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dragonmuse · 1 year

Note

for the smut prompts: in the Izzy/Lucius/Pete AU it was mentioned that Izzy is sometimes bratty and Lucius “settles” him. Could we see one of those scenes?

( I can't find it anymore, but I know someone else requested this. AsIsHerRight, maybe? ANYWAY here it is!)

“And then he cut me off,” Izzy was really in a full head of steam. Pete watched him pace back and forth. “Fucking motherfucker.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you fucking believe that shit?”

“Iz, that had to be hours ago.”

“Does that make it less of a traffic violation?” he snarled. “Could’ve lost my front fender.”

“Okay, okay,” Pete sighed. “But I need you to like, slow down for a minute. You didn’t put in your schedule for next month and if I don’t schedule this appointment soon, you’re going to be waiting until next year.”

“What does it matter?” Izzy waved that off. “Whenever.”

“Not whenever. You can’t blow off your stress test again.”

“I run every day,” Izzy gritted out. “I’m fucking fine.”

“Great! Then do it at the damn doctor.”

“I had my physical a goddamn month ago. My blood pressure is fine!”

Izzy hadn’t stopped pacing.

Time was, Pete would deal with this by just leaving him to it for a half hour or so then come back with a drink or a snack and just to wheedle him into a better mood. Sometimes it was even fun, but tonight he was annoyed and tired himself.

An idea kindled in him. He wasn’t in this alone anymore. As if summoned by the very thought, Luicus came out of the bathroom, steam wafting behind him and a towel barely hanging around his waist.

“Babe!” Pete flashed him a bright, possibly slightly manic smile.

“Uh, yeah?”

“He’s acting like an asshole,” Pete pointed to Izzy, who froze at being called out. “Could you just take him to the bedroom and spank him or something? I’m tapped out.”

He girded himself for Izzy to further explode, but if anything, he subsided into a bizarre calm. The air suddenly supercharged. For his part, Lucius shifted his weight and the cheery bafflement gave way to something cooler, calmer.

“Are you coming?” Lucius glanced at Pete.

“No,” he did not feel like seeing anyone naked just then.

“All right. You heard the man,” Lucius’ eyes snapped to Izzy. “Go to the bedroom, you kneel and wait for me. Put yourself in a more agreeable mood because apparently you’ve earned whatever I decide you’ve got coming and you better take it sweetly.”

And to Pete’s quiet shock, Izzy just went. He disappeared into the bedroom and the sounds of cloth hitting the floor were loud in the sudden silence.

“I-” Pete started. “Was that okay?”

“Was it okay?” Lucius grinned, the coolness gone as quickly as it came. “It was hot as hell. You know I like when you backseat dom.”

“I don’t really want to,” Pete groaned. “But I also wasn’t in the mood to wrestle the bear.”

“Oh, babe,” Lucius stepped closer and kissed him once. “You’re the bear here, hottie. But I hear you. I’ve got it. We’ll be a half hour or so. Why don’t you relax too and we’ll have dinner together after?”

“It’s already in the oven,” he agreed. “I’ll keep an eye on it. Have fun.”

“Thanks, babe,” Lucius kissed him then walked into the bedroom and slammed the door very pointedly. Pete didn’t take offense, he knew that wasn’t for him.

Still a little wound up, Pete tried to figure out what to do with himself. After a little dithering, he picked up the paper. He’d read through most of it this morning, but he hadn’t done the sudoku puzzle yet. He wasn’t very good at them, but he liked to take a pass at it anyway, then if it was giving him trouble, he’d make Izzy finish it out. The numbers seemed to just fall into place for him and Pete liked watching Izzy be competent.

So he was flicking his pencil carefully over boxes when he heard the slap of leather on skin and the grunt of impact. It was such a small slip of sound, but Pete could see the moment as vividly as if it was playing out in front of him after witnessing it so many times. Izzy was probably bent over the bed. The crack was louder than the actual impact, the doubled over belt always making an impressive noise.

Lucius really only used the belt to make a point, rarely hitting Izzy with it more than four or five times. Absently, Pete counted the blows. Three. Four. Five. Six....Seven. Oof that one sounded hard, but no more followed. Instead, there was Lucius' voice, strident and clear.

Pete set down pencil and paper. He dropped his head to the back of the couch, catching muffled noises. The sheets shifting and then clink of the glass bottle of lube being set down. He wondered if Lucius would bottom. It seemed likely if he’d just showered. He could picture him straddling Izzy’s narrow hips, hands on Izzy’s chest, holding him in place.

He considered his own suddenly insistent erection.

Well. No one would judge him if he indulged, he decided.

With a flick of his wrist, he had himself in hand. Trying to keep his breath even so it wouldn’t blot out the noises, Pete played the movie of it in his head. The way Lucius would spear himself with long clever fingers, a fast preparation while Izzy watched hungrily. Izzy would be still though, silent. One of Lucius’ favorite orders was ‘no talking’ which Pete would never understand. He loved Izzy’s filthy mouth, obscenities pouring from it as they took each other apart.

A moan crept under the door and that one Pete definitely knew. He could see Luicus sliding down, taking Izzy into himself as if it were as simple as opening a door. Pete pulled on himself, recalling Lucuis’ tight heat. He liked when Lucius rode him, but his favorite was on their sides, negating the height difference and bringing them so close together.

Still, the image of Lucius above Izzy, taking his time and teasing things out just as long as he wanted them to last was hot in its own right. Delicious gasps of sound came through the walls now and Pete sped up along with them. Out here, he didn’t have anyone to impress and no one to satisfy, so he didn’t think about lasting. He just came hard, biting his lip so as not to draw attention even as he shuddered through it.

Then he lay there, spent, smiling up at the ceiling as they continued on behind him. It had only been ten or so minutes. Lucius was going to do something to draw it out. And for tonight, Pete didn’t have to care which was weirdly relieving. He could just clean himself up, then go back to his puzzle. With post-nut clarity, he even solved it.

The oven timer dinged and he got out the casserole, covering it with tinfoil so it would stay warm. Pete felt like that. Covered and warm as he waited. It wasn’t much longer really. Eventually the bedroom door opened again and Luicus came out, heading back to the bathroom, but he paused to kiss Pete.

“Why don’t you go lay down with him for a minute, babe?” Lucius smiled into the kiss. “You should enjoy some of your own idea.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, very.”

So Pete went into the bedroom. Izzy was still smeared over the bed, eyes heavy-lidded and a litter of pink marks just starting to fade from his chest. Places where Lucius had likely bitten him. As soon as Pete crossed the threshold, Izzy held out a hand to him. Pleased, Pete took it, laying down beside him on his side.

“Was that okay?” Pete checked.

“Mm,” Izzy rolled carefully over to face him. “Yeah. Sorry, you’re right, I was being a fucking dick. I’ll put my timing on the calendar.”

“Okay,” Pete squeezed his hand. “Thanks. Guess I was kind of in a mood too.”

“Should’ve noticed,” Izzy said ruefully. “Rough day?”

“Some. That gown we were working on for the past few weeks...the customer can’t pay for it and we’re trying to figure out how to handle it. John wants to just give it to them anyway. Frenchie was ready to rip the thing up.”

“What about you?”

“Dunno. Makes me sad mostly. They thought they had the cash, it wasn’t a lie or anything. And we did all the work.”

“Payment plan?” Izzy suggested.

“You think? How would we enforce that?”

Izzy considered and Pete got to watch the cogs start to turn again behind those lovely dark eyes. He was content to just rest there, watching for as long as it took.

“Might not this time, but you should have it in your contract going forward,” Izzy rumbled. “Want me to talk to Flint? He’s got a contract law guy, I bet. Get you a boilerplate to start with.”

“Would you?” Pete nodded. “That’d be good. I bet I can get John and Frenchie on board too. I’ll suggest the payment plan. At least we’d get something back.”

“Make them model it for you,” Lucius stepped back into the bedroom. “Iz can take the photos, be good promo.”

“Fuck you two are so smart,” Pete laughed. “You want to be consultants.”

“Absolutely not,” Izzy grumbled.

“Yeah, no thanks, sweetie,” Luicus sat down, the bed dipping and Pete rolling towards him a little. “You guys ready to eat?”

“Yeah,” Pete stretched. “Iz?”

“Past ready.”

They ate in varying stages of nakedness, Izzy taking his plate on the floor at Lucius’s feet, but resting his head from time to time against Pete’s knee. The world rebalanced and Pete sank happily into it.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #feels just like i'm falling for the first time #pete black #izzy hands #lucius black

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dspdick · 22 days

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okay. apparently ranting on tumblr is the way to go so here i am. on a rant about my bitchass college life.

first of all. my classmates. GOD. the people in my group would be fine if the guy that i considered a potential friend didn’t stop talking to me after i rejected him at a party. he was genuinely interested in me as a person and my interests and then he had to go and ruin it by taking rejection like a little bitch. i would’ve been fine with it IF HE IMMEDIATELY AFTER DIDNT START TALKING WITH ANOTHER GIRL THAT I GET ALONG WITH. AND STOPPED ANY FORM OF CONTACT WITH ME. motherfucker i’ll hunt you down for sport if you ignore me for the year and a half i’m going to be in that class.

then there’s the bitch in my group. OH MY GOD. you’re TWENTY YEARS OLD. TWENTY ONE I DONT CARE. and yet you behave like an edgy sixteen year old that just got tumblr?? “ooooh i’m so edgy all i do is complain and bitch and give people dirty looks.” i’m surprised you have friends, let alone roommates that didn’t let the carbon monoxide leak when they spent the night out and you slept alone. i hope you know i fucking hate you and the way you monopolize people is elementary school shit. which you seem to think you’re in anyways?? kids like you shouldn’t be reading the shitty ass tiktok books you keep recommending because of how hard the main characters fuck.

and the rest of my group keeps ignoring me lol. none of them wait for me to finish packing my shit and none of them talk with me out of college. oh wait they do. to ask me about homework. EVEN IF I DONT KNOW SHIT BECAUSE I KEEP SKIPPING CLASS. PAY ATTENTION IN THE LECTURES INSTEAD OF PLAYING SUDOKU.

and these people are the ones i spend most of my time with. because among the 20-something other students in my goddamned degree (yes. there’s 20-something of us in an entire undergrad. we used to be in the 30s but people kept dropping out for reasons ill touch on later). there’s one that keeps throwing ALUMINIUM WRAP BALLED UP. AT EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE. i can’t stand that bitch GOD i hope she drops out too.

my degree is a completely different subject. first off we have eight subjects this semester. EIGHT. we have more than any other degree in this fuckass university, and the workload is frankly ridiculous. i hope my professors aren’t aware that their subject isn’t the only one in the world because if they know the shit we have to do for other subjects and they keep sending us all the shit they do im killing them all and then myself. what the fuck do you mean the business professor keeps making us work as much as in development biology? ITS WORTH HALF THE CREDITS.

and my degree supervisor certainly doesn’t help. maam what do you mean we “can’t afford to have compromises and extracurriculars outside of college work”? kill yourself oh my god i’m paying 500�� a month (with my scholarship included!) to get an education not worked to the ground. i spend over ten hours in college when we have labs because for some reason we can’t have them just after classes to let us go home early like EVERYONE ELSE IN A SCIENCE DEGREE.

the worst part is that the people who organize the mandatory stuff for all students ignore the existence of labs. listen. i’m cool with having to do volunteer stuff. but don’t make me do 50 hours like everyone else because they don’t spend as much time IN THIS UGLY ASS UNIVERSITY. also can we at least have more smoking-allowed points in campus if you’re going to keep exploiting us? i’d like to be able to cope unhealthily with everything else in my life like the adult i am please and thank you.

and this is as far as i’m going because it’s getting long. i’d be surprised if anyone read as far as this so if you did thank you please like comment n subscribe for more rage-fueled content

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novelty--night · 3 years

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Sick Fic

@daringyounggrayson I finally finished your request! (running fingers through sweaty hair x being led back to bed with patient whispers)

Characters: Bruce, Dick, and Alfred

"How is he?"

Bruce asks as Alfred steps into the hallway and out of the bedroom.

Alfred sighs as he readjusts the tray in his hand. The soup was half-eaten and cold.

"His fever is still high, but it seems he has more of an appetite." Alfred sends him a pointed look. "Although, I am positive you can Master Dick himself on how he is doing."

"I…" Bruce touches his broken ribs, still slightly sore. His mind flashes back to that night.

Poison Ivy had made another escape from Arkham. She went and destroyed another oil factory, destroying many Iives with it.

Robin and Batman fought together as they avoid being plummeted by thick, green vines. One lucky vine manages to hit Bruce on the stomach. He winces when he hears a crack. He stumbles weakly on his feet when he hears a shout.

"Batman, behind you!"

Bruce spins around to see a giant pink flower bursting out of the ground.

Everything else happens too quickly.

Robin pushes Bruce away, grunting with the heavy weight. The flower burps out a yellow powder, clouding Dick in an opaque cloud.

"Robin!" A scream stretches out of his throat. Poison Ivy flinches in surprise and has a glimpse of guilt before her expression cools away. She lifts a hand and the pollinated dust filters away. She takes a hesitant step back before she rides off on a vine.

Bruce pays her no attention as he skids over to Robin. His Robin, who was choking on a scream, whose face already glistening with sweat.

He comms Alfred and orders in a brittle voice to prepare a med eval.

"I will send your dinner back to Master Dick's room where I expect for you to finish your plate."

Bruce fidgets. "But I-"

Bruce shuts his mouth when Alfred sends him a look that says there is no room for argument.

He huffs out a breath and wraps his fingers around the doorknob. He closes his eyes and counts silently in his head and opens the door.

Dick lays silently in his bed and his chest slowly moving up and down is the only thing that brings Bruce comfort. He sits on the spare chair next to the bed.

He gently rakes through Dick's sweaty and matted hair. Dick grumbles and blinks his eyes open.

"Hey, kiddo," Bruce smiles in greeting.

"Bruce," Dick coughs out weakly. "Took you long enough."

The man holds back a wince as he brushes back a lock of hair.

"I was taking care of other priorities."

Dick shifts his head so Bruce's hand falls flat in the air. Bruce clears his throat and drops it back onto his lap.

"Right," Dick says after a moment of silence. "How's Ivy?"

Bruce fingers the bruises on his knuckles. "Back in Arkham."

Dick looks at Bruce in the eyes and his blues are foggy with fever. "That's not what I asked."

Bruce glances away and he scratches at a scab on a knuckle. "A bloody nose and bruised eye. That's it."

Bruce quickly eases Dick up when he starts to cough heavily.

"She didn't mean to."

"I know."

Bruce still remembers the guilt shining through her eyes as Bruce throws in a final punch.

Bruce sighs and repeats. "I know she didn't."

There's a knock at the door and Alfred enters with a plate of food and medicine.

"Here is your dinner, Master Bruce, and I do expect an empty plate when I return." Alfred turns to Dick. "And your medicine, Master Dick."

Both Dick and Bruce move to argue, but Alfred clears his throat loudly. "I do not want to hear any arguments."

With a pout, Dick swallows the medicine down. Bruce starts to eat, but at least he doesn't pull at the bottom of his lip.

"Master Bruce, I will be at the farmer's market early in the day tomorrow, so I expect you will be fine taking care of Master Dick for a couple of hours."

Dick sniffles loudly and grins lopsidedly. "I'll make sure he won't burn down the house, Alf," he says through half-lidded eyes.

Alfred smiles gently. "Yes, I will put my trust in you." He moves to pull the blanket closer to Dick's chin. "Now rest, Master Dick, sleep is the best cure."

"Now, Master Bruce, there's soup on the stove with instructions on how to reheat it on the fridge. Please, make sure he takes the medicine 30 minutes after he eats."

"Yes, yes Alfred," Bruce rolls his eyes and smiles. "Now, go or you'll get stuck in the morning traffic."

"I should be back within a couple of hours." He puts on his jacket and leaves.

Bruce sets to the kitchen and reads Alfred's instructions. He still manages to slightly burn the soup, but it's better than he could've hoped. He puts the soup on a tray and carefully walks upstairs to Dick's room.

Dick is still snoring gently. Bruce hates to wake him up, especially when he looks so peaceful, but Alfred did give him a rather strict schedule. Bruce places the tray on Dick's nightstand.

"Hey, Dick," Bruce shakes Dick's shoulder. "It's time for breakfast." The young boy groans but blinks awake.

"Here let me check your temperature."

Dick turns his head already used to the procedure.

Bruce puts the thermometer in his ear and takes it out when it beeps. Bruce lets out a sigh of relief. "It looks like your fever is finally going down."

Bruce goes to grab the soup when Dick says, "Bruuuuce, can I please eat it in the study?"

Bruce lets out a grimace and already feels his resolve breaking away. "Dick, I-"

"C'mon, Bruce, you gotta do some work anyway, right? The work which is in the study, rigggght?" Dick furrows his brows and juts out his lower lip. "Pleaaase, Bruce, I've been stuck in my room all week! I'm dying here!"

Dick grins when he hears Bruce sigh. "Alright, fine, but you'll have to finish all of your food then."

"You got it, captain!"

Dick grabs a folder on his other nightstand and a pencil. Bruce grabs the tray and lets Dick go ahead. Bruce carefully watches Dick climb down the stairs and into the study.

Dick plops onto the couch and Bruce sets the tray on his lap.

"Remember to finish all of it."

Both fall into silence as Dick starts to eat and Bruce goes over files for WE.

Dick shows off his clean plate once he finishes. He sets it down on the small coffee table and opens the folder and takes a paper and pencil from the flaps.

"What are you working on?" Bruce asks as he replaces one file with another.

"A calcudoku," Dick answers as he scribbles on his paper.

"A what?"

"It's similar to sudoku, but I have calculations to solve while thinking about what can go in the boxes."

Dick sighs and erases something on the paper and writes something again. He looks over the paper with a furrowed brow. "I think I'm done. Can you check it over?"

Dick folds the paper into an airplane and flings it over to Bruce's desk before the man can answer. Bruce unfolds the paper and starts to check Dick's work.

Bruce tries to hide his smile. He glances back up at Dick. The younger boy had already started on a new sheet. His hair is slightly damp with sweat and his tongue sticks out in concentration. "You have everything right," Bruce says with pride.

Dick grins at the response. Bruce lets out a breath of a laugh.

Dick groans when he hears Bruce's phone alarm ring.

"Please tell me that isn't what I think it means."

Bruce shakes the med bottle with a grim smile.

"Aw, c'mon, B, do I have to take it? I won't tell Alfred if you don't."

"Sorry, chum." Bruce rolls his eyes as he shakes two pills out. "Alfred's rules are law."

Dick's eyes start to shine and his bottom lip quivers.

"Ah, put those eyes away. Those won't work on stuff as important as this."

Dick's expression immediately darkens. "They make me so drowsy," he says with a high whine.

"Dick," Bruce replies with force.

Dick sighs as takes the pills and swallows them down with a gulp of water.

"Thank you. I know it sucks, but you just have to take it for a couple more days."

"I know," Dick softly replies with a tight smile.

The next time Bruce looks back up from his files, Dick is fast asleep. The man smiles as he gets back up once more. Bruce brushes Dick's bangs gently away from his eyes. He cleans the papers back into their folder and makes sure to note to check the rest of the completed sheets.

He groans only slightly when he picks the eleven-year-old. Small arms wrapped around his neck instinctively. Bruce shifts Dick gently making sure his head is cradled safely on his broad shoulders. Bruce winces when Dick moans quietly.

"Go back to sleep, chum," Bruce whispers over his shoulder. "I'm just taking you to your room."

"I can walk on my own." But Dick makes no move to slide off Bruce's back.

Bruce huffs out a laugh. "Sure, kiddo."

"You're lucky you're comfortable."

Bruce laughs again while shaking his head.

Bruce quietly climbs up to Dick's room. He tucks the blanket around his shoulders.

Bruce goes to leave but a small hand quickly wraps around his wrist.

"It's not your fault, B," a small voice croaks out.

Bruce freezes and doesn't turn around. The hand around his wrist feels so small. Bruce still remembers clasping it tightly while Dick lay unconscious in bed. "You were unconscious for two days," Bruce chokes out between gritted teeth. He still feels the fevered hands and hears the labored breathing.

Dick takes a breath as if he’s the one who’s looking for patience. "I'm getting better now. I have my appetite and everything."

Bruce finally turns around and says exasperatedly, "Dick!"

"Bruce," Dick replies in the same tone. His eyes, still foggy from sickness, somehow shine clear. "I'm fine." The young boy glances down at the wooden floor, all of a sudden shy, and glances back up at Bruce. "Just stay with me, okay?"

"Okay."

Bruce sits at the cushioned seat near Dick's bed.

"I still don't think it's your fault."

Bruce doesn't reply this time because how is going to explain to this young boy that it's on Bruce's shoulders to make sure nothing ever harms Dick? That if something does, Bruce isn't sure if he can handle it.

A book lands on Bruce's lap, breaking him out of his turmoiling thoughts.

Bruce picks it up and smooths the cover.

"Is this the French version of Robin Hood?"

Dick nods and answers with a shrug, "I wanted to learn a new language. Read it out loud to me. It'll be good oral practice."

Bruce opens to where a page is dog-eared. He is pretty sure that he is completely butchering the language and stumbles on one too many words, and Bruce is positive that once Dick gets better he's totally going to make fun of him, but Bruce doesn't really mind. Bruce continues to read softly even after he hears quiet snoring because he knows if he stops Dick is going to wake up and demand Bruce to continue.

Alfred comes home and the first thing he does is to check on his two charges. He opens the door in a way he knows it isn't going to squeak. The old man smiles when he finds both of them fast asleep.

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

Ocean Eyes, Golden Mind

Fandom: All For The Game (Nora Sakavic)

Pairing: Neil/Andrew

Tags: #math nerd neil, #neil with glasses, #no exy

Summary: In which Neil hates his new prescribed glasses until they attract the interest of a certain Andrew Minyard.

Commissioner: Ziegenkind

Notes: Title taken from Billie Eilish’s ‘Ocean Eyes.’

Ocean Eyes, Golden Mind

Dude, it’s just a frat party. Who doesn’t go to frat parties?

The message flashes Neil’s screen white, its sender none other than his roommate Nicky who is supposed to study for an upcoming test in Public Policy in exactly nineteen hours. That’s what Neil writes him. Nicky’s reply comes instantly.

Those who study tend not to party. You know. Like you.

Neil leaves him on read. If he wants to party, he’ll lock himself inside his room, two bottles of Jack Daniel’s by his side while watching every existing compilation of cats attacking people on the small screen of his phone. He knows how to have a good time, alright. Not everyone has to set their scale like Nicky: More than once Neil has been the spectator of him coming back to the dormitory completely wasted, but still eager enough to get frozen waffles from the fridge. Being too drunk to put them in the toaster, he usually just climbs up to his top bunk and puts them between his thighs to eat them partially defrosted. It’s this fragile line between genius and stupidity that has Neil doubting if he should fill in a request for changing roommates or just live with the fact that Nicky Hemmick is one special kind of man.

So instead of spending his night curled into himself, wall against his back and eyes on every stranger distributing awful shots, Neil sits at the Math Tutoring Centre on the west side of the campus and gives group tutoring sessions.

Math comes to Neil like breathing. Like Bertrand Russel said, not only does Mathematics possess truth, but supreme beauty—a beauty cold and austere, like that of a sculpture. It is sublimely pure, and capable of a stern perfection such as only the greatest art can show. It is poetry—elegant and deep—of logical ideas to create harmony in a written line. Once he tried to explain that to Nicky over microwaved Mac n Cheese with Girls running in the background, clearly overestimating him, because Nicky only stared into space for a few seconds, and replied, “You really need to get laid, man.”

Reluctant at the beginning, Neil only agreed to join the Tutor Program because his math professor promised to throw in some extra cash. Something about raising the graduate numbers in order to get the board of education off his back. That’s where Neil’s jurisdiction of interest ends, but he has enjoyed it more than expected—the empty hallways, the harsh light of the ceiling lamps, the smell of chalk, the faint echoes of students still lingering in classrooms. There’s this magic about the Palmetto State University at night—a vulnerability that can only live once the sun sets behind the horizon. When else would he find a kid sleeping under a table in the library, or seniors breaking down in tears for exact 10 minutes before continuing their studies as if nothing has happened.

There’s another reason he’d rather spend his evening on campus, one Nicky doesn’t need to know because then Neil won’t hear the end of it. That reason being 5’0’’ tall chemistry prodigy Andrew Minyard, sitting in the last row of Neil’s math sessions each Friday. He only knows about him thanks to Nicky’s never-ending complaints, but that never really stopped him from throwing a few or more glances in Andrew’s direction. Just curiosity, of course.

So when he stands in front of the blackboard now, putting away his lesson papers which are full of numbers and equations—the kind that has enough letters to look like sentences—he feels dozens eyes burn holes in the back of his neck, and one pair belongs to Andrew. No one asks why he’s here, but everyone knows he doesn’t need to be.

In his one year of giving tutoring sessions, Neil has learnt that exactly three types of students exist: Students who are really good, certainly not in need of the extra lessons, but going anyway for some extra ego-buff and unnecessary brain-flexing. The second type is students who are okay, doing their tasks, following the lesson, not really attracting any attention safe for some crude jokes. The last type has Neil questioning his belief in the educational system of the whole state because he doesn’t understand how they are allowed inside the sacred halls of PSU.

Andrew is a special type on his own—the enigma that keeps Neil awake at two in the morning because he’s desperate to solve it, but without knowing where to start, he’s just running in circles. His fingers itch to solve an equation with multiple variables, to find the solution to a problem and get it off his mind.

He doubts it will be this easy with Andrew.

“Before we continue to look at scalar products in R- and C-vector spaces, we’ll consider bilinear and semi-bilinear forms in general, and link them to matrices for their representation to chosen bases.” Neil’s hand flies across the board, leaving letters and parenthesizes that look like bizarre drawings—art in its most complex form. Once he’s finished, he takes a step away, wipes the chalk on his fingers off on his jeans, and turns to his audience. “What happens to this equation with the semi-bilinear form σ?”

Two hands shoot up immediately. He ignores them; no need to feed their ego, and instead picks a freshman who’s been staring at his phone for the last ten minutes. Making way, Neil moves back to the student’s seats and leans against a desk.

Is it the farthest place away from the board? It is.

Is it the closest that will get him to Andrew? Might be so.

It certainly gives him a good look at what Andrew’s been doing since Neil started—and that is not solving a single task on the paper Neil has handed out at the beginning of the session. Andrew, apparently bored before it even started, has taken out a slip of paper with a sudoku puzzle on it and is solving it against his leg, completely linked out of the instruction.

Neil tries not to stare too much at Andrew’s bare arms, and instead looks back at the board.

“Does that look right?” the freshman—Rhys or Rheeze or something like that—asks, turning around.

Neil narrows his eyes and squints at the board. He can’t make out a single thing, and that’s bad, yes, but his feet betray him, staying rooted where they are instead of reducing the distance until he can distinguish σ from a.

“Where does the l come from,” he asks. Multiple heads snap in his direction.

“That’s a j, Josten,” someone says from the other side of the room.

Neil squints harder. “And the u?”

“A μ.”

“No, it’s a v,” a girl next to Neil says, and that’s when the everyone starts shouting about what’s on the board and what isn’t.

Neil bears it for a solid minute before he surrenders. He pulls a small case from his pocket, opens it. Puts his glasses on.

The whole room goes silent.

Neil checks the equation, nods. “Correct. Who’s next?”

Multiple people stir, one manages to get up, and walks straight into a table leg. Neil questions that ‘straight’, because only then the freshman guy stops staring at Neil and steers his attention to the equation on the blackboard.

It was a bad idea, and Neil still hates Allison for forcing him to go. She’d dragged him to the doctor last week to get his eyes tested, annoyed by his never-ending questions of ‘What’s written there?’ or ‘Is that a six or an eight?’.

“They’re my eyes,” Neil had said, arms crossed as he sat in the office and waited for his turn.

“And it’s me who has to see your ugly squinting face,” Allison had replied.

Two hours later Neil had finally his prescriptions but that didn’t mean he was free from Allison’s clutches. He would have been fine with some glasses from the dollar store, but she insisted that if he’s going to wear them more than once a day, he should get designer glasses—thin frames and a color that matches his copper hair. She suggested gold. Neil picked black. The look of disappointment on Allison’s face was something that deserved its own painting to commemorate it. But once they’d finally chosen the right pair, she’d given him the very same look most of the students are giving him now—a mix between slight awe and disbelief as if he’s grown a second head. Or owes them all a month’s worth of lunch money.

“Well,” had Allison said at least, turning away to pack up and go home. “Tigers have their stripes. I have my eyeliner.” She threw him another scrutinizing look over her shoulder. “You have your glasses.” If it was supposed to make him feel better, it didn’t work, and right now he regrets nothing more than allowing Allison to drag him around.

Neil’s eyes land on Andrew’s sudoku puzzle, now half-hidden under his papers, and he sees now that he isn’t even solving the thing, but simply coloring in the empty squares.

He takes a second too long and meets Andrew’s eyes staring back at him.

“Problem, Josten?” Andrew asks with a blank expression, tapping the end of his pen against his monochrome picture of black and white squares.

Neil wants to see how far he can push until he walks against a brick wall and breaks something. He returns his gaze to the board but feels Andrew’s eyes like a solid touch on the back of his neck.

After the session, the students hurry outside, still throwing curious glances over their shoulders at Neil and if he could merge with the back of his chair and disappear forever, that would be totally okay. It isn’t until a shadow looms above him that he looks up from his own homework and draws in a careful breath when Andrew towers above him.

Neil raises an eyebrow. “Problem, Minyard?”

Andrew’s face gives nothing away, and when he stretches out a hand, Neil doesn’t flinch. His glasses slip off easily, held between Andrew’s thumb and index finger.

“Nicky told me he’s trying to convince you to join him tomorrow,” Andrew says. Neil needs a second, because that is the most words he’s heard out of Andrew’s mouth.

“I have no reason to go,” Neil says, his eyes jumping up and down, from the equation that makes his sight blur to Andrew leaning his slender waist against the table.

“You have one now.” It’s barely neutral enough to not sound like a threat, but Neil stares at Andrew nonetheless, and when he puts Neil’s glasses on, Neil’s heart does a weird stutter. He’s still starring at Andrew when he leaves the room, and no, his eyes don’t stray, they stay on Andrew’s broad back, and if they dip lower it’s because of the light.

Once he’s alone, Neil takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. Puts his head in his arms and counts to ten in French first, then again in German. His heart still does this weird thing, trying to bruise his ribs from the inside.

He gets his phone, texts Nicky he’ll go to the frat party tomorrow and puts it away, not interested in his roommate’s reply. There’s still the equation he needs to solve, but for the first time Neil’s heart isn’t really into math, and he is quite alright with it.

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #aftg #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #all for the game #andrew x neil #neil x andrew #andrew/neil #neil/andrew

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notanacousticsetcal · 3 years

Note

hi! I was wondering if you could write #'s 9 & 23 with Calum? thanks! 😊

a/n - i love this combination! thank you for the request, i hope i did it justice. the setting is loosely inspired by safe haven because i adore that movie so much and i thought it would be a cute location for this story. anyway, enjoy :)

prompt(s) - “not that i’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” & “don’t look at me like that.”

The diner buzzed with life as the typical early birds swung in and out, ordering their usuals and updating you on their grandkids and the stray cats they’d been feeding. The Sharpie smell stung your nose and you looked up from rinsing mugs to see Red working on his daily Sudoku. “How’s it coming, Red?”

He glanced up, scratching at his scruffy beard and pushing up his glasses. He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll solve ‘em one of these days, (y/n), you just wait and see.”

“Hey now,” your hands raised defensively, “I haven’t lost faith.”

Red muttered under his breath, “yeah, yeah,” and his concentration fell back to the newspaper in front of him.

The bell jingled and you watched a few new faces stumble through the wooden green door, letting in a gust of salty ocean air in their wake. You put on your work smile and waved at them. “Hey, there! How can I help you guys?”

You were almost at the lunch rush, the most dreaded time of day. You watched the old white clock above the stove tick towards 12 and huffed. Only a few more hours and you’d be home free to cuddle with your cats or read on the beach. Maybe Calum would want to come.

While you were lost in your thoughts, a family walked through the door. You sped over to meet them, greeting them with a bright smile and positive attitude.

They followed you to the table in the corner up against the window. You quickly took their drink orders and left them menus before hurrying away to help the two new families that had arrived in that short minute. Within half an hour, the previously empty restaurant was at its full capacity, littered with families, senior citizens, teenagers and the homeless man, Corey, who you served lunch everyday. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you raced around tending to all the needy customers and trying your best not to snap at your boss who was yapping orders into your ear like you hadn’t been working there for a year already.

In the midst of the chaos, a certain brunette boy entered the restaurant under your radar and seated himself at the bar, waiting patiently for you to notice him. He watched as you put on that dimply, bright smile of yours and caught up with your favorite usuals. He admired you as you retied your apron around your waist and blew whispys out of your eyes. He practically drooled when you bit your lip in concentration and when you scrunched your nose while you laughed at something a little girl had said.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you spotted Calum. With an annoyed heave and a dramatic eye roll, you made your way across the restaurant and practically threw a menu at Calum. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” You looked at him expectantly, impatiently tapping your fingers on the counter. Calum just looked amused. “Happy to see you too. Just thought I’d come visit my favorite employee while she worked.”

You groaned. “Cal, I love you to death, but now's really not a good time to pester me at work. If you couldn’t tell, I’m kinda swamped. I have to pour 7 orange juices, grab 3 ice pitchers, table 8 needs a new fork, table 3 needs some more napkins, and I have 12 orders to bring out. So if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get back to it.” You gave his shoulder some passive aggressive pats and turned on your heel, heading for the kitchen.

Cal smiled as he watched you leave. You were the hardest working person he knew and he adored that about you. He also tried his very hardest not to stare at your ass as you walked away.

Calum sipped on a vanilla milkshake, helping Red with his Sudoku and picking at your coworker Jenny’s leftover fries as he waited for you to get off. He watched you scribble down orders and make vacationers in sunny little Waylon Beach feel welcome but he never got bored. You were enough to entertain him for hours.

Good old Red was appreciative of Calum’s help, but they still couldn’t finish the damn thing. So Red gave Calum a few strong pats on the back, almost knocking Calum off of his barstool, and ruffled the man’s hair, telling him “tomorrows a new day, son” and walking off whistling a tune Calum had never heard.

Calum watched as the commotion died down around 3 and your shift finally ended. You tossed your apron over a nearby chair and plopped down next to Calum, laying your head on his shoulder. You couldn’t tell but Calum’s heart rate picked up. “You seem pretty beat. Need a ride home? Ash let me take his car into town today.” Calum’s arm reached up around you and settled on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

You hummed softly. “I’m starving, though. Do you think we could get something to eat first?” You looked up at him with those big doe eyes and he felt himself melting beneath them.

“If nothing here sounds good, what were you thinking?” Calum watched you put on that adorable thinking face. His hand itched to reach out and stroke your cheek.

A smile suddenly broke out on your face, one that looked mischievous. Calum groaned because he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Aw, come on, not Joey’s! You know I threw up last time we ate there!”

You picked your head up off his shoulder and laughed. “Maybe don’t order sushi at a burger place, dummy.” Calum couldn’t help but smile as you laughed at his misfortune.

“There’s no way I’m going back there. I was afraid I was gonna vomit up an internal organ.” You laughed again, throwing your head back. You were wearing the kind of smile that made the sun shine a little brighter.

“Come on, Cal.” You rested your chin on his shoulder, dangerously close to Calum’s face. Your eyes sparkled in the fluorescent overhead lights and Calum found himself getting lost in them. “For me?” Your bottom lip stuck out and Calum sighed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he begged, but your expression didn’t waver. Calum groaned and leaned forward, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Fine. But if I get sick again, it's on you. You owe me free pie for life.”

You laughed and stuck out your pinky. “Deal.”

Calum reached out his pinky too, thinking you were too cute for your own good.

You both stood up and you waved a quick goodbye to your coworkers, stepping out into the warm summer breeze and listening to the inviting chirps of the seagulls. Yeah, Waylon Beach was a small dead end town in South Carolina, but it was home to you and Calum.

You reached out and grabbed Calum’s hand, tugging him behind you down the street and Calum just watched you go on about the amazing burger you were gonna eat, wondering if he would ever gather up the nerve to tell you how he truly felt.

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liveshaunted-moved · 3 years

Text

headcanon dump; leo valdez

leo ran away a few halloween’s because it was easy to escape with kids all around.

leo has a fear of his power, of his fire

after his mother died, he never truly felt like he ever had a family as his aunts and cousins rejected him - going so far as to call him the devil. and then leo was put into the foster system, and going from home to home, never feeling himself at home or feeling like he fitted in any of the places.

then, wilderness happened, and he actually started to feel at place somewhere. and that was only because of piper. piper was the first true person to him that made him feel like he belonged somewhere, and slowly he remembers this. it wasn’t camp that made him feel at home first - but piper. anywhere with her - and he knows he has a family.

though, camp half blood and his siblings, they did make him feel like he had a family too. and it is a family he doesn’t want to push away.

leo already has a fear of fire right, of his own powers due to what they did to his mother, what gaia had goad him into doing, so he would fear it and not use it. and then slowly, with his friends, he starts to accept the powers and slowly not fear them as much but always having that under lying fear.

but, as i’ve heard, bc your girl is slow and has not read that part yet, leo dies in an explosion, one made up of a lot of fire, enough fire to actually kill him, the one person immune to fire. and when he comes back, this fear is back and in full swing, but now

since he has more control over the powers, he doesn’t use it anymore. he stays away from the campfire because he can’t stand to be around fire anymore then he needs too. it’s not easy for people to notice, but, those close to leo, they do notice this that he isn’t using his fire powers anymore, that he’s taking as much time away from the campfire as possible. that he flinches every time you tell him he has set a bit of himself on fire.

facts are, leo would hide or deny a crush. you could be like ‘do you have a crush on *insert name*?’ and he be like, cheeks heating up and like ‘what? no! why would i not like he’s cute or anything!’

leo is the best at sudoku’s. numbers really are is thing

leo was learning to control his fire, his powers - but gaia, knowing that he was a part of her downfall, made sure he would be afraid of his powers and that they can do. and she did that the best way you can, she got him to use them which then played a part in his own mother’s death. because if he is afraid of them, he will be less likely to use them against her

i feel like the gods let leo rescue calypso. they had been lacking on that promise they made to percy. it saved them from actually going and doing it themselves, if they let a demigod do it, even though, they had much more easy access to it. and also because leo swore he would save her from the island.

MY LEO for any kind of romantic relationship with calypso would STILL HAVE TO BE BUILT. i know, both characters tend to fall in love easy, but leo would have a hard time truly accepting it. it would take a while. and it’s best to start of as friends anyway.

building the agro 2 acutally brought a lot of stress within leo, he would stay up late into the night making it. forget to eat, would forget about meetings he had to attend as the head of cabin 9. because he HAD to build the argo, otherwise, the world will fall, and he, would be the reason, because the ship wasn’t ready. there are so many bits and pieces in the argo because, ideas kept going into his head, to make the demigods feel safer, or more at home - that, he added them, delaying the finished project.

the amount of time he spent on the ship, is why he is over protective of the ship, he had spent all these months working on this ship. it took up all of his focus. and when he would be away from the ship, his mind would always be on the ship and how it needs to be done.

leo knows the ship inside and out. the only times in which he will forget to do something concerning the ship, is when something dangerous has happened, and his body is trying to shake off the adrenaline.

leo, physically can not stay still. sitting still doesn’t work for him, his hand would be moving, drawing or making something. leg might bounce.

in school, leo was in some of the higher maths classes, and that was the only class besides work shop, that was keeping him within schools, or why schools would still accept him. hes been through so many high schools, not just due to being kicked out, but also due to running away.

he jokes around a lot, because it will always be better then feeling sad. but, there are times, where his guilt is too much for him, and he will through himself into a project. forgetting about the outside world.

leo absolutely refuses to let go of his spanish and morse code. they’re two things that connect him to his mother, besides their love for making things. spanish because it came naturally to them both, he was raised in a spanish / english speaking household until the day she died. and because morse code was like their own special secret language. he would always do what he could to learn more spanish so he wouldn’t loose it because he lost most contact with others speaking spanish in his life when he was eight years old. he would often talk to himself in all the spanish he knew. he would take spanish classes when he could in schools that and maths were the only classes he actively paid attention in

leo can’t read for shit. but numbers he excels at. words get very jumbled in his mind, but numbers are like a god send. they flow so easily through his mind.

leo had one good foster family, that were extremely nice. it was the one he lasted the longest in, but. he ran away a few times from them because it was just… too much for him. they were so kind and were actually talking about adopting him, but when leo ran away again, they gave up, and let him go. he was 12/13 when he was in this home.

honestly leo wouldn’t admit it, but he’d tear up whenever anyone would drap a blanket over him, or made things so he was comfortable if he had fallen asleep while being too busy working. why? because it means that someone does care about him. that he isn’t the outcast, the lose piece, the unneeded part. because it reminds him of when he would fall asleep and his mother would put him to bed, or make him comfortable if he fell asleep while watching her work.

leo is both a heavy sleeper, and a light sleeper. it’s all a matter of; what is going on, how much sleep he has had, the time of the day. an example is the longer he goes without sleep, the more likely he is harder to wake up, but if he’s been hyper aware of something ( maybe a deadline approaching ), he might wake up to the sound of a cough.

not feeling safe or comfortable in a place, makes leo’s need to make something / fidget grow. and this is ultimately played a part in his running away. not just the staying in place, not just the feeling of not truly being wanted, the feeling like a spare part. all of these, came together and he just couldn’t stand the home anymore.

the worst one was, the one with Teressa.

#humour to mask all that pain and fear ; it’s time to stop running ( leo canons )#we're standing on the edge of queue #abuse tw #long post tw

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years

Text

young god | chapter 7

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.5k

warnings: mentions of mental disorders, foul language, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of alcohol

description: from jisung’s psychoanalysis to the crime investigation, nothing seems to be adding up. jisung and hyunjin have an unpleasant first encounter, and a conversation with hyunjin’s grandmother leaves you with more questions than answers. hwang hyunjin wanders the streets like a ghost, and the police are hot on jisung’s trail.

watch the trailer here!

07| seeing ghosts

You unlocked the door to your apartment and stepped in, the space as dark and cool as a tomb.

You made a beeline for your room and chucked your bag onto the desk, rummaging through your closet for a comfortable hoodie. With a relieved sigh, you flicked on your table lamp and let the warm glow soften the darkness. The sun had gone down during your walk home, the busy sounds of the city hushed by the chirping of crickets and the rustle of the evening breeze. Jisung had held your hand the whole time -- two or three of his fingers gently hooked around yours and lightly swinging back and forth as you walked.

He had waved you goodbye from the stairwell -- heart-shaped smile and all -- but even as you propped open your laptop and shuffled through your notes, the feeling of his fingers lingered on your skin. You felt the blood rush to your face as Jisung’s voice -- soft and achingly vulnerable -- echoed in your ears.

Promise...you’ll never leave me?

You slammed your notebook down with unnecessary force, violently shaking your head as if trying to fling the thoughts away. Damn it, y/n. Focus! The notes you had scribbled looked as if they were falling off the lines of the paper. With a deep breath and a light slap to your own cheek, you began typing them up.

Patient: Han Jisung

Age: 20

Memories and short bits of dialogue flashed in your mind as you read over the papers.

Session One.

Patient has undergone mandatory psychological evaluations in the past, in educational institutions.

Mentions racing thoughts, rapid heartbeat, and possibly palpitations when in the presence of the therapist. **(May simply be conversational and therefore unreliable).

Suffering from nightmares as of late; sleep problems. Appears uneasy when speaking about said problems.

End of session.

You frowned. Straightforward enough. Slightly strange, if read out of context -- but nothing that stuck out in particular. Biting your lip and shrugging, you flipped to the notes from today.

Session Two.

Questions were focused on family and childhood. Patient looked

Your fingers stalled on the keyboard, Jisung’s expression from earlier flooding your memory. How his eyes had widened like a deer in headlights’ when you’d asked about his family. And -- had you been imagining it? -- they way his voice had wavered when he finally answered. Frowning, you shook your head -- no, no. You were probably just overanalyzing things, right?

Still, you found yourself typing out the one detail that had always been nagging at the back of your mind --

Patient looks upset at any mentions of family and childhood

At this, you hesitated again. You had barely known the boy for two weeks. There were things that Jisung wasn’t telling you about his childhood, that was for sure -- but wasn’t it normal not to know everything about each other yet? And it’s not like Jisung comes from a broken family or something, you thought. After all, he did say that his mother loved --

You froze.

Slowly, as if like a ghost was whispering in your ear, you felt an icy cold chill trickle down your spine, Jisung’s hollow voice echoing in your mind.

“My mother...like I said, she loved unconditionally. Patient, nurturing, kind...everything, well, you could ever want from a mother.”

Loved?

Past tense?

Your hand shot for your notebook and you practically ripped through the pages, looking for any other quotes you had written down.

“I don’t think my family was like everyone else’s.”

“My mother’s eyes were always so...loving and caring.”

Your eyes widened, a horrible sinking feeling in your gut.

“It sounds like your mother loves you a lot, then, huh? That’s so cute.”

“Y-yeah, she did.”

“Your father?”

“I wasn’t close with him. He was never...never around, so…”

What the hell had happened to Jisung’s parents?

You barely suppressed the urge to bang your head against the table. Am I stupid? How had you not noticed what he’d been saying? What else had you glazed over and swept to the back of your mind?

You reached into your bag and pulled out your textbook, mumbling under your breath as you scanned the glossary. Mood swings. Nightmares. Anxiety. You’d read about this combination of symptoms before, hadn’t you? Sure enough, your fingers landed on the page you had been searching for.

POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER

The words glared coldly back at you as you read aloud, “Patients who suffer from PTSD are those who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event in the past. Any mentions or reminders of this event can trigger the patient and send them into a distressed state. Symptoms include…” you felt a lump in your throat and swallowed thickly. “Nightmares, inability to concentrate, and an exaggerated startle response at any mention of the traumatic event.”

Your thoughts immediately wandered to Jisung’s sudden flashes between moods -- his bright, blinding smiles, easily swept away by the cold, stormy look in his eyes. How he sometimes seemed so far away, expression glazed and unfocused. And now, with what he had mentioned about his family…

Jotting this down with an increasingly uneasy feeling in your gut, you continued flipping through the textbook, skimming through familiar case studies and theories. Words leapt out at you from the pages and made your stomach turn: Abusive childhood. Case study: Jeffrey Dahmer. Psychopathy. Case study: Ted Bundy.

You held your head, groaning, and slammed the textbook shut. Were you really looking at serial killer cases to compare your boyfriend with right now? If Jisung could see you, he’d probably think you were being intrusive and paranoid -- trying to diagnose someone just because a couple of symptoms matched up. You’d been lectured in class over and over again that it wasn’t your job to speculate and form baseless assumptions -- rather, that was exactly what made an irrational therapist, but...it almost felt like you were trapped neck-deep in quicksand. The more you tried to stop thinking about the secrets Han Jisung seemed to be hiding behind his dark eyes, the deeper you found yourself sinking.

It was nearly midnight by the time you finished the outline of your report, cicadas languidly chirping outside your window as you leaned back in your chair and yawned. In the end, you had included a bit of everything -- from the most harmless theories to the darkest case studies. Skimming over your notes warily, you shut your laptop and rolled into bed, completely drained. Speculations. That’s all they were -- it couldn’t hurt to write down all the possibilities, right?

You shook your head before finally drifting off to sleep, a relaxed smile on your face.

What were the chances that Jisung was hiding anything serious, anyways?

────────

Bang Chan threw another shot of espresso down his throat, not tearing his eyes from his papers. His fingers were vibrating slightly from the amount of caffeine coursing through his veins, and he swore he could feel his heartbeat all the way to his toes -- but frankly, he couldn’t care less.

He’d received the crime scene files an hour earlier -- sketches, photographs, coroner’s report, witness statements. He’d spent the better part of the night arranging and rearranging them like a madman doing a Sudoku puzzle. Everything was fanned out now, his desk looking like a filing cabinet had exploded all over it. Cold cases, his own theories, even research he’d done on the side…

And yet not a single damn thing was adding up.

Every lead Chan had gotten had steered him into nothing but dead ends. He’d never seen anything like it -- the same type of killings, occurring within the walls of what was supposed to be the safest school in the country. They had occurred at irregular intervals at first -- a handful in one month, followed by a four month period of uneasy quiet before the killer had struck again. He could count the cases off of his fingers by now; Chan had read them so many times, raking through the files for even the slightest of clues.

First, it had been an arson in one of the health sciences laboratories -- one male student pronounced dead at the scene, ghastly chemical burns having melted away most of his facial features.

Then there was the body found hanging from the rooftop of one of the dorms, skull practically crushed from blunt force trauma.

The list went on and on, small details linking what had otherwise seemed like a spattering of anonymous murders. The killer was a pyromaniac, for sure -- more than half of the deaths were fire-related -- and might as well have been related to the Hulk or something, because the rest of the victims had been killed -- seemingly -- by bare hands.

Even Minho seemed reluctant to answer his questions, and Chan couldn’t blame him -- the sheer lack of evidence found at each crime scene was embarrassing. He could hear the coroner’s exasperated voice in his head:

“No fingerprints -- the killer probably wore gloves. No murder weapon, so no DNA to sample off of, either. Heck, there isn’t even that much blood spattering to analyze, Detective.”

That ruled out the usual causes of murders taking place in Miroh Heights -- drunkards who took a bar fight too far, crimes of passion, domestic violence. No, Chan shook his head, his brain feeling like mush slopping around in his skull and making him wince. They were dealing with someone much, much more complex.

Chan had a fistful of blond hair in one hand and a cup of nearly-empty coffee in the other. What was this killer’s M.O.? Serial killers almost always had a motive, and their victims usually had some things in common. Chan flipped through the victims’ profiles, gears in his head beginning to turn again despite his drooping eyes.

Na Jangmin, Victim #1. Cause of death: Smoke inhalation and respiratory burns. Chan remembered interviewing his classmates, and being surprised at how indifferent they had been about the supposed tragedy.

“He never saw us as his classmates, you know. He’d pick on the first-years like fresh meat. They say half of the new med students dropped out because of him.”

Interesting. He flipped to the next file, tapping his pen against his lip.

Park Beomsoo, Victim #2. Cause of death: cervical fracture and asphyxiation from hanging. Found nearly decapitated and swinging from the rooftop balcony of a dorm building. What had been interesting about this case, however, was the sheer amount of date rape drugs found in the man’s system during the autopsy.

“Rohypnol, mostly,” Minho had informed him. “Along with traces of GHB -- enough to cause brain damage for life. The man was likely already knocked out for good by the time he was hanged.”

This had been baffling until Chan had investigated further, and found out about the man’s reputation.

“He’d slip pills into girls’ drinks at the club,” one of his friends had told Chan, “and was proud of it, too. All he’d brag about was how many half-conscious girls he’s taken advantage of.”

Chan exhaled with a low whistle. That couldn’t be a coincidence -- the killer had to have known about Park’s disgusting habits. So the victims did have something in common -- although it wasn’t like any case he’d ever seen before.

None of the victims had been, per se, good people. They were, interestingly -- and revoltingly -- enough, monsters of another kind. They were people who wouldn’t be missed, simply because they were hated so much already.

Huh. A killer targeting killers. Interesting. But how? And why? Did the killer have some sort of fucked-up sense of justice?

He tapped his fingers anxiously. All his hopes lay on the evidence they had collected from the Yellow Wood attacks -- but the crime lab had yet to hand it over to his team. He grimaced at the memory of the body, whose head had caved in completely and rendered the victim practically unrecognisable. How could there not be a single trace of incriminating DNA from something so...brutal? And then there was Yang Jeongin, who, as far as he knew, was still in critical condition at the hospital. If only he would wake up, maybe Chan would finally get a lead…

Chan didn’t even notice the sun beginning to rise outside of his window until the first ray of morning light pricked at his eyes, making him blink in disoriented confusion. His burning pupils flickered to the clock. 6:25 A.M. Damn it.

He kicked his chair back and threw on a wrinkled suit jacket, stuffing all his notes into his briefcase before promptly stepping out of his office. Work never ended for Detective Bang.

Chan glimpsed his reflection in the shop windows as he made his way back onto Miroh Heights’ campus, running his hands through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame his bedhead (was it even a bedhead if he hadn’t touched a bed in 48 hours?). His eyes caught the familiar storefront of Glow Cafe and he immediately steered himself towards it. Wouldn’t hurt to grab himself a fresh cup of coffee, and maybe he could look at the crime scene again with fresh eyes.

The barista -- Hyunjin, was it? -- was scrawling something on the chalkboard sign propped outside, stumbling to his feet and brushing the chalk dust off his hands when he saw Chan approaching.

“All right, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin gave a small smile that looked more like a grimace, his tired eyes wandering behind Chan. The detective didn’t have to turn to know he was staring at the spot Jeongin had been found -- the barista looked like he was seeing ghosts. Chan took a deep breath before plastering a reassuring smile on his face, throwing an arm around the younger boy’s hunched shoulders and steering him into his cafe.

“I’m gonna need you to make me a cold drip, kid, because I feel like dea--” he caught himself, clearing his throat awkwardly. No death. No death. “Like shit. I’m feeling like shit.”

But Hyunjin didn’t even seem to hear him, wordlessly making his way behind the counter and starting the coffee machine.

Chan watched him and sighed, pulling out a chair and collapsing over a table. Seconds later, the diner door swung open, the windchimes ringing brightly as two familiar faces walked in.

“Good morning, Chan. How’s--bloody hell, you look like death.” Woojin’s eyebrows shot up when he joined Chan at the table, looking the sleep-deprived detective up and down. Behind him was Han Jisung, backpack slung over his shoulder.

Chan grimaced and checked his reflection in one of the empty glasses. Sure enough, his eyes were puffy and ringed with layer upon layer of dark circles, and his mop of dandelion hair was at the point of no return. “To hell with it. What brings you two here this early in the morning?”

Jisung and Woojin exchanged a look before Jisung spoke up, grinning his usual sheepish grin. “I set my alarm way too early and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went out for a morning walk. We bumped into each other, and were both in need of some coffee.”

Woojin nodded, pulling out a chair for the younger student. “I take it you’re here for the same reason, Detective?”

Chan grinned. “Guilty as charged, Captain. How--”

A sudden crash rang through the empty cafe, cutting him off. All three heads snapped up to see Hyunjin standing over a broken pot of coffee, glass shards splaying all over the floor tiles and the dark, bitter liquid seeping into the crevices.

Chan jumped to his feet, holding his hands out. “Hey, you okay? Don’t move, I’ll get a mop. Uh, where do you keep your mops?” The detective’s voice trailed off when his eyes landed on Hyunjin’s face. The barista’s hands were still frozen in place, but his eyes were livid and staring straight at Han Jisung.

“Why the hell are you here?” Hyunjin was speaking through gritted teeth.

Jisung blinked. “Is...is it too early? Sorry, dude, I can leave if--”

“Why are you always interfering with the investigation? You were at the crime scene for no particular reason, and now you’re here again.” Hyunjin’s voice was getting louder and louder. “It’s pretty damn suspicious if you ask me--”

“You seem to be more of an interference than me,” Jisung replied, standing up abruptly. All childlike humour had vanished from his expression. “Rushing the investigation, hanging around the crime scenes despite not having an ounce of experience.”

“My friend is in the hospital, and nobody fucking knows why--”

“Jisung!”

All four men turned towards the direction of the voice, and saw you waving cheerfully through the window. Unbeknownst to the situation, you pushed open the glass doors and ran up to a bewildered Jisung, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “What brings you here?” You turned to Hyunjin. “Hey, ‘jinnie, I just thought I’d come early today, since I’ve been arriving late for the last couple of shifts. You know Jisung? He’s the blind date!”

You smiled at Chan and Woojin, who both nodded back but seemed at a loss for words, their gazes flickering between the two boys and you. Hyunjin’s face of confused shock mirrored Jisung’s, words finally spilling out of both boys’ mouths at the exact same time.

“This is your boyfriend?” “This is your friend?”

You blinked, taken aback at their raised voices. “I--yes? B-but--”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes at Jisung. “So you’re the one y/n’s been talking nonstop about? Is this a joke?”

Your stared at him. “Hyunjin!” Your eyes fell on the shattered coffeepot at his feet and you yelped. “Holy frick, what happened? Hold on, I’ll get th--”

You were interrupted by Jisung shoving his chair aside with a loud bang. His expression wasn’t exactly angry, but you could see his fists and jaw were clenched so tightly they were shaking violently. “Fine. I’ll get going, then.” He looked to you, sighing. “See you later.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Hyunjin cut you off. “No, you won’t.”

Giving Hyunjin one last long, wordless look, Jisung strode out of Glow Cafe.

When he had gone, you turned on Hyunjin, fuming. “Hwang Hyunjin, what the fuck--”

“Do you really have to date him? Him?” Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Why on earth are you so worked up about who I date?”

“The guy’s suspicious as hell, y/n! I have a bad feeling about him. And I don’t fucking like it.”

You sighed, reaching behind the counter for a dustpan and rag. Woojin took them from your hands and handed the rag to Chan to clean the spill, and you turned back towards Hyunjin. “Look, I know you’ve been shaken up lately. We’re all on edge, Hyunjin. Lashing out isn’t going to help.” You rubbed his back gently, and, despite his expression softening slightly, his brow remained furrowed. Exhaling slowly, you tried to change the subject. “Is your grandma awake? We should make sure she takes her medicine.”

After making Chan and Woojin a new pot of coffee, you and Hyunjin headed upstairs to the studio apartment where him and his grandmother lived. Here, the walls were made of old red brick, foggy panelled windows letting in weak strains of sunlight. Still, Hyunjin insisted it was cozy, the wooden frame bed his legs were too long for shoved against the windows, his architecture sketches and designs hanging from the walls. Down the hallway was his grandmother’s room, which Hyunjin paid much more attention to than his own -- keeping it as clean and comfortable as possible.

Hyunjin’s parents lived and worked abroad, leaving Hyunjin in the custody of his grandparents. The moment he’d gotten into Miroh Heights, he’d moved into the shop his grandmother had started, and had eventually also taken up the responsibility of storeowner once her dementia had worsened and his grandfather had passed away. Nowadays, she seldom got out of bed, Hyunjin being the only one taking care of her and keeping her company.

When you entered her room, Grandma Hwang was sitting up in bed, a newspaper in her hands. Upon closer inspection, you saw that it was the morning paper from two days ago: MURDER AT MIROH HEIGHTS, with the burnt-down flat on the cover.

Hyunjin quickly pulled the newspaper from her hands, tucking it away under his arm. “Don’t let her read the newspaper,” you remembered him telling you once, “I don’t want it to upset her. I don’t know why, but she’s started saying these strange things ever since the murders began. I don’t want her dementia to get worse.”

“Good morning, Grandma Hwang,” you smiled at her, patting her hand. She turned to you, looking as if she were staring straight through you. Hyunjin reached into her bedside cabinet for her medications. “Have you taken your medicine today?”

Slowly, the old woman shook her head, her eyes landing on the newspaper under Hyunjin’s arm. “Familiar…”

You frowned. “What’s familiar?”

She lifted a crooked finger, pointing straight at the burnt-down flat. “The old Han house...from years ago. So familiar. So...so long ago…”

Hyunjin and you exchanged a look. Are you sure she’s just rambling? You mouthed at Hyunjin, who nodded, but his expression was unsure. I’m gonna get her some water, he mouthed back, and disappeared from the room.

A few moments of silence passed as you watched the old woman, the soft morning glow smoothing out her wrinkles. Not being able to suppress your burning curiosity, you blurted, “Why--why is it so familiar?”

Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration but her eyes were blank slates, hands gesticulating meaninglessly. “Pastries...the pastries, need to deliver the pastries to all the houses. All the houses except the Hans’--” she shook her head wildly now, voice trembling. “No, no, not the Han house!”

You could feel your heart leap to your throat, a cold sweat beginning to form on the inside of your palms. Even if she was just rambling, like Hyunjin claimed, it made you extremely uneasy. “Why not the Han house?” You pressed, your own voice quavering slightly.

“Nowhere to go, my dear, nowhere, nowhere, went up in flames--” she gasped, hands clutching her face as she babbled. “So much burning, Lord help me...and...and everyone...burned to ashes...except for that tiny, little boy. Crawlin’ out--”

You heard Hyunjin clear his throat from the doorway, and the old woman’s voice faltered. He was holding a tall glass of water in one hand and shot you a look as he reached for his grandmother’s box of medications. You turned back, hoping she would continue, but her eyes were already glazed over with the fog of forgetfulness.

As she swallowed her medicine, you turned to Hyunjin. “She was talking about...about delivering pastries.”

“Mm. Back in the day, when she still used to run the store, we did pastry deliveries,” Hyunjin explained, stroking his grandmother’s hand absently as she finished the glass of water. “She used to go door to door, around the neighbourhood, handing out baskets of them.”

You nodded slowly. “Was...was there ever a fire in Miroh Heights? A really big one, like -- like a house burning down.”

Hyunjin gave you a weird look. “A fire? The deliveries stopped around 13 years ago. I wasn’t there, you know. Whatever she told you, don’t listen to her. Her memories get all mixed up.” He saw your expression and frowned. “What? Did she say something weird?”

You bit your lip, but shook your head. “No. Nothing at all.”

────────

Jisung tore down the darkening backstreets, not knowing where he was going and feeling like the ground beneath him was spinning wildly out of control. Fucking hell. He had barely sat through his classes without losing it, the paranoia eating him from the inside out like a parasite. The air was cool and damp, the sky crammed with grey storm clouds knitting together ominously.

They didn’t suspect him, right? There was no way they knew it was him.

Imagine his barely concealed panic when he’d run into police captain Kim Woojin first thing in the morning. They’d talked about his major, the weather, everything but the investigation. And Chan -- the detective had greeted him just like he always had.

It was just that damn Hwang Hyunjin.

“You were at the crime scene for no particular reason...it’s pretty damn suspicious if you ask me.”

Bloody hell.

No, no, no. He couldn’t let them find out. Everyone knew Hwang Hyunjin had been showing the early signs of post-traumatic stress disorder from finding the delivery boy half-dead in a pool of blood. There was no way they’d take him seriously.

He began limping as he wove through the alleyways, the foot he’d dropped the rock on still throbbing from the impact. He turned a corner briskly -- and slammed headfirst into a stout middle-aged man.

“I’m sor--”

“Look where you’re fucking going, punk,” the man screamed, the foul stench of liquor hitting Jisung’s nostrils and making him stumble backwards. The man was clearly homeless, judging from the state of his clothes and his matted hair. He must have wandered onto campus while the gates were still open. His milky eyes were squinty and he was swaying, an empty beer bottle swinging precariously in one hand.

Jisung lunged forward, ripping the bottle from his hands, and in one savage motion broke it over the man’s nose. The man howled in pain and Jisung raised the jagged glass again, ready to plunge it straight through the man’s open mouth -- he knew this motion well, he’d done it so many times he’d lost count--

But when he stared into the man’s bleeding eyes again, he saw a flash of your face. And he felt his entire body seize up, his arm stopping dead in its tracks.

You smiling at something he’d said. The way you’d hide your face behind your notebook when you were flustered. The smell of your hair when you hugged him tightly. The warm, familiar feeling of your skin brushing his when you ran your fingers through his hair--

The broken bottle slipped from Jisung’s hands, crashing onto the cobblestones. The man was whimpering, nose still spurting bright red blood. Jisung’s gaze flickered from one of his milky pupils to the other. Blind. He let go of the man’s tattered shirt collar, breathing hard as he turned around and did the only thing he seemed to know how to do.

Jisung ran.

Above him, the sky rumbled with deafening thunder before the clouds split open, sheets of rain pouring down on him as he stumbled down the streets. Blood was welling in his hands, crimson and sticky, and he wasn’t even sure whose blood it was anymore. All Jisung knew was that he needed to find you. He needed you by his side, to tell him it was okay, to say you would listen. To make him feel sane again.

He made it onto the main road and spotted a figure in the distance. Squinting through the rain, Jisung made out the shape of a taller man stumbling towards him. Before he could muster up the energy to turn away, the man had already reached him, hands shooting out to grab Jisung’s shoulders in a vicelike grip. Blood roaring in his ears, heart leaping to his throat, Jisung forced himself to look up.

It was Hwang Hyunjin.

Jisung immediately shoved his blood-soaked hands into his pockets, forcing himself not to yell when shards of broken glass dug and sliced into his palms. His mind was racing, running over a million possible things he could say. But Hyunjin didn’t even look down -- his gaze stayed on Jisung’s face, eyes glassy but narrowed.

Jisung realised with a start that the barista had been drinking.

Hyunjin’s face was twisted into an expression of raw, tormented grief -- the kind of sadness that could only be felt when one was heavily intoxicated. “I s-see him ev’ry time I close m-my eyes,” he suddenly choked out, and Jisung didn’t have to ask to know he was talking about Jeongin. “His c-cold hands, the pool of b-blood, the poor kid--”

Jisung tried to wrench himself from Hyunjin’s grasp, but the barista didn’t budge. This was bad. He had to get out, had to get away, before Hyunjin sobered up and recognized him--

As if he could hear Jisung’s thoughts, Hyunjin’s grip on him tightened, the barista’s voice barely a whisper. “Who are you, Han Jisung? What are you hiding?”

Jisung felt his heart stop. “There’s nothing--I’m not hiding anything!” He stammered, feeling Hyunjin’s dark gaze bore into his own. The blood on his hands were beginning to seep through his pants, and it took all of his willpower not to cry out in pain. There was blood on Jisung’s face, too; he could taste it trickling into his mouth with the rainwater, but he could only hope it was too dark -- and that Hyunjin was too far gone -- to see.

Just as abruptly as he had grabbed Jisung, Hyunjin let go of his shoulders, looking like he was either about to cry or throw up. The taller boy pushed past Jisung, shambling down the street and disappearing into the thick veils of rain. Jisung watched him go, a sick, hollow feeling in his gut.

Above him, the rain began to fall harder.

────────

You woke with a start to a crack of thunder, eyes snapping open and your chest heaving. Your clothes were soaked through with a cold sweat. You’d had a nightmare after going to bed early, but any recollection of it was already beginning to fade away.

There had been a killer in your dream, covered in hot, crimson blood and surrounded by endless fire. Screams and children wailing echoed in your ears, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember the killer’s face.

On your bedside table, your phone buzzed, sending your heartbeat into overdrive. Calm down. It was a dream -- just a dream. Shaking, you reached for your phone, reading the notification that had startled you. And just like that, you blood ran cold again.

DANGER

ACTIVE SERIAL KILLER AT LARGE

10:44 P.M. AN ATTACK HAS OCCURRED ON CAMPUS. POLICE BELIEVE THE PRIME SUSPECT IS THE PERPETRATOR OF THE MIROH HEIGHTS MURDERS. THE KILLER IS STILL ON CAMPUS.

MIROH HEIGHTS IS ENTERING LOCKDOWN.

REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS PERSONS TO MHPD IMMEDIATELY.

RESIDENTS STAY INDOORS.

You nearly dropped your phone, fumbling with it to check the time. 10:46 P.M. This was real. This was happening. Bits of your nightmare came back to you in hot flashes. A sudden burst of lightning and a rumble of thunder sent you burrowing underneath the covers, terrified tears beginning to form in your eyes. Pulling the comforter close, you pressed the Phone app and called the first person you could think of.

Beep.

Be--

“Hello?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as soon as Jisung’s familiar voice filled your ears. “I-I’m sorry,” you gasped, voice trembling uncontrollably, “did I wake you?”

There was a long pause before Jisung finally answered. “No, of course not. Is everything alright?”

“I--I’m scared,” you mumbled, chewing on your lip. The sound of Jisung’s voice, and even his breathing, was already beginning to calm you down. “Did you -- did you get the alert too? There’s a s-serial killer on campus right now.”

Jisung’s legs had threatened to give way the moment he heard your voice, pressing his phone to his ear like a lifeline. Despite your voice sounding small and shaky, he felt his erratic heartbeat beginning to steady. He quickly skimmed over the lockdown notification, cursing underneath his breath. Shit. Breathing hard away from the receiver, he tried to sound as calm as possible when he brought it back towards his mouth. “Yeah, I just got it.”

Your ears strained, and you frowned -- you swore you could hear something that sounded like heavy rain coming from the other end of the line. “Are you...outside right now? Get home as soon as possible--”

“I’m home,” Jisung interrupted you, a small smile in his voice. “Bad service, yeah -- a lot of static. Probably the storm outside.” The lie tasted bittersweet on his tongue. His hair was drenched in water, dripping onto his face as he spoke. Even through the tinny phone, he felt a rush of warmth fill his hollow chest, the corners of his parched lips tugging upwards. He could almost see you curled up in blankets in your bed, hiding from the storm outside.

No, he corrected himself with a pang, you weren’t hiding from the storm.

You were hiding from him.

Jisung unclenched his fists, broken glass falling from his palms and leaving half-moon shaped cuts in his skin. You’d called him the moment you felt scared. You had trusted him. Jisung felt the water droplets sting at his wounds, his hand feeling as though it were burning away.

Who am I?

Was he the boy you loved, the one who made you laugh, the one who made you feel safe?

Or was he the depraved serial killer that sent everyone he loved running?

You heard Jisung clear his throat on the other line. “Listen, don’t be scared, okay? The killer, he -- he won’t hurt you.”

You laughed, just the sound making Jisung’s breath catch in his throat. “How do you know?”

Jisung tilted his head back, face to the sky, feeling the torrents of rain wash away the tears that had begun to well up in his eyes. With the hands of a wanted murderer, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, he pressed the receiver closer to his mouth, lips curling into a sad smile.

“I just do.”

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marveloussupernerd · 4 years

Text

Hi love!! Thank you for the request! Sorry it took a bit to get back to you (I’m getting ahead on hw rn haha)

I ship you with Jumin Han!

First of all you can’t convince me Jumin isn’t a slytherin so y’all are in the same house

Of course he had never watched Harry Potter so when you asked “what house are you in” he was like

??? My penthouse ???

BUT you got him to watch the movies and get sorted so yay

He loves the way you look

Not that it matters but like... Height difference

All my bfs have been more than 15 cm (6 in) taller than me so I feel it

Picks you up to kiss you

Or has you sit on his lap to kiss you

Likes when you need help reaching the top shelf because he enjoys feeling needed

Piggyback rides too

He would never let anyone know tho

Anyways I could write hc on that all day

Jumin is definitely insecure

He’s clingy as a result

You literally never have to worry about him liking anyone more than you because he doesn’t shut up about how much he loves you

You do get jealous though, because he uses his looks and charm to do business with ladies

He makes it up to you in any way possible

Tells you what meetings he has and with who every day

Let’s you come with him and stay by his side if you really want to

It’s just a way to show everyone he’s yours and vice versa

Gives you gifts all the time to make up for it

“Jumin... this is the fourth present you’ve gotten me this week”

“I’ve had to go to business meetings with four women this week and I wanted to make sure you knew you’re the only woman in my life”

Worries about you when you’re moody

Doesn’t really know how to react at first so he keeps his distance

Sends Elizabeth the 3rd your way though so that someone can comfort you

After about a half hour of that, he approaches you, usually with your favorite candy or a bath prepped for you or something thoughtful like that

Will keep his distance if you ask him to or will hold you all night if you want

He doesn’t get angry or upset back at you, especially when you’re having a rough time

He was never good with feelings. It just hurts him to see you upset

His preferred method of comforting you when you’re upset is sitting on the couch and holding you, maybe putting on a movie

He gets two newspapers every morning

So that you can do sudoku together during breakfast

He 1000% likes sudoku I’m positive

You don’t usually talk during this morning routine, you just enjoy being in each other’s presence and feeling close by partaking in the same activity

Whoever finishes first cleans up after breakfast

Thinks you’re cute when you watch anime

He doesn’t really get into it, because he doesn’t have time to get into shows, but he likes sitting in the same room as you when you watch and doing paperwork

Gets distracted bc he’s staring at you because you’re so pretty and invested in the show

You force him to broaden his music horizons

He only listened to classical pieces until now

You get him to listen to your favorite artist/group and honestly he only likes a few songs at first

But then they’re in his head during work

And he’s like... I don’t know any of the words so this is terrible

And all of a sudden he starts listening to your music more and more and enjoying it

You make him feel like a regular person

Like you don’t just like him for his money!?

You’d rather hang out and watch movies with Elizabeth the 3rd instead of going out shopping or doing something elaborate!?

Btw you are now a cat mom congrats

She’s secretly the light of your life

Jumin looks at how good you are with Elizabeth and wow you’d be such a good mom

He can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you

#matchups #mystic messenger #mysme

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ecoamerica · 23 days

Text

youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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jadeile-writes · 4 years

Text

Fanfic Progress Update 67

Hey-o, peoples. How you doing this fine Saturday? Let’s see what we’ll be getting next week. Stay tuned to the end of this post for a spoiler-y glimpse into the next chapter of Adventure gone Mini AND now also the next Radiohusk drabble I’ll post sometime next week!

Current WIPs:

Adventure gone Mini

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / The Minish Cap

Summary: Sidon is given his very own Sheikah Slate, the first replica Purah has managed to make, and sets out to travel with Link with the intention of registering warp points for convenient travel in the future. However, when a malfunction shrinks them down to the size of bugs, and they meet little people called the Minish, they have to change their plans from “fun adventuring” to “getting out of this mess”. Not that those two have to exclude one another. Link/Sidon.

Progress: Chapter 39 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 27th of May. Chapter 40 half done and scheduled for 17th of June.

I post a new chapter every three weeks on Wednesdays. These updates always include a sneak-peek for the next chapter, slowly getting longer over the three weeks waiting period.

—–

That month of the year

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: Every year, for a single month, the Radio Demon gets… emotional. His antlers are in velvet and he’s pumped full of hormones that make him behave quite unlike himself: suddenly, everywhere he looks, instead of seeing fellow demons all he sees are helpless little fawns that nobody is taking a proper care of! Solution? Adopt them.

Husk, Niffty, Camille, Honey, and the rest of the older Fawns put up with their Mom/Dad’s nonsense every year, but this time there’s a new, rotten apple in their midst and they have to protect Alastor from this crook. Without Alastor knowing about it. As Husk likes to put it: “This is fucking bullshit. …I mean fudgy nonsense.”

(Crack taken seriously. Gen)

Progress: The first two chapters are finished. The third chapter is more than halfway done. I want to have a few chapters written before posting anything, because this is hella slow to write. I did some good editing! That sure is something done for once XD;

This fic is co-authored by Maximillian!

—–

Hah! Our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: This is not a stand-alone story! This is a oneshot/drabble collection in the universe of “Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife”. Read the main story before bothering with this one.

I decided to give my readers a chance to throw Radiohusk prompts at me, and had the Afterlife-verse as an option to set the stories in. Everyone liked that, so this fic is now a thing. Enjoy the extra mischief from these two dorks!

Progress: Chapter 18 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 5th of June. Chapter 19 hasn’t been started yet, but the scheduled posting date is 12th of June. A sneak-peek will be posted on Thursday.

I have 18 prompts left.

This fic receives a new chapter every Friday.

—–

Secret drabbles and ficlets!

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: I’ve occasionally written completely random Radiohusk fics and shared them with a bunch of friends without posting them on AO3 or here. I’d like to rectify that and start posting them here at random for everyone to read. I won’t be posting them on AO3 because I don’t want to, so keeping an eye on this blog is even more rewarding than before for a while.

Progress: I have three separate ficlets at the moment, and a few nearly finished ones that I’ll probably get done sooner or later (with one exception that I’m unlikely to actually finish at all). I’ll post them at most once a week, on whatever day I feel like doing it. Basically, keep your eyes open ;)

—–

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to someday:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

Experiment in Romance (Hazbin Hotel)

—–

That’s it for the WIPs! Here are the promised sneak-peek into Adventure gone Mini (Note: the text may end up slightly different in the fic itself due to more editing happening before publishing). Enjoy!

Mini

Link and Sidon were man-handled through a hallway between two mushrooms into another part of the building. Whereas the first room had been vast and grand looking – and thus perfect to play tag in – the next place had a more… sacred temple kind of atmosphere. There were ornate pillars all around the place, mystical yet peaceful looking paintings hanging from the walls, and an altar against one wall. There was also a small fountain in the middle of the room. Before the fountain stood an adult Minish dressed in the same robes as the children were. They turned around to look when their rather noisy group entered the room. "Oh, visitors?" they asked, rather unnecessarily in Link's opinion.

—–

Random drabble

Husk was casually lounging in the hotel's communal living room, feeling thoroughly disinclined to open the bar yet – it was way too early to get enough customers to make it worth his damn while. So instead, he was sitting on the couch, idly working on a sudoku puzzle in one of the "recreational activity books” that Charlie had placed around the room. It was one way to kill time, and the hard puzzles at the end of the book actually posed an intellectual challenge that the crossword puzzles in the newspaper sorely lacked.

He lifted his eyes from the book when he heard another person enter the room. Mind, he didn’t need to look up to know who it was, as Alastor’s shoes had a very distinctive sound to them thanks to the hoof-prints on the bottom. But look he did, and as he did so he noticed that something about the way Alastor carried himself looked… off. Or maybe it was his expression? Or his soundscape? Fuck if he knew what it was, but he knew it was something anyway.

He said nothing as Alastor made a beeline to the couch and sat down next to him, just a hair’s breadth away, their sides and legs barely not touching. It made Husk way too aware of that side of his body, and how the smallest movement on his part might cross that line. It was damn uncomfortable.

—–

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

AO3 FFnet Purple Crayon Ko-fi

#Fanfic progress update

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galoots · 4 years

Link

Surprise, surprise. A wrote a little piece about Scrooge taking care of his nephew during a depressive episode. As always, leave me a comment and enjoy!

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Donald flicked the switch of his SAD therapy lamp on, filling the air with a quiet electric buzz. For a half an hour every day, he was to sit in front of this lamp, blasting 10,000 lux directly into his face. This came at the recommendation of his therapist—a new addition to his life since he’d quit college to work on his mental health. The lamp was one of the many therapeutic aids he’d been advised to add to his life. Antidepressants, melatonin, weekly therapy sessions, daily meditation, light exercise, journaling, quality family time; it felt like the laundry list of remedies was endless. He has set up a spot in the living room for all this garbage: a desk with his journal, his medications, and his stupid, stupid lamp. He affectionately called it his depression corner—a name his uncle objected to for it’s dispiriting connotations, but it was his corner and he’d call it what he’d like.

Donald sighed as he settled into his chair, cracking open the novel he was currently halfway through. It was a remnant from one of the classes he’d been previously attending. There was no real reason to continue it, he had failed that class and slumped home in utter defeat, but pressed on with it any way. Not only was the novel unbelievably boring and tedious, but it reminded Donald of his own failure: his inability to take care of himself once he left home and the pathetic spiral of depression he’d soon found himself in. Reading this book made him miserable, but he slogged through it anyway as if finishing it would prove that he was at least capable of something. Besides, he had nothing but free time, so why not spend a portion of that time reading?

He threw himself back into the grueling task of reading the same page over and over again—the words barely registering in his head, floating through the thick fog of his mind, before they were ejected back out on to the page. Slightly damp yet unprocessed. Ready to go throw the charade one more. He was on his fourth read-through of this particularly dense passage when he heard a familiar voice sound from over his shoulder.

“You’re sitting awfully close to that lamp, nephew. Has your eyesight degraded to the point you need that much light to illuminate your reading?”

Donald glanced over his shoulder at his uncle and shook his head. “Not that kind of lamp, Uncle Scrooge.”

Scrooge slid his arms over Donald’s shoulders, resting his chin in the crook of Donald’s neck. “What kind is it then?”

“The doctor recommended, alleviate your depression kind of lamp.” Donald sneered. “The sad kind all the cool depressed college drop-out’s use. The kind that comes highly recommended from all the other basement-dwelling losers online.”

His uncle frowned, furrowing his brow with concern as he stared into the bright white light. “You sure seem to have quite the… antipathy for what sounds like such a helpful little lamp. Is it not working?”

“It’s… not not working… I just…” Donald let out a little huff of aggravation as he fiddled with the switch on the base of the device. Aggravation with himself, aggravation with his sorry circumstance, aggravation with the chemical failings of his own brain. “I just don’t like that I need it.”

Scrooge made a thoughtful noise, noncommittal but inquisitive, urging him to explain further.

“It’s just, like, another stupid thing in a long regimen of things I have to do now. I hate that I need all this stuff simply to function. I’m sick of it. Why can’t my brain work like it’s supposed to?”

Scrooge lifted himself off of Donald’s shoulders and gave his nephew a reassuring pat. “Functioning is good. We like functioning. Nothing wrong with that.” “I guess…”

“I need glasses to see properly, hearing aids to hear properly, and a cane to walk properly, don’t I?”

“Yeah…” Donald said.

“Are those bad?”

“No…” Donald sighed in response. His uncle was right of course, but it didn’t make it less annoying.

Scrooge planted a kiss on top of his head. “Keep at it, boyo. I know its not fun, but doctor’s orders.”

Donald shrugged in response, reopening his book to reread the text there for the fifth time.

His uncle rubbed his shoulders in support. “I’m going to make some tea. Want a cup? I can sit with you for a while.”

“No thanks, unkie.” Donald replied with glum monotone. He was feeling mired in his bad mood today, regardless of any avuncular pep talks or brightly simulated sunlight trying to cheer him up.

The next day he sat down in his chair. Same as always. Flipped on his lamp. Same as always. Opened his book. Same as always. Another series of monotonous tasks in a day full of them. In a life full of them. But today something was different. His plain white lamp had been tampered with. Now a wreath of yellow petals cut from construction paper decorated its frame, meeting with green paper leaves at the bottom. It looked like a rogue pack of first-grader’s had unloaded their arts and crafts skill on his lamp overnight, giving the whole thing the appearance of a sunflower. A crooked, amused smile snuck onto his face as he observed the changes his lamp had undergone. On his desk, next to the lamp, sat a bundle of neatly wrapped presents. Clearly the careful administrations of his Puppa. Uncle Scrooge couldn’t wrap a present for the life of him and always had his husband take care of any wrapping jobs for him. He unwrapped them, tearing away the paper to reveal a stack of books—one of sudoku, the other of crosswords, and the third of logic problems. A new pencil, sharpened to a point, accompanied the books along with a cozy dark blue knit sweater. Inspecting the stitches, Donald didn’t see the orderly rows his knew Duckworth to be capable of, but the sloppy, inexperienced work of an amateur. There was no note to identify his mystery gift-giver, but Donald didn’t need one to know who was responsible for all of this. He slipped on his new sweater, one sleeve slightly longer than the other, but still comfy. He picked up one of the books of puzzles and the pencil, ready to pass the time.

As if on cue, like he’d been waiting for just this moment to occur, Scrooge rounded the corner, making headway towards the nook Donald occupied.

“Well, well, well!” Scrooge exclaimed. His poorly feigned surprise doing little to dissuade Donald of the obvious fact of his involvement. “Aren’t you the lucky one! It seems you’ve been visited by a helpful little elf overnight.”

“Seems so.” Donald covered his beak to stifle a chuckle. “Although this elf didn’t realize that it doesn’t make much sense to turn a lamp into a sunflower.”

“Uh, er…” Scrooge stammered, his eyes opening as he started from Donald’s playful dig. “Well now the lamp needs you to be its light source, you see!” His uncle clapped his hands down on Donald’s shoulder, pleased with the answer he’d supplied on the spot. “You’ll have to sit here for the allotted time each day so it can get the proper amount of sunshine and grow up healthy and strong.”

Donald smiled, leaning his head back on his uncle. “How sweet. Did the elf tell you that?”

“Yes.” Scrooge smiled benignly. “Yes, he did.”

Donald chuckled again, not bothering to mask it this time. He wasn’t fooled by his uncle’s utterly lacking acting skills, but he was happy to play along. “Well tell your elf friend thank you. I appreciate it very much.”

Scrooge rubbed his nephew shoulder’s warmly, gazing fondly down at him and soaking in the first genuine smile Donald had worn since he first came home. Although the circumstance by which Donald had returned home could have certainly been happier ones, Scrooge was relieved to see his little boy back in the nest again. The old duck felt like he’d been withering away ever since Donald left, but now he was here, back in his arms, back in their home, and finally smiling once again.

“I’ll go make us a pot of tea.” Scrooge whispered. He padded softly out of the room, doing his best not to disturb Donald, who had absorbed himself in solving the puzzle in front of him. His novel lay off to the side—forgotten. There was simply no need to finish it anymore.

Eventually it would be shelved along with his other books where it would sit and grow dusty without use. Donald would never finish, but that was for the best. Not all books need to be read to the end. Some are better left unfinished, waiting silently upon the shelf like a lonely sentinel, ready to be rediscovered during happier days

#ldu #loots duck universe #scrooge mcduck #donald duck #fluff #fanfiction #team uncle #duckverse

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barn3sandnobl3 · 4 years

Text

Tongue Tied - Part 3

Holidays are crazy so here's a long-ish one

Happy holidays everyone, hope everyone's had a safe and joy-filled time with friends/family/loved ones ❤️

Summary: Bucky has to go undercover in Hydra as The Winter Soldier again to help the team shut them down once and for all. As complicated as this mission already is, he wasn’t expecting the added complication/risk of a beautiful, mysterious assassin that Hydra has recently acquired.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (SHE HERE)

Warnings: violence, anxiety, sadness

Note: this starts off basically at Bucky's POV before the mission, I realized it doesn't flow as well but as I edit/write/post I realize these things are lil choppy lol sorry my friends

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As Bucky and the Hydra strike team were gearing up, he heard steady footsteps approaching them. He glanced up to see the general accompanied by a young woman with an emotionless expression on her face. She was dressed in a combat uniform and it took Bucky by surprise, although he didn’t show it. He hadn’t seen any women in the compound yet and this one seemed very…tiny. As the two approached the group of men, she was introduced.

“Soldat, men, this is Y/N. She will be accompanying you on this mission.” Bucky met her stare and the lifelessness in her eyes matched his, if not more. He nodded in acknowledgement as the general continued, “she joined us a few years back while you were gone, and she’s been a loyal asset ever since.”

Bucky looked back to her expecting a smug or proud look but was met with nothing.

As one of the strike team men were about to ask her about her specific skill set, the general interrupted with a raised hand.

“She doesn’t speak. Ever. I’m pretty sure she’s a mute, so you two should get along just fine,” he laughed as he looked at Bucky, “Oh, and don’t let her physique fool you, she can take down anyone, I've seen it myself. Even an army. Even you, Soldat.” he grinned as he pictured the idea. “Anyways, she knows what’s required for the mission, so there won’t be much need for conversation anyway.”

“Why doesn’t she speak?” Another soldier asked, Bucky taking in her features as she blankly stared back and he noticed she was actually quite beautiful.

“She doesn’t say” the general laughed, walking away.

An uneasy feeling settled over Bucky from how much the general laughed and smiled. It told Bucky that he was much more careless with human life than those last in command that Bucky remembered. That he didn’t take it seriously.

He shook the feeling as he, the strike team and Y/N climbed aboard the jet and set out to Wakanda.

The 16-hour flight felt much longer than usual. Bucky had nothing to do to pass time. He was the Winter Soldier right now and he couldn’t exactly be seen playing Sudoku or listening to Spotify. He simply sat in his chair, perfectly still, staring straight ahead of him. It wasn’t until he saw something move out of the corner of his eye that he broke his stare and caught Y/N fiddling with knives, figuring out where to put the multitude of them in her tactical suit.

"Need help?” he offered blankly. She looked up to him, met him straight in the eyes, and went back to sliding knives in various places.

Right, he thought, like she was going to answer.

He didn’t notice until now that her eyes were an extremely bright Y/E/C. They almost sparkled. With a small shake of his head, he remembered that he needed to concentrate. This was the first mission he had as the Winter Soldier and he was expected to behave as such. He can't be staring into someone's eyes before battle..no matter how gorgeous they were.

Instead, his mind started and wander and he began to worry about fighting the Wakandan soldiers without actually killing them. He had to make himself look lethal, but he promised himself he would never take another innocent life. Natasha taught him a move that would render the other person unconscious, making it look like they had their neck snapped. It looked fairly easy, but it had to be performed with the perfect amount of pressure, otherwise, they really would be killed.

Bucky glanced down at his metal arm and closed his eyes. He hated this thing, the weapon of destruction. How many people had he killed with this arm? How many lives did he destroy?

He opened his eyes to see the beautiful landscape of Wakanda and was thankful they had finally arrived. He needed to pull his head out of his own thoughts in order to pull this off. Please let this go well, he thought to himself, as the jet landed.

Bucky huffed out as he finished knocking out six men that had cornered him. He had successfully knocked them all unconscious without causing them too much harm, for which he felt relieved.

The team still had a long way before they reached the weapon’s chamber, which had Bucky hopeful.

Maybe we’ll be forced to retreat soon, he thought.

He looked over to see that almost half the team had already been killed by the Wakandan soldiers and Bucky had to suppress a smirk.

Good riddance to you, assholes.

Seeing the rest of the team in the middle of the battle didn’t interest him, it wasn’t until he caught Y/N in the corner of his eye that he stopped to look.

She was ruthless.

She had three men attacking her at once and she didn’t even seem phased. Bucky noted that even when she fought, barely a single sound left her mouth. He only heard a small groan when one of the men punched her ribs, which almost caused Bucky to run and help her, had she not retaliated with a brutal kick to the man’s face while using the other man’s body as leverage.

Bucky was impressed. Her moves were fluid and graceful, yet strong and sturdy. One of the other strike members cried for help, pulling him out of his gaze. Bucky took a step forward to ‘help’ him out, until he was being side tackled, hard, and brought into the next room, crashing onto the floor as he and his attacker broke through the door. Bucky was so caught off guard, he immediately went on the defence and grabbed his attacker by their neck, only to realize he was squeezing red titanium alloy.

“Relax, asshole. It’s just me” Iron Man called out. Bucky quickly did a scan of the room before realizing the rest of the fighting had drowned out the noise and Tony’s voice. His head fell back to the floor with relief and he let go of his neck.

“What are you doing, Tony? You can’t be talking to me. This is too dangerous” Bucky huffed as he stood up. Tony’s face mask withdrew in time for Bucky to see him roll his eyes.

“Not even a month in Hydra and you’re already back to being incredibly paranoid? Jeez, Frosty.” Tony pulled out a small, thin USB and handed it to Bucky, “we want you to plug this little guy in one of their main computers. It’s a system that’ll send us the ‘where’ and ‘when’ for their future missions. It’s easier than you relaying the info to us each time. Less chance of you getting caught, and hopefully less time you have to spend with them” Bucky took the USB apprehensively.

“Isn’t this more dangerous? I have no reason to be near the computers, I’m just the muscle. If I get caught, they’ll be suspicious. And if they find the USB, that’ll be even worse.” Tony didn’t have time to answer before Bucky spotted Y/N reaching the doorway and seeing him and Tony just standing there, neither of them in defensive positions. Bucky reacted quickly and threw a hard punch straight to Tony’s face and thank God Tony’s mask came back on and he moved out of the way just in time. Bucky prayed she hadn’t seen Tony hand him the USB or heard any of their conversations. His heart was racing at an incredible pace. Tony, seeing Y/N, responded with two shots from each of his hand repulsors, aimed at both soldiers. Each of them rolled out of the way, ending up standing beside each other. Bucky spoke with as much harshness as he could.

“We need to fall back. Our men weren’t prepared for the Avengers to be here.” He looked to Y/N and her lips were in a tight line, blood coming down from the side of her face where she was cut deeply. She gave a curt nod and threw the closest possible thing towards Tony with such force, it surprised both men in the room. The object seemed to hit its target with a loud clang, and Tony stumbled backwards. Bucky and Y/N ran out the door to find less than half their team still standing. Bucky briefly wondered if Steve was also here. God, that’s just the last thing this mission needs.

“We’re leaving. Now.” Bucky barked at the rest of the men, and you didn’t have to ask them twice as they immediately broke out into a sprint towards the jet. Hydra’s strike team may be incredibly lethal, but they knew when they were beaten. When they had finally reached the jets, Y/N didn’t hesitate to sit in the pilot seat and start it up. Their actually pilot was either killed or too injured to come back with them, but neither Bucky nor Y/N cared.

He knew the question was ridiculous at this point, but he asked her anyways,

“You know how to fly this?” the look Y/N gave him made him shut his mouth and sit in the co-pilot seat. How was he supposed to know what she saw back there? How could he ask her? Would she tell the general if she did see something? Bucky knew he had to find out the extent of her silence as soon as they touched down back at Hydra. This wasn’t going to be fun. Bucky knew this was most likely going to end badly, and violently. His time at Hydra was getting cut extremely short.

#bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #marvel #marvel fanfic #the winter soldier #the avengers

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ivyveil · 5 years

Text

Have Yourself a Harry Christmas Part 0.5

the one where Y/N has an email and Harry is in a bed

A/N: This was my most popular series and I’ve decided to re-upload it! :) Check here for the masterlist.

The moonlight trickled into the room through slated blinds. The ghosted illusion of jail-cell bars streamed against the cream pillows on the bed, the scattered perfumes on the dresser, and the piled books on the desk. It was mostly quiet, although sometimes the noise of traffic outside the cluster of windows would rise above the standard, muffled hum, marking clearly the presence of intoxicated friends dancing away the blues of the week. It was a late Friday night.

Besides that, the room held its peace. The keyboard’s clacking had dulled into background noise and nothing broke the gentle vibe of a ‘late night haze’ for a while.

His voice was crusted with a thick sleep, as if he had been stirring between dreams and reality for quite some time, but Y/N could distinguish the sharp sense of annoyance that had led to the words being spoken. He was pissed but not awake enough to raise his voice above a grunt.

“Are you comin’ to bed?”

Y/N sat at the desk, her legs tucked up on the swivel chair and her sweater hanging down one shoulder. One earbud was in, and the music was quiet so as to not disturb his sleep, and her laptop was as dim as she could make it. Various websites and emails were up on her screen, a multitude of tabs cluttering the screen, and intermittently she would begin typing, pause, and then sigh in dissatisfaction, before clicking away onto social media.

It was late, she knew that. Or perhaps it was early at this point. She didn’t want to see the time, even put a piece of duct tape over that part of her screen so as not to tempt herself. She felt guilty already, at her lack of desire to go to bed. After all, he was there. In her apartment, after another wonderful night spent together, and now they wouldn’t have the joy of falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Most likely, if the night continued in the direction it had been, Y/N would wake up with her face smushed against the laptop. With the websites still pulled up, perhaps a sleep-derived tweet posted here or there.

She just couldn’t find it within her to go to bed. In the beginning, her body had fought back, sending waves of yawns to stretch her mouth and reaching her hand up to rub her eyes, but her mind was wide awake. And mind over matter, she’d stay up.

“Soon,” she promised in his general direction, her eyes briefly flickering over the top of her computer towards him, but it was as if she hadn’t said anything at all. He didn’t respond.

The room was quiet again, but the peace had left.

They had spent more nights together than not in the past month, with their closets slowly integrating and their morning routines broken up to accommodate the other’s needs. She wished she could go to bed, curl up against his chest, and wake up as he pressed soft kisses against the apples of her cheeks. Y/N wished it could be that simple, and that he wouldn’t get frustrated simply over the fact that she wasn’t next to him. It was sweet, definitely, but she just needed to do her own thing for the time being.

Sighing to herself, Y/N minimized all the tabs that had been open, except for the last one.

The most important one, the one that had been causing her grief since 8:00 pm that night. It was an email, which was not inherently strange, but the message was certainly unexpected.

And Y/N wasn’t sure how to deal with ‘unexpected’, especially when it had made her give an awful sort of squeak during his TV show, when she first saw it, and he had looked down, eyebrows furrowed.

“What is it?”

Y/N had immediately turned her phone off, tucking it against her chest as she gave him a soft smile. She gently kissed the underside of his jaw, feeling him hum with contentment, and shook her head.

“Just won my game of Sudoku. Tricky bastard, you know how it is.”

He had been satisfied with that response and pulled her in closer, mumbling something about how amazing it was he had landed himself such a smart girl.

The email was short, bitterly so - enough that it could’ve been a text, but instead was an email. The reasons behind that had bothered Y/N for hours, and she had tried almost everything to distract herself. A YouTube video of vine compilations was in front of her Twitter feed, which was in front of her Facebook feed, and her Hulu account was at the way back, in case she wanted to watch some Chopped. But not even her favorite show could stop her thoughts from going back to the fucking email.

Email was such an outdated concept, anyway. Might as well send a pigeon messenger her way, it would’ve reached the same conclusion. (Not really, but Y/N wasn’t feeling like being particularly rational. Not when she was left to her thoughts.)

With a slight twist of her swivel chair and a curled lip at her own weakness, she pulled the tab with the email back up. Y/N moved her cursor around the letters, mouthing them to herself as she propped up her face with one hand. She pushed her hips forward to scoot the chair, reaching up to grip onto the table to bring herself closer, so her heavy-lidded eyes didn’t have to squint further to see the screen.

She needed to form a response, both for the sake of the email and the grand scheme of communication, and for herself. It didn’t matter, what had happened almost two months ago, because that was then and this was now.

Y/N realized her eyes had unfocused, zoned out over the end of the email. Shaking her head, she read it again, sitting up and moving her fingers to type out a reply. She wanted to sound casual, to not give off the impression that she had spent the last four hours bent over her laptop, avoiding this very interaction.

Yes! I’m free tomorrow. 10 am, Myrtle’s Coffee?

Y/N kept looking at the screen, refreshing her emails as if a response would immediately register, which was unlikely because it was so late/early and she knew she would end up in this circle, damn, and-

She started.

A new email was within the list now, a stack of communications with a bold one on top. Because that’s how the system of email was created, but Y/N couldn’t help and add some extra, dramatic importance to the moment. Especially since her exhaustion had kicked in a bit, and her desk was looking rather inviting as a makeshift bed…

With one last look at the screen, Y/N’s hands reached out to close her laptop, the satisfaction of a response settling her tense shoulders a bit. The noise of the computer shutting stirred him a bit, on the bed, but he hummed some general ‘hmph’ and then the room was cloaked in silence once more.

The cold type of silence, the one that made Y/N question certain things about her life that really shouldn’t change. Stuff she couldn’t alter without changing who she was as a person, the late-night thoughts that had the tendency of tormenting everyone.

Y/N took out her earbud, dropping the headphones unceremoniously onto the desk as she stood up. Stretching out her limbs, curving backwards and letting out a small grunt of sleepiness, she padded over to the bed, flipping the comforter open so she could slide in. The analysis of the situation had, for the moment, left her brain – her mind had seemingly decided that it had gone through enough, and the rest could be sorted through in the morning.

Her cold toes meeting his legs caused him to shift, slightly, before allowing her to cuddle properly against his body. The familiar scent of woodsy trees and cinnamon made her heart flutter as she hid her grin against his warm skin.

“Night, Y/N,” he mumbled, the words bordering the barely-awake consciousness of someone barely stirred in their sleep, only half-registering her arms wrapping around his bare chest.

“Night, Spence.” she whispered, pressing a kiss on his chest and closing her eyes, allowing sleep to wash over her. It happened slowly, and then all at once, carrying her onward to tomorrow and all the uncertainty it held.

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A few minutes before Y/N slid into bed, Harry Styles was on his phone, somewhere across town. The glow from the screen lit up his face, his eyes that were barely open and his lips that had become, within his murky thoughts, pursed and full in its pout. His cheek was against the silk sheets, his arms tucked up by his chest to hold his phone up as he hit “reply”, the comforter reaching up to his shoulder.

He wondered if he would be too fast in responding, but that would call up the concern that he would have something to be nervous about. And Y/N was just a friend; it had happened a month ago - or was it two months, he couldn’t remember - and nothing had really stirred between them since then. But, the existence of those thoughts, was it a sign within itself that he hadn’t completely lost his feelings for her?

Harry was unsure.

He typed out his response to Y/N with his tongue poking out between his lips.

“See…yeh…then…” he whispered as he finished typing, and hit ‘send’ immediately. He turned off his phone and set it on the bedside table, next to the frustrating stack of unfinished songs, letting the darkness of the room expand out to him, as well.

With a deep sigh, Harry closed his eyes and ran his hand down his face, slumping down into his pillows. Tomorrow would be good, he decided, an opportunity to show to himself that he only felt complete platonic care for Y/N, and the desire to kiss her had been a one-time thing. It wouldn’t happen again, that was for sure.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, in the mesh of memories concerning books, gnomes, and axes, Harry shifted over on the bed. He yanked down the cord of his lamp, ignoring its clanging against the metal base, and reached down to the floor to pick up a pen he had tossed an hour ago, in his fit of writer’s block. Shuffling through the papers, he found the one he was looking for. Resting on his tummy, trying to blink the exhaustion away, Harry Styles began to write.

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I’m back in town. Staying for a while. Hang out? x. -H.

Yes! I’m free tomorrow. 10 am, Myrtle’s Coffee?

The usual? Sounds great. See you then. -H.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts here, and check out the rest of my works if you’d like!

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #archive of our own #mine #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #saint nick verse #snv

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