#i spent 13 years at school and its almost over

[beemintty]

GET ME OUT! GET ME OUT! GET ME OUT!

#im done #i want to sleep #school is hell #but im too close to just give up on it now #43 days left #almost there #i spent 13 years at school and its almost over #thoughts #on life #my thoughts #high school

[azsazz]

Midnight Muse (Part 15)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: Mentions of throwing up, doesn't actually happen.

Word Count: 4,008

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Masterlist]

Notes: ENJOY. Also, someone plz tell me they got tagged this time 😭

_________________________________________

Everything fucking hurts.

Your head is throbbing like someone is repeatedly hitting you with a hammer. You can’t even open your eyes because the dots of light in your vision are swimming in circles, and you’re pretty sure if you crack your eyes open and squint into the room you’ll surely lose the contents of your stomach, which is still mostly alcohol from last night.

You groan in agony because it’s the only thing you can do. Curling in further on yourself, you tug the covers up over your head, trying to block as much of the sun, creeping steadily in through the windows, as you can.

A deep inhale to try and ease your stomach brings along the scent of freshness; like night-chilled mist and cedar. The smell is so perfectly balanced, familiar and fresh in your aching lungs that it almost lulls you back to sleep. It’s effortlessly masculine and with another luxurious inhale, your brain connects the scent to its familiarity. It’s the same as the soap you’d used when you were forced to stay the night at the apartment next door, while Feyre and Rhysand had been having their public nudy show in your living room.

You want to snuggle into it, wallow in its comfort all day, but your mind is quickly catching up to you, running that specific thought back a second time, but slower.

It smells like the same soap you’d used when you were at Azriel’s apartment after the rainstorm. 

Your eyes snap open and your body jolts into an upright position that makes your stomach roil, shoving your head down between your knees.

Fuck. You drank way too much last night.

You blink away the bleariness, the dizziness from your vision, staring down at your lap. You’re still wearing the clothes you’d ambled over to Cassian’s party in, and the fabric sticks to your skin uncomfortably. You feel like shit all around, sick from the alcohol, dirty from the night spent dancing and sweating, and you’re pretty sure your breath smells like you’d licked the floor of the local dive bar.

Another blink brings the sheets into focus, certainly ones that are not yours. These are a deep charcoal color, softer and smoother than anything you’ve ever touched. The thread count must be in the thousands. The mattress beneath your aching body feels like a cloud, and all of the effort that went into curating such a lovely bed surely shouldn’t be wasted.

You’re impressed for all of a few seconds until you lift your head and realize where you are.

Azriel’s room.

It’s easy to tell because your memories of last night slowly roll in like flipping through pages of your sketchbook.

“Look,” Cassian grunts as you stumble again and he has to put you on your feet again. He’s faring slightly better than you right now, but only because there are women to flirt with. “I know our friendship is still kind of new, but if you keep hanging all over me like this you’re going to scare away the ladies.” 

You can’t help but to laugh. It feels good, so good that your chest aches with it. Your cheeks are red with drink, and Cassian hasn’t ever seen you grinning so much. 

It kind of scares him.

“Where are your keys?” he continues, his hands warm on your hips where he’s trying to keep you from falling flat on your face. Maybe that last shot you’d taken together had been one too many. “Can I pat down your pockets?”

“I know you wanna feel me up, Cass,” you slur playfully, and his name sounds snake-like, with the way you drag out the S.

“Of course I do, (Y/N), any man would be stupid not to want you,” he comments but his words don’t register because the floor is slipping out from under your feet again.

“Feyre has the keys,” you hiccup. Then, “Are we on a roller coaster? The room is spinning.”

Cassian curses, poking his head out of the crowd to search for your missing roommate. She’s with Rhys, no doubt, but he doesn’t see them in the mass of bodies crowding his apartment. What he does see are a lot of disappointed, single women.

He gestures to you and then slices his hand under his chin in a cutting motion, signaling that he’s not with you, even though you’ve wilted against his chest, rubbing your cheek into the soft fabric of his shirt. Cassian watches his message land, their eyes sparkling in intrigue again, and he doesn’t care, he needs to get you somewhere safe so he can take that pretty brunette and her friend to his room.

The safest place in the apartment he knows is Azriel’s room.

“Oh my fucking Gods,” you groan, holding your head when your curse rings in your ears. Of course you’re in Azriel’s room, because you’re fated to end up in situations that will make him hate you even more.

Slowly, you shove the blankets away, slipping your legs over the edge of the bed. The good news is, you feel like you’ve slept for a hundred hours. The other good thing is that you didn’t throw up anywhere in his room that you can see, or smell. 

The bad news is that you don’t know where Azriel is.

But at least he’s not currently here to witness you rising from the dead.

Blindly, you reach for you phone, patting across the table next to the bed. In the back of your throat sits a lump that you consciously work to swallow down. Later, you might regret not purging the rest of the sickness from your body, but the last place you want to do that is here, in Azriel’s room. What the fuck did you end up drinking last night? You remember the flaming shots and Cassian throwing out a partygoer who looked awfully familiar.

Then there had been Mor, who had told you all about Rhysand growing up over a few drinks. The longer Cassian had forced the two of you to talk, presumably so he could sneak off to flirt with girls while you were distracted with each other, the more Rhysand’s cousin seemed to relax. Those cutting looks had turned from pinning you to your spot to glaring at any of the girls who came up to the both of you to ask about the hosts of the party.

Mor’s stories had you seeing your roommate’s boyfriend in a different light. And the embarrassing ones were even better. Like the one time they had gone sledding down the slope of Mor’s family home in Colorado. It had been a steep incline and they’d been warned many times not to go down there, but the fresh snow had been all too tantalizing not to.

Their punishment had been to walk back up the hill to the house, and when they were small the trek felt like it was ten thousand steps high. And they had to carry their sleds behind them. Rhysand had thrown up halfway and Mor had gotten sick from the tears of laughter streaming down her face afterwards.

Cassian’s words cut through the smile trying to sluice across your face. Azriel had said something about a date. Your stomach revolts but you don’t know why. The thought of Azriel missing out on one of Cassian’s parties doesn’t seem out of character for the broody man, but going on a date? This is the first you’ve heard about Azriel doing so. You know much more than you’d like to know about his roommates’ sexual lives, but you didn’t think Azriel was even open to going out. You don’t know why you care.

You don’t.

It doesn’t sound as convincing as it may have once been.

He’s ridiculously attractive, so why wouldn’t he be going on dates? He probably has a plethora of phone numbers from girls begging to go out with him. So many that it makes your teeth grind at the thought.

Your fingers connect with your phone and your head throbs at the brightness of your screen, rivaling the sun’s rays spearing through the blinds.

And then you see the time.

“Shit,” you curse, scrambling for the shoes someone had kindly taken off for you. They’re piled at the foot of the bed. 

You’re late for class.

Gods, you don’t remember the last time you drank like this. Must have been sometime last year because even with all the wine you’d consumed during your pottery painting with Feyre, Cassian, and Rhysand, you hadn’t felt this badly. This is a next level hangover.

You brace yourself when your hand lands on the doorknob to his room. There’s a lock and it’s flipped shut, so you turn it back carefully, breathing a sigh of relief when the click is quiet.

You freeze in your tracks, breath catching in your throat when you slide the door open.

Azriel is lying on the couch, his body splayed out in a long line. His shirt has risen from where he’s lifted his arm, resting it over his eyes to block the sun coming in through the windows, revealing the cut of his hips. There’s two tattoos painted on the skin that you hadn’t noticed the other night, a pair of feathered wings lining the defining muscle of his hips.

You lick your lips before realizing that in the quiet of the apartment, Azriel is fast asleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest helps give him away. That, and the fact that he’s not snarking at you or shooting daggers in your direction.

It’s your saving grace.

The coffee table shoved in front of the couch is littered with cups and rolling paper wrappers, alcohol spilled across its surface. You have no idea how the glass tabletop has survived the rowdy part unscathed, because you’re pretty sure there was one point in the night where you saw a girl standing on top of it, readying herself to fall into the crowd of people congregated in the living room.

The floor is much the same, and you feel like you’re walking a minefield as you tiptoe around questionable puddles and garbage. The stench of alcohol in the air makes your head spin, your stomach protesting and you press a hand to it, trying to comfort the ache.

You escape the apartment without waking Azriel, breathing a sigh of relief that has the remainders of your final drink swimming up your throat.

You make a run for your apartment next door, and thankfully, Feyre answers your knocking.

You don’t like the knowing look she’s wearing, but she doesn’t pester you while you make a break for the bathroom.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take you long to get ready for class.

You’d told Feyre to go on ahead without you when she had knocked softly on the door while you had your head in the toilet, but the sound still clanged through your head like a gong. She was going to get coffee with Rhysand before class and asked if you wanted anything, to which you gratefully accepted.

Even though you have plans to meet Lucien at the coffeehouse for a drink, you need something now or you’re afraid that you won’t make it through the day.

As badly as you want to go and be a hermit in bed all day, you don’t want to miss your classes. Alis is bringing in another model and grading what you come up with in class, and you don’t want to be docked points for missing out. 

Your other class for the day is Art History, and you need to show up to be able to drink in as much of the different styles of art as possible.

Dressing quickly, your clothes stick to your freshly-showered skin. You shove a baseball cap over your hair because while you had the time to wash your body, your hair had been left neglected until later tonight.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you snag your sketchbook from your desk, shoving all of the loose papers hanging out the edges inside. It’s a haphazard job at best, but you’re already running too late for your liking, and you can organize them later.

Like as you wait for the Gods-awful elevator your apartment building has.

The queasiness in your stomach has gone down but the piece of toast you’d forced yourself to eat threatens to come right back up when you spot Azriel, his own backpack slung over his shoulder, waiting for the elevator.

You can still turn around and hide away, there’s definitely still time to—of course he’s turning around at the sound of your approaching footsteps.

His golden eyes glitter with amusement and you can’t shove away the shiver that slides down your spine like a paint filled brush as he trails you from head to toe.

“Sleep well?” He asks gruffly, and the sound of his voice makes your knees weak. Tripping on your next step, your sketchbook goes flying from your hands, spilling the loose papers you’d just stuffed in there everywhere. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear Azriel curse in surprise, but you feel the hot mortification slicing through your body. There are sketches of his hands fluttering to the ground. Ones you had drawn while working on your last project for Alis’ class, the one where you drew Leonardo’s Study of Hands. Azriel’s had been your inspiration, and there’s sketches of them in all sorts of poses, some more promiscuous than others, and you’re completely fucking mortified.

You drop to your knees, face burning red as you scoop the papers closer to you, praying that he doesn’t see. Azriel’s already crouching down with you, helping gather some of the drawings, and the fact that this is the first time he’s ever seen any of your work is overshadowed by the fact that there’s a piece of thick drawing paper right next to his boot. It’s creased from its fall, half of it turned up at an angle. You can see the wavy lines you’d tried so hard to recreate from memory. If he picks that up and looks at it you will have to transfer schools.

“Don’t touch that,” you almost screech when his fingers close around the edge of the paper. You watch it in slow motion, the clench of his jaw, the way that his eyes flick down to his hands, marred flesh fully on display. Oh Gods, you think you might throw up all over again. He thinks you mean that you don’t want him to touch your things because of his fucking hands. Your throat tightens, heart beating so fast in your chest that you’re sure it’s going to burst through your skin. Quickly, trying to rectify yourself, you plead, “No.” Your voice cracks around the lump forming but you shove past it. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Azriel’s face is tight as he stands. You scramble, collecting your papers into your arms. He towers over you, even standing, and you don’t like the flicker of muscle in his jaw because he’s clenching his teeth so hard. 

You don’t like the shadows writhing through the gold of his eyes, molten with anger.

He hands out the papers he’s picked up and an apology is on the tip of your tongue. Reaching out, you’re just about to grasp them, croak out a thank you, when Azriel drops them.

You watch them flutter to the ground again. The elevator dings and the doors squeal open, but you can’t stop staring at the paper on the ground now. You swallow hard, the mortification bubbling into annoyance.

Azriel’s boots twist in your vision and he enters the elevator without another word.

Your eyes prickle but you don’t know why. The breaths you’re releasing through your nose to keep calm are harsh and shaky. Like Azriel’s hands. You need to go to class, and he can fuck off now.

You dip down and snatch the papers from the hall floor, not caring if they get crumpled in your haste. The doors of the elevator begin wheeling shut but you slip through before they can shut completely, trapping you inside with Azriel.

The tiny, metal box that grinds down the elevator shaft is filled to the brim with tension. You can feel the stiffness wafting off of Azriel’s body, though he’s leaning against the wall like he doesn’t have a care in the world, head currently buried in his phone.

Your anger emits in waves, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. What you had said came out the wrong way. You had in no way meant it in the way that you didn’t want his hands touching your work, but the way you’d seen Azriel go preternaturally still, something flash in his eyes, still makes you sick to your stomach. You want to cry, because they’re not tainted in the least. If anything, his hands are the most beautiful hands you’ve ever seen, imperfect yet so, so perfect. 

Of course he had retaliated in the way that he did. You would’ve misconstrued the comment as well, but there’s an itch on your side that tells you he didn’t have to react like that, throwing your papers back to the ground. Another misunderstanding between the two of you.

You open your mouth to speak, but there’s a screeching that’s more horrible than it usually is, and the elevator is jerking to a grinding halt.

You stumble a little, and Azriel steadies you before removing his hands just as quickly. His brows are pinched and the lights in the tiny space flicker before going out completely.

“What the fuck?” You question, pitched higher because of your nerves. You’re stuck, the elevator has stopped working and you’re stuck in it with Azriel. “Oh my Gods, we’re trapped!”

Azriel grunts, punching the buttons on the door. An emergency light flickers on, casting the metal box in a low, fluorescent light. Nothing that he’s doing works, and you’re officially beginning to freak out.

You watch Azriel try to pry the doors open, but even with the bulging of his biceps he’s no match for the metal jaws of death.

Throwing a look over his shoulder, he says, “What are you standing around for, princess? Call the fire department or something.”

“Right,” you respond weakly, pulling your attention from his muscular form. The dispatch is nice about it, sending someone your way and all you have to do is stay calm and await assistance. “Thanks, “ you reply to her, hanging up the phone and turning back to Azriel. “So we wait.”

He looks like he wants to ask more questions, but he nods instead, sinking down and making himself comfortable against the wall. Looking up at you expectantly, you sigh, dropping your bag from your shoulder and collapsing to the floor across from him.

His legs are so long they nearly stretch across the entire elevator, and you can’t help but follow the path back to his eyes, glowing as he watches you. You avert your gaze as quickly as possible.

You don’t know how long it will take for the fire department to get here, so you shoot a quick text to Feyre with your predicament, letting her know that you won’t be able to make it to class and to give your coffee away. Then you send a sad emoji because you really, really needed that caffeine.

Across from you, Azriel’s phone buzzes. He reads it, and then his eyes flicker up to yours in a glare.

“Cassian seems to think that this is funny,” he says, and you don’t know why the deep timber of his voice feels like fingers brushing across your skin. “Why did you tell them?”

“I texted Feyre,” you huff defensively. Crossing your arms over your chest, you level him with your own glare. “I don’t control who she tells.”

Azriel rolls his eyes, shutting off his screen.

It’s silent for a long time. There are no sounds coming from outside of the elevator, and you wonder if anyone has even noticed that it’s trapped. The godsdamned thing takes so long to arrive at any floor that you think most patrons take the stairs now, or give in when the elevator of doom never reached their floor.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, mostly to break the silence. Azriel raises a straight brow and you flush. Sheepishly, you continue. “I didn’t mean what I said in the hall like that. I just—I didn’t want you to see my sketches.”

It’s the most you can give him without spilling the truth of exactly what the drawings were.

Azriel’s jaw works, and it looks like he’s contemplating something important, with the way he’s assessing you. Maybe he’s trying to read if you’re telling the truth, if your apology is sincere or not. The intensity of his eyes makes you want to pull your hat down over your own face to hide it from sight.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” He surprises you by asking.

Your lips part in shock. “What?”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” He asks again, because he doesn't know how he can word the question any differently.

The question throws you. Azriel’s ignored your apology, and instead he’s asking what you’re doing tomorrow night? Has the elevator getting stuck somehow transported you into the Twilight Zone? Is this even really Azriel sitting here with you?

“Um…nothing?” you respond, and he quirks a brow.

“Is that a question or an answer, princess?”

“An answer. I’m doing nothing. Why?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, tipping his head back to rest against the wall, as if he’s contemplating even finishing his question. He looks ever the picture of nonchalance, but what you can’t see is the way he’s curling his fingers to stop their trembling, the rapid beating of his heart.

“I’m having an exhibition tomorrow night. Would you like to join me?”

What? You’re even more dumbfounded now than if that had been the end of the conversation. An exhibition? Tomorrow night? And he’s asking you of all people?

“Who are you and what have you done with my douchebag neighbor?” you ask, shifting in your spot.

A wry smile cracks his mouth and it makes your heart flutter. “Still here, princess.”

Your mouth twists sourly at the nickname. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go to an exhibition with you tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” Azriel nods, agreeing with the echo of his words you’ve just replayed back to him.

“Why don’t you ask your roommates to go with you?”

“They don’t know about it.”

Huh. You don’t know why Azriel wouldn’t invite Cassian or Rhysand to an exhibition he’s having. Well, you could see Cassian wreaking havoc and drinking too much champagne, but Rhys? It seems like the perfect spot for someone like him.

You mull it over, analyzing him. Azriel waits patiently as you study his eyes. The gold is bright under these lights, looking like two golden bars of sun. He’s never been easy to read, and even right now, as you’re trying with all of your might, you can’t find any flicker of anything that tells you this may be a joke.

You tut, crossing your arms over your chest to stop yourself from wringing your fingers in your lap. “Why me?”

“No one better to go with than someone I’m not trying to impress,” Azriel answers seriously. And, he has a point there. You won’t have to hold back from telling him your honest opinion of his work.

You hope that he’s terrible at art, but you have a feeling he’s anything but.

“That doesn’t give me a lot of time to find something to wear.” 

His eyes flash and you wish you knew why.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no.”

Azriel nods, and that’s that. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight, then.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r

If you are not being tagged, please make sure that your account can be tagged, you can do this by going to “account settings -> general settings -> mentions -> who can mention (your username)”

#midnight muse #tattoo artist!azriel #artist!azriel #art school au #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel au

[hubbvrd]

13 with Adam maybe? Only if you’re comfortable of course <3

Feelings | Adam Fantilli

summary — Adam and y/n have been friends since they were little. Both have had feelings for each other for a while. But what happens when the two suddenly get closer at a sleepover party?

pairing — adam fantilli x reader

words — 2760

notes — thanks for your request. I hope you like it!🧡

Everyone has that one day of the week that they particularly look forward to.

For most people, it's definitely Friday, which marks the end of a hard week at school or work and the weekend at last.

For others, it is Saturday or Sunday, which stands for sleeping in, free time, time for yourself and doing nothing.

Your favorite day of the week was Saturday. Especially those special Saturdays when your best friend Adam wasn't on the ice fighting for the win with the Blue Jackets.

But the Saturdays that were just you and Adam.

These Saturdays didn't come around too often during the year. But when that special Saturday came around again, it meant a sleepover with Adam.

Adam and you grew up together thanks to your mothers, who have been friends for a long time.

Adam is just eleven days older than you, which means the two of you have been more or less inseparable since you were born and have walked almost every step together.

There was hardly a day when you were ever apart in your childhood, because not only were your mothers best friends, but the Fantillis' and the Y/L/N's houses were next door to each other, so you played together in the big garden every day in the summer.

And in winter you spent most of your time in front of the fireplace or on a nearby ice rink playing hockey with Luca Fantilli, Adam's brother, and your little sister Lucy.

"I'll be fine" you mumble as you climb the last few steps, resting your chin with difficulty on the many blankets you're holding in your hands and hoping you don't lose them on the last few meters to your room.

"Is that special sleepover party coming up again tonight?" Out of the corner of your eye, you see your sister waggle her eyebrow as you walk over to your room.

"Yeah, Adam's coming in about an hour," you let her know as you put the blankets down on your desk and then survey the little mess of clothes in your room.

Earlier, you had gone to look for the same two pairs of pyjamas that you and Adam wear every year. They had been so far back in the wardrobe that you had unintentionally created a little clothing chaos.

"Then you're storm-free. I hope you use the time very wisely." With a broad grin, Lucy drops onto your bed.

"Yes, well, by watching a movie, eating some snacks and chatting a bit," you mumble more or less to yourself, but loud enough for Lucy to hear you as you start to carelessly throw all the clothes scattered around your room into the closet.

This wasn't the best idea, but it's the quickest one right now, because you still have a few other things to prepare before Adam will be at the door.

And that's why the closet was at the back of the queue and had to wait until tomorrow for its turn.

"You know exactly what I mean, y/n." A loud sigh can be heard from Lucy's direction as you start to rebuild the cave that Adam and you used to make out of blankets and pillows when you were four years old.

By now you were able to build the cave in your sleep. At the age of 19, some people would probably consider this cave too babyish, but you and Adam still loved this cozy cave so much and it brought back a lot of childhood memories that you like to talk about.

"No, I don't know about that." You carefully start to stretch one of the blankets for the roof and then carefully attach the end to the wall.

"If Adam and you carry on like this, you won't be a couple even when you're pensioners," your sister snorts formally and before you can say anything cheeky back, your mother's voice calls Lucy from downstairs.

"You got lucky again, y/n. Mom really saves your butt a lot from this conversation. See you tomorrow then. Don't forget to use contraception if you make it that far this time and ever get close."

"Lucy!" you hiss, startled, as heat rushes to your cheeks and you reach for a pillow to throw in Lucy's direction.

However, your little sister has disappeared from your room so quickly that you don't even have the chance to throw the pillow.

"Oh man..." you murmur quietly to yourself as you just stand there for a few seconds and breathe deeply.

It's no secret that you like Adam, really like him and are more or less in love with him, but there hasn't yet been a good time to really let him feel it.

"Maybe today," you answer your feelings out loud as you continue to get the height ready.

- - -

"I heard there's a special sleepover party here?" Adam looks at you with a beaming face after you open the door and let the older man into the house.

"Correct," you reply with a grin and after you close the door behind Adam, you are immediately pulled into a warm hug, so that Adam's aftershave surrounds you and briefly makes you gather yourself again.

"I missed you, y/n," he murmurs into your hair before letting go of you too quickly.

"I-I missed you too..." you stammer, a little confused, as you tug sheepishly at the sleeve of your sweater.

"I hope I've got everything with me" Adam babbles as he pulls the rucksack off his shoulders and then taps the full rucksack once.

"Well, I hope you haven't forgotten the nachos with your mother's best cheese sauce," you reply with a wry grin as you run ahead up the stairs and Adam follows you.

"Nope, Mom made sure I packed them for sure."

A grin grows on your lips. "Great, she knows what's good for me.

"Yeah, I'm good for you" Adam winks at you before walking into your room, thankfully not seeing your cheeks turn a shade of pink. "Wow. The cave looks mega, as always."

For a few seconds, you bite your bottom lip to somehow chase away the tingling sensation that's slowly making its way through your body before following Adam into your room. Adam has actually just been flirting with you.

Adam is crouched in front of the den, which is filled with countless pillows and blankets and has various fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the den a little and bathing it in a warm light.

"All that's missing are our pyjamas..."

Adam turns to you and looks up at you from his crouched position.

"They almost got on my last nerve. I had to search until I found them. I was panicking that they had gone missing" you babble on as you walk over to your dresser and take down the pyjamas.

"Luckily you found them, otherwise we would have had to cancel the whole party," Adam jokes, suddenly standing in front of you and holding out his hands for his pyjamas.

"Or we would have had to buy new ones."

Smirking, Adam reaches for the warm fabric of the pyjamas and his fingers graze yours for a few seconds, his gaze fixed on you and he seems to sense how you're reacting to this little touch.

While a tingling sensation breaks out inside you again, you try to be as relaxed as possible on the outside, but you don't really succeed.

Your eyes widen slightly as your mouth opens slightly and the warmth rises in your cheeks again.

Damn, I really have to pull myself together! Otherwise Adam will think God knows what of me, you try to pull yourself together somehow, hoping that this evening will be more relaxed and that you won't come into contact with Adam too often.

But that would be boring, wouldn't it?

- - -

Dressed in your pyjamas and snuggled up under the warm blankets in the cave, Adam and you lie next to each other. There's a cushion between you so that you can relax a little more and take a deep breath.

While you lie there and watch Adam, he starts to get various snacks and drinks from his rucksack. These include various pastries that his mother has prepared especially for you.

"Please tell me these are exactly the cookies I think they are!" you almost shriek as Adam holds the Tupperware container with the large cookies in front of you.

"These are my mom's world-famous cookies" he proudly presents to you, uttering the sentence you've been dying to hear.

"I love your mom for this" you gush with your mouth full, because you just couldn't wait to leave the cookies untouched any longer.

As you start to chew with relish, Adam watches you with amusement and a smirk on his lips.

"What are they? They're awesome," you mumble with your mouth full. "And instead of staring at me now, you could choose a movie, Fantilli."

Adam starts to turn red within a few seconds, so he quickly turns his head away and goes to your laptop, where he opens Netflix and then starts looking for a movie.

Did Adam really just turn red because of me? you ask yourself. No, that can't be it. There must be another reason...

"Uh, what genre?" Adam mumbles quietly, his eyes still fixed on the laptop and his voice sounding slightly nervous.

"You decide" you reply, popping the last piece of cookie into your mouth as you continue to watch Adam and begin to wonder if he's really nervous about you right now.

Does he perhaps feel the same as you?

Do you trigger exactly the same feelings in him as he does in you? Was that really possible just now? Or are you just imagining all of this?

You would love to open your mouth and ask Adam all the questions that are running through your head, but when you open your mouth, not a single word comes out. It's probably for the best, because you don't want to be wrong and end up damaging your friendship or upsetting or hurting Adam.

"Then let's look at this one" Adam interrupts your train of thought as he selects a movie and then places your laptop between you so that you can both see clearly.

"Can you tell me his name?" you ask as the movie starts and you begin to sit down a little more comfortably.

Adam tells you the title of the movie, which you haven't heard before, so you are all the more excited about the movie and can hardly wait to immerse yourself in the story of the protagonists.

- - -

An hour and a half later, the black screen of the movie appears, which you comment on with a slight pout.

The movie drew you in within a few seconds and didn't let go so quickly that you can hardly believe it's over.

The movie was about two best friends who grew up together, were inseparable and suddenly went their separate ways until one day they found each other again and then fell in love.

The story was a little like you and Adam, but a little different, so you start to wonder if Adam chose this movie specifically to confess his feelings to you through a flower?

No, that was silly. Stop getting yourself into things! You're almost becoming obsessed, you admonish yourself again.

"The movie was good," you say quickly to silence any further thoughts that might come to mind.

"Yes, it really was," Adam replies and you hear a soft rustling beside you.

Shortly afterwards, Adam is quite close to you so that you can smell his aftershave again.

Within a few seconds, your heart starts to beat a little faster and the nervousness inside you begins to grow.

"Y/n," he almost whispered over to you, causing you to feel his warm breath lightly against your cheek.

The tingling in your body begins to awaken again, while you are unable to touch yourself even a little.

"A-Adam," you whisper back nervously as the rustling of the blanket sounds next to you again and shortly afterwards you find yourself in Adam's arms again.

"What are you doing?" you whisper again as you slowly manage to look at your best friend.

"What I should have done a long time ago," he replies in a whisper, sounding rather nervous.

His eyes rest gently on yours as his hand moves towards your cheek, where he places it and begins to gently stroke the small scar on your temple with his thumb, the one you got when Adam and you climbed up into the trees together and you injured yourself on a branch.

"I don't want this to be like it was until today," he begins to say as he continues to run his hand over your scar and looks you in the eye.

Unable to speak, you just stare at the person opposite you while your breathing is almost intermittent and your heart is pounding so fast you feel like Adam can hear it.

"I...I guess this could change everything now, y/n. But I have to risk it. I can't hold back my feelings anymore. My feelings for you are getting stronger and stronger. And every time I see you, it hurts not to be allowed to do this..." as Adam speaks, he comes closer and closer to you until his warm lips are on yours shortly afterwards.

Fireworks explode inside you so that your whole body starts to tingle within a few seconds and you open your eyes in shock for a few seconds because you are so taken by surprise by Adam and his lips on yours that you need a moment before you close your eyes again and return the kiss.

All too quickly, Adam detaches himself from you again and rests his forehead against yours so that you look into each other's eyes and your breathing quickens a little.

"I'm madly in love with you, y/n," he almost whispers, as if he's afraid to say the words out loud.

"Adam?" you whisper softly.

"Yes?" You can't help but notice that his voice sounds a little nervous.

"I'm in love with you too. And have been for so long," you whisper back and within a few seconds his lips are on yours again.

This time the kiss is much more intense. His lips move gently against yours, while his hand continues to rest against your cheek, gently stroking your cheek.

Your hands move to his neck, where they intertwine and you carefully pull Adam closer to you to somehow show yourself that this is real.

After a while, you slowly pull away from each other, whereupon Adam lies down on his back and pulls you with him, so that you carefully lay your head on his chest and Adam pulls the blanket over you.

Silence begins to reign between you, but it is anything but uncomfortable. On the contrary, you both use the silence to review the last few minutes.

A grin spreads across your lips as you snuggle closer to Adam, who wraps his arms around you and then rests his head on yours.

"Adam?" you murmur contentedly into the silence as you enjoy the closeness and hope that this closeness will never disappear.

"Yes?"

"You're the first person that's ever made me feel so safe" you murmur as Adam's closeness and warmth begin to make you slightly sleepy.

In fact, you've always felt so safe around Adam.

Every time Adam protected you from older boys who teased you.

Every time your teacher tried to force you to read aloud, even though you were too nervous to read a single sentence.

Every time you had a driving lesson and Adam sat in the back seat to be with you.

The time you had an appendectomy and Adam sat next to your bed after the operation and held your hand when you were in pain.

The time you got the email from your dream college and he sat next to you and held your hand.

There were so many moments when he made you feel safe.

Too many moments to list them all.

But now, after the two kisses and the moment when you're lying in his arms, you really realize that Adam was the one person who made you feel safe.

And you are sure that there will be countless more moments when it will be the same.

#adam fantilli #adam fantilli x reader #adam fantilli imagine #nhl x y/n #nhl oneshot #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl #nhl hockey

[suwbuns]

E-DATERS! | catfishing

SYPNOSIS. moving back to korea from america, y/n is excited to reunite with her old friends and make new ones. what she doesnt expect is to find herself reuniting with her “ex-boyfriend” from 10 years ago who she dated over minecraft. what makes things worse? he happens to be her favorite streamer who she has been pinning after for years.

written + screenshots below!

with a random youtube video playing on one monitor and his minecraft browser running on the other, beomgyu briefly glanced at his second screen, scanning the chat log to see if any join message had appeared.

he had been on his computer for almost an entire 24 hours, not that it was different than his normal routine, but what made it different was the fact that he had been waiting specifically for her the whole time. he spent 2 of those hours exploring the world that he hadnt touched ever since the day he had realized that y/n was not coming back, swarmed with past memories and nostalgia that pressured him into wanting to talk to her again.

13 year old beomgyu waited days for her; when his parents were asleep he would secretly sneak down the stairs to the family desktop and when he would get out of school he would rush back home and go straight to his computer, each time logging back into the game to check for any signs that she might’ve been there.

she said she would only be gone for 2 weeks, but for 5 whole months he waited for her.

even til this day, beomgyu had no clue why he cared so much about the girl he never met. a childish online relationship that managed to have such a tight hold on him.

“this is ridiculous” he scoffed at himself, realizing the situation that he was on that had him waiting on her, again.

“all this for a girl, who for all i know, might not even be a girl!” he threw his hands up in the air, growing frustrated, he moved his mouse to click out of the game and possibly never return to it again.

diamondgirl123 has joined the game.

completely freezing in his tracks, his eyes fixated on the join message and read it over and over again. the tight grip that he had on his mouse loosened, yet his cursor had still hovered over the exit button.

diamondgirl123: hey

diamondgirl123: um sorry for leaving so suddenly earlier, i was just startled

diamondgirl123: its been a while tho, how are u?

furrowing his eyebrows, a million thoughts had swarmed him, causing him to feel conflicted about her sudden appearance. he didnt know why he felt such anger and annoyance, after all, didn’t he stay in hopes that she would show up?

he wanted more from her. that out of those years he was left hanging, didn’t he atleast deserve better than that? disregarding her question, his fingers flew across his keyboard to type a response.

gamerboycbg01: yeah, it has.

gamerboycbg01: why show up now lol, you did a good job disappearing.

he anxiously drummed his fingers against the wooden surface of his desk, beginning to overthink if whether or not his reply was too rude and blunt, considering its been a while since they last spoke. before he could type out an apology, a new message appeared from her.

diamondgirl123: im sorry.

diamondgirl123: do you have a social media we can chat on? ill explain everything there

diamondgirl123: it just feels weird to be having a serious conversation over minecraft lol

gamerboycbg01: uh yeah gimme a sec

with the adrenaline running through him and his anger subsiding at her sudden question, beomgyu felt himself panicking at the thought of having to expose his identity. ripping his headset from his ears, beomgyu bolted across the hallway and opened a door abruptly to jeongin in his computer chair. his knees were pulled tightly towards his chest as he sat back, engrossed in whatever k-drama that he had yet to finish.

his head snapped towards the boy who walked through his doorway, rolling his eyes and continuing to fixate his attention on his screen when he realized the culprit of the interruption.

“ever heard of knocking? what if i was—“

“yeah yeah i dont care” beomgyu interrupted. “i need another twitter account, do you still have the password to the account with a decent amount of followers?

“why? are you planning on catfishing some random girl to prove to us that you are capable of being good with women?” he responded, chuckling lightheartedly at the boy. “because im telling you, the only thing youre going to get out of it is your name trending on twitter and 50 thousand lost followers.”

following his snarky remark, jeongin received a slap towards the back of his head, yelping at the sudden pain.

“alright fine!” jeongin frowned, rubbing the back of his head as if it would aid in settling the sensation.

“yeah i still have it. you better change the account name though,” jeongin said, taking beomgyu’s phone out of his hands to type in the account details. “because the last time i used this account, i was catfishing as some 10 year old girl to catch online predators for content.”

beomgyu hummed in response, obtaining his phone back from jeongins grasp. scrolling through the account, beomgyu made a mental note of the things to change, including the dozens of inappropriate tweets before he could send the profile to you.

“do you think you can give me another name with the same initials as me? cbg?”

previous | masterlist | next

taglist. @openingssequence @suburbiataehyung @shinypieceofgarbage @koeuh @captivq @beowmgyu @qluvrv @ikaeryn @whippedforbeomgyu @i8lhee @heyanonymous123 @vanicogh @sulliefimmie @tae-ology @milkycloudtyg @ox1-lovesick @soobsfairy444 @sulliefimmie @jaxavance @peachenle @pokyloky @peachybeom @alpha-mommy69 @fatoompie @ashxxkook @soobsdior @viagumi @rikismiel @luvsoobs

fun fact! jeongin gave the name bogum because park bogum was the lead actor in the kdrama he was watching 😭

a/n. sorry i didnt post yesterday i literally knocked out when i got homeee. but idk if i will continue daily updates we will have to see, also i caNT WRITE FOR SHIT 😭😭😭

#beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu smau #beomgyu x reader #txt beomgyu #txt fanfic #txt imagines #txt smau #txt x reader #beomgyu #txt scenarios #txt #tomorrow by together #txt oneshots #beomgyu oneshots #beomgyu scenarios

[j4y-lvr]

day flower … park jongseong

SYNOPSIS. bent over the sink, coughing up petals and blood, you knew that your worst fears had come true.

PAIRING. jay x fem!reader

GENRE. fluff, angst, lovers2?, established!relationship (?), hanahaki au

WARNINGS. profanity, mentions of food, mentions of blood, quite a lot of kissing, possibly making out (?), one mention of loss of weight, graphic, mcd(?), death(?)

WORD COUNT. 5.3k

NOTE. i just wanted to write something sad and i came up with this,, idk why i chose jay to fit my mental image of this bc its so saddening to even imagine— EVEN THOUGH ITS SAD PLS DO READ😭‼ thoughts on an alternative ending? update:: I MADE ONE: !! ALTERNATE ENDING. !!

Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated!

i. the bud blooms

At the ripe age of 12 you were sent away with your mother after a preceding divorce bought with complexities and the drop of niceties. This, however, was your chance  at a fresh start or whatever your mother bullshited about when you knew you'd nonetheless be a burden to her.

Maybe she was prepping you to put up with her never coming home nor checking up on you as time passed. With no real restrictions you spent your time outside after school and by the field of daffodils you found after a hike up the crest of a low hill.

A google search on the then simplistic site displayed that daffodils symbolise new beginnings, quite accurate given your situation. Much hadn't changed now as only the site was cleaned up to look mod and appealing but the information remained.

On the sole field you met a boy. Dark hair brooding his lowered eyes, and he wore nothing but a tiresome look on his face. He stepped forward and scrunched his nose in annoyance at the sight of  you, an intruder to his scarce peace. "ugh, whatever, just stay on that side of the field and don't disturb me,"  With no one to tell you when to not bother someone, you did exactly that, eventually getting him to gleam a boyish smile at you.

Just like the search engine viewing your answer, that boy, jay, seemed to have an answer for almost everything. Smart and logical, would always rationalise with himself and was punctual with his timings at the gripping age of 13. Not once had he been late when you’d inquire to meet him the very next day, finding him at his usual spot, grimacing at the withered flowers. His punctuality and love for flowers (?) scared you, either he was messed up in the head or he'd been expected to act like an adult for the majority of his life, to live up to his parents expectations.

He wandered to these fields for his lonesome mind to sing to some melody of a song you didn't know, caressing the petals of the varied and wilting flowers. You accompanied him with a sketchbook in hand, your hands at work, your ears to his humming and occasional tunes with no comments or interruptions. You had not a thread attached with his absolute, practical life, and that's what he grew to enjoy as he sang you sweet songs and admired the minimalist beauty of flowers for hours together before he vanished back the trail he hiked up.

A decade long later, he stood the same punctual, intellectual, stellar citizen as his facial features  matured and took a dark yet captivating bloom while he sobered from a teen to a young adult. Now the heir of his grandfather's company, he revelled in the success of his grandfather's business. To say he grew would be an understatement, rarely ever flashing you that lovable boyish grin, never to sing his silly little tunes in front of you again.

You weren't one to pry, years into your first ever relationship with your first love and beyond afraid to lose your loose yet stitched in place frail, threaded red heart the two of you share. The photobook stared upon you, urging you to reminisce about your uneventful past filled with mostly jay. The current times didn't get any exciting either, you painted and attended exhibitions, the usual smile carried on your peach tinted lips at the guests and those interested in buying your pieces.

Contrary to this, jay barely made it home, cooped up in his office all day everyday, allowing himself to come home merely upon completing his work. You didn't mind really, the two of you went out, spoke to each other often, and were happy. This while around, he had been distant for a week or two, his longest record of shutting you out till date. You figured he was exhausted mentally and gave him the space though you wished to circle in his arms and breath wistfully.

You veered your attention to the pages and stopped on one of jay, sat beneath the tree near your old, broken, rundown house, looking into the farther distance, admiring the view, and so were you at the time, etching each feature of his delicately put together face, ingraining it in your mind, taking out your then new but now ancient camera to capture the spectacle.

You grin at the photo stuck, your orbs drifting to the messy lyrics he'd written in english to match the mood of the moment, this particular one that of your favourite song till date, one that he used to sing you to sleep.

"what are you looking so fondly at," uttered jay whose presence you failed to recognise in the room, his exasperated expression making you almost coo at him. You patted on the bedding beside as he followed, crossing your painting that you'd left to dry for hours ere.

"our photo book," you replied gaily, surprised to see him speaking to you after weeks, instinctively reaching for his cheek and staring into his eyes to find the very night sky in them, to find them gleaming right at you, the type stars would beam before they went out. A mesmerising yet sad beauty.

His gaze flickered from your soulful eyes and he glued his sights to the photo and hummed in agreement, "i guess i've always looked this good," he finished the tire in his vocals evident with a slight snicker. You shifted closer to him on the bedding which you wrinkled in the process, "you always have," you completed, pulling him closer by the hand that cupped his cheek.

You drawled yourself up to his level, running your thumb back and forth on his soft skin while your other hand ran through his soft hair, watching as he watched you with this solemn look you couldn't put a finger on. You smiled wider and hovered your lips over his as you ultimately gave in to his alluring presence and pressed your soft lips to his in a desperate yet sweet manner.

He hummed from bewilderment and slinged an arm around your waist, inching the distance closer than possible, tilting his head further and into you as he danced with your lips. You pulled away and gasped, blinking as bliss hit you, wondering if it could get any better than this? You drew away and slotted your lips on his again, covering his frantic yet slow lips, kissing him passionately, emptying out your heartfelt sentiments in the shared motion. 

You climbed off and undid his tie and the first button of his dress shirt and told him to wash up, getting to your feet, fetching him comfortable clothes and a glass of water to drink. He changed into them after washing up and sat back down on the mattress, back pressed to the headboard, the glass coming in contact with his lips that stained yours not long ago.

He glugged the cool water down his throat and set the now empty glass on the bedside table, your hand ruffling his hair as he yearned for your lips to confirm his doubt, tugging down and setting his lips against yours to feel the emotion again as you relaxed into his warm touch after a long day. 

He separated the connection as a string of saliva drew apart and suspended, a sigh of what you thought was content from jay as he flopped to the soft matting underneath him. A pit settled in his stomach and he felt guilt. He chose to ignore the feeling and set his eyes to a close.

You joined him, clinging onto him, kicking on the blanket to yourself and snuggling into his shoulder with a grin. Jay forcefully shut his eyes with a wince he hoped you'd miss it and placed his hand on your waist. Jay pretended to sleep as you hiked up on your elbow, leaning to press a peck to his forehead and mutter, "i love you."

Truth be told, jay sighed out of worry than content.

ii. blossom

You gotten used to the sight of jays absence when you awoke from your prolonged slumber, even the days you rose as early as 8, he’d be out the door, bidding you goodbye as he tucked in the loop of tie and tighten it around the collar, patting you on the head before bolting out the door and zooming off in his vehicle.

He’s been distant but never avoiding, and that's what you felt like he was doing this time; avoiding. As painful as it was to accept the fact that he had been avoiding you for the past week was hurtful. Yes, he was out and at work, he hadn’t stepped foot in the house since a week, nor would he receive your calls, excusing himself through text messages shorter than 5 words.

Time you made him show up yourself. 

You spent almost the entire day prepping your setting, going as far as decorating and cooking something you saw online which ended up pretty decent. Now, all you needed was to lure jay like a wasp to light. You picked up your cell, dialling his number, your throat feeling rather scruffy as you coughed on the ringing line to soothe the uncomfortable sensation.

“did i work too hard for this, i feel my throat closing up,” you mumble, waiting for the line to connect, the mere automated voice blaring through your ear canal causing you to hang up and opt to text him. “come home, its an emergency,”

Not the best, but surely it’d do the trick, and in an hour's time, jay showed up, panting as he bolted the door open, “where's the fire!” he shouted, standing in the common room, across your resting figure on the couch. You yelped and got to your feet, rushing over and placing both hands over your heart, “here.”

His expression morphed from his initial shock to confusion and to anger. He should've seen it coming as it was February the 14th, Valentine's day. Discarding the tie to his fist, he stared you down with menacing eyes, making you gulp down the present discomfort in your throat, your fearful yet expectant orbs gazing into his raged one.

“i’m really trying to control myself,” “good, we haven’t even started,”

With his tongue poking the side of his cheek from annoyance, you led him to the backyard where a table was set from your preparation and he seemed surprised at the notion, and his mouth slitted open as you hauled the piping hot dish towards the meagre wobbling metal table that withheld the dishes well, allowing you to take a seat opposite of jay.

The look in his eyes was penetrating, feeling your throat close in more as you coughed uncontrollably prompting him to hand you a glass of water, glued to his seat as he observed you heave up and down before the hectic coughing subsided and you felt the air reach your nostril and travel without a hitch to your lungs.

“sorry, i, uh, made us dinner,” you conveyed, forcing a wide smile while overlooking your fit of spontaneous fits of coughing, “i can see that,” he responded sternly, beginning to serve the food onto both plates, his eyes not letting up the cold act for a millisecond, like he almost meant it.

You picked at your food, staring at him eat wordlessly, the irritation in your throat causing you to gag and wince every now and then before you mustered to pierce through the tension filled atmosphere, “did i do something wrong?” The resounding clang of the utensil to the plate made you straighten your back, “no, i’m just upset over the fact you had to lie to get me here,” he paused, drifting off into a daze, “i haven’t come home in a while, i know,”

He shifted away from your constraint, locking eyes with his meal and eating the plate clean, “you’ve gotten better at cooking,” he commented, shutting his eyelids and leaning back on the cold metal of the chair, waiting for you finish your respective meal, making you swallow down the larger chunks in haste. You stood to your feet, the ordeal leaving a metallic taste in your mouth. The chair scraped back, you collected the dishes and placed them in the sink, the unsettling pit in your stomach only digging deeper with the irking sensation in the back of your throat growing ratched.

You went to bed with a heavy heart, his back facing yours as he wordlessly drifted to slumber, leaving you to your consuming thoughts. Maybe, just maybe, he really was exhausted. You shouldn't have been so disapproving of him for his mental absence.

Either way, your plan was an absolute failure.

The sun rose inevitably and jay arose to his right, feet planted on the rugged flooring, remaining sat on the bedding, heaving a loud sigh. He peered over his back to sneak a peek at your asleep state. The way your eyes were clamped shut and your brows furrowed with a strong pout spoke enough of your nightmare and jay exhaled into his palms away from you.

He'd hate to break your heart but he'd hate to lead you on even more. He couldn't bring himself to feel the same anymore, his emotionality drained and his sentiments aside, he felt guilt to have wronged you. He felt like a shitty person every morning to face your innocent stature suffocating him in wallow. So, every morning, he left before you awoke to stop the aching in his wilting heart.

The dip in the mattress rises as he does, stepping disheartedly to the bathroom to start his mundane routine. The shower head shoots water as his hair dampens, his sole salty tears mixing with the overhead resource, tears drowning in silence. You stir awake with your throat suffocatingly sore to the point where swallowing water was excruciatingly painful.

The small clock on the bed side table ticked with faint clicks, the hour handle clocked at 7 with the longer needle on 40 as the splinter-like needle spun periodically. You coughed, finding it hard to breathe, the itching sensation increasing as you felt something will up your throat, your hand bracing your mouth in a clasp. 

Mustering out the strange discomfort inducing object, you coughed out a petite, white petal, accompanied with a sized spot of blood painting its own canvas— your palm, per se. Observing the viscous liquid the upside length of your hand, you begin to feel nauseous, ripping the blanket off you and grasping your neck from pain.

You separated the petal from the splash or crimson, clutching it in your free hand as jay made his way over to you, draped in a bathrobe, ushering your tained palm inspect. He grimaced at the sight of blood staining your palm, his thumb instinctively finding your cheek rubbing it of what he attempted to seem affectionate. 

Tears pricking your orbs, you urged forward and wrapped your arms around him merely to be held away from his hold with a jerk, making you gape clueless. "it'll stain," he reminded, though he'd pushed you for other reasons he couldn't have the guts to come clean too.

Wiping your eyes dry, you stepped away from him and washed away the substance while jay suited up for work. You left the premise and returned to where jay buttoned his shirt hastily. You strode up to him and finally found yourself in his hesitant hold, peering up to him with glossy eyes. 

He sighed into your face, his arms tightening around you as you hiked to his eye level in your tiptoes to press a peck to his lips. You approached forward and pecked his lips, to confirm your growing doubt. You readjusted to kiss him, parting your mouth only for him to pull you back once again with another excuse. 

"you haven't brushed your teeth yet," he delivered with a soft tone, running his hand down your bed hair. It stung. Not just your throat, your heart, years ago into your relationship you'd made out plenty of times with a nasty breath and none of you seemed to mind. He really was making… excuses. 

The flowers, the blood—him avoiding you, your fleeting touch— most importantly, he began to ignore your feelings for him. 

Jay was falling out of love with you.

iii. grow thorns

Desperate. That's what you felt coursing through your veins as you curled into a ball on the carpeted floor in the empty residence, jay long gone on a business trip to wherever. Upon your gruesome piecing together, you felt despair and spent most of your time wallowing in streams of tears.

It was March and you laid sick in bed, occasionally leaving to fulfil your regular duties as a human while completely neglecting physical activity and socialising, not like you were good at either but this case was extreme. The same boy you felt deeply connected to, the boy who made you understand what love felt like, the boy who showed you true love—which your parents always failed to accommodate— was also the boy who'd crumble your fragile beating soul to rubble.

Your first petals you coughed were once pea size petals that gradually turned into full fledged, grown petals, heaving up your trachea, branches growing in your lungs making it all the much harder for you to breathe. In arounv a week's time, was your anniversary with jay. It'd be foolish to think he'd just take you back like that after the answer of unrequited love stood from your lungs. 

Perhaps if he broke your heart a second time, you would be convinced and mercilessly succumb to the inevitable.

You kept the petals you threw to a side, setting up a fresh canvas and painting a blank later for white onto it. Unsure of what to paint, you stood contemplating what you were even doing in the first place but the thought of gifting it to him seemed motivating and so you began.

Strokes of wet paint slapped onto the once pearly white canvas, skilledly sketching with your brush the outline of your objects, filling in the remnants of white into the backdrop of the portrait. It wasn't over till it was, eventually over. The faint lines of your boyfriend became clear and so had your mind. You knew what your next change of plan would be.

Jay returned around two weeks later and by then your health had declined and the loneliness merely increased. Hesitant to speak to you, you took the hint and mainted your distance as well, only interacting when needed as he used the spare bedroom to rest. Indeed,.t hurt to think that he found it hard to even sleep next to you but you weren't going to take it till he uttered the words himself.

Then came your anniversary. The two of you had been great friends for four years and then dated for four and you'd like to say that you both were still going strong, though your current situation said all but that. You requested jay to help in making dinner for the while none of you spoke a word of the day's occasion.

You were at work chopping the vegetables as jay readied the base, sprinkling some spices and checking the flavouring every now and then all without saying a word to you. Your eyes travelled from the steaming stew to where he placed the spoon between his lips, a furrow creasing on his face, tongue clicking.

"salt," he mumbled, eyes drifting from around where he situated, then shifting to around you. The salt was placed beside the chopping board, and that meant it was across you, an arm's distance. Without much thought, he stepped closer to you and reached for the salt, his arm brushing past your waist, causing him to tense, his orbs darting to yours.

You solemnly watched his eyes grow from hesitate to panic to worry. Worry, however, caught you off guard? His hand remained on the salt bottle, arm still at your waist. "you've gotten thin," he mustered, peering down  at you. Your lips parted and cursed yourself for the water gathering in your tear glands.

You shifted to face him and your fists collided with the material of his shirt, clutching it in your grasp while you looked to your feet to collect your thoughts. Jay watched with no thoughts, bewildered at your shaken state. Just in time, your throat began to cave in.

You showed him your back, heaving up and down, the petals trailing up your throat and hitting your palm. You smacked your chest uncomfortably to stop the tractions to not let him suspect anything was out of order.

"you okay?" he queried, feeling the thumps of his feet getting closer to you, panicking as you collected blood and petals into your hand, the fear of him peeking it at your new high. He reached to your position and you scurried off in a haste towards the washroom. Passing by your jar of petals, you dropped them into the pot in a hurry as jay caught up to you.

Drowning the crimson in the sink you ran water on your hands, cutting the water supply and placing your wetted hands on the cold counter, panting. The heavy footsteps echoed and then soon were planted behind you. You gazed at his fallen front in the mirror. Why? Why did he look disheartened? Did he feel something for you after all?

He panned you around, caging you to the marbled counter, sealing in his arms with your chest by his, solely daring to search for any love in his eyes. Yanking the sleeve of your sweatshirt laid a spot of crimson from the viscous liquid. You mentally winced and set your sights away from him.

His finger glided to your chin and brought you towards his front, his palm resting on your cheek, "you're not okay, are you darling," he conveyed as your heart grumbled at the endeared name, a stray tear threatening to stain your cheek. "i've been unwell,"

The silence dawned on the two of you as he buried his hand in your hair, tugging down on it to tilt your head up, and his finger parting your nimble lips, the salty taste lingering in his mouth as he pressed down, and gave you a kiss. Under any circumstance than this, you'd relish the feeling but you felt sick with your throat itching.

Nonetheless, you played into his act of affection, gripping him further as his neck dipped to reach further in your cavern. Taking in what'd be the last time you'd ever meet his lips with such fever you attempted to feel the texture of his moist lips diving in and out. the pop sound loud and clear as you pulled him off of you. He settled his hand by your ear, his thumb giving you a false sense of security as he rested his forehead against yours.

"shall we get married?"

The falter in his facials was apparent and you felt your heart fall to your stomach. "marriage? what are you talking about, we're only 21," he missed, trying to play it cool.

"you know I love you right?" you did love him, you weren't lying but he didn't and you wouldn't let go of him till he said those harsh words himself.

His lack of reply set you off and you changed your blank face to that of despair, " you don't love me?" 

"i…"

You shoved him away, crinkling your eyes in downward crescents as tears peaked from your eyes, playing at his heart strings. You felt the similar aggression of anger pile in him as he rushed his breathing, brows furrowing deep and the same mouth you kissed parted to utter icy words..

"do you know how it feels to date the one you've known and cared for since you were child?! not once have I ever hurt you nor done anything to hurt and i never will but I can’t sleep at night looking at your unaware face that i settled to for work. It’d break my heart to break your’s but i can’t let up with this without feeling guilty for leading you on when i cannot bring myself to feel those sentiments of love— i just don’t love you like before! "

Though you knew it was coming, the actuality hurt so much more. The lines of him declining your love for him played repeatedly. Jay left the room and the house, slamming the front door to possibly never return again. You sobbed even harder than before, falling to the floor urging the feeling to succumb to die as you coughed up amounts of blood  and petals onto the floor in shambles.

iv. wither

April came as fast as March left with Jay slamming the door, never to return under any circumstance. You strongly believed he began living at his office unless one friend allowed him to stay over for an extended period of time. You, however, hadn't had any luck with getting better, accepting you would die soon.

Mustering any strength you conjured to get out of bed, meeting the carpeted floor where you'd spend hours staring at the ceiling with teary eyes. You were going to go down like this, despite your dreams and aspirations, this was how'd you succumb to death.

The sole motivation to sit by your canvas, that slowly came to picture, was the haunted expression in his front you could imagine ever so vividly. You meagre around the house to get your jar of thrown up petals, stained scarlet, quite a nice piece of decor to the vicinity though it'd be too bad that you'd be gone to not see it as one.

Frailly reaching for one petal, then another, you stuck them in carefully, the internal shaking refusing to seize as your breath turned shallow, leaving you gasping for air, overexerting yourself in finishing the piece. 

On the once pearly white canvas sat a portrait of jay through the lens of your antique camera where you stood a trail of your petals and blood mixed onto the canvas, increasing as they led to your situation behind the camera just like your dying self behind the canvas.

Finishing the painting, you felt the hot breath hit your tired out hands and brittle paint dipped fingers— the same fingers Jay would kiss to you sleep, ticking you into bed if you ran a fever— were also the ones that gripped to the head rest, giving to the growing tiredness that overcame you, turning to lie flat on your back.

The keys jingled in the near distance, jay slipping in through the door, watching as nothing had really moved around in the house. He contemplated on notifying you of his abrupt appearance, opting to slowly creep up the stairs. Unknown to you, you had started coughing again, the strength in your arms to cover your mouth non-existent.

Resulting in the blood coating you and the mattress in a painful fit of red as you sobbed heartbroken to yourself wondering where it went wrong, did he require more space, had you been more mindful would he still be at your side.

Jay stilled on hearing your heart wrenching sobs, the previous hesitance gone as he ran up the stairs and to your situation on the bed stained bed. Having forgotten about your coughing fit of blood through the apparent stress from the separation. 

His sight fell to the canvas in front of him greeting as you cough seized, your eyelids lugging over your glassed over orbs, jay getting to knees as he saw you covered in blood, his hand finding your paint ridden hand. You gave a weak chuckle, "if we ever meet again, I hope it works out then," you say, the diamonds leaving the comfort of your eyes and onto your crimson imposed self. 

Jay heaved from panic, "why didn't you tell me?!" He hurried exclaimed, his hand running down your arm to keep your burning vessel even warmer. Unbeknownst to him he'd been crying and you watched with low eyes close to shutting, your palm lifting up to his tear stricken cheek, "just know," you paused, shutting your eyes completely feeling the life get sucked out of your body. 

"i loved you."

alternate ending. (1.6k)

#park jay #park jongseong #enhypen jay #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhyped angst #jay angst #jay fluff #jay imagines #jay x reader #jay oneshots #jay fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fic #enhypen scenarios #enhypen jay x reader #jay scenarios #jay fic #jongseong fluff #jongseong imagines #enhypen jongseong #park jongsung #enha #enha imagines #enha x reader #enha jay

[emetoandotherthings]

The Teachers' Curse

A/N: Honestly this is the first thing I've written in so so so long.. I don't really even know where it came from but 🤷‍♀️ Also apologies cause there's a lot of build up, but suck it if you don't like it. Just cause they're so wonderful I'm dedicating this to @lickstynine and @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

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         The teachers’ curse. That’s what they’d all joked about in uni. The last week of term and the first week of the holidays – rule them out because with everything that needed done, you’d be exhausted and every bug, virus and eager bacteria comes after you. Jude had laughed about it with all the rest, until his probationary year began.

         After 8 weeks, October had brought a tired, run down feeling; December heralded a cold – but then, who didn’t get a cold in December? Jude was beginning to think that it was a whole load of rubbish, until he had to content with a 13 week term, coinciding with a pedagogical enquiry and a final profile to prove that he was actually good enough to be a teacher.

         With only 7 school days to go until the Easter holidays, Jude woke up with conjunctivitis – all scratchy and inflamed. He’d ended up with drops that Eden almost had to pin him down to put in, and forced to wear his glasses for the entire week.

         With 5 days left, a throbbing incessant pain in his ear had made itself known as his class worked with the percussion music specialist. The rest of the day, he’d felt like someone was trying to sharpen a pencil inside his ear canal. By 3pm, the glands in his neck had blown up and swallowing was a challenge. Eden had dragged him to the emergency out of hours doctor and the result was a 3 day course of antibiotics. Jude tried to laugh it off as just one of those things, but secretly he wondered whether it was the teacher’s curse creeping up on him. At least he’d be finished the antibiotics by Friday and would be able to have a drink in the evening when the holidays arrived.

         The thrumming had faded to a stop over the next few days, along with the sandpaper scratch in his throat and the only thing that lingered was a tiredness that made it almost impossible to drag himself out of bed on Friday morning.

         “Last day!” Eden’s voice was far too cheery for so early in the morning.

         “Thank the Lord…” Jude sighed, rubbing both hands over his face as he placed both feet firmly on the carpet. Eden was packing books the size of paving slabs into his backpack.

         “I’m in lab today,” he explained, as Jude dragged a shirt over his shoulders. “I’ll try to be back for you getting home – first evening of the holidays!”

         “I am very much looking forward to being back in bed…” It was just 6 hours – then he’d be done, he’d have some downtime. It’s not that he didn’t love teaching – he did! He loved the kids, hearing their stories, seeing their learning click into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle… but anyone who claimed working with children was easy definitely hadn’t spent time with 30 at once.

         Last days were a grand waste of time. For start, nearly one quarter of his class were absent; the rest were as mad as a box of frogs – unable to settle to anything for longer than five minutes. Jude was only glad that it stayed dry so the afternoon was filled with spare part outdoor learning; an activity which required supervision, but not a great deal of teaching or attention. He was only too pleased when the bell to end the day rang, and he could wave goodbye to his learned for the next two weeks. Jude had sat at his desk for nearly 10 whole minutes just willing himself to move before he geared himself up to go home.

         He was determined to only make one trip from his car to the flat, so he clambered up the stairs with three bags trying to pull his arms from his sockets. He was struggling to get the keys from his pocket when the front door swung open from the inside.

         “Jude!” Eden looked scandalised at the number of bags his boyfriend was carrying; he swooped forwards and grabbed some of them.

         “Eden…” He hadn’t expected him to be home. “I thought you’d still be in labs.”

         “It’s your first evening of the holidays!” Eden strained under the weight of the tote bags. “I wanted to spend some time with you.”

         “I’m not sure I’ll be that great company,” Jude answered, dumping the last of his bags into their hallway.

         “Oh shush,” Eden said, disappearing into their kitchen. “I was more thinking…” His voice continued from the kitchen and he re-appeared at the doorframe, two beers clutched in his hand. “A drink, a takeaway and some Netflix… No lesson plans, no profile – just relaxing.” Eden was holding out the bottle of beer, a quarter of lime squeezed into its neck.

         “Sometimes you’re the most beautiful thing on the planet,” Jude couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face, accepting the beer bottle.

         “Only sometimes?” Eden’s eyebrows disappeared up under his fringe.

         “Always,” Jude sighed. “Sorry…” Eden grabbed Jude’s free hand and dragged him into the living room; he’d brought several blankets and pillows into the room. “Oh, Eden…”

         “I thought we could make a bit of a nest,” Eden suggested, “food, drinks, not having to move…”

         “What did I do to deserve you?” Jude mused as Eden pulled him to the sofa, noticing that Eden’s cheeks had flushed pink. “Thank you.”

         Jude had barely drunk half of his beer before he dozed off, his head lolling backwards against the sofa and the beer bottle tipping forward precariously. Eden gently extricated it from Jude’s hands and let him sleep – he needed it.

         Jude’s head was heavy as he woke up, he felt sluggish and groggy; he opened his eyes and stretched. Eden was curled next to him, a book in his lap.

         “Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his hands across his face. “How long have I been asleep?”

         “About an hour and a half,” he put his book on the arm of the sofa and stretched his arm around Jude’s shoulder. Jude loved how well he fit into the crook of Eden’s shoulder. “I ordered food, it’ll be here soon.”

         “You’re an angel,” Jude said; he was so tired he didn’t feel like eating, but he would – if only to make Eden happy. He grabbed his beer from the table and took a swig, it didn’t taste as good lukewarm, but that was his fault for falling asleep.

         “Food’s here,” Eden announced, his phone buzzing to let him know the delivery driver was at the door. “Do you want another beer?”

         “Why not?” Jude shrugged, he felt bad – Eden was doing so much for him, yet he couldn’t help but feel the only thing he wanted to do was crawl into bed. He tried to waken himself up a bit, sitting up straighter and stretching his arms above his head.

         “Here you go,” Eden reappeared, carrying some pizza boxes and more beers. He set down one of the boxes in Jude’s lap before settling beside him.

         “Aaw, you even got pineapple on mine!” Jude smiled as he opened the lid of his box.

         “I thought I could allow for your transgression just this once,” Eden opened his own pizza. “I’m starving, I don’t know what it is about labs that always makes me so hungry.” He pulled a slice of his pizza up and devoured it hungrily. “Oh, and I’ve got cookie dough for afters.”

         “You’re amazing,” Jude grinned, though even the muscles of his cheeks felt tired.

         “Come on,” Eden nodded towards Jude’s pizza. “Tuck in.”

         Jude managed three quarters of his pizza before he felt the strain of his waistband against his stomach. He wanted more, it tasted so good and he felt more awake than he had since he got home. He swigged more of his beer as he rested the pizza box on the table and leaned back into the pillows and blankets surrounding it.

         “Man, I’ve got a food baby,” he rubbed his hand over his stomach.

         “Me too,” Eden replied. He’d finished all of his own pizza and had curled his arm around Jude’s shoulder again.

         “Shut up!” Jude joked, scanning up and down Eden’s slim frame. “I don’t know where you put it!”

         “I dunno,” Eden shrugged, “perks of having a fast metabolism.”

         “If only!”

         “You’re perfect just as you are,” Eden said; and then they were kissing. It was warm and soft, and Jude loved the way they fit together, as though they’d been made that way. When they split, Jude stayed closed to Eden, he felt like home. “Right,” Eden spoke after a while, “let’s put something on to watch, you choose.” He handed across the remote.

         “Anything?” Jude asked.

         “Anything you want,” Eden smiled.

         Jude’s eyes were drooping, even though he was the one who’d chosen the drama they were both watching. He’d finished off his beer but now his mouth was feeling oddly dry; his waistband was still digging into his stomach and that discomfort was beginning to radiate deeper than his skin. He could get up and change, but that felt like too much of an effort.

         Yet as the time ticked by, and the first episode turned into the second, Jude’s attention was even less on the tv and much more on how the discomfort from his waistband had turned into a weird bubbly ache in the pit of his belly. It felt rather like the time he’d gone sailing and despite the calm water his insides had been sloshing around with every moment. A cold, goosebump sensation kept cropping up on his exposed arms. He tried to shuffle himself on the sofa, wanting to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling, but the movement only served to make him feel worse. He slid the empty beer bottle in between the arm of the sofa and cushion and rested his now free hand onto his belly. It felt soft underneath his hand, but he could still feel the bugle of his full stomach. He took a few deep breaths and tried to surreptitiously move the waistband of his trousers, hoping that would give him some relief.

         It didn’t. In fact, it got worse. From the slightly sloshy, swishy feeling, it progressed into a more churning sensation – like his stomach had been set to spin cycle. He slowly tried to massage his fingers into his flesh, but the ache gurgled and deepened. Jude thought he’d done a good job of hiding it, until Eden raised his eyebrows and fixed him with a strange look.

         “Are you okay?” He asked, his hand straying towards the remote.

         “Yeah, yeah,” Jude lied, but with one look he could tell Eden knew he was lying. “I dunno, I guess, I feel a bit… queasy.” Almost as soon as he said it, his stomach burbled under his hand. “I’m probably just tired.” He wanted to pass it off as nothing, but the discomfort was growing with every passing second. Eden grabbed the remote and paused the tv, he sat up straighter and seemed to survey Jude. Then he stretched out his hand and pressed it against Jude’s forehead.

         “You don’t feel warm,” he said quietly, frowning slightly. “Hang on…” Eden hoisted himself from the sofa and padded across to the main light; Jude blinked as the light turned on. “You’re a bit pale,” he commented, “maybe we should have an early night?”

         “You wouldn’t mind?” Jude asked quickly. “It’s just, you’ve gone to such an effort…”

         “Jude, if bed is where you need to be, then I’m happy to be there with you,” Eden answered, sounding so genuine that Jude could have cried. “And we can have cookie dough for breakfast.”

         “Thank you,” he said, sighing.

         “Come on then,” Eden crossed to the tv and switched it off, before turning off the lamps one by one. Jude shuffled forwards to the edge of the sofa, but as he moved a rush of heat swept across his body and his stomach twisted in such an uncomfortable manner that he froze where he was perched. He took deep steadying breaths, not liking the sudden shift. “Jude?”

         “H-ulp!” The hiccup burst from his lips before he could stop it, and he couldn’t stop the groan that followed or the way his hand had gone to his stomach.

         “Jude?” There was a sense of urgency in Eden’s voice now; he’d crossed the room in a few strides and was kneeling to the side of him, his hand resting on Jude’s knee. “Jude?”

         “Oh god…” Jude groaned. “I don’t feel well Ede…”

         “What’s wrong? Tell me,” Eden’s voice was a comfort, but the spin cycle in his belly seemed to have reached terminal velocity.

         “My – my stomach,” Jude muttered, trying hard not to open his mouth too wide.

         “D’you feel sick?” Eden asked. “Shall I get a bucket?” Jude squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling through his nose.

         “Mmmn, no,” Jude shook his head slightly. “Jus’ give me a minute, I’ll be fine.” But nothing felt further from the truth, the sweeps of cold and hot alternating with rapidity.

         “Are you sure?” Eden didn’t sound sure at all, but he squeezed Jude’s knee gently. Jude didn’t reply, he was far too busy willing his stomach to stop clenching in such a disconcerting way. He didn’t know how long he’d spent just trying to breathe, until he felt hot liquid creeping up the back of his throat – and at that point, he felt the inevitability of it.

         “’m gonna throw up,” he managed to force the words out.

         “Right, I’m getting a bucket,” Eden said firmly.

         “No – no,” Jude reached his hand and grabbed Eden’s to stop him moving. “Help me – to the toilet…”

         “Jude, it’d be easier…” Eden refuted, but Jude was already pushing himself up, his free hand cradling his belly. “Okay,” Eden grabbed Jude’s arm to support him, as his legs had the same quality as a newly born foal.

         “Oh god,” Jude slurred, the movement had made everything ten times worse. His stomach contracted and he felt the rush of liquid barrelling up his throat. He slapped his hand to his mouth, hoping to prevent what he knew was coming. “Hmmmllk!” The heave was so strong that Jude lurched forwards.

         “Jude!” Eden’s tone was anxious as he began to pull Jude more forcefully. Jude’s head was swimming, all he could focus on was keeping the contents of his stomach down.

         “Hmmrrk!” The next heave was stronger, and Jude felt liquid hit the back of his teeth, his cheeks puffing out dramatically. He fought to swallow, they were nearly at the bathroom – he had to make it. Jude felt his chest tighten and his stomach squeezing more powerfully, he tried to force his feet to move faster but his legs had lost the ability to be useful in movement.

         “H’kkrrrk!” Jude had no power over his own body anymore, it was doing what it needed to do. His legs had crumbled under the weight, Eden’s hand had released as he fell and he scrambled forwards, but not quickly enough.

         “H’kkkkrrrgggllll’uuuuurrrrggglll!” A spray of warm, bitter liquid burst from Jude’s lips, coating the toilet seat and splashing onto the floor. He had to ignore it, pulling himself closer to the toilet bowl, disregarding that he was kneeling in his own vomit. He’d barely had a second, hardly enough time to draw breath, before his stomach contracted again. “B’hhhrrkk-luuurrrk!”  It came with such force that the puke hit the back of the toilet seat and sent splashes back into Jude’s face.

         “Oh Jude,” Eden’s voice came back into focus, Jude hadn’t realised that all he had heard previous was the rebellion of his own body.

         “Urgh,” Jude groaned, learning forwards to his hands pressed on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. He could still feel his stomach contracting, gearing up for the next assault. “S-sorry…” He choked, his voice thin.

         “Jude, don’t be silly,” Eden brushed Jude’s hair away from his eyes, then placed his hand in between Jude’s shoulder blades. This simple action seemed to signal the start of the next round.

         “Hrrrr’uuuullllkrrrrggggll!” A wave of thick, bitter liquid forced up his throat and flowed forcefully into the toilet bowl. He could taste the hops of the beer and the tang of the pineapple, and this made him retch harder.

         “Oh Jude,” Eden rubbed Jude’s back firmly, feeling the muscles tense under his touch. “You should have said you were feeling this bad.”

         “Wasn’t-“ Jude choked, spitting in order to try and rid his mouth of the taste. “Hit me all at – hrrk – once!”

         “Here,” Eden retrieved a cloth and ran it under the tap, before kneeling down next to Jude and wiping gently at his face. It was something so simple, but it nearly brought tears to Jude’s eyes. “It’s okay,” Eden’s words were soothing, “it’ll be alright…”

         “Feel – hrrk – awful…” Jude spit the saliva pooling in his mouth out, but that gave way to another heave that brought up a further wave of sick.

         “You’ll feel better when it’s out,” Eden reassured him, rubbing his back again.

         “Urrghh…” Jude groaned, his knees were beginning to protest being pressed against the cold tile floor; he tried to re-adjust himself, kneeling back and straightening up. His body didn’t like this, sending more sick charging up his throat and splashing into the water of the toilet bowl. “Pineapple doesn’t – hllk – taste as good on its way up…”

         “Glad to see you’ve not lost your sense of humour,” Eden quipped dryly.

         “Not the only thing I’ve lost,” he muttered. He was hoping this was a lull; his stomach wasn’t straining and contracting now, all he could feel was a slow churn in his gut.

         “You feeling better?” Eden knelt down beside him, brushing a hair away from his face. “You’re not as ghostly pale anymore.”

         “Think – for a bit…” Jude answered, he put his hand gently to his stomach – it didn’t feel quite as tender as before. “Not sure I’m completely – finished…” The last word hung slowly in the air.

         “But just now?” Eden asked and Jude gave a tiny nod. “Right, for now, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”

         “But –“ Jude started, but Eden cut him off.

         “I’ll get a bucket, put it next to the bed,” Eden’s words were so self-assured that Jude had to listen to him. “We’ll get you in something comfy and tucked up so you can rest.”

         “Okay,” Jude agreed, there was no point in arguing with a determined Eden.

         “For some reason, I don’t think we’ll be having cookie dough for breakfast,” Eden chuckled.

         The mention of food made Jude heave dryly again; he gulped down some air and shook his head: “No, I think not…”

#my writing #emeto tw #emeto #fics #ocs #Eden #Jude #puking #illness #sickfic #sickness #vomiting #puke #fiction #cw puke #queasy #emeto fiction #emetophilia #original character fiction

[cxltsxo]

Double Edged Sword;

summary: in which Miles stops being friends with you to insure your safety

pairing: Earth 42 Miles Morales and fem!reader

cw: angst and lowkey terrible Spanish. I’m a bit rusty on my writing skills, its been a while.

inspo: saw an irl write abt Earth 42 Miles and felt like i just HAD to. I spent like 3 hours on this 😓

nsfw: no

(i wrote this in a delirious, nearly asleep state. I apologize for any errors I overlooked. Apparently i also forgot a title 💀.)

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

There would never be an adequate word to describe how You felt in this moment.

Hurt, betrayed, alone?

No, none of those words could convey the way your heart ached at the knowledge that you had destroyed the only good thing God had ever deemed you worthy of.

Your 13 year friendship with your best friend, Miles Morales.

He had been there for you since the beginning of time. At least, that’s what it felt like. You two had known each other since the ripe age of 2 years old. You were neighbors and your mothers had become friends years before you were born, so they both watched you grow up with Miles, saying that you two were inseparable. It was true too, whether it was school work or even something as minuscule as taking out the trash, there was never a place where Miles was where you weren’t following close behind. It had always been that way, and you thought it always would be.

It seems that you may have been wrong.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

After school let out, you and Miles walked to the library down the street from your houses. It had been your ritual for almost 6 years now and even if you didn’t actually end up doing anything groundbreaking with him while you were there, his company itself was extremely pleasant and more than enough to keep you coming back, day after day, year after year. When you two arrived at the near-abandoned building, you claimed the two seats closest to the back of the lounge area while Miles searched for a book you both needed for your English class. If you read and studied together, you’d definitely be more likely to ace the exam you had over the reading at the end of the week. Miles was a genius, and while you were definitely not stupid, you could use the extra help from someone who knows what they’re doing. English was definitely your worst subject.

“Hey y/n? What’s the name of this book we’re supposed to be reading? I can’t find the email they sent out about it.”

Miles spoke rather loudly, earning multiple shushes from the surrounding population. You opened your mouth to speak while Miles flashed a sheepish grin to the old librarian who happened to be glaring daggers at him.

“Quiet down Miles you’re making the audience boo. It’s called ‘The Great Gatsby’. Did you check your spam folder? That’s where my email was.”

You articulated your words in a harsh fast whisper, feeling the eyes staring at the both of you from the surrounding area. Miles took note of your discomfort and stayed silent while he went to a book isle to the left of you. About 10 minutes later, he returned to the table with two copies of ‘The Great Gatsby’ in his hand, setting them down while he whispered in your ear.

“You were right. It was in the spam folder.”

You felt your face get warm. You could never understand why your body and mind treated you this way whenever Miles got too close for comfort, and honestly, you hoped you never did. You quickly pushed away the giddy feeling rising inside of you and looked up at Miles to see his gorgeous smile staring back at you. God, there was nothing you loved more than his smile. Except for being the cause of it, that was so much better.

Miles quickly noticed your staring. His smile widened while he quirked up his eyebrow in mock confusion.

“Is there something on my face mi vida? Or are you just taking in my beauty? Me pregunto si te duelen los ojos.”

You forced out a laugh, trying to ignore the fact that you nearly fall in love with him every time he decides to speak spanish to you. The added pet name definitely didn’t help your case much. You pushed out a quick “come sit down”, watching as he took his seat next to you and opened his book. All while having that same smile pointed at you. You barely managed to flash a small smile in return before you began popcorn reading with him for the next 2 hours and taking notes whenever you found something important to note. You had a lot more fun than you wanted to admit and had conquered over half the book while in the process. Needless to say, you were quite pleased with you and Miles’ efforts. The sun was beginning to set as you walked home with Miles in tow. It had been relatively quiet the rest of the way to your neighborhood, which was unusual considering Miles always had something to talk about. You heard faint typing sounds as well as the ‘delivered’ notification play from his phone. Curious, you decide to pry a bit.

“Who’re you texting?”

You watched as Miles startled, taken aback by the sudden question. He looked as if he wanted to tell you something, but decided against it,

“Ah- uh. No one y/n. Don’t worry about it.”

Miles’ sudden strange behavior threw you for a loop. He never hid things from you, even when they were embarrassing or something you just shouldn’t tell other people. Keeping secrets wasn’t his forte and you hated to admit that it did hurt a little that he wasn’t being completely truthful. You chose to leave it alone, figuring that it would be entirely nonsensical to make a big deal out of this situation. It wasn’t really even that serious right? There was no reason for you to be upset.

right?

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a sharp ‘ding’ coming from Miles’ phone. You glanced behind you as his facial expression shifted from neutral to nearly enraged. You had never seen Miles look like that before, and to be quite honest, it scared you. A sudden urge to check up on him took over you.

“Miles? Are you okay? What happened? You need me to beat someones ass for you?”

At that, Miles startled again. Wiping the clearly upset look off of his face, he smiled at you.

“Haha y/n. You couldn’t win a fight if your life depended on it. I’m okay, but I’m gonna have to say goodbye to you early. I’ll see you tomorrow at school though, Sorry!”

“Miles? Wha-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Miles had run off. To be completely honest, you were too tired to chase after him. holding your head in your hands, you walked the rest of the way home, alone.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Two weeks.

It had been exactly two weeks since you had last heard from or seen Miles. You had texted him him every day asking him where he was and if he was alright, only to be left on delivered the entire time. Your chest felt tight. Your mom had talked to Mrs. Morales and found out that Miles hadn’t come home that night, but had texted his mother to let him know he was okay. You felt your stomach drop as worry and hurt began to set in. You were in the middle of praying to your nonexistent god when your mom knocked on your bedroom door, letting you know that Miles had returned home. You hurried out of your room and ran outside, banging on Miles’ door as soon as you reached it.

“MILES WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I’VE BEEN SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU!”

You were pretty sure the entire neighborhood could hear you at this point, but you didn’t care. Miles had never once treated you like this and you were royally upset with him. You wanted an explanation, and a good one at that. Before you could scream anymore, the door opened to reveal Miles standing in the doorway. His expression looked troubled and he quickly cut you off before you could say anything else.

“Hey y/n… I know you’re mad at me already but we can’t… talk right now. For a while, actually. I’m sorry.”

You stood there with your jaw on the ground. You had lost the ability to speak. First, he had left you on delivered for two full weeks and now, now you couldn’t talk to him anymore? For a while? How long was a while? Your tried to regain your composure, bombarding him with questions while your anger slowly seeped into your words.

“What? Why? Where were you and why didn’t you respond to my texts? You didn’t even read them! Do you know how worried about you I was? You don’t do that kind of shit to your best friend! I thought you cared about me more than that. Are you too good to talk to me now?”

“No no! It’s nothing like that, I swear to you. It’s just… I can’t tell you y/n. You wouldn’t understand…. it would put you in danger and I can’t let you get hurt because of me. You mean a lot to me, so much. It’s just not safe for us to be close to each other right now. You won’t see me for a while. This is for your own good.”

Miles closed the door, leaving you standing there, speechless. Danger? Not safe? You didn’t know what any of it meant. You didn’t know what to do, or where to go. You just stood there, crying and holding your chest. You began to walk away from his doorstep. Stopping yourself before you could fully leave. You looked back at his door, the crimson red reflecting in your eyes. You remembered all the times you had opened that door. All the times Mr. and Mrs. Morales had you and your mother over for dinner, when you and Miles would play in his living room when you were younger, everything came flooding back all at once and you couldn’t take it anymore. You broke down into a sobbing mess, speaking four words before you ran back to your house.

“I love you, Miles.”

Little did you know, Miles had never left the door. Hearing you cry was the last straw for him. As he listened to your labored footsteps, he gave in to his tears.

“I know. I’m so sorry, just give me some time. I love you too y/n.”

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Pt 2 coming soon 🙏🏼

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #writeblr #writing #fanfiction writer #writerscorner #one shot? #miles morales #queer writers #female writers #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #i spent entirely too much time on this #literally so tired omfg #i lowkey hope this is decent #i havent written in so long

[andreafmn]

Collision - Chapter 13

Word Count: 3.1K

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life is at its first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.

Chapter: 13/?

Dedicated to: @cecehensonn for commenting on that one post 💖

Warnings: more heartbreak

A/N: Sorry not sorry for this painful chapter 😅 It's not as heartbreaking as the last one, but I need to milk the angst and hurt from the "break-up." Reader will make some bad decisions soon enough, and y'all are gonna want the heartbreak back. 😬 Also, new character.

If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories. You can request at any time any story or one-shot you desire. Hope you enjoy, and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 13

Nothing.

She felt nothing.

There had never been a time (Y/N) could not point out what she was feeling. With a vast understanding of the human psyche, she always knew the clinical term of every sentiment there was and could be — their variations and changes were all committed to her memory. But all she felt was overcome by a gut-wrenching void that took hold of her body. She found herself wishing for the pain she’d felt when Carlisle had first confessed he was a vampire. At least then she had felt something.

She had spent the night at Sam’s house, too distraught to go back home. (Y/N) knew she had fallen asleep on Paul, his warmth the only comfort she could possibly feel in such a confusing situation.

All through the night, her head kept replaying the five stages of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Once the list had ended it would start over again, engraving it in her brain over and over and over again. Her clinical training beat into her the steps she needed to take. But there was no one to take them with.

This kind of grief, she felt, was incomplete. Sure she had not believed Carlisle at first. She’d gone through some type of denial. Yeah, she was enraged at the fact that he left her like she meant less than nothing to him. She’d gone through anger — maybe still stuck there. But who was there to bargain with? He was gone. There was no denial anymore, she was not allowed that much. (Y/N) wanted at least to feel the overtaking sadness that depression would bring, but she simply felt nothing. And she’d already accepted that he was gone. He’d made sure she understood that much.

No one had taught her how to deal with this. How to deal with the culmination of a relationship with a centuries-old vampire that had promised her eternity together. A vampire that she had fallen completely in love with — her first love, her first kiss, her first… everything. Carlisle had given her everything and just as swiftly taken it away.

“(Y/N)?” Emily’s soft whisper rang through the room (Y/N) had somehow woken up in. “I made some breakfast if you want. I sent a text to your mom to let her know you’re okay.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she responded emotionlessly. “Is Sam back?”

“Yes, honey. He’s at the dining table.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

Emily clicked the door shut, leaving the girl once more to her thoughts. She noticed at the foot of the bed a change of clothes. Probably, Sam’s. They were some sweatpants and a T-shirt, a comfortable enough outfit for her. She changed out of the suffocating scrubs she wore, feeling them gripping her body harder than ever before.

Sam’s clothes almost hung off her body and she felt like a kid again. After their father had left suddenly, she’d taken to wearing the t-shirts he’d left behind to find some comfort in his absence. But these clothes still had their owner. He had not abandoned her — well, he’d come back.

With dragged feet, she made her way out into the kitchen where hushes were spread around. (Y/N) knew they’d heard her exiting the room and they had been talking about her. The Cullens leaving was the only thing anyone in the reservation could talk about, and unfortunately, the pack knew that involved her.

“There she is!” Jared exclaimed with a full mouth of food. But his face quickly fell with the burning gaze of everyone else at the table. “What?”

“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” Sam questioned, pulling out a chair for his sister. Somehow, she looked frail. He’d seen her sad before. Hell, he’d been the one to comfort her at six years old when their father left. But even then, she’d been different. Now, she looked fragile enough to break with a simple breath.

“Fine,” she responded. Everyone knew there wasn’t much more they’d get out of her. “Is there coffee?”

“Of course,” Emily smiled. “Sugar? Cream?”

“Two sugars, a bit of cream.”

“Alright.”

Emily placed a steaming mug in front of (Y/N), her signature beaming smile painted on her face. And where the girl would normally return the gesture, she couldn’t bring herself to even fake a smile. It was too exhausting to do so. So, she simply nodded.

“Why don’t we move to the living room, (Y/N)?” Sam whispered as he placed his hands comfortingly on hers. “The fire is already going, and it’ll be a lot warmer there.”

(Y/N) followed her brother, the hot cup between her frozen hands. She didn’t feel like talking – she didn’t feel much at all. But it was easier to simply follow what others told her. It was easier than doing whatever her brain was telling her to.

She sat next to Sam on the couch, curling into his side as he wrapped an arm around her. It was a strange sense of déjà vu. When they were little and (Y/N) had been sad, he would make her a cup of hot chocolate, sit her in front of the fire, and tell her stories until she fell asleep in his arms. And this moment was no different. She was sad, she needed comfort, and he would always be by her side.

“How’re you feeling, bean?” Sam asked her, using the name he’d called her when she was little. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got here. Bella Swan got lost in the woods and the sheriff asked me to help look for her.”

“She must be heartbroken as well,” (Y/N) spoke, her voice barely a whisper and so full of pain. “I wonder how Edward ended things with her. It had to be awful if she wound up lost in there.”

“What happened yesterday, bean? I thought everything was going well,” he said. Worry was evident in his voice, the sound quivering and full of hurt. “I won’t lie,” he stated. “I am glad that the bloodsuckers are gone, but it pains me to see you like this. I thought he’d at least ask you to go with them.”

Quiet.

All she could do was remain quiet. That was the least he could have done. But he didn’t. He had thrown her away, discarded her like you would a used tissue. Carlisle had taken from her what he wanted and pushed her aside, without a real explanation or reason.

“Talk to me, (Y/N). Please,” Sam begged. “Tell me how you’re feeling – what you’re feeling. How can I make it better?”

“You can’t,” she sighed. A quiet sob escaped her lips and was only perceived by the adept ears of the supernatural. “No one can.”

“(Y/N)…” 

“Sam, I understand that you’re trying to help but you simply can’t, okay?!” (Y/N) didn’t know why she was yelling. Her frustrations were misdirected but she couldn't help how it came out. “He’s gone, okay?! He took what he wanted and left. I wasn’t good enough for him to stay and I wasn’t worth taking with him. And I was ready to give it all up. You, my friends, mom… everything. I had made the choice to spend the rest of eternity by his side.

So now I’m stuck here having to figure out who I am and what my future will look like without him in it. I will have to mend my own heart that continues asking when he is coming back. No one can make it better, Sam. Not even myself.”

She slammed the coffee mug on the table harder than she intended to, but she needed to get away. (Y/N) could feel the walls of the house closing in on her, squeezing every ounce of oxygen that was inside. She felt her lungs aching, grasping at any air left for her to breathe. But she simply couldn’t. Her eyes had welled up with tears once more and her eyes burned from the liquid.

(Y/N) was already tired of crying. She was tired of feeling her world collapsing in on itself. Of having to pick up the pieces of her life every few years.  It wasn’t fair. She was doing everything right and everything still went wrong.

Somehow, she had stumbled out of the house, Sam’s voice distant in her head. He was calling for her but she could not listen. She needed to go somewhere else, anywhere else. She kept stumbling down the road without a real destination in mind. Her vision was blurred from her tears and her breathing was difficult.

But as she came face to face with the chipped white door, she knew where her head wanted to go. So, she knocked.

“I can’t believe you forgot your keys,” Allison laughed before she opened the door. “Oh, (Y/N). Honey, what’s wrong?”

“He’s gone, mom,” she blubbered against her mother’s neck. “He left. He left me.” 

Allison had an inkling of who her daughter spoke of but made no move to extract any information. It was clear that (Y/N) was suffering from a broken heart, and she needed her mother’s comfort. She led the girl inside and sat them both on the couch, where she let (Y/N) cry to her heart’s content. She sat there running her hand through her daughter’s hair and drew circles on her back to try and console her child as best as she could.

The mother felt her daughter revert to the little girl that had her father walk out on her. The little girl that grew up too quickly, looking for the best education she could get to help out her mother. There in her arms, (Y/N) was broken. Merely a shell of who her daughter was.

When the girl drifted to sleep, Allison made a move for her phone, calling the only person that could have any idea of who had broken her daughter’s heart. And she hoped he would answer this one time. If not for her, for his little sister.

He did.

“Who did this to (Y/N)?” Her voice spoke softly through the phone, fearing she would wake her daughter. “She just came in here bawling her eyes out, muttering incoherences. She is completely heartbroken.”   

“It was that Cullen doctor. Carlisle Cullen,” Sam sighed. “How is she, mom?”

“She just fell asleep after crying for a good twenty minutes. She is drained,” Allison let out a strangled sob. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“(Y/N) wanted to keep this a secret for some time. Avoid being the talk of the town until the relationship was more serious.”

“This looks very serious to me, Sammy. She’s so… sad.”

“She’s tough,” Sam stated. “I know she’ll come out stronger after this. She just needs some time.”

“I hope so.” Allison kept quiet for a few seconds. This was the longest conversation she’d had with her son in a long time that had not transfigured into a fight. It hurt that it took her daughter to have been broken up with to be able to hear his voice. “I miss you, Sammy,” her voice was barely a whisper. Almost like a thought that had slipped out. “I miss you a lot.”

“I know, mom,” he sighed. “I miss you too.”

“I just wish we could be a family again. Regardless of whatever happened in the past,” Allison said, hopeful. “(Y/N) needs you… I need you.”

“You know I can’t, mom.”

“Why not, Sam?! What could possibly be more important than being with your family?”

“I can’t talk about that, mom. I just can’t.”

“You always say that, but I am your mother. Whatever it is that you’re involved in, I am sure I could help you, son.”

“Please, just drop it. I’ve told you many times that I can’t.”

“Fine. Goodbye, Sam.”

“Bye, mom,” he said resignedly.  

“Don’t fight with him, mom,” (Y/N) croaked as her eyes fluttered open. “He has enough on his plate.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Allison sighed as she ran her hand through her daughter’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it?  About the doctor?”

“You know.” It wasn’t a question. It was clear that her mother knew who had taken her heart and broken it into a million pieces. “Sam told you?”

“I had my suspicions early on,” her mother clarified. “You were spending so much time between the hospital and the Cullen’s house; it didn’t take long to connect the two dots. But, sweetheart, what happened last night? You seemed so happy these couple of months.”

“I was only a distraction it seems,” (Y/N) let out a soft sob. “I thought I had found the person I would share a future with. Instead, he left the second things got hard. History had a way of cruelly repeating itself, huh?”

 “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” Allison hugged her daughter tight, guilt washing over her body. She knew the situation had not been her fault, but she couldn’t help but feel that her daughter’s taste in men had been hereditary. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything to make things better.”

“I just need to sleep,” she sighed. “Yeah, I just need sleep.”

No matter that it was still the middle of the day, (Y/N) disappeared into her room to try and succumb to slumber. She drew the curtains closed, locked the door, and buried herself in a mountain of sheets and comforters. But nothing seemed to warm the cold the emptiness left. She had never felt cold like this before. It was chilling and it dug its way into her bones.

And somehow the coldness came hand in hand with tears. A floodgate that didn’t seem to stop and she could not control. Even when she thought her body had surely run out of tears, more came. They stung her eyes and made them swell. They stained her cheeks and burned her throat. They left her breathless and full of pain.

And yet, she still felt the nothingness deep inside her.

Allison couldn’t help but feel heartbroken as she heard her younger daughter cry for a man that had the gall to leave her this way. The worst part was that she could only stand and watch as her little girl fell apart. It was a sight that she had never prepared herself to witness, and didn’t want to again. If she ever crossed paths with the doctor, she would make sure he knew just how horrible he had treated her daughter.

***

“You could have done things differently, Carlisle,” a woman spoke, her eyes glazed over with a red hue. “She is in so much pain.”

“I could have but I didn’t, Theo,” he sighed. “And I didn’t come to you for grievances. I came to you for your ability and for the connection you have with her.”

“Well, old friend. I apologize if I overstepped in any way, but she is — or rather was, I haven’t seen her in some time — my friend,” Theo smiled softly as her eyes returned to their amber color. “I spent four years with her, and she is a rather peculiar human. She is as complex as they come and so bright, it simply pains me to see her this way. Especially since it’s your fault.”

“I had to have her hate me. (Y/N) had such a bright future ahead of her and I was only going to hold her back.” Carlisle did regret the bad decisions he had taken. He had built (Y/N) up only to have her crash and burn so suddenly. “The more she hates me, the easier it will be for her to move one. She’ll have a great life, especially away from me.”

“And how many times will you ask the clairvoyant to check in as she moves on as you want her to?”

“Not for much longer, Theo. I’m leaving New York once my family is finally settled here.”

“Leaving?” The girl was shocked. He had left the love of his life behind to keep his family together, and he was leaving them behind as well. “And where will you be going then?”

“For penance.”

Theo wanted to laugh, but the stoic expression on his face told her how serious he was. “Penance, Carlisle? Isn’t that a tad dramatic?”

“Do you think I deserve to go on with my life after all the pain I have caused the only person I have truly loved?” Carlisle was resolute in his punishment. He would do what he had done once when he turned into something he had hunted for most of his life – hide from humanity and deny himself the only thing he needed to survive. “It’s a punishment fit for the crime.”

“And don’t you think that knowing she will continue living without you by her side is punishment enough?” Theo tried to reason with her friend. “Breakups happen every day around the world. (Y/N) is strong. She will get over it. All she needs is some time, as do you.”

“You don’t understand, Theo. The things I told her… There’s no coming back from that. I used every word I knew would hurt her, deliberately. It’s something neither she nor I can forgive.”

“Well, I know I won’t be able to dissuade you from what you think you must do,” she sighed. “You know where I am. So, whenever you need me, you know where to find me.”

“The next time I see you, it might be too dangerous for me to be around humans. I’ll send you word of where I will be,” he smiled sadly. “I do ask for one more favor.”

“Sure, anything.”

“Don’t tell my family where I am going. They’ll surely do everything in their power to take me back, and I simply cannot.”

“I cannot tattle to someone I do not know, Carlisle,” she chuckled. “I have not had the pleasure to meet the rest of your family.”

“Better that you do not meet them now. In this situation, my family has been ruptured possibly beyond repair.”

“Give it time, Carlisle. Most things with time become clearer.”

“Isn’t the saying that time heals all wounds?”

“Time does nothing of the sort. If anything, time gives you choices. Time helps you build grudges; it stacks grievances upon grievances. Time doesn’t heal, it forces you to either live with your pain or find a way through it. Everyone has to make that choice at some point.”

“Then I hope (Y/N) can find a way through it because I will have to live with it.”

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[justforbooks]

In 1967 when Radio 1 was founded as a successor to the BBC Light Programme, one of its aims was to reach housewives – and to attract them, the station employed only male DJs (or “husband substitutes”, as they were known behind the scenes) for the first three years. It was only in 1970, bending with the times, that it took on its first female presenter, Anne (later Annie) Nightingale, a former journalist and television presenter with almost no radio experience.

The original male presenters have long since left the station, but Nightingale was still working for Radio 1 at the time of her death, aged 83, and had become its longest-serving broadcaster, most recently on air in December 2023. Known to fans as the Queen of Breaks – breakbeat was her specialist genre – she defied the station’s usual career trajectory (five years as a top-tier presenter, then off to weekends or Radio 2) by staying relevant. She introduced listeners to prog rock, punk, indie and dance music, and was unfeignedly passionate about them all. At 75, she told a dance magazine: “I listen to what 13-year-olds listen to because that’s the future. [I’ve] got to be ahead of the game all the time.”

As a dance music specialist from the late 1980s onward – playing “the biggest bass bangers”, as Radio 1’s website put it – Nightingale spent the second half of her career broadcasting to people too young to have known that she had been friends with the Beatles and Marc Bolan. But her age was immaterial because of her stature in the dance world. In 2001, she received Muzik magazine’s Caner of the Year prize in recognition of her late-night lifestyle – her favourite of all her awards, which also included an MBE in 2002 for services to broadcasting (advanced to CBE in 2020), and an honorary doctorate in journalism.

She was a highly knowledgable musical curator, and an expert at exploiting the intimacy of radio. Though Nightingale prioritised music over DJ patter, she recognised that a human voice was still an essential part of the mix; husky-toned and self-deprecating, she belied the station’s early fear that a female DJ would lack authority. According to the writer Irvine Welsh, who listened to her while growing up, her “cool, funky tones” stood out against “the flatulent sounds of loud, boring, thick and egotistical men strafing the airwaves”.

An only child, Nightingale was born in Osterley, west London, to Basil, who ran a wallpaper company, and Celia (nee Winter), a chiropodist. Educated at the independent Lady Eleanor Holles school in Hampton, she left before her A-levels. Overriding her parents’ request that she have “something to fall back on”, she enrolled on a journalism course at the Regent Street Polytechnic (now the University of Westminster). Moving to Brighton after graduation, she married a Fleet Street journalist, Gordon Thomas, and had two children. After a short stint at the Brighton and Hove Gazette, she became the only woman in the newsroom at the Brighton Argus.

Along with reporting local news at the parish-council level, she was given a music column called Spin With Me, which gave her access to the biggest pop stars of the 60s. Her friendship with the Beatles later helped open doors at Radio 1 – the band’s publicist, Derek Taylor, persuaded the station controller to let her audition after her own requests were repeatedly refused.

At a Dusty Springfield gig in 1964, she met Vicki Wickham, producer of Ready Steady Go!, who hired her as co-presenter of a new pop show called That’s For Me. It lasted only a few months, but the exposure led to writing work at the Daily Express and Cosmopolitan, and radio appearances on Today and Woman’s Hour. It was the era of pirate stations such as Radio Caroline; she considered applying to Caroline but was put off by the idea of “living out at sea with a bunch of blokes”.

Finally installed at Radio 1 in 1970, she was hampered at first by a lack of technical knowhow – her first day was marked by eight seconds of dead airtime when she accidentally pressed the “off” switch in the middle of a record. Yet she quickly established herself, choosing her own playlist almost from the start. Her skill at persuading listeners that what she wanted to hear was what they wanted to hear led in 1978 to the job of presenting BBC Two’s “serious” rock programme, The Old Grey Whistle Test. It had failed to keep up with musical fashion, a problem she tackled by booking the most challenging artists she could get away with and braving the consequences. She was delighted to bag Public Image Ltd for a live appearance, though frontman John Lydon repaid her enthusiasm by admonishing her for being “so fucking patronising”.

Four years at Whistle Test were followed by a return to Radio 1’s highly popular Sunday afternoon request show for 12 years. When acid house gained traction in the late 80s, she credited it with changing her life; from that point, she played solely dance music on Radio 1, first in the influential Chill Out Zone slot, then on a longstanding programme that went out at 1am on Wednesdays. Her free time, she said, was consumed by listening to the thousands of demo tapes she received every week.

Despite her achievements, Nightingale claimed she lacked confidence until she was robbed in Havana, Cuba in 1996. The attack left her unable to walk for months, but made her “a stronger person”, she said.

Though she hated nostalgia, she did reflect that ageing had been isolating. The death of John Peel, her friend from the early days of Radio 1, provoked the unusually downbeat comment: “Now John’s gone there’s nobody I know in my age group who remotely likes this kind of thing. I don’t understand why. I’m driven by it.”

She published two volumes of autobiography, Chase the Fade (1982) and Wicked Speed (2000), and a 50th-anniversary volume, Hey Hi Hello: Five Decades of Pop Culture from Britain’s First Female DJ, in 2020.

She is survived by her children, Alex and Lucy, from her first marriage, which ended in divorce. Her second marriage, to the actor Binky Baker in 1978, also ended in divorce.

🔔 Anne Avril Nightingale, broadcaster, born 1 April 1940; died 11 January 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #annie nightingale #in memoriam

[coochiequeens]

If men can’t be dedicated enough to science to go for a few months without harassing, assaulting or exposing women to porn maybe they are the ones who should be discouraged from entering Antarctica.

For almost as long as the continent has been known of, Antarctica, a wild, white expanse of ice shelves, glaciers and mountainous ridges at the foot of the globe, has been the domain of men.

But images in the popular imagination of bearded men boldly heading into snowstorms could slowly be fading into the whiteness.

Today, women lead expeditions and research stations, make up large parts of support teams on the continent, and are active in leading policy conversations.

Reports uncovering sexual harassment and assault in overwhelmingly male environments, combined with a drive to recognise women’s contributions and efforts to overcome barriers to entry have all contributed to a gradual cultural change.

“We need to decide what kind of a future we want to see for Antarctica, and which people we want making decisions about that future,” said Dr Hanne Nielsen, a lecturer in Antarctic law and governance at the University of Tasmania.

“Then we can decide how we make sure that those people have – and retain – a seat at the table.”

Antarctica was first sighted in January 1820 by a Russian expedition to the far south, and the first women to visit the region did so with husbands working on whaling vessels during the first half of the 20th century.

“The human history of Antarctica is really quite recent, but the history of women being able to travel there is even more recent than that – but that didn’t mean that women didn’t want to travel to the far south of the globe,” said Dr Nielsen.

Predictably, attitudes to women’s participation lagged far behind.

When the Americans Edith Ronne and Jennie Darlington mooted the idea of staying on the continent over the winter of 1948 – which they eventually did – Darlington’s husband told her that “there are some things women don’t do … They don’t become pope or president – or go down to the Antarctic.”

The first woman to conduct scientific research in Antarctica was the Soviet geologist Maria Klenova in 1957, but her work did not immediately lead to more female scientists in the far south: many Antarctic programmes argued that women’s presence could prove disruptive.

In 1969, more than a decade after the US established a permanent presence on Antarctica, an all-women scientific team deployed there prompted a New York Times reporter to dub their work “an incursion” into the “largest male sanctuary remaining on this planet”.

Women have also been agents of sovereignty to assert territorial claims.

An Argentinian, Silvia Morello, then seven months pregnant, was flown to the country’s Esperanza Base and, on 7 January 1978, gave birth to a son, Emilio Palma, who became the first person to be born on Antarctica.

But for those women who wanted to study the continent, role models have been few and far between.

“When I was in school, science wasn’t really a career girls would think about,” said Catalina Silva, 23, a marine biology student at Chile’s Universidad Austral in Valdivia, where more than half of her 2018 intake were women.

“Marine biology didn’t seem achievable because you’d just see men in science. If you don’t see people like you in the places you want to reach, it’s hard to know where to aim.”

This summer season, she spent a month at Chile’s Escudero Base working as a lab assistant, sifting through seawater samples searching for isopods – the subject of her thesis.

The Chilean biologist Dr Leyla Cárdenas, 47, came to Antarctica for the first time 13 years ago and has returned to the continent several times to further her research on ecosystems in the far south.

In 2020, she was named the first ever female dean of her university’s science faculty, but says that stereotypes still persist for women studying the continent.

“Who’s going to cook? Women, of course. Who will carry the heavy kit? The men,” said Dr Cárdenas. “That’s how it’s always been, defined by gender roles.”

Before leaving Punta Arenas to work or stay at Chilean bases, every member of each expedition must complete an induction on harassment protocols and awareness.

Even so, this year two support staff members were sent home following incidents.

While women’s experiences of harassment and assault in remote Antarctic research stations have long been known, two damning reports published at the end of last year threw the issues into stark relief.

In October 2022, the US National Science Foundation (NSF) said it was “appalled by the reports of sexual harassment, assaults, and stalking”highlighted by its study; and a report into diversity, equity and inclusion within the Australian Antarctic Program described a “culture of widespread, low-level sexual harassment that permeates stations”.

That macho culture was typified by the ceiling of a hut at Australia’s Mawson Station which had been plastered with nearly 100 pornographic images.

Both reports make for harrowing reading.

In the NSF’s document, 95% of the women interviewed knew someone who had experienced assault or harassment within the Antarctic programme. One interviewee was quoted as saying that “[sexual assault and sexual harassment] are just facts of life [here], just like the fact that Antarctica is cold and the wind blows.”

Among a series of incidents highlighted, one male supervisor reportedly attempted to break into female colleagues’ rooms using his master keys. One woman was so frightened she carried a hammer around base with her.

Following the publication of the NSF report, the organisation says it created a single, confidential point of contact for victims, increased on-ice support services, put listening sessions in place and enhanced physical security measures.

Nevertheless, diversity and inclusion still have a long way to go on Antarctica.

With such high turnover of scientific and support staff in every summer cohort, the female population of Antarctica at any given time is difficult to judge.

However, one 2016 study found that 60% of early-career polar researchers are women. Retaining them in the field is another matter.

“I think it is important not only to increase the number of women working in Antarctica, but also the number from different geographic, linguistic or disciplinary backgrounds,” said Dr Nielsen.

“The more perspectives you have the richer that conversation can be – and the more likely we are to be able to respond to the huge challenges facing the polar regions.”

#Women in science #Men setting back science by excluding other scientists based on sex #Maria Klenova #Dr Layla Cardenas #Australia’s Manson Station

[beemintty]

I thought I'd graduate where I grew up.... That was home for so long.... But I think I found home here.... I'm still graduating at home. We all still graduated together even if we are far apart.

#home is a people not a place #on life #i think i can call this place home #i graduate in 11 weeks #i spent 13 years at school and its almost over #theres something bittersweet about that #my thoughts #on growing up #school #graduation #im graduating #its scary #and exciting #thoughts #next steps #childhood #growing up #home

[rxmarz]

The dark side to social media...

Just like every good thing to come out of the 21st century, it has a dark side. And no, I’m not talking about Anakin killing younglings or using the Death Star, I’m talking about the effects that social media has on its users. 

From cyberbullying to fake news, and body dysmorphia, the use of social media has changed the lives of younger generations in ways that were never seen before. Cyberbullying first peaked during the early-mid 2000s. I remember being in kindergarten and receiving anti-bullying presentations. I didn’t have any technological devices except my Vtech TV console that let me play in the jungle with Simba or build a fruit cake with Cinderella, and I didn’t know how to use the internet, but I knew that being mean to other people was not ok. As the years went on, I learned more about bullying and cyberbullying through tv shows, commercials, and the crime shows my mom would watch.  

Stopbullying.gov describes cyberbullying as, “bullying that takes place over digital devices like cell phones, computers, and tablets”. Cyberbullying includes sharing, posting, or sending content of another person that is negative, false, and/ or embarrassing. One report coming from over 10 European countries showed that 44% of children who were cyberbullied before the pandemic saw an increase in the rate at which they were bullied during lockdown (JRC 2021). I personally did not experience cyberbullying, but I did see firsthand what it did to my friends and family. Changes in mental health, self-esteem, depression, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts were all things I saw happen particularly in middle school. In 2022, 46% of teenagers aged 13-17 were bullied or harassed online at least once. A common reason for this occurrence was physical appearance (Pew Reasearch).  

This leads me to the next topic I want to shed light on: body image. With how integral social media is to daily living for almost everyone, developing body dysmorphia is more common than we think. The Toledo Center for Eating Disorders highlights the number one cause of body dysmorphia comes from: DISTORTED AND EDITED IMAGES. From filters to professional advertisements, people are knowingly and unknowingly viewing highly edited images. Almost all social media platforms allow users to take photos with their predownloaded filters. Snapchat is huge for its filters and was one of the first apps to have them within their system. From this the term “Snapchat dysmorphia” developed. Anyone can use apps like Facetune or Adobe Lightroom to edit their photos however they choose. More and more young people are getting rhinoplasty and breast augmentations all because they like the way a filter looks on them. One study showed that selfies were the reason for a 10% increase in nose jobs. The same study found that girls who spent more time on social media (Facebook) were likely to have a distorted self-image and an urge to lose weight (Vats M). 

With the dark side of social media, it takes a huge toll on mental health. Headspace says, “with mindfulness, we can learn to foucs on the good parts of social media and avoid the common pitfalls”. Check out their article if you want to learn more ways to have a better experience with social media: https://www.headspace.com/mindfulness/negative-effects-of-social-media 

For more information on how to find help with the topics of this blog, visit the resources below: 

Report Cyberbullying: https://www.stopbullying.gov/cyberbullying/how-to-report 

How to Deal with “Haters”: https://www.stopbullying.gov/cyberbullying/how-to-deal-with-haters 

How to Help Someone with Body Dysmorphic Disorder: https://americanaddictioncenters.org/body-dysmorphia 

What is Body Dysmorphic Disorder?: https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/body-dysmorphic-disorder/symptoms-causes/syc-20353938#:~:text=Body%20dysmorphic%20disorder%20is%20a,may%20avoid%20many%20social%20situations. 

[pxiedustnblades]

*knocks on the door quietly, and then peek inside, bringing cookies and chocolate*

Hi Faye! :D How are you doing? I saw your requests for ask and questions, so, here I am bringing them to you! :D

1,2,3,6,9,13,20,27 and 28! :D I know they are a lot, so feel free to answer only the one you feel the most! No need to answer them all, if they make you feel overwhelmed. :)

--Nemo

Nemo!!

Oh my goodness thank you so much for the chocolate & cookies! Always a treat to hear from you. And always more then happy to oblige with answering those asks. While there are a lot, I am eager to answer them all. I am up to the challenge. Here, have some coffee for while you read.

1) Who was your first ever OC? Do you still "use" them? How have they evolved over time?

Aww this is a treat! My first ever OC was a HC’d lovechild between Kisshu and Ichigo from Tokyo Mew Mew. Her name was Claire Momomiya and I adored her like nothing else. Even so far as to making a silly little comic book with a school friend. The writing was atrocious and very cliche middle schooler wattpad weeb. 🤣 So you know, grossly cringe. Ugh since then Claire is still used be she is completely separate from her original counterpart. She now goes by Clara and has matured a great deal. Although I don’t use her anymore, she is still such a memorable and precious OC that she will never be discarded. I will find something for her one day.

2) Who is your newest OC Why did you make them?

Yvette is my newest oc! I made her shortly after I started playing God of War and saw Tyr’s design. After hearing what a gentle giant he was, and then seeing him in Ragnarok, I couldn’t help but be smitten. That and comparing my own height to his. 😳 He’s such a sweet, wise soul whats not to love though? Even if he is a bit of awkward giraffe lolol. Between that and general simping gutter brain, I wanted to give him someone to love and be loved by. But not by me lmao. No self insert here. But uhh my gutter brain was strong with this one because size difference make brain go brrr. And somehow these became the horniest, most mature, yet sweet canon x oc ship I have to date. Whoops?

3) Biggest self-insert OC?

OOH! That would be my sweet pea, Faline! Closest tie with her would be Florence. Although both are actual self inserts. Faline has been my longest standing Self-insert (going on 2 years soon) and one that holds most of my similarities. Including my height, build, my autism, my not-so-great childhood, trauma, and mental health. Genuinely v little difference between her and I.

6) Do you have any OCs without stories? Will you ever create one for them?

I mentioned it before but Clara is currently the one without a story. Although I’m not quite sure if you’re talking actual physical written & completed story or just a general background. I’m assuming the latter, but please correct me if I’m wrong. I will eventually give Clara a proper story, but for now she is content seeing me bond with my other OCs.

9) Favourite OC?

Oh my Gods, Nemo; how can you ask me such a thing? 🤣Just kidding I can actually answer this. My beloved Claudia is my favorite. She was such a treat to create. To go from a minor character made to push a plot point, to then being one of my biggest muses, she is a gem and a half. She is as complex as she is beautiful, and I look forward to continue creating stories for her and Darius.

13) Which story has the most lore?

Oh Gods “Saints & Sinners” by far. Ash and I have spent almost two years developing that universe. It initially started off as a silly “what-if” thing but now we have a whole world, timeline, rules, deities for every basic thing, A deity hierarchy system, Soul-bondings, rules for said deities, the reset system, etc. it used to only focus on four characters, now its expanded to following 8. 4 couples, all soul-bonded deities. It’s an incredible experience.

20) What story are you the proudest of? Why?

Hmmm probably “burn scars” as of right now. Its still in the works but its pushing me out of my comfort zone to deal with more graphic, emotion-heavy scenes. Trying to capture something like that is not easy, but considering it’s such a crucial part in Darius & Claudia’s timeline I am determined to get it right.

What are your favourite movies?

I’m not much of a movie person in general but the ones that have higher chances of holding my attention are animated films. I’m the worst when it comes to watching films. Its like pulling teeth to get me to do.

Thank you again for asking me everything Nemo! I hope you enjoyed!

- Faye

#ask game #faye answers

[blackberrysummerblog]

15 Questions

Thanks so much for the tags, @thewholelemon and @alleycat0306! And I’m sorry it took me an age to get around to replying, I’ve been meaning to I swear!

1. Are you named after anyone? I’m named after the title character in a historical romance novel, of all things 😜 I got chicken pox when I was 13 or so and my mom finally let me read it; the character has a very eventful life without ever getting the one thing she really wants, so…thanks Mom lol

2. When was the last time you cried? Ugh, I cry all the time. Happy, sad, angry…it all gets me going. The last time was probably a day ago after an extremely dumb argument with my husband and it was over 3 minutes later

3. Do you have kids? Two almost-adults! Yikes

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? I don’t think so? I tend to be pretty earnest I guess. I don’t dislike it, though

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people? I spent way too much time thinking about this, mainly because I’m going to *first* notice whatever stands out. If you have spaghetti sauce all over the front of your shirt I’m going to notice that before nice hair or eyes, right? I think beyond that, physically, I’d take note of a contagious smile, and on a personality level I’d notice if someone were particularly sunshiney or grumpy. I have a weird and desperate love for both, in real life as well as fiction

6. What’s your eye color? Gray, though the kind that often gets called blue. It’s not a very exciting color

7. Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings every time. I can appreciate an open or tragic ending for its realism and/or artistic message, but it’s kind of the same as seeing a deeply ugly or tragic piece of visual art that you can appreciate the skill, vision, and message of in a museum, but do you want it on the wall of your home to look at all the time?…I mean, some people definitely would, but it’s not me. I like an ending that makes me feel happy or at least hopeful (I’m capable of and have written endings that aren’t, but these days I’m not very likely to, at least in fanfic). As for scary movies, I like the idea of them but seldom get on with them. I don’t like gore full stop, and while I do enjoy tension and jump scares, it can get overwhelming. I’m very much the person who will sit there burying their face and/or literally jumping in the air when I’m startled

8. Any special talents? I like to think I’m a decent writer, and I used to be a pretty good artist, but I’ve let it go a long time and these days when I sketch something I’m kind of appalled at how the skill atrophied. I’m sure it would improve again if I worked on it—I’m good at really visualizing something in my mind, which I think is the most important thing about being able to create any kind of art. On a more quotidian note, I’m really good at research and I’m a fairly good cook. I love love love to eat, so that helps motivate me in the kitchen lol

9. Where were you born? Arkansas

10. What are your hobbies? Reading, writing, walking, cooking, looking at art, trying new food. Classic introvert

11. Do you have any pets? Five dogs and two cats, it’s a proper zoo up in here

12. What sports do you play/did you used to play? *tries not to laugh*

13. How tall are you? Just barely over 5 feet

14. Favorite subject at school? I started listing my faves and it turns out it was pretty much everything but math, which I feel like I’m bad at but my test scores always indicated I was slightly above the average, so I suppose I must be ok at it. I like learning and enjoyed most of my liberal arts and science courses, but I’m going to narrow it down and say literature

15. Dream job? Writer! (I would very much not be good at this because left to my own devices I procrastinate like hell) I’ve had a lot of jobs over the years that I found interesting though, and I like doing work that I find meaningful. My current job lets me feel like I’m doing good in my community and the world, and most of the time it’s an extremely full work day, which is honestly better than having too much time on my hands.

Gah, I’ve really not been on tumblr much in the past week or so, so probably every single person I’ll tag has already done this. Please don’t think too badly of me (and if you haven’t done it and don’t have the energy, no big deal. Take care of yourselves!) @papierhakuphoto @shutup-andletme_go @captain-arealias @onepintobean @j-nipper-95 @rwithoutaspoon @martsonmars @cutestkilla @maedhrosrussandol

#tag game #15 questions

[basicallyahedgehog]

Hello!! My friend!! I’m so excited for your song prompt list.

I would like to request song 13 pretty please! 💛💛💛

Ily and I can’t wait to see what you do with it!

PHOEBE!! My absolute love, my brain twin. You picked "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran.

To be honest this doesn't have a super exciting story, it's just a song I associate with my husband because 1. we were young when we fell in love and 2. he will always be perfect to me, flaws and all. The acoustic version with Beyoncé came out just after we got married, but if it was released earlier it may have been in our ceremony.

Umm, so, this thing grew a life of its own. I hope you like it

With You Between My Arms

CW: Vague implications of underage drinking, could be read as implied mpreg, but it's really up to your interpretation, canon-typical self-esteem issues

For reasons known only to herself, McGonagall had decided that a graduation ball was a great idea, as if this class hadn’t been through enough. Deadly situations every year, an entire war, returning to a school full of children even though they felt one hundred years older. And now a Merlin-forsaken ball. 

Hermione had scoffed at him, told him he was being melodramatic. Ron had clapped him on the shoulder. “If you can survive multiple encounters with dragons I reckon you can survive this, mate.”

They were wrong, though. Because dragons weren’t nearly this scary. Or, well, real dragons weren’t this scary. Their namesakes, on the other hand, were terrifying. 

Harry had spent the last month trying to convince himself to ask Draco to the ball, only to chicken out at the last minute every time. Sure, they were friends now, but that didn’t mean that Draco wanted to go to a ball with him. Him, Harry, who still woke up screaming most nights and dissasociated during class and couldn’t talk to his crush without saying something stupid. 

Sometimes, he could almost believe that Draco would have said yes. That the casual touches and the dimpled smiles and the strokes against his forehead in the middle of the night actually meant something. But he was Harry, and Draco was Draco, and asking him to the ball was only going to lead to heartbreak. 

All this and more was whirring through Harry’s mind as he stood against the wall, pretending to guard the punch. If he wasn’t going to dance he might as well be vaguely useful. Or at least, that’s what he had told Ron and Hermione. In reality, his current position afforded the perfect view of Draco who was dancing with his friends. 

Or, he had been dancing with his friends. 

Why was Draco coming his way? Perfect, beautiful Draco in his tailored robes, his honey hair glinting under the candlelight. 

Why was he looking at Harry like that?

“Looking for an opportunity to spike the punch, Potter?”

Harry blinked. Whatever he had expected Draco to say, it wasn’t that. 

“I’m meant to be preventing that, actually.” He smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t try it though, I think I’ve failed at least five times. It’s probably more lethal than anything Aberforth sells at this point.”

“Come and dance with me, then,” Draco says, holding out his hand, palm up.

“W-what?” Harry trips over himself, unbelieving that this could be happening.

“There’s no point in guarding an already-inebriated punch bowl.” Draco shook his hand slightly, as if to say ‘come on, what are you waiting for?’

Trying to squash his hope - this isn’t what it looks like, he just wants to have a friendly dance, don’t be an idiot - Harry takes Draco’s hand, allowing himself to be led onto the dancefloor. He runs his free hand through his hair, trying in vain to tame his ever-messy curls. 

“Dont,” Draco murmurs, grabbing Harry’s hand from his hair and placing it on his own shoulder. “The messy look suits you.”

Harry can only gulp as Draco wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, pulling them flush against each other. “Is this ok?” Draco whispers, as if Harry’s dreams hadn’t all just come true. 

“Perfect.”

The lights flashed around them, reflecting off Harry’s glasses as he turned towards Draco, drinks in hand. His hair was even messier than usual, a result of Harry’s nervous ticks and Draco’s own hands. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of running his hands through Harry’s hair, down the back of his neck. Even when they were purely platonic, curled up on the common room couch after one of Harry’s nightmares, Draco had delighted in those curls, teasing out the knots, soothing Harry’s panic with gentle caresses. 

Now, though, he got to run his hands through Harry’s hair whenever he wanted. He tangled the curls around his fingers when they kissed, tugging them just the way that Harry liked. He massaged shampoo through Harry’s hair, caressing his scalp until he hummed sleepily. He carded through Harry’s hair in the mornings, settling it back down from the daily hedgehog look his boyfriend always woke up with. 

Draco realised that definitely had a kink for Harry’s hair, but he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed of it. Harry’s hair had a life of its own, how could he not be obsessed with it?

All that to say, Draco barely paid attention to the drink Harry handed him, instead focusing on the piece of hair currently climbing its way down Harry’s face towards his eye. Reflexively taking a sip of his drink, Draco reached out with his other hand to tuck the wayward curl behind Harry’s ear. He had never expected to feel this fond of Harry, this soft. But, Merlin, this man had done something to him, and he never wanted to go back to how he was before.

After another barely-noticed sip Draco gave his drink up as lost, gently removing Harry’s from his hand and tugging him onto the dance floor. 

The subsequent dance was too slow and too tender for a nightclub, but with Harry in his arms, head tucked securely under Draco’s chin, neither of them could bring themselves to care.

Harry was silent as he walked through the cottage. He had no recollection of this place, and yet the whole building felt suffused with warmth and familiarity. It was as if the very wallpaper was welcoming him home.

------

He took his time, wandering up and down the stairs, in and out of each room countless times. His fingers trailed along the walls, the counters, the bannisters. He was sure that he had started crying at some point, but all he could feel was joy. 

Joy, and an overwhelming love for the man waiting for him in the tiny little garden out the back. 

“You did this, for me?”

It seemed impossible, but Draco’s gaze continued to soften as Harry walked towards him. “I understand if you don’t want to live here, Love.” Draco drew Harry to his chest, stroking a strong back, fingers running through tangled curls. “But I thought that you deserved to see it how it should be. How your parents intended you to see it.”

Harry didn’t think that he could speak just then, so he burrowed further into Draco’s embrace, soaking his boyfriend’s shirt with his tears. He didn’t know how long they stood like that for, simply holding each other close. It could have been minutes or hours before he realised that they were swaying gently back and forth, Draco steering him almost imperceptibly in circles across the neatly trimmed grass. 

They danced as the sun slowly sank below the horizon, as Harry’s tears turned to giggles, as their lazy sways turned to silly dips and spins. 

As the final vestiges of light disappeared Harry drew Draco’s forehead to his own, slowing them back down into a gentle transfer of weight back and forth. 

“I would be honoured to share this home with you.”

---------

Draco arrived home to a cold, dark house. He didn’t have time to feel worried, however, before a shrill cry rang through the house. Hanging his coat by the door he made his way to their cozy living room, using his wand to light the fire and send the dirty bottles to the kitchen. By the state of the room, it had been a tough day in the cottage. 

Jamie had continued to cry, and as Draco turned to face Harry his heart broke. Harry had Jamie snuggled against his chest, shushing the fretting baby as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Judging from the fatigue lines on his face, the pair had been here for hours. What really tugged at Draco’s heart, however, were the tears coursing down Harry’s own cheeks, and when he listened closely he could hear the tell-tale hitches that indicated that father was crying along with his son. 

Harry was the strongest person he knew, only ever giving into his emotions when he had reached the very end of his rope. Draco had been trying to get him to open up more, but it was clear that Harry had not broken down by choice. 

“Oh, Love,” Draco whispered, reaching to take the baby. “How long has he been like this?”

Draco didn’t think it was possible, but Harry’s face crumpled even further as he sank into the couch, hands tangled in his messy hair. 

“Since noon.” Harry’s voice was muffled by the hands now on his face, but Draco could still hear the despair and, gut-wrenchingly, self-loathing in his words. Torn between his still-fussy baby and his distraught boyfriend, Draco held Jamie firmly against his chest with one hand, running the other soothing through Harry’s hair. 

“Darling, I’m so sorry.” Draco kept his voice low, trying to sooth both father and son. “You should have called me, Love. I would have come home.”

Harry looked up at him, tears still running down his face. “You had that important meeting. I didn’t want to bother you just because I’m a terrible father.”

Draco knelt in front of Harry, gently guiding his chin until he gained eye contact. “Sweetheart, having a fussy baby does not make you a terrible father. Jamie is the luckiest baby in the world, because he has you as his daddy.” At Harry’s sniffle, Draco placed a light kiss on his lips. “And if you think that there is anything on this earth that is more important to me than you and Jamie, I haven’t been doing my job as your partner.”

Harry dropped his head onto Draco’s chest, right next to Jamie. Draco wondered whether his heartbeat was as soothing to Harry as it was to the tiny baby now clutching Harry’s hair.

“I did call Molly,” Harry whispered, “but she couldn’t get him to calm down either. She eventually suggested that I should just put him in his cot for a while so I could have a break, but-”

Harry’s voice broke, and it was only his head against Draco’s chest that stopped Molly from getting an unexpected visit. Draco loved Harry’s surrogate mum, he really did, but sometimes it was like she forgot Harry’s trauma and when she did, it made Draco’s blood boil.

“I couldn’t just leave him,” Harry hiccoughed, his tears drenching Draco’s business shirt. “He was so upset, Love, and the thought of him lying there, thinking he was all alone. I just-”

“Shh, Harry. Shh, Sweetheart.” Draco vaguely registered tears running down his own face, falling into Harry’s messy curls, onto the sweet baby fluff on Jamie’s head. Jamie, who had nuzzled himself between Harry and Draco’s bodies, and was now happily sleeping, his thumb stuck in his perfect little mouth. 

“Here, Love.” Draco stood carefully, guiding Harry up with him to avoid stirring Jamie. Pulling Harry against him, Jamie sandwiched gently between them, Draco began to sway. 

“See, that’s just proof that you aren’t a terrible father, Harry.” Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, an act of trust that Draco still couldn’t believe that he was afforded. “You spent six hours loving on our baby, even though it was hard. You could have walked away, Love, but you didn’t.”

“But I couldn’t stop him crying. I should know how to stop my baby crying.”

“If the roles were reversed, if I was the one who had been home all day, would you blame me?”

Harry’s head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. “What? No! Babies are just like that someti-” He chuckled ruefully. “Oh.”

Draco placed his lips against Harry’s forehead. “Yes, oh. Silly.”

Harry sighed and laid his head back on Draco’s shoulder, allowing himself to be calmed by Draco’s gentle swaying. It could have been minutes or hours, but here, in this moment, Draco had everything he had ever wanted. 

“Harry, Love,” Draco whispered, nudging Harry’s face up towards him. “Marry me.”

Harry’s feet stopped, almost tripping Draco. A reflexive hand on Jamie’s back, he stared into Draco’s face. 

“Draco, what?”

“Marry me.” Draco tugged Harry back in, as flush as they could be with a baby between them. “And no, I’m not just saying this because you’ve had a bad day. I have a-a ring and a plan and-”

Harry cut him off with a kiss. 

“Yes.”

This time it was Draco who stopped swaying. 

“A-are you sure? I can ask properly. It’s just, I realised that you are my everything. You and Jamie. And I wanted you to know that and-”

“Yes, Draco,” Harry laughed, placing kisses all over Draco’s face. “Yes I will marry you.”

And even though Harry’s face was splotchy and Draco’s shirt was covered in tears and baby snot, here, in this moment, everything was perfect. 

For a song-fic, send me a number between 1 and 35 and I will write a ficlet based on a song that reminds me of my husband :)

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry fic #ed sheeran #song fics #song prompts #basically just a lot of fluff #tiny bits of hurt comfort #but just lots of soft boys

[female-malice]

Isaac Humphries

One of the best feelings in the world is playing a game of professional basketball while on peak form.

You get to perform in front of nearly 10,000 people a night; they’re cheering your name, they’re wearing your jersey. And all while you throw down a powerful dunk and flex to the crowd.

Well, it should be the best feeling in the world, right? And for a brief moment, I guess it was.

That was in 2020. I was 22 and playing with the Adelaide 36ers, two years before signing with my current team, Melbourne United.

Now imagine what happens when all of that adrenalin comes to an end after a game. For me, the euphoria was gone the moment I drove out of the arena. I’d get home to my apartment in Adelaide’s coastal suburb of Henley Beach, and be all alone.

I felt I had no choice but to be by myself. That’s when my wave of depression would hit the hardest.

Over my entire career, there was no reality that existed where I could be an openly gay man while playing basketball. Until now.

I’ve played everywhere – Kentucky, the NBA, Europe, the Australian national team – and it’s all the same: for the most part, being an athlete at that level is about making money, dating girls and being the best basketball player you can be.

So I fell in line, no matter how awkward and weird I felt doing it. I just wanted to fit in and not draw any attention to myself. There were almost no examples of a male pro basketball player doing anything other than that, so I was resigned to the fact that my true life would start after I retired.

My depression got so bad that the idea of not making it to retirement became a very real possibility.

There was a night toward the end of 2020 where my loneliness, self-hate and shame finally took its toll, and I decided it would hurt less to take my own life. I had unfortunately decided it was the end. It was only when I woke up the next morning when I realized what I hadn’t done.

I ended up starting that season like nothing was wrong. But midway through it, some previous leg injuries caught up with me. I was shut down for the remainder of the season and most of the following one too.

Simple things like standing up from a chair or walking up a flight of stairs – let alone any explosive movement while playing – became almost impossible.

Part of the fix was following my strength and conditioning coach, Nik Popovic, to Los Angeles to continue my rehab. We had originally set up shop in Sydney to get through my rehab but he had just gotten a new gig at the University of Southern California; he’s the best in the business so the only way for me to continue making progress in fixing my knee was to join him over there.

LA has always been my favorite place in the world. On top of my basketball career, I’m also a musician, so I’ve been really fortunate to have spent a lot of time there and develop a network of friends and peers.

Being in LA over the years also gave me my first ever experiences seeing members of the LGBTQ+ community in a positive light.

Growing up in Australia, I went to an all-male private school from about the age of 13, where there was an unspoken expectation that everyone was straight – and that was the end of the conversation. Throw in the competitive sports world I was part of, and there were really no avenues for me to see members of the LGBTQ+ community.

Things didn’t change when I became a pro basketball player; LGBTQ+ representation had rarely ever been there in top-tier male-dominated sports, where it’s generally seen as a negative point of difference. Anyone who’s ever been in a locker room understands the sentiments that float around. There’s the unintentional derogatory slang, and ridiculing anything with a gay connotation.

In LA, it was completely different. I was around some of the most successful people in the world – everyone from musicians, television and film producers, media personalities, A-list celebrities – and got to see that being openly gay can come with joy.

For the first time in my life, I saw that people at the top of their game can be open and honest about who they are, and that came with a visceral and contagious happiness.

So while in LA in 2021 to fix my injuries, I also got to experience more of being around the LGBTQ+ community. It was mostly through making friends who were openly gay and unequivocally themselves – shame wasn’t even a consideration.

I learned so much about the experiences people in our community go through, and was shocked at the number of stories that were eerily similar to mine.

I saw that being open about who you are can be the most freeing thing a person can ever do. Being gay didn’t come with shame anymore; it came with liberation.

No one was hiding who they were. And it made for the happiest, most positive environment I didn’t realize existed.

That’s what I hope sports can become. I want it to be a place where anyone can strive to be amazing, without fearing backlash just for who you are.

You can be a gay man and an elite basketball player in one of the best leagues in the world. I’m living proof of that.

My journey to get to this point in my life was harder than it should’ve been, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Without those dark points, I wouldn’t have been thrust into situations where I had to explore, discover and learn to accept who I really am.

If there are negative aspects that come with my decision to come out, I’ll take those barbs so others don’t have to; as long as it means we make progress along the way and kids in particular feel they can be whoever they want.

I’m so fortunate to be able to do this with this Melbourne United team. It says a lot about the club that I really do feel so comfortable doing this with them. To other sports teams out there, create environments that are welcoming to people of different sexualities, faiths, races. Not only is it the right thing to do, but I promise you’ll get the most out of every person in your organization for it.

I’d also encourage a bit more empathy across the board. A comment here or there might seem funny in the moment, and a sentiment that could be considered anti-gay might appear harmless in the grand scheme of things – but you never know who might be in the room with you and how it might affect that person.

I know what it feels like to grow up in an environment that doesn’t feel welcoming, and I want to do my part to make sure basketball is no longer one of them.

#go Isaac!!!