit was rude on Wukongs part and had had the monk use the circlet around his brow as a reprimand. ‘We don’t ask why they look a certain way Wukong," he had said. The Monkey king had not meant it rudley- more or less he just wanted to know where in the world other people like her existed - that looked like her.)

She didn’t like blood so that was a bit of a downside. But an upside was she wasn’t afraid to go toe to toe when the Monk was being so incredibly and unreasonably unfair in his punishments. Wukong didn’t kill too much. Just enough.

Wukong hadn’t had anyone stick up for him like that.

So Sun Wukong decided to play- though no one else would see it as such. Tormenting and teasing and egging and goading were usually not considered human equivalencies of play. On Flower Fruit Mountain those had been the height of games and pastimes. Finding the little things that would itch someone’s skin, that could in turn get right beneath the armor of good words and embarrass the person enough to stumble out of their rehearsed facade and reveal the true self was a specialty of the Monkey Kings. He had done so with all the attendants in Heaven, with all the would-be demon conquerors that marched onto his doorstep. Dig at something long enough and you will find what makes them tick

So Wukong poked at Sophie’s person. He took things from her bag when bored and kept them away (it wasn’t hard and he didn’t have to even make himself bigger to do so). Wukong would try and goad her into playing pranks with him, sometimes even dragging her halfway through one before letting her know that it was a prank. He would answer her questions, insult her intelligence by calling her stupid women, and challenge her on her moral standings. He did everything in the monkey fashion that would be considered teasing and mildly bullying to figure out who she was.

He didn’t realize till it was too late that this had become more than a game to him. He was enjoying this.

Wukong didn’t get to watch her openly. Pigsy would think him infatuated with her and then he would become insufferable. That couldn’t happen. So Wukong would steal glimpses, brush shoulders, take hidden moments like when Sophie had turned to him, eyes shining and bright, and had begged to be lifted up so she could pet a few monkeys perched within a tree. Wukong could still feel the weight of her on his arm, the smell of her. She had been so enamored with the monkeys above that he didn’t have to worry. He could watch her without disguise.

Like he was now. Her face was screwed up in concentration, lip between her teeth as she corked the water skin and swung it onto the bank. She may be a weak mortal but she had good aim. Sophie placed the last one in the water, blue eyes glittering in the twilight. He would have to teach her how to properly hang. She was so limited in movement on that branch, clinging to it like a cat. It was improper and she could still easily slip into the water and be lost. It was a good thing Wukong was here then.

So it was, in part, the Monkey Kings fault for what happened next. And in part, Sophie’s mind is at fault. Wukong was as silent as a tiger, walking up and onto the tree without a sound. And as he was silent and watching, Sophie’s mind was loud and preoccupied.

She only had one more skin to fill but her mind wouldn’t let go of the thought of there being some beast or creature watching her. Waiting for her. It was just like the irrational fear children get when they swim into the deep part of a swimming pool- that somehow someway a shark would come from the clear cemented depths and devour them.

Only- this wasn’t a clear swimming pool. And this wasn’t some childhood fear anymore. Sophie had seen Tripataka almost go underwater from a river monsters grasping hands. If it hadn’t been for Sandy at that time, the monk would have drowned. She shivered. The sooner she got back to camp and away from the spooky dark water and the night, the better.

“There!” She felt the weight was sufficient enough and quickly corked the water skin. Sophie could get down now, off this tree and back into the warm and comforting light of the fire. Maybe she could ask Wukong for another of his stories- well histories as he called them. He was good at telling stories- if they were centered around himself. She went to throw the water skin, already calming down—

Eyes.

Glowing eyes watching her from above. Something human shaped in the foliage—

“Fucking shit!”

Panic set in and instinct. She flinched back, dropping the skin—

And slipping headfirst into the water. The cold shocked her body, screaming for her to get UP GET OUT DANGER- and she kicked back to the surface, spluttering. The current however was stronger than she thought and was already yanking her down to begin with. Her clothes were a weight that the water happily tugged down, mangling it with the current.

Something shot out and grabbed her around the middle and pulled.

OH GODS THERE IS A WATER DEMON THATS IN HERE! Sophie swung out, flailing wildly to get free. Her hands hit something but it was like hitting stone. She would not end up as someone’s meal or bride or servant or anything else. The thing that had a grip on her didn’t let go. But it didn’t haul her under- it hauled her up. As she breached the surface, she spat water from between her lips, her hair blocking her face.

She breathed in just enough air to start threatening.

“WHOEVER OR WHATEVER YOU ARE, JUST KNOW IF YOU EAT ME YOU WILL REGRET IT.” Sophie breathed in more air so she could get louder- if she was loud enough maybe Sandy or Pigsy would hear. If Wukong was back he would definitely hear her. She had to fight until she could get enough air in her lungs to holler louder. She swung again, connecting to what felt like a face- but it was like runing her hand into a brick wall. “I HAVE A FRIEND WHOS THE BEST MONKEY IN THE WHOLE WORLD WHO WILL SKIN YOU—“

Another hand caught her wrist, holding away. Sophie would just have to swing her free hand around and —

“Stop fucking flailing women you will bring the whole branch back into the river !” The person hissed and Sophie paused. She pulled the wet hair out of her face with her free hand.

“Wukong?”

The Monkey King was holding her close, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other holding one of her previously flailing wrists. His eyes were narrowed to angry yellow slits.

“You idiot who else would it be ?” His face was wet from where Sophie must have obviously punched him and splashed water at him.

“What are you doing out here- I thought-“

“I came to fetch you since you were taking so long and everyone was worrying about you.” He adjusted his grip, and hopped off the branch and back onto solid earth. “Then you had to go and dunk yourself into the river like a fool and I had to fish you out. I was also able to get the water skin you almost lost. ” He held up the skin, tossing it onto the bank.

“I didn’t dunk myself in the river !” Sophie pushed off of Wukong and he let her go, crossing his arms. “If you weren’t spookily hiding in the branches with your glowing eyes I wouldn’t have panicked and lost my grip!”

“I can’t believe you hit me…”

“Of course I would hit you! I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS YOU!” Sophie shouted.

“You should know me enough by now that I’m not like every other gripping demon out there!”

“Wukong how would I know when I’m half drowning in the water and I can’t see you?!” Sophie countered. He rolled his eyes, collecting the cast off water skins she had thrown onto the bank, grumbling about mortals and being blind.

“What were you doing?”

Wukong didn’t reply to her, his tail twitching agitatedly. Sophie looked down at herself. She was drenched from head to bare foot in water. Her skin was already starting to break out in goosebumps as the sun sank behind the mountains, casting the gorge into shadow.

“Why were you hiding in the branches?” Sophie pressed, collecting her shoes and holding them in hand. She would have to be careful walking back not to step on anything. Putting her shoes on now would only get them wet from her pant legs being sodden. Wet shoes were also not fun to walk in and they had a long trek tomorrow. Trip wanted to get to the next monastery and have as he liked to call it “an honest meal” which mostly consisted of mushrooms, noodles and broth. Trip was a vegetarian by nature but on the journey he did at times have to make sacrifices.

“Again I wasn’t hiding. The great Sun Wukong doesn’t hide.” Wukong replied, combing his wet fur back into place. “I was coming to fetch you and bring you back for supper. It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me.”

“Did you call out to me?”

“I was making enough noise a deaf and blind beggar could have heard me!” Wukong patted his pant leg where the majority of the water had gotten onto him. It wasn’t as bad as the full drenching Sophie had taken.

Sophie could smell the lie even as Wukong ignored her angry glower.

“Bull-bull s-shit!” She challenged but it came out between chattering teeth. Fuck it got cold fast.

Wukong paused in his own musings, hands pausing in inspecting himself and turned. He peered up into Sophie’s face, so close that he was almost nose to nose. The Monkey King looked at her eyes, down to her lips, then across the rest of her.

“Um… Wukong?”

“You're cold.” Wukong tapped his own lips, and pointed out the raised goose flesh on her arms. “Blue lips and bumps mean cold” His voice was much softer now. “Stupid women.”

He stepped back, hands crossing over his chest again. He looked her up and down then demanded “Take that off.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I’ll turn around, just take off your wet shirt!” Wukong shouted back. “You have those dry … er, shorts right?”

“Yes back in my bag.”

Wukong nodded once.

“Good. Take off your shirt.” He turned around, good to his word.

Sophie did so- shivering as the cold air clung to her skin. The cloth was heavy with water and she sighed. It wouldn’t be dry until well into tomorrow- she would be forced to wear her ‘otherworldly’ clothing. It was fine by her but if they stopped by a village it also meant she would have to wait outside. Sophie had learned the last time that walking into a village with odd clothes could be one of several different reactions, all mostly negative and involving the villagers calling her a demon or witch. Or throwing rocks at her. As she peeled herself free from the sodden clothing the night air kissed her skin and sent her teeth chattering harder. “D-done.”

Wukong hadn’t turned around but he had divested himself of his own robed shirt, holding it out and behind himself. Sophie tried not to stare at his back too long.

“Put it on.” It was kindness Sophie wasn’t expecting. Wukong, the last time he had given her his shirt to wear, had been an order from Tripataka. She had to wash her clothes after a heavy rainstorm had her falling in mud. Of course she had had no spare tops- they all needed to be washed from the travel smell and the dirt. So Trip had ordered Wukong to give up his shirt. It hadn’t been willing kindness but Sophie had still taken it as that.

But this? This was unexpected. Sophie opened her mouth to reply when Wukong continued, “I can’t believe I’m going to have to wash it again of your stink.”

Well so much for kindness. Sophie thought. First the monkey had scared her into the river. Then he had rescued her and blamed her for falling in? All because she couldn’t hear him? She didn’t believe that- not for a second. Great Sage Equal to Heaven Sun Wukong had not been walking loudly. He hadn’t even tried to call out to her to get her attention. What had he been doing when he was on the branch? How long had he been there?

Well, Sophie thought, I should be more aware of my surroundings- or at least not let my mind run away with the rest of my senses.

Though in all fairness if Wukong had wanted to sneak up on her, she would never have known. He was too quiet for his own good and it played into how well he could slip frogs into Pigsys blanket roll.

Sophie shrugged the shirt up and over her head, feeling the residual warmth from Wukong already transferring to her skin.

“At least you won’t get sick and worry the Monk.” Wukong said. Sophie tapped his shoulder and he turned. Without asking, he grabbed her sodden shirt and held it out in front of him.

He may have caused her to fall in. He may have been trying to scare her or something else. But he had pulled her out of the river. He had given her his shirt- free of an order. Sophie was beginning to read the guilt through his actions. Whatever Wukong had meant to do- he hadn’t meant to do that.

“…. Thank you Wukong.”

He grunted, holding Sophie’s shirt in one hand like someone would hold a gross bug.

“What would you do without me? You are completely incapable of keeping yourself safe. Too weak to fight, and too uncoordinated to even balance properly. What were you doing using only one arm for the water? You should have hooked your legs over the trunk instead. ” Wukong walked only a pace ahead of Sophie, slowing whenever she winced over the ground. At least the ground was only slightly rocky here.

“Maybe I wouldn’t fall in rivers because the person that is so worried about my safety didn’t just scare me half to death.” She shot and Wukong merely grinned wider.

“ It seems you forget how to say ‘You are Welcome Wukong’ ! It was just a dip in the water and I was right there to keep you from drowning.”

“Uh huh.”

“ It was needed.” He sniffed the drenched clothing and grimaced, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “You did stink.”

“Oh hahaha let me laugh it up- not like there’s soap and a bathtub waiting at every spot we stop.” Sophie rubbed her arms, pulling her hair back from her face to tuck behind her ears. “You stink too when you come back from slaughtering half a hoard of demons ya know?”

“I take care of myself. Unlike you.”

“I thought you were some river monster coming to drown me and eat my bones you ass.” Sophie tilted her head and squeezed some water off the edges of her hair. She was going to need a brush, the bits of hair already curling and tangling together. “Lurking in the shadows above me is not a way to reassure a girl you aren’t there to devour them.”

“All the more reason,” Wukong crowed, “Not to go without an escort. If you are going to go anywhere, you have to take me with you. You are in a King's care after all. It reflects badly upon my own standing as King and guardian of this pilgrimage if you end up between the teeth of some demon. Mortals like you and the Monk should know this by now.”

“Sandy knew where I was.”

“And look at the good that did you.”

There was no popping Sun Wukongs bubble of pride- he had already wrapped this story up as a great rescue of some kind. He didn’t grin about it, but Sophie could see he was indifferent to the chaos he had caused her. She wished she could throw him sometimes. Maybe he would think twice about scaring her if she could dunk him in a river.

“…stupid monkey.”

Wukong turned at that, grinning now with all teeth. The game was afoot now in full force and he felt it.

“What we’re you saying as I pulled you up? Something like “A friend whos the best monkey in the world?’”

“If he really was the best he wouldn’t have half drowned me.” Sophie pointed out, sniffing. They were nearing the fire, and the smell of Sandy’s stew was enough to make her stomach give an audible gurgle.

“I didn’t.” Wukong corrected, helping her over a bit of prickly thorn bushes without being promoted. Maybe he did feel a smidge guilty then. He usually had to be begged to assist - or ordered by Trip. “ You slipped. It’s not my fault you can’t hear or see, stupid women.”

“Keep telling yourself that Wukong. Maybe you’ll make it true.”

As Sophie entered the camp she was bombarded from all sides by the concern of her fellow pilgrims. Sandy rose from the fire- a bowl of stew already being shoved in her hands. Pigsy threatened and yelled at Wukong enough that both of them started to get into a spat. Tripitaka had to stand, to command them to stop before it escalated from mere name calling to physical fighting. Trip then held out Sophie’s bag and she gratefully took it and dipped behind a bit of greenery several paces beyond to change out of her drenched pants and into the comfy pajama shorts and a comfy hoodie. When she came back Pigsy was still growling out threats while a disinterested Wukong cleaned his nails. He looked up briefly at her then away.

“When we reach the next village we will grab you a spare.” Tripitaka spoke around a bowl of noodles. He had opted just for noodles tonight, leaving the meat to the rest of the group. His smile was kind and apologetic. “Sophie you will probably have to wait outside the village till we can get you a replacement.”

She nodded. She could risk going into the village with her regular attire on but … being chastised and poked at by the villagers was not a pleasant experience. Once was enough for her.

“When you guys go into the village could you ask for some healing balm- or maybe a big hat?” Sophie looked to Sandy. “The sun is really starting to burn my skin and I only have so much left of my other world stuff.” Trying to describe the items in her bag at times left different reactions from the group- or more questions. Sophie didn’t want to answer those questions at the moment, hungry and cold.

Sandy nodded, passing a bowl to Wukong on her right. “I will ask for you, Sophie.”

As the group dug into their suppers and then settled for the night, Sophie was glad the fire was banked high. The chill was being chased from her bones and, even if the ground wasn’t comfortable, she looked on the bright side. She hadn’t been eaten. As Wukong took the first watch and Pigsy already was snoring, Sophie closed her eyes—

And woke to the stars still shining in her face as something bumped beside her head. She startled up, blinking out the sleep that clung.

“Hello-?”

“Shhh.” Wukong was crouched beside her, his tail being the culprit of what woke her up. His face looked tired with sleep, the scowl deeper and more furious. He shoved something into Sophie’s lap. She looked down. They were new clothes- a robbed top and pants.

“If you tell the Monk I stole it, I will give you a thorough washing in the river.” Wukong hissed, pulling at Sophie’s bag and rummaging through the contents. Well there he goes again, just digging through my stuff. It didn’t bother her anymore since Wukong rarely kept any of the items of hers he pocketed. He pulled out the coin string, taking some of the bronze rings. “I’m taking some of these so it looks like I bought them. Got it ?”

“So you are feeling guilty for startling me into the water.” Wukong opened his mouth, to argue, to plead his case that no he was not feeling guilty he was Sun Wukong and he did not feel guilt, when Sophie smiled up at him and laid back down.

“It’s ok. Your secret is safe with me-“ she grogely replied, laying back down and curling over the clothes. Sophie patted the ground beside her. “Your watch is over right?”

“Yes.” His head was cocked to the side, like a dog confused.

“Good. Get some sleep.” Sophie closed her eyes. She didn’t hear him move off but she knew he had settled just a bit away from her.

“And Wukong?”

A grunt from behind her- already settling into his spot, back to her.

“Thanks. I forgive you for almost drowning me.”

“I didn’t drown you.”

“I’ll take that as ‘your welcome’.”

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Numéro 23

Part 2

Guess what, ya girl finished a snippet on the plane!!

Words: 1.28 k

TW: Violence, bone fracture, slightly depressed and pretty anxious hero, questionable agency, bone fracture, guns, attempted murders, restraint mentioned

The file was dropped onto their desk curtly, no words spoken, like every other assignment Hero got. Their newest target didn't have a name, no alias of some sort, and the picture of them had shown them fully masked in a sleek, black suit, no inch of skin showing; a faceless caricature. However, their kill count, in three digits, was important enough that any other details seemed inconsequential next to it.

Besides, Hero had been taught to treat their targets more like tasks than people. 

So the crime-fighter trained till they were left dead on their feet, till their knuckles were all ripped skin and covered in bloodstains, till their exhausted muscles felt like they were on fire. 

“Hero! Don’t you think you’re going a little overkill, boss?” Sidekick asked, folding their arms across their chest and leaning against the doorframe.

The young hero was the closest thing to a light in the agency’s pitch black darkness; the soul that gave life to a lifeless place, like a flame lighting the slowly dwindling, half-melted candle that was the older crime-fighter’s life. 

“I. . .can’t, Sidekick,” the hero replied breathlessly, hauling their form up for yet another pull-up, having done so many that they’d lost count. “This new target is unlike all the others before the-”

“Yeah yeah, but when are you not being paranoid about one of your enemies?” the teenager replied, cutting them off. 

“Their kill count is in three digits,” the crime-stopper retorted almost impatiently.

“Bloody hell,” Sidekick interjected, eyes going wide.

“Watch your language,” Hero chided, but a sly smirk danced across their face. 

“Okay, I wasn’t expecting that, but what good will it do if you show up to fight this bloody - sorry - serial killer exhausted? Weren’t you the one who kept lecturing me on the importance of rest for maximum work efficiency?”

The hero may have been stubborn, but they realised their protegé was right. They couldn't risk showing up to fight someone like their mystery killer while tired, so they decided to make their way home.

Normally, a hot bath would easily clear their head. Sure, they could still feel the tension blissfully seep from their form, the warmth relaxing overworked muscles, but their mind remained a raging firestorm of anxiety. It frustrated them how they couldn't even enjoy something this simple, the one moment where they no longer had to think or be whatever the hell they needed to be at the moment. "At least I smell nice," they scoffed, wishing to get this over with much faster. 

They let out a heavy sigh, leaving the tub and slipping into a bathrobe, trudging to the desk in their room to use the old, but still functional laptop. Ironically, being a hero barely payed for rent. 

For someone so high and mighty, their little terrorist wasn't completely difficult to find. Or maybe the hero was really a 'natural with the keyboard', since it had taken them a bit of hacking to find their target. Who's to say? 

Changing into their suit, Hero stared at their reflection with such intensity, that it would look to most people like an attempt to shatter it to a thousand shards by just looking at it. In reality, their own harsh gaze bore into the dark corners of their mind, wondering for the umpteenth time if they were enough. It didn't matter because they'd still have to do this anyway, whatever the cost.

"Target spotted," they whispered into their comm, standing on their knees for long enough that their muscles ached, waiting for their enemy deigned to show up. 

"I will engage now." 

The killer's movements resembled that of a panther, and the crime-fighter would have been lying if they'd denied finding it graceful. They were fast and agile, almost impossible to keep up with, not even giving them the chance to reach for the gun in their waistband. But the hero was no slouch either. They aimed a harsh kick to their enemy's shins, their body slamming into the asphalt with an audible thud. Still, the figure in black remained undeterred, kicking the crime-stopper on top of them in the ribs, sending them toppling down across the street, making their head throb and effectively destroying their flimsy communicator.

The hero swore, muttering something ironically much more profane than what they'd chastise their sidekick for, but they rolled away, out of the bastard's reach, quickly getting back on their feet. Their assailant was quick on their feet, chasing after them, but Hero was faster. They'd managed to slip behind an old building, trying to quiet their laboured breathing. They slowly reached for the gun in their waistband, removing the old magazine and replacing it with a new, loaded one.

They waited painstakingly for their target to reach the perfect spot.

Bang. They fired, aiming for the kill, three perfect shots. 

Except the bastard was wearing bullet-proof armour, the bullets ricocheting off of them uselessly. They were certain that underneath their dark cowl, the criminal must have had an infuriatingly smug smirk on their face, but right then, they recieved an entirely self-satisfied tilt of the head to the side. 

Their only option was to destroy a piece of the armour and shoot them there. 

The fight between them continued being a draw, one striking, their opponent blocking, and neither causing any real damage. Until the killer had managed to back Hero into a corner, kicking them to the ground and twisting their leg into a horrid angle, the crime-fighter crying out in pain as a grotesque crack rang in their ears. Tears sprang in their eyes and with whatever little movement they could manage, they furiously ripped their nemesis's mask off.

It wasn't the face of a stranger, like they'd expected, nor was it the face of someone entirely close to them, not that there were many people, aside from their sidekick, who obviously wasn't the ruthless murderer before, instead, it was their quiet lab partner from college, Villain, the one that sat next to them every day, brought them coffee and the occasional dessert, and doodled silly cartoons in their notebook to keep them both sane during boring classes, the closest thing they had to a friend that had nothing to do with the agency.

Their mouth was left agape, their eyes wide, their whole world spinning, but Villain didn’t even blink. They fired, straight into the hero's chest, utterly remorseless, no readable expression on their stone hard face.

Hero woke up. Woke up? What the hell? But Villain had killed them, yet here they were, lying on a soft mattress underneath a wonderfully thick comforter, with their leg in a cast, bandages crisscrossed across their chest. The only thing ruining the strangely mellow coziness they felt (possibly painkilling drugs) was the fact that they were handcuffed to the nighstand. 

The bullet had missed their heart. But surely an expert marksman like Villain wouldn't miss, right? This, for some strange reason, was intentional. 

We like to believe that our expectations have a foundation in truth, that they are of considerable value, that they can have even the slightest effect on any future outcomes. Yet, that is a fool's dream, a fruitless effort to calm a racing mind in fear of the unknown. Just when you are at the peak of your certainty, when you fully believe your fate is sealed, a spontaneous twist, the slightest change sets you on a path you were never aware existed. Our choices, our words, our actions have meaning, yet they only hold the power of a few tidal waves in the vast unpredictable ocean that is our future because destiny is a weapon one can only hope to master.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @usernotfound000 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

My final thoughts about season 1 of Heartstopper

Was surprised by how little they changed from the books (despite being told as much by a very helpful fan).

It just felt like there was....more. Not saying Alice is a bad writer (she literally created one of my newest obsessions & is helping make the show), but the graphic novels are almost exclusively Nick & Charlie focused. Which isn't bad, persay. I literally love them as individual characters & as a couple, but it definitely makes the story feel "smaller" & a little rushed at times, to me (but I know she originally created Heartstopper when she was very young so I think stuff like that are very understandable flaws) & I'm sure tons of people don't have a problem with the pacing of the books & might even find the show too slow or "bloated'. I, however, personally appreciate the changes made (minus not getting to witness Nick whine to his mum about his boyfriend not being allowed to come on their holiday because that was hilarious). Most storylines were neither dragged out for too long nor so quickly resolved that things ended on an anticlimatic note, with most characters being given enough time, with the amount of episodes they have, for characters to doubt/second guess themselves & argue like obviously they're teens & are going through difficult stuff (I know haters wanna act like this series is "too perfect, that it's boring," but most of the characters are lgbtq+ & are shown facing at least some kind of struggle because of that). Which just gives the series a little more time to breathe. I think this is clearly shown/felt with the supporting cast.

The big moments in the book seem to be solely Nick or Charlie's. The other characters, much more secondary, only getting snippets of focus/attention tacked on at the end of volumes or their situations already being pretty much established by the time they're introduced. Theres little discovery for them, no getting to see the stirings of them first developing/realising a crush. Instead, Elle & Tao already like each other (even if they won't admit it) & their friend group already knows. Tara is just tottally open about being a lesbian from the get go (seemingly suffering no scrutiny) when we meet her in the book & so we never get Darcy feeling bad about how the change in their relationship is difficult for the person she loves.

I guess it's so we, the audience, can strictly focus on the development of the Nick x Charlie relationship. Which again isn't bad, but I definitely prefer it this way. Changes the serise from having two leads & the rest just being supporting characters to it feeling much more like an ensemble cast of genuine friends who all have their own lives & issues to sort out.

Also I actually kinda love the addition of Imogen like yeah she was annoying with the 'who your texting' thing & just how oblivious she was about Nick clearly not being into her (she over came that though, thank god) but even when she was at her most problimatic (I'm an ally) she was at least hilarious. I've said 'Come on Nickalous' to myself at least once a day since I watched that episode & you're gonna have to rip that habit from my cold, dead hands! In conclusion, some of you are a little too eager to hate on teen girls sometimes (like, at worst, she's cringey). I do hope she's more respectful in regards to LGBTQ+ stuff moving forward of course, but like character development is also a thing & unlike Harry & Ben (self haiting though he obviously is) she wasn't shown to be an actual bully. I just think the internet, which woobifies toxic male characters on the regular, shouldn't judge her as harshly as I've seen some people do (though I will admit a lot of them are probably doing so mostly as a joke, its just a little weird hearing adults refer to someone who's supposed to be like 15, as a bitch/slut). Anyway, rant over, lol.

Can't wait to continue this lovely series.

[bunny-hoodlum]

👩‍🏭 🌈 ( what usually inspires you to write all your fics?) 🧠🖊 👀 📥

Fanfic Ask Game Answers!

👩‍🏭 If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

Omigosh, huhhhhhh... My Genin!Hinata/Jonin-sensei!Naruto dubcon WIP, I guess? 😅 50-50 either stuff happens when she's 12yo or 14yo, but the part of me that's a coward and doesn't want to invite drama gonna shoot for when she's 14. 😅 12-13yos gonna be emotional manipulation stuff. 🤔

🌈 What inspired you to write all your fics?

The age regression sequence in The Last is solely at fault for my Age Difference obsession. Sometimes it's something I see, for example, "be the end of me" is only because I saw an Asian female customer with super long hair but most of it was bleached blonde. Or "Handsy" is because I saw yoga equipment. My brain just handles the rest. I get hit with a semitruck of narrative and it's a WIP! Soaking up online discussion or other people's fics help too. Sometimes I'll jinx myself in reverse and tell someone "I'm stuck, I don't know how to handle this part, it's sooo boring", and then something hits me after and it's kind of embarrassing because I have to tell them "Nevermind" and ugh. 😅 Songs, too ofc! So many songs! I have playlists and everything.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

I answered this one with Wicker-Mayne's ask, but let me see if I don't have another. 🤔 Maybe my Shibari AU? I still have to read the rest of the book and taking notes will help me remember the material, so I really got to find the time and do that. But it shouldn't be a hard one to write. I have an old post with the 3 or 4 variations that I thought of before, but all-in-all, it's just hentai doujin material. Hinata and her Shibari Instructor or sShibari Partner, whichever one I choose to do.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

From Work Friends Chapter 3

She thought porn stars were supposed actors. Her previous co-star certainly was. The penetration was real. His hands on her body were real. But the angles weren’t for her benefit and his thrusts had been too shallow. Even with his decently sized cock, she felt like very little sex had ever occurred. She thought she wouldn’t mind if the next five years of this went on like that. Even though the world would doubt her purity and consider her used goods, someone out there would know better. Someone out there wouldn’t find her disgusting. Because it was all just acting. But this man. This man… She squeezed her thighs tighter together and nibbled on the hard lip of her water bottle. God, were they done yet? Menma was busy going over details with the director as they watched the playback together multiple times, sitting where she had been earlier, right behind the front passenger seat. He sat with one leg bent, his thick, muscled arm perched atop his knee, the other leg laying straight out. He took up twice the space she did, had to hunch beneath the ceiling when he stood up earlier, giving her a tantalizing show that made her mouth water. She tipped her bottle back, taking a furtive sip of chilled water to clear the unrestrained insanity plaguing her imagination. His commanding voice in her ear was going to haunt her dreams later, she was certain of it. That hungry aggression telling her to grab his cock. And he stained his sweats when she touched him. Was he really that aroused by her? Or was it something he was on? He’s old enough to need to pop blue little pills, but she doesn’t know much about them and how they work otherwise.

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

Only the WIPs inside my mind, lol. 🤭 I honestly don't have anything I've written that I'm too scared to post. If I'm writing it, I'm usually planning on posting it. 🙈 Any WIPs that are ancient or incomplete count, I suppose. And so far, I still haven't properly shared the entirety of "Kotatsu" something-something. It was a flash in the pan kind of thing and I just lost all motivation to clean it up. 😅

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

All of them! 💖 But especially anything that's new, haha. I need that first chapter reception to feel like I'm good to move forward. 😁

Thank you so much for all the questions!

[t0mcruize123]

stuck with you

Part three🎀🫶

I liked writing this part A LOT ngl it’s a little snippet of the smut to come in part 4 so prepare yourself 🤭

~Part 3~

Rain splattered onto the hotel window as the tv screen blared colourfully. We’d planned on heading out for LA today but it’d been raining for hours, and Ray refused to leave the hotel. Instead, me and Charlie had been flicking through channels all day and playing truth or dare. It sounded boring but to be honest, I was having more fun than I’d had in weeks. I was learning so much and he wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d originally thought.

“It’s supposed to be 8 fish sticks,” Raymond mumbled as Charlie set his food in front of him.

“You want 8?” He sliced the 4 fish sticks in half, “There’s 8.”

I smiled as he sat down next to me on the bed, “Once he’s finished we’ll hit the road.”

“We don’t have to go out today, if you don’t want to,” my gaze flickered from him to the tv, “It’s getting late.”

“What would we do if we stayed here?” His voice lowered, “Watch Tv and play games?”

My tongue darted over my lips instinctively, “Yeah…if you want to.”

“And if I don’t?”

Was he messing with me? He was close enough that his arm was brushing mine and I couldn’t tell if he’d shuffled closer or not.

“Well then we’ll have to find some way to keep you occupied,” the corner of my lip lifted as my stare slid to his. His eyes were piercing in the light and my head began to spin.

A smirk played at his lips, “Oh yeah?” I liked playful Charlie but I had to admit angry Charlie made my heart pound the most. there was something about his hands and the way his voice rose as he yelled that made my stomach flutter. I shouldn’t have been attracted to something so toxic and yet I found myself falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole.

“A sonnet,” Raymond mumbled and our heads snapped to his.

“What?” Charlie’s brow raised.

I nodded to the tv, “A fourteen line love poem.”

His lips parted, “How does my brother know what a sonnet is but not money? How is that even possible?”

He clambered to his feet and turned to the window, “You take a shower Ray? Hm?” Ray continued to eat as Charlie’s voice rose, “Ray, you take a shower right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right?” His hands flew up, “It’s the same thing as the rain, you get a little wet.”

Ray continued to ignore him and I cut in, “We can just go out tomorow Charlie-“

“And if it’s still raining then? We’re wasting valuable time!” He rested his palms on the window ledge, “What do you say Ray, what do you say? Huh?”

“Course the showers in the bathroom,” he stared down at his plate as Charlie rolled his eyes.

“That’s the end of that conversation,” he murmured lowly and I covered my mouth to hide my smile.

The sunlight beamed down upon us as we sat in Charlie’s car in a comfortable silence. Charlie had just made a call and was quietly thinking whilst I sat at his side.

“It’s so beautiful,” I squinted as I looked up at the sun, basking in its warmth.

“It is,” he agreed, though his gaze was on me rather than any star in the sky, “So are you just here for your sisters wedding?”

I nodded, “Yeah…it’s quite embarrassing actually.”

He frowned, “What is?”

“I actually planned to meet somebody there,” I confessed quietly, “I haven’t dated anybody in a while and my sisters trying to set me up with the best man at the wedding.”

His lips parted in surprise, “Oh..what’s his name?”

My mouth opened to reply though I stilled, “I’m…I actually can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember the name of your date?”

“I’ve never met the guy! And to be honest, I have no care for him, I’m only agreeing to go on a date with him for my sisters sake.”

He thought about it for a moment, “Why is she trying to force you with him so much?”

“Because…,” my stomach twisted, “I haven’t dated anyone in a long time.”

“How long is a long time?”

I pinned him with a glare and he drew back, “No judgment I promise, you can tell me.”

But it was just so embarrassing, “A year.”

His brow rose ever so slightly and I argued, “You promised no judgement!”

“I’m not judging you, I’m judging the guys in your area,” he mumbled quietly, “How have you not had a boyfriend in a year? Are all the men you’ve ever met completely insane?”

I looked to the side to hide my flaming cheeks, “What do you mean?”

“I just don’t understand how you of all people, can’t attract a boyfriend.”

“Oh I can,” I cut in, “I just reject the men that come my way. I haven’t been particularly lucky in the love department, I’ve dated many dickheads in my time.”

“Oh really?” He gave me a soft smile, “I’m not very lucky either, I haven’t dated anyone in a few months. I jusr don’t have the time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “You know my last boyfriend dumped me on Christmas Day.”

His jaw went slack, “What?”

“Mhm, said I was getting too fat,” I grinned, “It’s alright you can laugh.”

“But that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, you’re figure it’s-“ he swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure, “You know it was the first thing I noticed about you.”

His fingers brushed mine ever slightly and I inhaled sharply. It’d been a long time since I’d physically reacted to such a small touch, and I liked the way my heart began to pound. When I was with Charlie, my head didn’t spin and my palms didn’t sweat. I was simply comfortable, and for some reason that made me surge with confidence.

Before I could rethink it, I swung my leg around and clambered over onto Charlie’s lap. His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise though his hands instinctively came up to my back. I’d never felt the desire to kiss somebody like this before - like if I didn’t, I would’ve have survived another second. I needed the air he was holding, I wanted it back.

My face moved closer to his and his pupils dilated though the lighting had not changed. His hands rubbed small circles at my back and I felt small shocks run through my body. My clothes were a barrier between his hot hands against my skin, but we were in a crowded area and I wasnt going to get so carried away in public. I just needed one kiss. A distraction to feed this insatiable desire coursing through my core, I just needed him before we went our seperate ways. We both wanted it, I knew it in the way he glanced at me when he thought I wasn’t looking and how easy we fit together. I wasn’t fighting anymore - I was completely vulnerable in front of Charlie and yet I felt completely safe.

His eyes stayed locked on mine as his hand slipped beneath my shirt and he grazed my stomach with his thumb. I released a pent up breath and the corner of his lip lifted as he trailed his nose across my jaw. He seemed to enjoy taking his time and my heart pounded as his eyelids fluttered. He’d been so surprised but clearly he needed this as much as i did.

A gasp escaped My lips as Charlie pressed his mouth against the skin of my collarbone and glided his tongue across it. He kissed me as though he were tasting me, and I pulled him closer with desire. I needed his wet mouth on mine, his tongue slipping through my lips, his hands in my hair.

But he was holding back. Torturing me with small teasing kisses that were driving me insane.

He moved impossibly closer and kissed the corner of my mouth, making me lick my lips instinctively. He groaned and I could feel him growing hard beneath me, desperate to fill me but trying to restrain himself.

“Just give in Charlie,” I murmured lowly, and I didn’t care how pathetic my voice sounded as I begged. I could feel the size of him between my thighs and I grew hot and slick on his lap.

“You’re so needy you’d settle for riding my thigh right now wouldn’t you?” He smiled against my lips, “But I’m not giving you that right now, darling. When I take you, I’m taking you fully and completely.”

I drew back and his gaze seemed to darken, “When I fuck you I want all of you, and not in a crappy car but in a bed where I can see every inch of that beautiful body of yours and do everything, and I mean everything…I’ve imagined doing to you.”

His hands tightened at my hips and I swallowed back a moan, “Now be patient.”

God, he made it sound like it was easy, “And if I don’t?”

His brow raised in warning, “Then I’ll have to teach you.”

He made it sound like a threat but I’d never been more turned on in my life. We were both still fully clothed and yet my panties were soaked and my legs were so open they were pressed against the car door - This was a new low, even for me.

There was a yell in the distance and both or heads turned to the side, “What was that?”

Charlie looked to the store at our left, “I told Ray to stay in there but I don’t see him.”

I climbed off his lap and together we made our way out of the car, “Ray?

Cars began to honk and the sound of people arguing grew louder and louder. My pulse thrummed as we rounded the corner and turned onto the new street. I hadn’t known Raymond for long but knew that to find him, you’d probably have to just follow the sound of chaos.

“Ray?!” Charlie yelled, his steps perfectly in sync with the pounding of my heart. We rushed down the street and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Ray standing there.

In the middle of the road.

Traffic was standing still surrounding him and a tall man was shouting words I couldn’t hear from so far away. Charlie cursed under his breath and made his way through the crowd.

“Hey it’s alright! It’s alright!” Charlie rushed to his brothers side and I followed closely behind, “Hey it’s alright, I’m so sorry about him. Raymond come on.”

Ray took a step in the wrong direction and Charlie touched his arm, “Raymond come on Ray, come on,”

“It said dont walk,” he mumbled defensively and I noticed the sign with block letters.

Charlie looked at me and I shrugged, “It does say don’t walk.”

He shook his head though I noticed the small smile playing at his lips, “Don’t encourage him.”

[chartreuseian]

For the WIP asks: 🌀, ❄️, 🌤️, ☔, please! 😊

Thank you 🥰 I'm gonna do them all on the one WIP to try and hype myself up for it!!

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

This is gonna be me writing the summary, because I haven't actually written the summary yet. So it's like a WIP summary for said WIP.

He was her best friend. She was his only friend. But four short days change everything and 10 years change the rest. Some things though? Well, some things never really change.

I hate writing summaries. I normally just use a quote from the story, but that so won't work for this one so I guess I'll just keep playing with this...

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

“You’re not in our system,” he said with a frown. “Which doesn’t make sense. I remember your paintings.” Something ugly twisted in her stomach then. “Well, obviously there’s a glitch in your system.” He snorted. “Unlikely. The wunderkind runs a tight ship.” “And yet here we are…”  He looked up at her then, his humour dwindling at what she knew must be a rather sharp look on her face. “There’s no Helen Magnus in our applicants pool,” he said, standing up and twisting the screen around so she could see for herself. “Look.” “Oh.” Helen shifted her weight. “No, I don’t suppose there would be.” Nikola waited. “Try Druitt,” she continued, trying not to wince or blush or, really, think about it. She’d been going by the name for so long it felt normal, natural even to say it, but the way Nikola’s face smoothed out, going completely blank in response brought up all sorts of strange feelings in her chest. Shoving them down, Helen swallowed and straightened. Nikola nodded once, turning the computer back around and searching once more. “Druitt,” he said quietly, almost sadly but Helen refused to let her chest grow tight at the sheer depth of emotion she could hear in the word. “Ten years is a long time,” she replied, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. “Lots of things change.”

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

Then he looked at her again, letting his hands fall to his sides with a sheepish grimace. “Sorry… You don’t need to hear all that.” “It’s fine,” she said again, waving a hand and moving to stand. “No, it’s boring,” he replied with a sigh. “You shouldn’t have to listen to me rant when we’re already…” He glanced at his watch and groaned. “Oh, we’ve definitely missed our reservation.” “Yes, I rather think we have,” she replied, grabbing his suit jacket from where he’d tossed it on the other edge of the sofa. “But I don’t mind, truly Nikola. You can rant.” He shook his head. “No,” he began but she cut him off by tossing his blazer across the desk towards him. “It’s fine.” She levelled her very best ‘give it up already’ glare at him. “Honestly. You’re one of my oldest friends-” “Youngest,” he countered, smirking a little as he shook out his suit jacket. “Most annoying,” she offered sweetly, grabbing her handbag. “Only,” was his smug response and her smile faltered at that. Sensing he’d won, Nikola’s grin widened, and though she was tempted to shove at his shoulder for the childishness of it all, the tension in his brow had eased just a little and she couldn’t find it in her to do so. Instead she rolled her eyes and let him hold out an arm to take before promptly pushing it away. “I’m taking you out to dinner,” she told him. “So be nice.” “I’m always nice,” he cried, gesturing for her to go first. “When it counts, anyway.” “When it serves you,” she replied, narrowing her eye as she walked out the door he’d gestured to. Nikola followed quickly with a dark chuckle, hovering by her shoulder as they walked across the floor of the gallery. “Being nice always serves me,” he all but purred, looping his arm through hers. Her laughter was genuine and Helen found she couldn’t hide her smile at his antics. Once more Nikola looked too proud of himself, but before she could chastise him again, he was looking past her. “Going to dinner,” he called towards Henry who was sitting at one of the low benches on the far side of the room, a number of metal fragments spread out on the floor. “Don’t wait up, kid.”

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

OK. Now that I've posted all these little snippets, I suppose I should explain a bit of the story? I'm still not convinced it's going to happen because I don't feel confident with a lot of the premise, but I'm going to keep playing with it until it either dies or becomes something useable.

So, it's a modern AU that starts back in their university days when he's the study abroad kid. It's drawing heavily from the Out of the Blue rewrite I did back in the day (for my 'Should Have' series) but also very different. Helen's an artist and Nikola's... an entrepreneur (? sort of) who loves art which is how they bond.

It'll be a big one but I wanted to look at the idea that who they were 'back then' is different to who they grow to be and I've been itching to try a modern AU for a while (I love them, as I mention frequently, but I never feel like I know what to do with them).

Like I said before, I don't know if it'll end up going anywhere or being anything, but I'm just trying to enjoy finding out.

[bumblerhizal-art]

it's been decided that Loghain is getting the axe, so there are now quite a few chunks of Gathering Frays which need rewritten

for the sake of posterity, here are a few snippets that will be cut from the final fic. if they're choppy, it's because they didn't survive long enough for revisions:

-

If he had known how everything was going to turn out—if he knew about the sacrifice and the ritual and that they could win at all and so soon—he wouldn’t have done it. Loghain would have been executed at the Landsmeet, and Alistair would still be his friend. Unfortunately, reality cares little for if.

-

"It was hardly a convenient time to talk,” Novhen said.

Loghain grimace deepened, "Be that as it may, I have watched you long enough to find your suicidal charge into the most dangerous part of the battle out of character, or did you grow bored of the ballistae?"

"Get to your point."

"Your witch was quite insistent that you had survived," he said derisively. "I know you two spent a great deal of time together, and she was waiting for you in your room when Riordan briefed us on the coming fight. She wouldn't have anything to do with your continued survival, would she?"

-

"Right. May I ask why you invoked the Right of Conscription on Loghain?" Andras continued in that fatherly tone of his, as if he weren't trying to milk him for every piece of information he had.

"I didn't know about the Ultimate Sacrifice at the time, if that's what you mean," Novhen leaned back in his chair and avoided Andras's gaze. "I did it on Riordan's recommendation. I'm sure that's why he suggested it, but I had my own reasons. Alistair was the only other Grey Warden, and he had to leave to become king. If someone fell in combat, archdemon or no, better Loghain than me or him."

Andras wrote several quick notes, "Hm. Why then did you take the final blow?"

(You may notice a certain line from this one has been salvaged in a WIP Wednesday lol.)

-

(After reconvening with the rest of the Orlesian Wardens post-interrogation.)

Loghain sat in the far corner of the room. There was no way he was thrilled about this situation either. At least there was that small comfort.

[brockadoodles]

Let me tell you that I love you (4 +1) - b. boeser

AN: Burn this gif onto my grave honestly. BUT ANYWAYS. Uh decided to write during the Canucks game just in case they gave me pain. And they didn’t, and I finished something. A short sweet little 4+1 for you all. I haven’t written one of these in forever, so i really tried to keep each snippet short. Let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 3433

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol briefly 

One 

Brock Boeser was an irremediable fucking romantic. He was the guy who was always more than willing to cozy up on a rainy day with a tragic Nicholas Sparks-esque movie on in the background, never shy at admitting that something as achingly faux romantic as The Notebook could make him weep. He was the guy that all of the cliches were written about, the over sensitive Pisces who stitched his heart on the inside of his left sleeve, ready and eager to give it to someone. That someone, the one who he wanted to give his entire soul to over the last year had become you. 

You were someone he had met by accident, a romantic comedy worthy moment where you both had bonded helplessly at some overly fancy bar where you both had been stood up on dates. He felt stiff in his suit jacket, and you were there in that beautiful navy piece that had him wondering how the stars and planets had aligned in such a way that he was lucky enough to be half enjoying a drink next to you. You had smiled at him, opening the gates for a shitty date turned into a memory he couldn’t wait to tell the story of in twenty five years. One chance meeting had become a date, and more dates after that until over the summer he was bringing you home to meet his parents, where he told you that he loved you for the first time. 

Brock was nervous to take you home but it wasn’t because there was an underlying fear that his family wouldn’t see all of the things in you that he did. He was apprehensive because he knew the backstory of his own life was enough baggage to send someone away, and it had. He had gone through this before, bringing someone home who didn’t want to bear the burden of what life with Brock Boeser actually meant and that loss had shaped his perspective on relationships. Bringing you home was hard, because he wanted so desperately for this to work out, and if you couldn’t take on that baggage, he knew that it wouldn’t. 

Brock felt like he had that nervousness in his chest and stomach for the whole first twenty four hours that you were there. You had flown in late, settling into bed and falling right to sleep next to him. You always found a way to sleep, whereas he was consciously restless late into the witching hour, anxious about the next day where you would be actually meeting his family for the first time. 

He had spent so long waiting for the other shoe to drop, that when you got along seamlessly with his dad, he was still uncontrollably on edge. He was watching wordlessly as you sat out on the porch with Duke, a smile on your face as you listened to him, nodding and responding with Easton comfortably playing in your lap. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, seeing his mom with a comforting expression on her face.

“She’s great, Brock. Stop waiting for the bad.” She murmured. Brock turned back to look outside, where you were just reaching a hand to his dad’s wrist and laughing. He felt like the air was exhaling from his lungs the longer he let his mom’s words marinate in his mind. Brock opened the slider door and stepped outside, slowly walking over and pressing a soft kiss to his dad’s cheek, who in return patted his hand reassuringly. He then moved to you, settling into the wicker chair next to you and letting you hand over his nephew who was now reaching for him. As you handed Easton over, it was like everything clicked into place for him. This was what he wanted one day with you, passing over your own child with the sun setting over the lake and family all around. That was the first time he realized that he had finally figured out what love meant, because the feeling struck him harshly. He loved you, and instead of overthinking the feeling, he told you.

“I love you.” He murmured, softly enough that only you could hear it. Your eyes widened and your mouth hung open as if he could see every thought that was stampeding through your mind. He recoiled a bit, diverting his eyes from yours and swallowing back the feelings he had just let escape without thinking about the consequences. You smiled awkwardly, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together. You brought his hand to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to it, your non verbal way of not reciprocating. It wasn’t until you were alone that you explained to him you just weren’t ready yet, a conversation that felt like a punch to his gut but that he bore with patience and understanding. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple after, reassuring you that he understood what you were saying. You didn’t not love him, you just weren’t there yet, something he could have the patience to wait for. 

Two

The second time that Brock shared with you that he loved you was by accident. It was a classic case of drunk words revealing sober thoughts. Not that his love for you was a secret that he was trying to keep, but instead it was a closely locked away feeling that he was trying to wait to share again until you gave him the go ahead. The wait had been eating him up inside, a small sense of rejection had made a home out of his heart after telling you the first time didn’t go how he envisioned. He loved you, he was so beyond in love with you that he wished for nothing more than to be able to tell you that every second of every day. But you weren’t ready, and his sober self knew that, his wine drunk self, did not.  

It was your birthday and Vancouver had blessed (or cursed, according to most of the people that lived there) you with a dusting of snow. It was nowhere near what Brock was used to from growing up in Minnesota. He was used to long winters where the lake would be a solid sheet of ice that he and his buddies could spend their days skating on, with sometimes over a foot of snow on the ground. 

Vancouver snow was a different story. The small amount was enough to close businesses early, and cause the city to almost shut down until the snow was gone. The mere 5 inches was a lot to people in the pacific northwest, so he watched you with a fond expression as you dragged him down to the park that was near his condo, a pom pom beanie on your head and one of his jackets wrapped around you. 

You both had knocked back almost two bottles of wine, and there was a hazy aura surrounding you as he watched you twirl around with your arms out, catching snowflakes in your hair. Brock grabbed your hand and pulled you into his chest, kissing your forehead and then your nose and cheeks that were cold from the snow. 

“What are you doing?” You giggled, bringing your hand up to rest on his cheek as he looked at you. God, you were his entire fucking world, and once again he didn’t think before opening the box to that thought he had buried in his heart from the summer, the words slipping from his lips before any sense of sobriety could catch up to him. 

“I love you.” He whispered, a soft smile tugging at his lips and his eyes searching yours, hoping for a different outcome than the first time just a few months prior. You stepped back from him, bracing your hands on his arms and shifting your gaze away, something that sobered him up completely. 

“I’m not ready.” You mumbled, a sad expression behind your eyes that Brock wished wasn’t there. He tugged you closer into his chest, another soft kiss to your temple as he ran a hand along your back.

“Take as long as you need.” Brock reassured you, more than willing to live by that promise. You were worth any wait that he had to endure.  

Three 

Playoffs were Brock’s favorite part of his job. The rush of the do-or-die series was something that every player loved. He felt like playoffs were the time where his real skills came into view, where he stood on his own as a talented forward instead of in the shadows wondering where his place was. It wasn’t that Brock was insecure per say, he just always felt like he had something to prove, mainly to himself. The Canucks had battled through all of the rounds, knocking out their opponents, leading them here to the Western Conference Finals against Vegas. It was game seven, the last hurdle before playing for the cup, absolutely do-or-die for this season.  

It was everything Brock had been striving towards. It wasn’t a Stanley Cup, but god in that moment it may as well have felt like one. A game seven game winning goal, sending the team to the finals. Every year he had spent plagued with injuries, wondering if he would ever get back to that spot he had been at his rookie year, wondering if he’d ever actually feel like he deserved to be a part of that core that were the faces scattered on the outside of Rogers Arena. He nearly couldn't breathe as the puck passed by Marc Andre Fleury, hitting the back of the net and sounding off the familiar goal horn. Elias and JT were quick to pile on top of him, nearly knocking him backwards into the boards as the rest of the team ran out onto the ice. This was everything he had hoped for, a chance to play for the Stanley Cup and he was in tears knowing it was his goal that sent him there. 

After the game, all he wanted was to find you. He raced out of the locker room, past the press area where thankfully he still had twenty minutes before he needed to sit down for his interviews. He ran out into the tunnel, hair still slightly damp as he searched for you. It didn’t take him long to find you, you were standing near Holly. You turned to face him just as he rounded the corner into your line of view. He watched as you touched Holly’s arm, saying something to her that he wasn’t close enough to read on your lips. You nearly jogged up to him, jumping into his arms hard and sending him backwards as he braced for your impact. 

The two of you stood there for a moment, ignoring the entire commotion around you as some of his other teammates were cheering and coming out. He didn’t care about any of it, he cared about you. You were the one who was there for the worst season of his career, and sharing this win with you was almost more special than the win itself. You grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him hard, peppering kisses after. Brock took this as his moment, another moment where he could share with you just how he felt.

“I love you, I love you, holy shit, I fucking love you.” He mumbled against your lips. You froze slightly in his arms, hesitating before you crashed your lips back into his, hopefully distracting him from the uneasy feeling in your chest.

“I am so proud of you, Brock.” You whispered. He just looked at you and smiled, ignoring the slight feeling of letdown he felt at your lack of reciprocation. You weren’t ready, and he was okay with that. Instead of dwelling he just kissed you one last time to your lips and then your temple, holding you close before he went to answer questions from people he didn’t care to answer to before you all were going to celebrate. The Canucks didn’t win the cup that year, and his first thought after watching the Flyers rush out and hoist the coveted trophy was that maybe the disappointment would fade once he got home to you. 

Four

Brock Boeser was a fucking romantic, and there was nothing more romantic to him than a wedding. It didn’t matter how many he watched in movies, or attended as he got older and his friends and teammates started getting married. No matter who it was, there was something that calmed him about seeing two people so in love and committing to that for their lives. He always pictured his wedding, except it was only ever from his perspective. In his daydreams, he never saw someone walking down the aisle toward him, he only saw himself standing there with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face as he waited for whoever that person was to get to him. It wasn’t until he loved you that the perspective changed, and he saw himself looking at you walking toward him. 

It was Troy and Emma’s wedding, a small gathering just outside of the city and Brock was in a good mood all day. He was humming softly as he drove the two of you there, a smile permanently settled on his lips as the soft sounds of Kodaline came through the speakers of the car. He had one hand secured with yours in your lap and occasionally he glanced over at you, wondering how in the hell he got so lucky to still have you. 

The wedding was beautiful, Troy and Emma both cried softly as they went through their vows, cementing their relationship with that final first kiss as the small group of close friends and families sat in the gazebo in attendance. Brock held your hand the entire time, feeling his chest tighten when you reached up and kissed the back of it just as the vows were being shared. 

He loved weddings, but going to one with you had him tumbling back toward that locked away feeling in his chest. The romantic atmosphere clouded his judgement and dared it to come out for another time to share it with you. Brock made a mental note to stop getting ahead of himself, to stop planning out an entire future with you when you weren’t ready to even say you loved him yet. He tried to push the anxiety away, the feeling that maybe he was the one holding you back, maybe he was too sensitive or putting too much pressure on you to say it back, even though he had only let it slip less than a handful of times. He swore that sometimes he felt it. Sometimes you would look at him just long enough, with your lips pursed and the words sitting right there as he waited, but then you would falter and shake your head a bit, playing the moment off with a smile. He counted so many of those times and they were casting doubt into his chest that maybe he was there planning an entire future with someone who would never realistically be ready, no matter how hard he wanted you to be.  

You could tell that he was in his head, something about the way he was carrying himself through the day had you worried. You watched as his eyes wandered around the reception hall. He was watching everyone carefully and you knew him so well by now that it felt like you were almost inside his head with him. Only instead of letting you hear what was running through his mind, there was a locked door keeping you out. Brock shifted back to face you, grabbing your hand once more and helping you up.

“Dance with me?” He asked. Brock pulled you into his chest, wrapping an arm around your waist as he swayed slowly with you, not paying attention to much around him other than you. He was feeling grateful for a lot of things, grateful that he was able to share such a special day with some of his closest friends, grateful that now the picture of this with you was so clear in his mind, and grateful that you were there with him, dancing slowly around the room. Brock closed his eyes for a moment as you leaned your head into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he moved you around. He pictured all of it, the flower crown you’d probably wear, the smile on your face, and the tears in his own eyes that he would have watching as you came toward him. He pictured every last detail, a vivid dream that he was set on becoming a reality now. 

“I love you.” He hummed, letting his eyes open slowly as you lifted your head. You didn’t even have to say you weren’t ready this time, the slight shift of your eyes had unfortunately become something that Brock was learning all too well. He did what he always did though, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple and tucked the box of love back inside, sighing softly to himself and wishing that one day you’d take it.  

Plus One

Brock loved you in all the ways that he ever thought that he could love someone, down to each subtlety of your demeanor and personality. He loved the way you laughed at his bad jokes, the way that you were patient with his dad, and the way you cared so much about the health of the world. But he also loved the bad things, the little annoyances that came with navigating a relationship that was long distance part time, the way you’d sometimes leave a mess at his place, hitting a nerve after a tough loss, he loved all of those things because that’s what made you human and your relationship normal.

This morning wasn’t anything special, there was no event the previous night that had kept you out late. There was no celebration of any kind. You had come over for dinner and stayed, falling asleep tucked under his arm with Coolie and Milo snuggled at your feet. This no doubt was Brock’s favorite way to wake up, and he’d do it for a lifetime as soon as you’d let him. 

Brock always woke up before you, he was often an early riser and whenever you were there he found himself settling in and watching you sleep for just a few moments before he would slowly roll away from you to get up and make coffee. This morning was no different. His fingers drummed along your hip as your eyes fluttered open and his chest filled with the same feeling he only ever imagined existed in an alternate reality. You smiled softly and tucked yourself closer into his chest, a soft and groggy  good morning escaping from your lips. He didn’t have time to think about if you were on his page, he was already writing the rest of the book with you. 

“I love you.” He said. 

He supposed it was just another instance added to the shortlist in his mind of attempts at telling you he loved you. Brock was now zero for four, more than a strikeout on the scoreboard, but Brock was also patient, and didn’t mind a late bottom of the 9th inning comeback if it meant his love was finally reciprocated. He didn’t mind telling you he loved you, because he did, but a small part of his heart cracked each time you smiled and nodded in favor of saying those three words back that he’d do anything to hear. Each kiss to the temple after masking that crack in his chest that was widening, possibly too far to fill in with hope much longer. 

Except this time, your smile wasn’t forced. There wasn’t a nervousness behind your eyes, there was something else. You leaned into him, kissing him softly while your hand tugged at the ends of his hair. Something felt different in this kiss, a calm wave settling into his chest instead of the usual feeling that Brock felt from the previous times he shared this with you. You pulled back, smiling at him brightly. 

“I love you, too.” And those words that fell from your lips didn’t hold a flame to any of the hopeless romances he not so secretly liked to enjoy, he now had the real thing. 

[tobiosmilktea]

love; defined — iwaizumi hajime

1.5k words | genre/s: fluff | warning/s: — | pairing: iwaizumi x gn!reader

↪︎ in which iwaizumi hajime is head over heels in love with you, but the only problem is that he can’t seem to get it out.

a/n: a bit anticlimatic and overall a very boring oneshot but my braincells are literally fried from school so take it easy on me :p this was also supposed to be a whole 8k words as promised months ago but i couldn’t seem to finish it for the life of me so here is the snippet that made the cut :)

falling in love with one of his best friends was something iwaizumi hajime wasn’t expecting to happen in the eighteen years that he lived in his life. then again, expectations are fickle—nothing more than a figment of imaginative serendipities that always fail to come true.

he watches as you fiddle with the foil wrapper of the chocolate he bought you this morning. he always passes by a local cafe on the way to school and you never fail to appear in his mind whenever he sees those godforsaken chocolates on the display window. usually, he wouldn’t give in to such pleasures of spending money on something that will disappear in two minutes, but the thought of seeing your excited smile receive them ultimately won him over.

and to what he assumed was just a friendly little gesture, was nothing more than his feelings in disguise. feelings of which weren’t even a thing he realized he had until oikawa pointed it out to him in the midst of his whining.

oikawa would always scoff with offense that iwaizumi didn’t know was false or not written all over his face. he would name all the incidences in which iwaizumi would always favor you a bit more over him, buying you useless little knick-knacks cause it reminded iwaizumi of you to remembering such intricate details about you that were so specific that even oikawa himself (who was confident he knew a lot about you) didn’t.

it was more or less evident to both you and oikawa that iwaizumi was not someone at all experienced in love. besides, whenever someone in the friend group had a little flair for romance, everyone would pitch in to help win the person’s heart over, but in this case, it was different. the boys couldn’t possibly let you in on the little secret of iwaizumi’s feelings for you.

it would ruin the entire surprise!

so without you—the mastermind behind most of your matchmaking endeavors—left oikawa to do all his biddings. and god forbid that he was in charge of how his best friend could possibly win you over. iwaizumi knew it was a recipe for disaster, but it’s not like he would be any better dealing with his feelings alone.

iwaizumi rubbed his perspiring hands against the cotton of his uniform trousers, feeling the burning heat of nerves from his hands through the fabric. body restless, his knee was jumping up and down beneath your desk, to which he was sitting across from you.

it was only ten minutes into your lunch break, and yet it felt like an eternity. he wasn’t sure if it was because his heart was beating as if he was running a marathon or if it was because of the odd silence in the air, whatever it was, iwaizumi just hoped it would die out soon. it wasn’t like he could make any small talk with you either. hell, you two have been friends since you were children, so not only would it not make sense, but he was also well aware of your mild distaste at the idea of small talk.

the idea that having to have less than meaningful conversation about the weather just to ease awkward tension was something you would always criticize in movies and tv shows. iwaizumi remembered your words that sometimes being in silence, especially with those you are most comfortable with, was so much better than small talk.

and iwaizumi was following that, sure, but he still couldn’t help but feel the urge to remedy that silence.

“iwaizumi-kun,” a voice calls out to him, breaking him out of his thoughts. that’s when he noticed that he was staring at you the whole time as you flicked a look at him before the girl towering over your sitting figures.

he clears his throat, sitting up a bit taller as he turns his attention to the girl next to him, “yeah, what’s up?”

she hands him a pile of stapled sheets, “sensei asked me to give this to you. he said he wanted the paperwork done by next week.”

iwaizumi nods, taking the thick stack within his hands with a smile. a small thank you leaves his lips before she walks away and back to her own friend group. pursing his lips together, he feigns a sigh when he realizes it’s going to take him ages to go through all of this, yet that wasn’t his main concern at that moment. the main thing he was worried about was the fact that you noticed him staring that entire time.

knowing you, you’d probably ask him something stupid like whether you had something on your face or if you looked weird.

you never did. you were so infinitely perfect to iwaizumi that he couldn’t even look you in the eye as his calloused fingers fiddled with the corners of the papers in his hand.

“you like shinohara-san, huh?” you asked out of the blue, a smirk melted upon your lips as your cheek rested against your palm. iwaizumi looks up at you at an instant with confusion wringing over him. you laughed, “i can tell, you know–by the way you looked at her then. you should probably ask her out before the year ends.”

his confusion doubles, “why would i do that?”

“come on, iwa,” you groaned as you rolled your eyes, “she’s been dropping hints all year, haven’t you noticed?”

iwaizumi thinks to himself for a few beats before ultimately shaking his head.

“you’re helpless. at this point, you may never date.”

his eyes track back to the girl a few feet away from him before looking back at you, “she’s pretty, but she’s not my type.”

“oh?” your curiosity was suddenly piqued, “then what is your type?”

iwaizumi presses his lips together as if he was truly thinking hard and deep about his answer when in reality his answer was right in front of him. he didn’t really have the courage to say that to your face though, your eye contact was enough to send his heart ablaze.

“i suppose someone who’s headstrong and a challenge,” he answers. not too vague and not too detailed.

“so…” you trail, brows meeting as the following name slipped off your tongue teasingly. “oikawa?”

iwaizumi practically chokes on nothing, “god, no definitely not him.” then again, if he truly thought about it, you and oikawa were so much more similar than he initially thought.

no wonder you two were his best friends.

“i love him and all, but i’d literally go insane if i did.”

you laughed, “i’m just joking. besides, if it’s not him then who do you like?”

“i wouldn’t say i have a crush exactly, just a... heavy attraction.”

lies, lies, lies.

he did have a crush that was so much more than attraction. you had to cut him some slack, though. he didn’t know what to say, and just like that he was put on the spot by the only one capable of rendering him speechless just by your presence.

“i say go for it,” you say suddenly.

iwaizumi’s eyes flicker to yours, wide and seemingly in shock. “go for what?” he feigns innocence.

“as in asking them out.” you add with a grin, “worst-case scenario they say no and you both move on with your lives.”

“that’s true, but i doubt it would be easy,” he shrugs.

you roll your eyes again, exclaiming, “come on, your iwaizumi hajime for fuck’s sake! you’re literally co-captain of seijoh’s volleyball team, who could possibly reject you?”

“probably this person...”

“lies,” you say, almost like a command. “you just don’t have any confidence in yourself.”

iwaizumi scoffs playfully. there was a look of amusement melting on his expression as he did so, “and how do you suppose the best way of asking a person out then?”

“personally, i like it when people are straight up about it. no beating around the bushing or planning some big extravaganza. but then again, i’ve never been asked out before so i wouldn’t really know.”

you say it so nonchalantly, iwaizumi wasn’t sure if you were bluffing or not.

“you haven’t?”

you pull a face when he says those words. “you say that as if we haven’t been best friends since we’ve been kids.”

iwaizumi lets out a laugh, shaking his head as he thinks of the right words to say. “no, i just find it a bit unbelievable at the number of people who are missing out on the best person in the world.”

heat rushes to your face then as you look away. “i doubt there would be any.”

“you’d be surprised,” iwaizumi says confidently, it warms your heart. he pauses for a second as the thumping of heartbeat drowns out his thoughts.

the words that were laid so carefully on his tongue, all ready to be said yet held back by his own second-guessing, had slipped between his lips before he could catch himself.

“what if i was one of those people?”

the corner of your lips melts into a grin, “as if.”

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @milktyama @anejuuuuoy @rinphobics @watariisbestboy @larkspyrr @miyadarling

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Ok, so it’s probably gonna be a while until the next chapter of help me out (I want to get the second arc mostly worked out before I post anything, like I did for arc one), so I figured I’d share this nonsense little thing I wrote one night while in a melatonin-induced fog.

So here’s a snippet of this Jonsa-tinder-fake-dating fic that I don’t actually have a plot for and therefore may never see the light of day but I liked it so I’m posting it!

(thanks to @jonsa-creatives​ for the header)

.

Can you believe this? Sansa had captioned the screenshot she sent to her friends.

Tinder isn't a thing Sansa does all the time – she and Margaery had set up an account for her two years ago after she and Harry split and she uses it occasionally. Sometimes it's nice looking at guys and even flirting with a few of them, though she's never had the nerve to go through with any meetups (she has left more than one guy on read after even the slightest hint they wanted to take things into the real world).

But this is new - or at least she's never seen it before.

His photo had made her pause in her bored swiping (curled up on her couch, blanket wrapped around her like an old woman, heating pad on her lower back, six different snacks on the coffee table that she had sampled and ultimately decided weren't doing it for her or her uterus). Most men on this app take terrible photos, or choose terrible photos, and honestly, this one is no different. At least he's cropped out whoever he's in the photo with, most guys don't even bother to do that. He's not smiling, holding a beer in one hand with his other arm around the cropped out person that is clearly a woman.

He is pretty, though.

She's gotta say, the man bun, the beard, the flannel shirt, the cheap beer – none of it should be doing anything for her. Maybe it's her hormones all out of whack, but for some reason, she paused on his photo.

It wasn't his photo, though, that made her screenshot the profile and send it in a group text to her friends. Can you believe this?

Jon, 29, it starts. Good, fine. Well within her acceptable age range. But the rest of it...

Looking for a date to a wedding. I'm not kidding. Must pretend to be my girlfriend. Some PDA required (holding hands, etc), but feel free to punch me in the face if you're ever uncomfortable. Or just tell me and I'll stop.

**Warnings**

-the bride is my ex and the groom is my half brother

-I am desperate not to show up alone to my ex's wedding

-my dad is a dick and he WILL try to hit on you

-I'm terrible in large groups, extrovert with good social skills preferred

-this will be a full weekend and it's unclear if I can get a room with two beds this last minute

-did I mention the wedding is the third weekend in May?

-I will buy you a new dress for the occasion. You actually won't have to pay for anything, though now that I type this it sounds like I'm looking for an escort and I think that's illegal?

Sansa stares at the profile for too long. Why has she not swiped left?

The first text from one of her friends comes in, followed quickly by more, her phone buzzing almost constantly.

-Omg do it

-He's hot!

-Ok you HAVE to go to this wedding, it sounds like something straight off of Maury

-Yes! Go and then live tweet it for the rest of us

-Am I the only one that thinks this sounds like a trap? Like she'll actually end up in someone's basement?

-Shhh Mya, you're ruining all the fun

-Free dress! Hot boy!

-I literally NEED to know how the ex & half brother happened. I might die if I don't

-Does he have more photos? That one's too blurry

-By “blurry”, Marg means she can't see if he's fit or not

Sansa switches back to Tinder and sees that he does, in fact, have another photo. It's definitely not the shirtless selfie Margaery is looking for, but it makes something in Sansa's chest tighten. Against her better judgment, she screenshots that, too, and sends it.

-Ok, so you've definitely swiped right on him then?

-Of course she has, when has Sansa ever been able to resist a cute dog? I've literally watched her stop mid convo to cross the street and pet a strangers dog. It's honestly rude

-Was it a match???

-PLEASE FIND OUT HOW THE EX AND THE HALF BROTHER ENDED UP TOGETHER

Sansa's heart is pounding in her chest, because she hasn't swiped on him, either way. And now, for some reason, she thinks if she swipes right and they aren't a match, she'll actually feel shitty about it. But she gathers what little courage she has, bolstered by the glass of wine she had with her snack sampling, and swipes right.

They're a match.

[staticscreenwriting]

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES // 7

SEVEN - SERENDIPITY

Trigger warning: Alcohol, food

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

“Okay, that’s ridiculous!” Bucky mumbles around a spoonful of fruit loops.

“What is?”

“This,” he responds and points his now empty spoon accusingly at John Cusack. “This whole fate thing. The book, sure, might happen. But the dollar bill? Never!”

(Y/N) puts her empty bowl on the couch table, turning her body towards Bucky and sitting in a criss-cross style. “You telling me you don’t believe in fate and soulmates and that some people are destined to be together.”

“No,” Bucky retorts in a tone that implies it was a silly question to even ask him. “I am 106 years old. If those things were true you'd think I would've found my destined partner by now."

"Maybe you have" (Y/N) shrugs. "Maybe it's Leah. Have you called her anyway?"

Bucky looks down sheepishly into the colorful milk swirling through his bowl. "No."

“ What? Why not? “

“Because it hasn’t — oh I don't know. It just hasn’t felt right.”

He’d been debating on giving her a call many times, never actually going through with it. At first, it was for a fear of failure, rejection. Now though, Leah doesn’t cross his mind as much as before. His thoughts, he noticed recently, are occupied by another person. And it wouldn't be fair to Leah or himself to try and build something on shaky ground at best.

“ Dude, I’m educating you on romance and you are too afraid to call this girl? “

“ Educating me? You are forcing me to watch rom coms. “

“ Forcing you? “ (Y/N) gasps and dramatically slaps her hand to her chest right above where her heart is. “ Are you saying you’re not having fun? “

There’s a smirk on her face, tiny and barely there but he notices it anyway. He’s started noticing the small things. Like how her nose scrunches up when she smiles and how she twiddles with her fingers when she’s nervous.

“ If I didn’t have fun I wouldn’t be here. “ Bucky replies and bumps his leg against her knee. Truth be told, he’d be here anyway. Even if she’d make him watch the most boring movie in the entire world he’d stay right there with her. Sometimes the world doesn't seem so rough and ruthless when she’s there beside him. Sometimes he feels like he could genuinely be happy.

“ Good, “ (Y/N) responds and places a quick kiss on his cheek that very nearly gives him a heart attack. Soft touches are something she grants him every so often and while he is getting used to it, it’s still foreign. It’s something he enjoys quite a lot though.

“Anyway, soulmates finding their way back to each other despite all odds is such a rom-com stable. Like the kiss in the rain or the airport chase or the top-of-the-stairs-moment.”

“ The what ? “

(Y/N) scoffs at him as if she’s never been asked a more ridiculous question in her life.

“ The moment when the girl gets a makeover or she dresses up in some ballgown and her love interest waits at the bottom of the stairs for her and when he sees her he’s so enamored and enchanted by her and ideally there’s some cheesy 90s love song playing in the background. And she meets him at the bottom, walking in slow motion obviously, and they don’t kiss or anything but the looks they share are enough to let the audience know what they feel for one another.”

Her words are heavy with passion and longing and magic and for a second Bucky wishes, he could be the one to give her that moment.

“ But okay, grumpy. You go on not believing in soulmates. I’ll change your mind one day, trust me.”

He doesn’t doubt it for a second.

They sink back into their blissful calm as John Cusak and Kate Beckinsale reconnect on the ice rink in front of Rockefeller Center as an ocean of Christmas lights twinkles in the background.

“ I’ve never been ice skating there. Been living here for so many years now and that’s still something I’ve never done. “ (Y/N) pipes up, a longing swinging alone with her words. “ Have you? “

“ Mmmh. Used to take a lot of girls on dates there. “

“ Oh sorry, I forgot you were a big charmer back in the day. “

“ Saw the first-ever Christmas tree getting set up in 1933. '' he continues to say. Sometimes talking about the past makes him sad. It’s a time he will never be able to go back to. A man he will never be again.

But sometimes, like today, he’s able to recall little snippets of memories and remember how he felt in that exact moment. And those are worth all the pain that thinking about the future might bring.

“ That — is weird flex but actually really cool. “

Bucky doesn’t think of himself as cool. He’s a grumpy 106-year-old who is completely disillusioned with the world around him. If (Y/N) thinks so though, he’s not gonna try to change her mind.

She snuggles back into him, body leaning against the smooth vibranium arm. A part of him he never felt really belonged to himself. Something he had been given to kill, to defend, to fight. If something so dangerous can be a place of comfort to her, Maybe, he thinks, it’s not so bad after all. Maybe sometimes you just have to let go of the part and change your perspective of things.

For a while, they get lost in the movie, in the fictional love of two strangers. He remembers the romance novels his mothers used to read. The way she would get lost in them. Maybe to escape her own life for just a second and follow along with the stories and the people that seemed so much grander than her own existence as a housewife stuck in a life that seems too small to contain her in all her wonderful glory. His mother, Bucky always knew even at a young age, deserved more than she had been given. She was smart and funny and she loved her kids as much as a heart could love another. But her days were dull and her marriage was one of convenience more than anything. She had ideas, beautiful stories swirled around her head, and she’d tell them to him and his sister before she’d tuck them into bed. And yet that is where they stayed, in her mind and in her children's memories. She was never resentful though. She took things as they came and she made them beautiful.

He wonders sometimes, what would’ve come from her ideas if she had been given the chance to tell them to a bigger audience. She could’ve put those rom-coms to shame.

A knock on the front door startles (Y/N), making her get up from the couch and follow LAdy towards the entrance. There’s a definite lack of warmth where she used to be and Bucky feels himself missing her already.

“ It’s probably Robin, she left her favorite jacket here the other — mom? “

The air fills with a chaotic mix of several voices one speaking over the other while the charm on Lady’s collar underlines it all with a jingling sound like that of a small bell.

Before he can even think about how to react, (Y/N) steps back into the living room followed by two more people. A woman who looks like an older version of her and a man. They seem lost in conversation still, talking about their travel to NYC and the fact that the man, who Bucky assumes is (Y/N)’s father, refused to ask for directions.

That’s until their eyes fall on Bucky. The woman regards him with a gentle smile on her face, polite and warm as mothers usually are. The man though. There’s something in his eyes, in his demeanor, that changed once he set sight on Bucky and it doesn’t feel good. Bucky knows what it’s like to be recognized. People see him and then they see all the bodies left in his wake, all the blood on his hands, all the pain and the suffering and the —

“ Sergeant Barnes. “

They used to call him that in Wakanda, as a sign of respect, he believes. To make him realize that they do not see him as the thread he used to be but the man he once was. Other than that it’s been a long time since people referred to him as Sergeant Barnes. It’s a title he takes pride in, something he worked hard for. It also belongs to a man he isn’t anymore. Bucky isn’t sure he still earns it. Still owns it.

“ Uh — hello. “

“Dad, “ (Y/N) says and pushes past her parents to stand next to Bucky. Her hand rests on his arm as a sign of comfort and reassurance. He appreciates it very much. “ Mom. This is Bucky. “

“ I can’t believe it. “ her father exclaims, still not taking his eyes off of Bucky.

“ Dad. “

“ I can not believe it. I can’t believe you! “

There it is. Although Bucky has always been very aware that he wasn’t nearly worth (Y/N)’s time, having it thrown in his face hurts more than he likes to admit.

“ Dad … “

“ You know James Barnes, and you tell me nothing about it? (Y/N) I’ve — I’ve spent so much time researching this man revising all the information people before me have gathered and making sure his legacy and his place in Steve Rogers' life get acknowledged and now I’d have the chance to ask him personally and you — you keep it a secret from me? “

Wait … what ?

“ Bucky, “ (Y/N) says and looks up at him with her gorgeous eyes that never seem to fail at calming him down. “These are my parents and as you can tell, my dad’s a big fan of yours. “

The next few minutes are a chaos of handshakes and nice-to-meet-yous and hugs. Her mother hugs Bucky real tightly, the way mothers do when they know someone needs a hug. And she doesn’t flinch when she feels the metal arm. She just hugs him a little tighter.

“ Why are you guys here? “ (Y/N) asks as her father throws an arm around her shoulder

“ Well, you asked us to look after Lady while you’re gone. “ her mother replies as if it’s the obvious answer.

“ Yeah, but we don’t leave until Friday afternoon. It’s Thursday. “

“ That is truuuue. But dad and I thought we’d surprise you and take you out for a nice dinner since we won’t be spending Christmas together, we thought we could at least try to make up for it. “

(Y/N) shakes her head at her mother’s words. “ I told you guys, it’s not a big deal. You go enjoy your cruise. “

“ And we will but you’re our girl and we want to take you out for dinner. Give your old parents that much, will you” her father jokes and ruffles her hair as if she was just a little girl and maybe she is in that moment, wrapped in his arms.

“ I uh — Bucky and I had plans. “

“ What plans? “ her mother asks, eyebrows raised.

“ Watching movies. “

“ Oh, those aren’t plans. Go get dressed! “

“ And James will obviously come with us, “ her dad adds “ I am not done asking him questions. “

It’s not December yet but the restaurant is already decked out in Christmas lights and tastefully placed sparkly ornaments. The soft lull of Christmas carols being played on a piano flows through the room and Bucky is thankful to discover that while so much has changed, many of those songs have stayed the same. Maybe things aren’t all different right now. Maybe the fundamental things have stayed the same. Like the feeling of being with your family sitting by the tree, singing songs that have been passed down from your parents to you.

(Y/N) sits next to him, lips painted the exact same shade of red as her slouchy knit sweater. She looks so cozy and comfortable and soft and if he’s being really honest with himself, all he wants to do is hold her tight and get lost in her warmth. But this is good, as good as it can ever get, really. Sitting next to her, across from her parents who have been nothing but kind to him. They’re eating good food, drinking delicious drinks and her parents are sharing funny and slightly embarrassing stories about (Y/N). This is the first time he’s meeting anyone’s parents as the man he is now. And even back in the 40s things weren’t this calm and easy. If you went to meet a woman’s parents you better came prepared. This feels nice. Like he gets to be part of a family for just a teeny tiny moment.

“ So, how long have you guys been together? “ her mother asks around a fork of tiramisu. While Bucky only looks at her with wide eyes, (Y/N) almost chokes on her wine.

“ Mom, we’re — not. We’re friends. “

“ Oh,” her mother replies, looking unconvinced as her eyes move back and forth between (Y/N) and Bucky “ I guess I must’ve read that wrong. Shame, you would make adorable babies. “

“ Mom!”

Bucky’s sure his cheeks are the same color as her sweater and her lips and her fingernails. A beautiful bright red. Like a Santa’s hat.

“ I know, babe. You’re an independent woman who makes her own decisions and if you decide not to have babies that’s alright with us. As long as you are happy, so are we. Lady makes for a wonderful substitute grandchild. Just sayin’ if you were to have babies with Bucky they would turn out really cute. “

“ Okay, how about we stop talking about my imaginary potential future children, huh? You go tell me more about work, dad. How about that? “

As her dad starts talking about some history classes he teaches and the students, Bucky notices the change in (Y/N)’s demeanor. Her laid-back ease is gone. She keeps fidgeting with her hair and the rings on her hand. Without really thinking about it, like his body is working on autopilot, Bucky reaches out and grabs her hand under the table. It’s still weird, touching soft skin with his metal hand without the intention of inflicting pain. It’s nice though. It’s wonderful.

She doesn’t let go for a long time.

Restrooms in restaurants are places where time is slightly altered. You’re sheltered from the noises of the main room but they’re still faintly audible through the door. The clinking of glasses and cutlery, the laughter, and the voices as they flow together like waves in an ocean.

It feels like you get a break from the real world for just a moment. To catch yourself. To take a breath. To look at yourself in the mirror and decide your next steps as the music sounds from the overhead speakers in a duller version as if someone wrapped the lyrics in thick cotton padding.

(Y/N) washes her hands while looking at her reflection. Today’s a good day. It’s not going the way she has expected it but it’s a good day nonetheless. Bucky and her parents get along like a house on fire. It’s a nice feeling but it also makes her so acutely aware of all the what-ifs floating around her head and her heart. Would it feel like this if she and Bucky were more than friends? Would it feel this — right?

Before her mind can come up with an answer to her own question, the door to the restrooms swings open letting in a sliver of the noise outside. Her mother steps in and looks at her with that signature mom smile. Like she knows you better than you know yourself. And maybe that isn’t entirely wrong.

“ Your dad and I are going to take a cab to the hotel. We’ll come over to yours tomorrow before you leave. Is that okay? Bucky said he’d walk you home.”

Of course, he’d say that. He’s a gentleman. He’s Bucky.

“ Sure that’s fine. I’m glad you guys came a day early. I missed you. “

“ We missed you too, baby,” she responds and pulls (Y/N) into a hug.

“ Now tell me something,” she says and takes (Y/N)’s face in between her hands. “ You and Bucky. There’s something there. “

(Y/N) shakes free from her mother's touch and faces the mirror, leaning both hands against the marble sink. “ Mom, can you leave it. “

“ I see the way you guys look at each other. I — you haven’t been this happy in so long. He makes you happy. “

As she lifts her head and looks into her own eyes in the mirror, (Y/N) feels a flood of emotions wash over her. Emotions she’s tried so hard to suppress and others she wasn’t even aware were there in the first place. And it’s all comes crashing down pulling her under and spitting her back out.

“ So what if he makes me happy. We’re not gonna happen. I can not lose a friend and he can’t either. It would kill us both. “

“ Oh honey, “ she goes to pull (Y/N) into another hug but she just shakes her head in response.

“ No. No, mom. It’s okay. I’m okay with it being the way it is. “

“ Are you sure? “

Is she? (Y/N) looks back at herself. You think you know yourself and what you want and how you feel and then someone asks you, truthfully asks you if you’re sure. And you can only stare and wonder. Well, are you?

And sometimes it’s way easier to lie, to both the other person and yourself, than to really face your fears and your feelings and everything you do or don’t understand about yourself.

“ Yeah. I am sure. “

It’s true. New York City never seems to fully go to sleep. There’s always a light on somewhere, guiding you through the dark, guiding you home.

It doesn’t fully go to sleep but it slows down. The air gets heavier, the noise gets quieter.

(Y/N) and Bucky slowly make their way through the familiar streets of their neighborhood as the city lights and the stars fight over who gets to shine more brightly upon them.

It’s a chilly evening, winter is truly just around the corner, and the air feels pregnant with the promise of snow and yet (Y/N) feels a warmth course through her that is unlike any other. A warmth that can only be brought on by being with your loved ones.

“ It’s a lovely night,” she says as her heels create a clip-clap sound against the pavement.

Bucky has his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket and his ever-present scowl decorates his face and yet, even Bucky can’t deny that it is a lovely night. One with so much potential. For — for lovers.

“ It really is.”

“ If life was a movie, “ (Y/N) says “ this would be when we realized that we're in love"

Bucky only raises his eyebrow at her, pushing her to elaborate. And maybe it’s a bit selfish. Maybe he just wants to hear her entertain the thought of them two as something more for just a little bit longer. Even if it’s just pretend.

“ We’d get a montage of some quirky dates that we didn’t realize were dates. Then the camera would pan down on us tonight, walking underneath the stars, the city lights glowing around us. There’d be some piano music in the background to set the mood. We’d have a deep talk about our fears or messed up childhoods or the meaning of life. And then you’d make me laugh and I’d accidentally hold your hand. You’d drop me off at my door, think about kissing my lips but then end up kissing my forehead. Once you leave I’d lean against my door, sink down to my floor, and grin like a fool because that’s the moment I realize I am in love with you and the audience would sigh in relief because they knew all along. “

“ That sounds nice,” Bucky replies, eyes staring into the distance as he tries to picture it all, safe it as a mental snapshot to go back to in quiet moments.

“ Yeah, well what a shame life is not a movie and we’re not in love. What a waste of a lovely night. “

“ Guess it’s perfect for a couple, huh? “ Bucky has to agree with her.

“ Mmmh. Or at least someone not in heels, “ (Y/N) jokes looking down at her shoes.

“ You want me to find a couple? Gift our night to them ? “ Bucky asks as they continue their journey down the Brooklyn streets.

“ Absolutely not, sir! “ (Y/N) responds and links her arm with his as she pulls him along. “ I like our night. I want to keep it for ourselves. “

And so they continue their walk home. Words that want to be said, that need to be said, hang heavy in the air, and yet they both decide to stay quiet and just enjoy the silence and comfort of their lovely little night.

The door feels like mocking her as it comes into view, cutting their moment short, putting an end to this blissful night.

She doesn’t want it to end. Doesn’t want to go inside and quite literally close the door to all the possibilities this night seems to hold out to her. If she was just brave enough to reach out and grab them.

(Y/N) unlock the door and turns back around to face Bucky. Something seems to hang in the air right between them and that feeling only gets stronger as their eyes lock. For a moment all there is, is silence and an abundance of unspoken words. And a fear that comes with speaking them. Of messing something up. Of being vulnerable.

Bucky smiles at her then. She loves his smile. It’s so rare but it’s so beautiful to look at. It gives you the feeling of having done something right.

“ Thanks for today, “ he says as if there’s anything to thank her for.

“ For what? “

“ Letting me be a part of your family. Thought maybe you didn’t want your parents to know about me. Thanks for — not being ashamed of me or anything. “

“ Oh Bucky, “ she says and grabs his hand, “ You are my friend and I love you. I’d never be ashamed of you. If anything I’m a little embarrassed by the way my dad kept pestering you with questions. Uh — why are you looking at me like that. “

“ You love me? “ his voice comes out but a mere whisper and his eyes are wide in shock.

“ Yes. You’re my friend, I love you. Bucky when — when was the last time someone told you they love you? “ (Y/N) asks as her hand softly strokes the side of his face.

“ 1942 “

“ Well, guess I’ll have to keep reminding you then, make up for lost time. I love you, Bucky Barnes. “

She can’t even blink before she’s wrapped up in his arms. Despite what one would think, Bucky is always warm. Even the vibranium arm. Everything radiates warmth and comfort. She could stay here forever.

Slowly he pulls away, looks deep into her eyes, lowers his head, and places his lips against her forehead. “ I love you too. “

He smiles at her once more then leaves. And while she won't admit it to anyone, ever, (Y/N) goes inside, leans against her door, sinks to the floor, and doesn't even try to suppress the foolish smile spreading on her lips.

Robin’s laughter fills the halls of the beautiful Inn where just tomorrow she’ll say I do.

“ This was your doing! You scheming little shit.” (Y/N) grumbles from the corner of her mouth as she slides up to Robin.

“ It wasn’t, “ the red-haired girl laughs “ but I wish it was. It’s hilarious.“

Redstone Lodge is a beautiful Inn located in upstate New York. It looks out onto a lake and is surrounded by lots and lots of Christmas trees all year round. It’s made of bricks and big wooden panels. Very rustic and yet cozy and elegant. In the yard, there’s a huge tent with a wooden floor and a see-through roof. That’s where the reception will be held tomorrow.

Redstone Lodge has 35 rooms all of which have been distributed to the various guests. They’re beautiful rooms with nice decor and comfortable beds. Well — a bed. One. Singular.

“ This is like some fanfiction trope, Robin. There is only one bed? “

“ Look," Robin says and pulls (Y/N) closer “ if you want to switch, find someone to switch with. I’m sure someone is willing to. But I’m just saying that if you two are friends, shouldn’t you be able to sleep in a bed together and not make it weird? “

She has a point and she knows it and she also knows that (Y/N) knows it.

Huffing a breath of annoyance (Y/N) grumbles an “okay fine” before letting Robin be taken hostage by yet another overly excited aunt and returns to Bucky’s side as he stands on the front steps looking out into the vast area. It really is a beautiful place to get married.

“ Hey so uh — bad news is that this is the only room they have so we’ll have to share a bed. Good news is they got some movies to take up to the room and I found some really dope rom-coms. “

“It's okay, don't worry. I promise I won't hog the blanket,” Bucky says and nods his head into the direction of the lake “ wanna take a walk? “

“ Sure. Yeah, why not. “

In all honesty (Y/N) isn’t the biggest fan of walking around the woods with no particular destination in mind and yet she can’t help but feel a sense of happiness fill her as she links her arm with Bucky’s once again.

She realized a while ago that she tends to gravitate towards his left side. It isn’t a conscious decision but maybe it’s a good one nonetheless.

Maybe it’ll show him that every part of him is worth loving, even the ones he doesn’t love himself.

“ When was the last time you did something crazy? “

He doesn’t like the way those words sound tumbling from her lips. He does, however, like very much how her eyes sparkle in the light of the setting sun. Their walk had turned into a bit of a hike and by the time they’ve finally made it back to the lake, the sun is about to set. Everyone seems to have retreated back into the lodge, maybe to sit by the big cozy fireplace or up to their room with their several beds. More than one. plural.

Bucky doesn’t want to let go of their time together though. Not yet. Just a little bit longer. And if that means agreeing to one of her weird ideas, so be it.

"Uh well, I fought aliens a few months ago."

"Huh … well see that's not an answer I was prepared for I mean more like, when did you last do something stupid but fun?"

“Like dancing in the middle of a street or having a cake fight in a parking lot?”

“Yeah …. like that.”

She looks at him again with that mischief and that softness. Like a mix of all things that make you feel alive shine back at him from her eyes.

“Wanna go swimming?” (Y/N) asks and smirks at him.

“Now? It’s freezing.”

“ I know,” she replies and shrugs her shoulders “ and I know it’s silly and dumb and we’ll probably get sick but I kinda wanna do it anyway. Wait … can you get sick?”

“Huh?”

“Because of the serum.”

“You know, they didn’t exactly give me a manual when they injected it so — guess we’ll have to find out.”

“So you’re in?”

Bucky only nods his head in agreement. She doesn’t need to know that he’d agree to anything she suggests. Any little thing.

The woods around them are dark and thick and where they probably should be scary they are comforting now. They’re a shelter from the eyes of onlookers. A safe roof and walls to keep their little bubble safe and hold their moment tight and safe.

“Holy shit, it’s freezing!” (Y/N) hisses through clenched teeth as the water reaches up to her shoulders, the straps of her yellow bra the only colors shining through the dark night.

Don’t think about it. He has to tell himself. Don’t think about the fact that she’s only in her underwear. Don’t think about her soft skin and her smile and what her body feels like against yours. Don’t!

He doesn’t have to scold himself for too long before a cold splash of water hits him right in the face.

“Oh, you made a mistake” Bucky calls out to a laughing (Y/N) who tries her best to tread water and get as far away from him as possible but fails to do so, being wrapped up in his arms only seconds later.

For the next few minutes, they splash around like children at the neighborhood pool.

The cold of the night and the lake rattle their bones but neither of them seems to care as a familiar warmth wraps itself around their hearts.

It’s really fascinating how the little moments can become so meaningful. How one person can mean so much so quickly. How drastically your life can change just because of one single person and their kindness and their love.

“Oh-oh!” (Y/N) exclaims excitedly and lays little enthusiastic slaps on Bucky’s shoulder “let’s do the dirty dancing lift. You can lift me, right?”

“I have a vibranium arm…”

“Right. Yeah. Right.”

Bucky places his hands on her waist and pulls her a little closer, trying to ignore the incessant thumping of his heart that feels like it wants to break out of his chest. “Okay on 3.”

“One”

Her eyes look deep into his as if trying to search for something in them. Secrets. Hidden feelings. The truth.

“Two”

And when she smiles, almost shy, it seems for a second that she’s found whatever she’s been looking for. He hopes she likes the secret she uncovers. He hopes it doesn’t scare her off from loving him.

“Three”

In a swift motion, he lifts her up above his head, holding her strong and steady as drops of water, cold as ice, rain down on him while (Y/N) laughs and stretches out her arms.

“We did it! I’m flying, Jack!”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She retorts and lets out another laugh. Yeah, maybe he’s freezing his ass off but to hear her laugh like that, makes it all worth it.

He doesn’t let her fall over like they do in the movie, instead, he grips her waist tighter, slowly and gently lowers her back into the water. And when she’s back right in front of him, chest against his, he should be letting go of her, but he doesn’t.

While his head keeps screaming at him to just let go, his heart tells him otherwise, makes him stay right there.

(Y/N)’s arms move across his chest and gently wrap themselves around his neck before her fingers start to delicately play with his hair.

He wonders if any person has ever felt the way he does in that moment. He wonders if maybe a poet or a writer or a musician has and if maybe they wrote a poem or a book or a song about it. Maybe that would help him understand. Maybe he could read it or listen to it and keep this moment captured in that piece of art forever. Because he fears that no memory can ever do justice to the way he feels when she moves closer.

When her hand cups his face when her nose nuzzles against his so gently as if she’s afraid he’ll pull away any second.

It’s just them and their wildly beating hearts and the woods providing them shelter and the water setting the scene and the stars shining down upon them.

It’s just them — until it isn’t.

“(Y/N), Bucky? You guys out there?” Robin's voice calls out into the night as her silhouette appears against the light coming from the porch of the Inn.

“Yes, it’s us. We’ll be right in.” (Y/N) calls back, having moved away slightly. The spell is broken and Bucky lifts his hand off of her, immediately missing the contact.

“It’s freezing, we should probably go inside.” She says and grants him a smile, though it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes and he can faintly see her shivering.

“Yeah let’s go. Get you warmed up.”

They don’t talk about their moment as they head inside and get swallowed by the group of people all hyped up with excitement for the coming day.

Bucky is sure though that as long as there are stars in the sky, he will not forget this moment however fleeting and insignificant it might seem.

TAGLIST FORM (fill this out to be added)

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[azaisya]

here the xuexiao snippet from the daemon au i mentioned (rating t, 2.4k words)

Xiao Xingchen was sitting on the ground by the fire, a ratty grey blanket draped over his shoulders and his head bowed as if that would help him see A-Qing’s tunic better. The pads of his fingers fluttered over the cloth, deftly seeking rips and tears so that he could sew them shut. His sewing needle flashed golden in the firelight. 

It should’ve been frustrating, watching him work. It was slow and clumsy, and he frequently had to stop and make sure that he was still sewing in the right spot. 

It wasn’t frustrating, though. It wasn’t even boring. Xue Yang could watch him for hours, delighting in each tiny, uneven stitch. A-Qing and her dumb daemon were asleep in the house, and so he didn’t even have to deal with her irritating comments or half-pretend that he was doing something other than staring. 

This was a picture of Xiao Xingchen that few ever saw: ratty blanket and flickering firelight and soft-edged fondness. 

Xue Yang wanted to marinate in it.

A-Mei, lying folded at his feet, huffed into the dirt. He kicked her lazily, and she snapped her teeth at him. She could snap his bones up, if she wanted to. She liked snapping bones, whether they were human or daemon or animal. 

Xiao Jia was the exact opposite of her, all white elegance and delicate lines. He was curled up in the shadows beyond the firelight, head resting in the dirt and milky eyes staring into nothingness. He didn’t seem to be paying attention, but he was rarely ever paying attention. He’d been different before, when he’d had his eyes. Xue Yang missed his eyes, sort of. They’d been dark and watchful and so very interested in everything they saw. 

Well. That wasn’t quite true. He didn’t miss the eyes, because if Xiao Jia still had his eyes then none of this would be possible. But he missed the daemon’s clever quickness. He was strange and somber, now, and it was rare to see him alert and talkative when he didn’t have the adrenaline of battle to spur him from whatever quiet fugue he normally existed in. 

Xue Yang would love nothing more than to dig his hands into that daemon, to find just how deep his scars ran. 

Xiao Xingchen let out a sharp ah of air, and the golden needle paused. 

“Poke yourself?” Xue Yang asked, grinning his lazy cat-smug grin. 

Xiao Xingchen smiled, a touch ruefully. “Just a little.” 

Immediately, Xue Yang abandoned his seat, crowding into Xiao Xingchen’s space and grabbing his hands. Xiao Xingchen let him, and Xue Yang grinned even wider. He reveled in Xiao Xingchen’s trust. It made him feel like he was burning. He thought he might explode, when the tension finally built up just so and he could call Xiao Xingchen’s name in his true voice. 

Even the thought of his reaction—that perfect face going stark white, those perfect lips parting in shock—was enough to send a delightful shiver down Xue Yang’s spine. 

It just wasn’t time yet. 

“Ai, Daozhang, what am I supposed to do with you?” he asked, teasing and shameless all at once. Xiao Xingchen had stabbed his index finger, and a tiny bead of blood welled to the surface. It glimmered tantalizingly in the firelight, like a little drop of amber. 

Xiao Xingchen’s lips twitched. “I don’t know, what are you?”

Xue Yang beamed. “I’m laughing at you. This is a very important fact that I’m telling you because you can’t see it.”

Xiao Xingchen’s smile transformed into a grin, and a startled laugh escaped his lips. “Ah—”

Lightning quick, Xue Yang darted forwards and sucked the tip of the finger into his mouth. Greedily, eyes locked on Xiao Xingchen’s face, he hollowed his cheeks and swirled his tongue across the pad of his finger. The iron taste of blood bloomed over his tongue, but mostly he just tasted the salt-and-flesh of skin.

An intake of breath slipped through Xiao Xingchen’s lips in a tiny gasp. 

Satisfied, Xue Yang sat back and deposited Xiao Xingchen’s hand back into his lap. 

Xiao Xingchen just sat there. He didn’t even seem to be breathing, a statue frozen with its lips parted in shock and its spine taut with tension. 

Except he wasn’t a statue, of course. The evidence was in the subtle taste still lingering on Xue Yang’s tongue and in the brilliant scarlet spreading across his face, his ears, his neck. He was gloriously, undeniably alive—

And he was all Xue Yang’s. 

Xue Yang’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. He felt like he was about to come apart at the seams. He felt like he was half-awake. He felt immortal. Unable to keep the hitch from his voice, he said, “Better, Daozhang?”

“Ah,” Xiao Xingchen said, voice faint, “Yes.” His fingers twitched towards his needle, still poked through the folds of A-Qing’s tunic, but he didn’t pick it up. He seemed to have lost the ability to function. 

Xue Yang leaned back against his elbows, head tilted towards Xiao Xingchen, angling his body to put himself close to Xiao Xingchen’s thigh. He could feel the too-hot heat of the fire against his toes, but it was nothing compared to the warmth emanating from Xiao Xingchen. 

Xiao Xingchen let out all of his breath in one, long exhale. And then he shifted, pressing himself entirely into Xue Yang’s side. Xue Yang didn’t move away, and Xiao Xingchen’s lips settled into the tiniest of smiles—his content one, the one that came out when he was warm and happy enough to stop thinking—as he picked up his needle and thread again. 

Xue Yang could hardly breathe past the satisfaction beating in his ribs. He’d done this! Him. Not anybody else. 

A-Mei sent him a wave of prickly irritation. He responded with a concentrated spike of pure smugness. 

Grumbling, she dragged herself to her feet and plodded across the dirt to throw all forty pounds of her body into his stomach. 

Xue Yang grunted, knocked breathless by the collision. “Bitch.”

She yowled in his face. 

Xiao Xingchen paused, fingers carefully laying the needle down so he didn’t poke himself again. “My friend?”

Xue Yang grimaced. “It’s just the bitch.”

Xiao Xingchen hummed, disapproving in a way that meant I don’t think you should call your other half a bitch and not I don’t like you using that language because I’m a prude. Xue Yang had mistaken it the first few times, but then he’d sworn up a storm when he’d dropped a stack of wood on his toes and Xiao Xingchen had laughed. 

Laughed!

A-Mei shoved her head into his stomach and he grunted, irritably lifting a hand to flick her in the nose. 

“You’re so strange,” Xiao Xingchen murmured, smile audible in his voice. 

Xue Yang pouted adorably at him, and then pouted more when he realized that he wouldn’t be able to see the pout. Oh well. It came through in his voice, probably. “Me?”

Xiao Xingchen laughed. “Both of you. I’ve never met somebody who fought with their daemon.”

Xue Yang shrugged. He wouldn’t really call it fighting. They never fought, not properly. They just had fun together, and that was all. “That’s just how we are,” he said easily, running his fingers through the soft fur on A-Mei’s chest. There were lots of things that were strange about him. A-Mei didn’t even make the top ten. Sure, she didn’t like to talk. But if he had a jaw strong enough to bring down even full-grown deer, he wouldn’t bother talking much either. 

He and A-Mei didn’t need to talk, anyways. They understood each other on an instinctual level, one that required no thought and little emotion. They were one, in a way that even most people and their daemons weren’t. 

If he was the sort to introspect, he might postulate that it was because he didn’t bother with the trappings and facades that normal people reveled in. He knew himself, in a way that people like Jin Guangyao—with his masks upon masks upon masks—could never. He didn’t let himself be trapped by what he should be or what society thought he was supposed to be. He simply was. 

Mildly, he said, “We’re not as strange as you and Xiao Jia.”

The easy contentment didn’t fade from Xiao Xingchen’s face, but his lips twisted ever so slightly down. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Xue Yang looked over his shoulder to where Xiao Jia was lying in the darkness. His eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping. 

Suddenly, Xiao Xingchen said, “That’s just how we are, too.”

Xue Yang scoffed, but he didn’t say anything. He knew that wasn’t true, but Xiao Xingchen’s dear, harmless friend wouldn’t. He could say something, but what would be the point in ruining a nice night like this?

Xiao Xingchen tilted his face towards the fire. The smile was completely gone now, and he looked all melancholy and somber, like he got on cold nights when the snow buried them inside the little coffin house and he thought everybody else was asleep. 

Xue Yang scowled. He didn’t like that expression. That expression meant that Xiao Xingchen was thinking of Song Lan, and fuck Song Lan. Xue Yang had half a mind to run out and find him, just so that he could stab his eyes out for real this time. 

Well. Maybe not. Those were Xiao Xingchen’s eyes, and Xiao Xingchen had always had such pretty eyes. 

Without a trace of his irritation in his voice, Xue Yang rolled over to pillow his head in Xiao Xingchen’s lap and declared, “Nevermind that. What do I care about strangeness?” He tilted his head up, lips curled into a teasing leer that A-Qing’s stupid daemon would bite him for. “He’s pretty, anyways.”

Xiao Xingchen had gone very still beneath him. But that lost expression was gone, chased away by a blush that flared over his entire face. The daozhang didn’t blush prettily, but that was okay. Xue Yang liked him better this way. “Ah,” he said, faintly. 

Xue Yang grinned, thinking that that was the end of that. Xiao Xingchen would call him shameless—not in so many words, of course, because he was polite and flustered—and Xue Yang would tease back before retreating to the other side of the fire, and then they could continue their lovely night without A-Qing or Song Lan’s stupid memory. 

Instead, Xiao Xingchen’s fingers alighted on the crown of Xue Yang’s head. Xue Yang’s breath caught in the back of his throat, his muscles seizing up and his heart beating rabbit-quick against his lungs.

Which was silly. He had a knife up his sleeve, and he could bury that in Xiao Xingchen’s heart before the other managed to close his fingers around Xue Yang’s throat. 

Xiao Xingchen’s touch was gentle and cool. It fluttered lightly over Xue Yang’s brow before settling in his hair, fingers tangling in the ink-dark strands and stroking as if he were an animal. 

Xue Yang should snap at him. He wasn’t an animal, and he wasn’t going to be treated like one. 

“Ah,” he said, a meaningless exhalation of air. “Huh.”

Xiao Xingchen’s expression was radiant beneath the blindfold. Also, infuriatingly smug. Xue Yang couldn’t bring himself to care. “I’d return the compliment,” Xiao Xingchen said, sounding just as light and soft and delighted as Xue Yang felt, “but I don’t know what your daemon looks like.”

A-Mei let out a grumble yowl-snarl at that. Her claws dug into Xue Yang’s gut. 

Xue Yang heroically resisted the urge to shove her off. She should be grateful. 

A thought struck him, and his eyes locked onto Xiao Xingchen’s pleasant expression. “Aww, daozhang,” he said, pitching his voice saccharinely sweet, “Is this just your way of asking to touch my daemon?”

The results were spectacular. Xiao Xingchen’s blush deepened, red crawling down his neck, and his fingers stuttered in Xue Yang’s hair, “I— I wouldn’t presume—”

Xue Yang wanted to press his lips to that blush. He wanted to follow it, to see how far down it went. He wanted to swallow it whole. “No, no, not at all!” he said, grin wide enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if his face split in two. This was their game, after all: Xue Yang pushed and pushed and pushed, and Xiao Xingchen blushed prettily-not-prettily and demurred.

“Ah,” Xiao Xingchen said, that delightful punched-out surprised sound. 

Xue Yang loved that sound. It was quite possibly his favorite sound in the whole world. This was quite possibly his favorite game. “This one would be honored if daozhang touched his daemon.”

Except Xiao Xingchen didn’t get flustered. He didn’t back off. He reached out to A-Mei. 

Xue Yang’s jaw dropped. He’d expected Xiao Xingchen to balk, to surrender to the courtesy his oh-so-fancy upbringing had imparted to him. He’d forgotten that, sometimes, Xiao Xingchen flipped the game right on its heels. 

And, normally, it was fun when Xiao Xingchen surrendered to one of Xue Yang’s shameless whims. It was satisfying, to drag him further down to earth. 

But this was—

This was—

A-Mei pressed her snout into Xiao Xingchen’s palm. 

Xue Yang died. He was dead! There was no reason for anybody else’s hands to be on his daemon unless he was dying and they were killing him. 

His body didn’t seem to care. It went entirely boneless, sagging like a wet rag into Xiao Xingchen’s lap. A-Mei shifted, crawling up Xue Yang’s chest and closer to Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen’s touch was just as feather-light as it’d been in Xue Yang’s hair, the pads of his fingers brushing over A-Mei’s eyes, A-Mei’s ears, A-Mei’s back. 

It felt like bursts of starfire or summer sun or revelations. 

“Ah,” Xue Yang gasped again. 

A-Mei hit him with a wall of superior-smug-satisfaction-mine-hah-MINE. 

Xue Yang couldn’t care less. 

“What is she?” Xiao Xingchen asked, voice hushed with the enormity of the moment. 

Xue Yang opened his mouth. Like a cloud passing over the sun, like a sword punching through flesh, reality crept back in. 

Would Xiao Xingchen remember her shape? She’d bitten Xiao Jia, once. Would he know the name of what she was? Would he think to make that connection?

Feeling suddenly cold, he sat up. A-Mei flopped onto the ground with an irritated hiss, and Xiao Xingchen made a questioning noise. Xue Yang just laughed. “Something with teeth.”

He could’ve said it with his real voice. He could’ve revealed his soul for what it was. 

He didn’t, though. 

It wasn’t time.

[the rest of the au]

[harrysmaison]

someday snippet

since no one ever tags me and I'm in a weird (good weird) mood today, here's a little snippet from one of my too many wips:

***

“Will you please lend me your pencil?”

It was 11 o’ clock on a Sunday morning and Louis had this very important assignment for his History of Drama class that he had to submit the very next day and the gears inside Louis’ brains felt like those of a machine that hasn’t been lubricated for a long while. It’s funny because Louis spent most of his sleepless nights reading boring stuff like that.

And Mr. Harry Styles, his unwanted roommate, wasn’t making it any better for him to get those gears to start fucking moving already.

“No.”

Harry pouted. He literally pouted. Honestly, Louis had started to doubt this kid was even the age to attend uni. With the way he was sprawled out on the bed in nothing but a white crop top and Winnie the Pooh themed, red shorts, holding up what seemed like a small glittery pink journal with small squibbles and stickers on the front cover, made it nearly impossible for anyone to think he was a mature, independent adult.

Watching Harry gulp a large can of beer down as he casually talked about sex to whoever was on the phone was what it took to convince Louis he actually was one. (It wasn’t phone sex, Louis understood as much, Harry didn’t have to give an unnecessary list of excuses to convince him, considering the fact that Louis gave all of zero fucks about Harry’s sexual preferances.)

But the way he usually behaved, the pouting, the giggling, his irritating antics, his cartoon themed stuff, his nonsensical jokes and most importantly, his naive opinions, was what made Louis think that if not a legitimate child, then Harry had definitely had to be some excessively pampered and royally spoilt brat. Because he always acted so.

“But I said please!” He whined, widening his eyes in a hopeless belief that Louis would fall for a thing as foolish as that.

“And I said no. Now stop talking to me.”

He’d vowed to himself. He’d given his restless spirit a word that he wouldn’t engage himself with Harry. And he’d really hoped that once Harry got the idea that Louis wanted nothing to do with him, he’d stop sticking his hell of a long nose into Louis’ business. Of course, he forgot Harry wasn’t the usual, normal kind.

Harry groaned, resting his head against the wall. “But I’m borrrreeeed. And I wanted to not disturb you, let you do your work. So I decided maybe I’ll doodle something in my nice little sprakly notebook but I realised I lost my pencil in one of my classes so I asked you for it. But if you aren’t gonna give it to me I can’t doodle anymore so I can’t entertain myself and I gotta do something-”

“Harry, do you have the internet on your phone?”

“Yeah. Why?” Excitement lit up his eyes. “Do you want my help with whatever it is that you’re doing? If that’s so-”

“Why don’t you google ‘How to stop talking’ and follow step number one?” Harry snapped his mouth shut in surprise, and then within a second, amusement replaced his previous excitement. It frustrated Louis to find no flicker of anger or even mild annoyance past his face. Honestly, how did this boy never take anything Louis said to heart? Why was Harry Styles so different from everyone?

“You know,” he spoke up with an amused tone in his deep voice, “I love it when you make a snarky remark like that. Kinda reminds me of Tony Stark.”

Wait, what? Tony Stark- How was that relevant in this conversation?

He must have noticed the confusion in Louis’ face and mistook it as Louis’ lack of knowledge because he immediately went on about Marvel and Iron Man and before Louis could interrupt or stop him, he was gushing about how cool the new avengers movie was and how him and his friends had so much fun watching it and reminiscing over all the idiotic stuff they did. Without even realising it, Louis found himself actually listening to his stories.

***

alkfsdhf that was long but yep, there you go

its an enemies to lovers/ uni roommates fic and no matter how unoriginal it sounds, you guys have no idea the twists i've plnned out for it

[keanureevesisbae]

Becky's debut novel (Sugar Sugar fic)

A/N: So, @thelastsock gave me such a great idea: a snippet of Becky's book. So I have a snippet here, including a front cover, back cover and a little dedication page (because I am extra like that 😂😂, what else do you expect from me). Hope you like it xoxo

Chapter 1

YOU ARE NOT WELCOME.

Those are the exact words that greet me when I walk up our porch to our front door. Let’s just say that my mom has a special way of welcoming her quests. I step over the slightly offensive doormat to get inside. Not a lot of people would expect this kind of welcome from the mayor, but then again: no one expected her to win the elections in our town Starfall Fields in the first way.

Not to be mean, but even I never believed in my mom and not for a second did I think she had any chance of winning. Mom has been quite the controversy the second she moved into town. How on earth would she be able to be the mayor?

Weirdly enough, she hasn’t made a complete fool out of herself in these two months she has been mayor. Actually, she’s been doing quite well. It’s just that her housekeeping skills have been lower than low.

I open the refrigerator and scrunch up my nose when I notice there is barely anything edible in here. Great.

I grab my phone and send my mom a text.

Josie: You need to do groceries

Mom: Do it yourself, you lazy bitch

Mom: Still love you though 😘

I chuckle as I read her text. She’s quite something, my mom, and if we don’t call each other bitch at least once a day, there’s something up and we should worry.

People might find it odd that we call one another bitch, but it’s just our way of showing our affection towards the other.

Somehow I find some left over yogurt that isn’t expired already. I peel a banana (to only throw half of it away, because it’s brown and squishy, therefore absolutely repulsive) and cut it into slices. I drizzle some maple syrup on top of it and want to add some raisins, but when I open the jar, I find out there is only one raisin left in it.

‘Mom,’ I whine, though she can’t hear me. ‘Really?’ This is just absolutely fantastic. After a long day at school, a girl can barely enjoy a nice little afternoon snack. I grab my bowl and walk over to the dining table. My butt barely touched the soft seating of the chair, when my best friend Andy FaceTimes me. I place the phone against the fruit bowl before I press answer. ‘What do you want?’ I ask him. ‘You literally saw me half an hour ago.’

He smiles, two dimples appearing in his full cheeks. ‘You know I can’t get enough of you, sugar.’

Andy and I have been best friends since I can remember, but that is mostly because we’ve been in the same class the moment we both stepped foot into kindergarten and we’re neighbors. We’re literally the two houses in a radius of around half a mile (yes, we took the time to measure it) and he isn’t the worst guy to hang around with.

Okay, he is the only one that doesn’t make me that angry, I have to fight the urge to claw his eyes out. I’m not gonna beat around the bush: I love hanging out with him.

While we see each other the moment we step out of our houses to go to school, share every class of the day with one another and we walk from school back to our houses, it’s hard to function without the other one. Therefore, we usually FaceTime the second we can after separating.

We’re quite the symbiotic pair.

‘Spit it out, Andy. What do you want?’ I ask.

‘I was wondering what your plans are,’ Andy says. ‘Mainly for tonight.’

I can’t help but chuckle. ‘There was a plan of me hanging on the couch, watching a movie with my best friend while we eat junk food, but your voice is telling me that you have something else in mind for the two of us.’

He nods. ‘I was thinking about you and I doing some FindUrPricing tonight.’

‘FindUrPricing is not a word, you idiot.’

‘I don’t care, miss Doyle,’ he retorts with a sassy undertone. He shakes his head, gestures I have to wait (like I’m going anywhere) and comes back into frame, this time with a tablet in his hands. ‘I have like five of these things, so what do you say? Want to bury them tonight, while we try to find something cool for it in return?’

Andy has this obsession with solving puzzles in newspapers like the old soul he is and since he is quite good and really fast, he has won multiple prizes, including multiple tablets.

‘Only if I find a diamond ring,’ I answer with my mouth full of yogurt.

‘Yeah, that’s attractive. You’ll find yourself a boyfriend in no time with those manners.’

I show him the finger. ‘I don’t need etiquette lessons from you,’ I say.

Andy sticks out his tongue. ‘Are you coming with me tonight?’ he asks me. ‘You know I need you.’

I chuckle. Andy is a disaster when it comes to being in the dark, but since FindUrPrice is just more fun at night, I have become his personal guard. ‘Okay, okay, but only if I can sleep at your place tonight. I have no idea what time my mom will be back from work.’

Andy’s parents are going to the opera’s tonight and afterwards, they’re staying in a hotel near the big city. Normally, they aren’t the type of people to go to the opera’s, but when their son wins tickets, including a stay in one of the most luxurious hotels in the area, who are they to say no?

Since I have no idea what time my mom manages to pull herself from city hall (to say she is a workaholic is an understatement), I’d rather sleep at Andy’s, then telling her we’ve been wandering on the street late at night.

Especially on a school night.

Sure, my mom knows about FindUrPrice, but she forbade me to ever do it late at night, because “you never know what can happen”. I personally think it’s not that big of a deal, since Starfall Fields is boring as hell and absolutely harmless, but my mother wouldn’t be my mother if she didn’t envision my death.

FindUrPrice is an app for the younger folks in our city and the few around. The organization hid a few gifts and presents and whenever you follow the leads and find something, you have to place something nice in return. It’s cute and me and Andy do it from time to time.

‘You’re coming over now?’ Andy asks.

‘To help you do your laundry?’ I ask, nodding towards the screen, mainly towards the enormous pile of clothes on his bed. ‘Didn’t think so. See you in a few hours, Andy.’

‘Please,’ he begs, right at the same time as I hear his mom in the background yelling for him. ‘Yes, wait a minute!’ he yells. ‘Can I live with you? I feel like your mother never pushes you to do chores around the house.’

‘That’s because I do them voluntarily. If mom doesn’t do laundry, no one does it. If mom doesn’t clean the toilet, no one does it. Believe me, with a mom who all of the sudden turns a bit blind when it comes house chores, there is more to do here than there is at your place. Don’t you dare whine about it, Andrew Carter.’

We hang up and I grab a magazine from the table, reading through some of the articles. How to painlessly bikini wax yourself, how to get rid of strawberry legs, how to get yourself a man in a week.

Geez, mom, why do you read this?

No wait, better question: mom, why haven’t you gotten yourself a man in a week? This issue is three months old.

My phone rings again and without looking I answer, since I know exactly who is calling me. ‘Andy, I’m not helping you with your laundry,’ I say. ‘Shirts, sweaters and other items for your upper body go on a hanger and the rest with clothespins on a drying rack. How many times do I have to tell you that?’

‘Thank you for this wise, yet unnecessary lesson in laundry,’ mom says and I can hear her smile in her voice. ‘But laundry is your chore, so I pretend I didn’t hear it.’

‘What do you want?’ I ask my mom.

‘Wanted to know your plans for tonight.’

‘I was planning on hanging out with Andy,’ I say. Go outside, do some FindUrPricing. ‘Watch a movie. Probably sleep at his place. He is home alone, you know how he gets.’

Mom snorts. ‘Oh, do I know. How old was he when he rang our doorbell, nearly crying because he was afraid of the dark?’

‘The last time was a few months ago,’ I chuckle. ‘Why do you want to know my plans for tonight?’

‘You know,’ mom starts and I do know. ‘There is still a lot to do here at city hall.’

‘Right,’ I say, ‘and you wanted to know whether or not I mind. Mom, I’m your daughter, I truly don’t care.’

‘I’ll make it up to you,’ she says, mostly because she is trying to feel less guilty.

And I wouldn’t be her daughter if I wasn’t going to totally exploit her sweet offer. ‘So, you’re making breakfast for me and Andy tomorrow?’

She sighs. ‘Goodness gracious, really? I’m going to pull an all nighter.’

‘You wanted to be mayor and you’re also a mother. Deal with it.’

Mom scoffs. ‘And here I was thinking I was gonna get some sympathy from my daughter.’

‘Ew never,’ I say.

‘Well, I might just make breakfast for you, only if you eat it here. I might be your chef, but I’m not a waiter and I’m certainly not gonna walk it to the Carters.’

I scoff. ‘Okay, I think I can live with that.’

‘Alright, enjoy your night, Josie and don’t make it too late okay? Ten o’clock lights out, okay?’

No. ‘Of course. Bye mom.’

I look at the picture on the dining table. Despite not being blood related, my mom and I are really close. According to Andy’s mom, it never seemed like my mom would settle down. She moved to this boring place a few years prior to finding me on her doorstep. She was thirty and didn’t have a husband (nor had any intention of settling down with anyone—she turned down a lot of men who asked her out in Starfall Fields). Even back then, she was already a workaholic and worked over time as the mayor’s assistant.

One day, when she was getting herself ready for work, she heard soft cries from her front porch and when she checked it out, there was yours truly.

I was around a year old and in the cradle, there was a note saying that whoever found me, to take good care of me. My DNA wasn’t available in any database, just like there were no matches at all.

I have no idea who I am, who my biological family is and where I’m from.

Mom adopted me, because I only felt safe with her and since that moment, we were a duo.

A year and a half ago she became the mayor and since then she is everywhere in Starfall Fields, except home. I barely see her, but she does a lot for this town and I don’t think I have the right to whine about it, especially because it means many many sleepovers with Andy and many nights wandering around the woods to play FindUrPrice.

Sure, I miss her from time to time, because she’s still my mom. From someone who was home a lot, would wait for me on the porch no matter the weather when I came back from school and had chocolate pie ready for me and Andy, she changed to a real career woman who is everywhere in town.

But that’s okay, she’s happy and when she is, I am too. I should be, especially after everything she has done for me.

[sagasofazeria]

OC-tober day one!

Prompt: Journey

Taglist: @talesfromaurea @hellishhin @thelaughingstag

And a special Event Tag for oc-tober: @oc-growth-and-development

For this one I’m doing two things! First, I finished the maps of the rest of Azeria and I’m too proud of them to wait to share haha. The heroes journey across a significant amount of this map throughout the story.

I’ve also included some snippets of each character leaving home for the first time, as it’s the beginnings of their journeys here.

Maps up first!! Behold, the full continent in all its massive size and glory. Super proud of all of this, I think it looks awesome. Also please excuse the repetition of the name labels and compasses and that stuff, I have the maps all on separate pages and wanted to make sure they can stand alone as well.

[Image Description: Six hand drawn maps, each showing a portion of a continent. Besides the northwest corner and a small exclave on the west coast, most of the land is of the country Azeria. The other parts are part of Leinos. The continent is covered in deserts, plains, hills, and rainforest/jungle. Off the western coast is the fog-shrouded sea of dragons, and off the eastern side is the vast ocean of Aksir-Atan. To the north is the Ikarron ocean./end ID]

Now for the snippets!

Gonna put them below a cut so this doesn’t get too long.

“Yep. I’m tired, Ardos,” Faulkron said, moving to push past.

“Of what, son?”

“Well first of all, that! Stop saying that, you know I’m not your son,” Faulkron said with a growl.

“Well first of all, that! Stop saying that, you know I’m not your son,” Faulkron said with a growl.

“Maybe, but I raised you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t care! I’m sick of all this! I’m tired of being here, with you!” Faulkron snapped.

Ardos’ face fell further, and his shoulders sloped. “You don’t mean that, do ya?”

Faulkron groaned and leaned against the wall, throwing his free hand into the air. “Maybe I do! I don’t know! I don’t even know who I am, Ardos! This town is all I know, but it isn’t me! How am I supposed to live like this any more?”

“Oh, a simple life ain’t so bad-“

“Yes it is, da— Ardos,” Faulkron quickly corrected, turning away.

“You almost called me dad,” Ardos said, a tiny kindling of hope in his voice.

“We all slip up,” Faulkron said, the coldness of the words making him almost regret saying them. Almost.

“You’re sure you wanna leave?” asked Ardos, voice much softer than it had been before, and laced with pain.

“Yes.”

“You even know where you’re goin’?”

“No. That’s the point. I’m tired of the things I know, I want something new.”

“I won’t stop ya, son.”

“I know,” Faulkron said as he turned back to face the door again.

“Come back and visit?”

“Ha. We’ll see,” Faulkron muttered, pushing past Ardos and out the door.

“Be careful!” Ardos called after him.

“Hmph.”

“I love ya, son.”

Faulkron didn’t respond.

•••

Fuego

•••

The fog lay, as it always had, like a heavy blanket over the island.

Fuego lit the lamp at the front of his boat with his fire, coaxing it to life and sending the fog hissing back, the slender ship’s front pointed out to sea.

He turned back to shore. His family, friends, the King even, were all gathered on the beach, similar lanterns in hand. The whole island had gathered to see him off as he sailed into what could prove to be a fatal journey.

Fuego took a deep breath, then spoke.

“People of Zul’Zagan! I promise you all, this great journey I’m taking now? It will be nothing compared go the glory of my return! I swear by my life I will sail the sea and find the fire to burn away the Shroud, the gods have decreed it and so that is what I go to do. I will keep you all in my mind, my heart, and my soul. I know these gifts are a thanks for what I’ve done, but it feels wrong not to thank you all as well. This is and always will be my home, and you are my people. I carry you with me anywhere I may sail.”

The king stepped forward, voice regal and booming. “And I pray for smooth seas and a forgiving sky on your quest, Fuego. We will not forget you either, lightbringer.”

The king bowed his head in salute, and Fuego returned the gesture. Waving goodbye to his family, he whooped as he unfurled his sail and his ship leaped forward into the unknown.

•••

Shakari

•••

“Shakari A’Tusaara. You have violated the laws of the Duulza, your people. You have stolen from the Vhamani, those who are your elders and who wield magic you are not yet strong enough to control. You show yourself to have dangerous hubris. Your ambition could be the downfall of all of us, you know this.”

Shakari hung her head. She couldn’t bear to look at her family, watching from the crowd.

“I am aware.”

“So then you know why we must exile you.”

“I do,” they responded, fury and pain boiling inside their chest.

“Very well. Shakari, you hereby lose your place among the Duulza. You are no longer your mother’s child, and have no home in Duulza lands. You will be sent into the desert alone. If you should return and you have not been humbled, you will be met only with blades. If you should return and have made right your crimes, then you will be welcome once more.”

The elder, a rugged-looking dragonborn with sandblown blue scales, stepped forward, magic swirling around their claws.

“I place this Mark on you now. When it has gone, return to us. Remember, you are not above the world, but part of it. A dragon’s ferocity is wasted on destruction.”

A searing heat pressed into their chest, a white-hot symbol appearing on their scales as the elder placed their palm over Shakari’s chest.

“It is done.”

Still wincing from the brand, Shakari turned her back on her tribe for the last time, and walked into the desert.

•••

Jetra

•••

Jetra scowled at the man on the street corner.

“Marakos, the Hero! He died for you, all of you! He fought off a bandit scourge, and sacrificed his life! Honor his sacrifice. Be a hero! Join the army of Leinos! Remember him, and fight!”

She was sick of hearing the army talk about her father like this.

Setting her jaw, she slunk through the crowded streets toward the recruiter.

She snuck up behind him where he was standing on some crates, and before he could spew another lie she kicked the crates out from beneath him.

He crashed to the ground, sputtering, and Jetra took off back into the crowd.

When she was sure she wasn’t being followed, she made her way back to their house.

Her mom wasn’t home yet, so she let herself in. She packed her stuff quickly, and when she’d finished, she waited.

When her mom finally opened the door, Jetra had already made a meal.

They ate it in silence for the most part. They were both tired, and their minds were making all the necessary noise.

When the food was gone, Jetra finally spoke.

“I’m leaving tonight, mom.”

“I suspected,” her mother sighed.

“I can’t take this anymore, and-“ Jetra started.

“Hush, love. The less I know, the better, remember?”

Jetra sighed. “I know.”

“You’ve got everything?”

“Yes.”

“Come here,” she said, opening her arms and standing.

Jetra walked over and sank into her arms.

“I love you, daughter. Please, be careful.”

“I will, mom.”

With that, she stepped out into the nighttime streets of Anikora.

As she walked through the shadowy streets, she saw a small glowing bird appear on a nearby rooftop. It flapped its wings once, then took off. She smiled, and followed it out of the city.

•••

Alejandro

•••

His parents didn’t say why they were leaving, just that it was today. Alejandro wasn’t sure how to feel. He would miss the village a lot. He waved goodbye to all his friends, his old house, the beach, and the rest of the village, as his dad held him on the horse they were riding. His mother was on another horse next to them, with all the stuff they’d taken with them. It wasn’t a lot, because they couldn’t afford that much more space.

When they’d reached the big city, they stayed for a while, before getting on a boat that took them across a lot of water and to another city. Then they were walking again, and they walked with some other people too, people Alejandro didn’t know. There was another kid too, and they played sometimes, but it was mostly boring. They all traveled for a really long time, and Alejandro quickly forgot which way it was to home.