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oddree13 · 3 months

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To Find a Kiss of Yours

[Read on AO3]

Steve remembers his first Valentine's Day. He was in first grade and spent the day prior decorating a shoebox to act as a makeshift mailbox. The next day the class had a party where all the cards were passed out, but throughout the gathering, girls came up to give him extra candy. One girl even kissed him on the cheek and ran off.

Steve felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time that day and decided Valentine’s wasn’t all that bad.

As the years went on, Steve looked forward to the holiday for reasons beyond extra candy. February 14 was used to fill the void of affection his parents were slowly taking from him.

And once Steve started middle school, and class-wide valentines were no longer mandatory, he realized the holiday was different for him than other boys. He’d get more cards and candy than some of his friends, and in seventh grade, a girl pulled Steve aside to let him know how much she liked him. Steve only knew the girl because they shared a couple of classes, but figured he should be polite and ask her out. After all, that is what all the boys around him would do.

Years later Robin would unpack just how wrong this was to do.

In short, Steve always looked forward to Valentine's Day and even kept a box under his bed where he kept his favorites - the standouts among the mass-printed, store-bought postcards that were delivered to Steve with a personal touch.

When he started Hawkins High a part of him was nervous that one of his steady sources of affection would dry up, but Steve found the exact opposite. The school encouraged the holiday by allowing students to send each other candy-grams and flowers throughout the day. Even among the students, there was a buzz. In the days leading up to V-day, photocopied maps of lockers would be passed around where people could write their friend’s name on it, in the hopes that it would encourage more personal gifts and confessions.

In his four years at Hawkins High Steve’s name always made it on the map before he could write it.

During his freshman year, Steve gets more than a few candy-grams in homeroom, prompting Tommy and Carol to tease him as they steal his candy.

In between classes, he takes more trips than usual to his locker to collect the cards and notes left for him. Some are signed, some are just a phone number with a name and a lipstick print. Steve can’t help but get high off the constant reminders of want as the day goes on.

Needing to kill time before the bus towards Loch Nora arrives, Steve heads to his locker after basketball practice. Sure it could have waited until morning, but Steve’s never been a patient man.

Inside his locker are a few more notes, but among the pink and pastels that have filled his vision all day, the crimson card stands out. He opens the front flap to find the card is actually an origami note, and not wanting to rip it, carefully unfolds the missive.

His eyes are immediately pulled to the drawing at the bottom: a half-sun and half-moon face on a backdrop of stars. His eyes then wander up to the note to find not a letter, but a short poem -

Some people say my love cannot be true Please believe me, my love, and I'll show you I will give you those things you thought unreal The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal

It takes Steve a few times to read it to get the gist of the meaning, and he can’t help but blush. Either the writer is talented or she copied someone. Either way, Steve knows this is making it into his special box. Before folding it back Steve’s eyes searched the page for a name or phone number, only to find a small “E” at the corner of the note.

Steve spends the rest of the week wracking his brain for all the girls in his class and even the year above whose name starts with an E, even going so far as to approach a few of them.

When he gets no answer other than a few dates he puts it out of his mind.

Sophomore year is almost an identical repeat of the year before. Candygrams were delivered and stolen by Tommy and Carol. Notes stuffed in his locker, getting more lascivious as the day goes on. It seems his reputation preceded him, and there are more than a few propositions in letter form.

And just like the year before there is a crimson note waiting for him after practice. Steve wasn’t even anticipating the note, figuring it was a one-off from the year prior. But seeing it sitting on top of his books, Steve can’t help but ignore all the other letters and notes in favor of opening another message from E.

Like last time there’s a drawing, this time of a detailed headstone citing a kiss as the cause of death, the skull atop bearing a lip print. And just like the year before is a poem -

To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love

Steve restarts his attempts to find E, only this time he goes for a more subtle approach, flirting with instead of confronting any girl whose name starts with the offending letter.

It doesn’t end with Steve solving the mystery but does end with Steve going on dates with Elizabeth, Evelyn, Emily, and Erin.

The Valentines of his junior year is an interesting one. Sure he’s been dating Nancy for almost three months now, but that doesn’t stop some very ambitious girls from sending candy and cards his way. He details each gift to Nancy as the day goes on because that's what a good boyfriend would do, right? And sure, he wishes Nancy would look more perturbed, but all he gets is small kisses on his cheek with her saying they can use the candy as dessert when she makes him dinner this weekend.

The only thing Steve keeps to himself though is his hope for a third crimson note.

Sure Steve hasn’t gotten any luck with finding out who the sender is. And even if he did find out this year he couldn’t act on it. But there's something about the effort that Steve craves. That someone cares enough about Steve to write, draw, and fold the letter each year.

And just like the years prior the note is there, drawing and all.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day. Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.

Not only is this year's poem longer, but the drawing also intrigues Steve. The picture is of a winged man, gazing up at the words written above him with an almost longing expression, while flames dance at his feet. Steve can’t help but examine the detail that went into the drawing, and even blushes at how handsome he is.

So the next day when Nancy drags him to the library to study, he sneaks away to ask the librarian if she recognizes the poem (without showing her the note). She walks him over to the poetry section and hands him a collection of British poetry, turning to the section on W.H. Auden.

Steve reads a brief description of the poem, about the unrequited love between the poet and the stars. He bitterly thinks that this love might not be unrequited if he could figure out who his secret admirer was.

Years later Steve would realize two things - Indiana public school books didn't care to mention that W.H. Auden was gay and that he really should have looked at the checkout card inside the book cover.

Steve contemplates staying home for the last Valentine's Day of his high school career. He's certain he won't get any grams now that he’s fallen from grace and taken no steps to climb back up.

But despite how obnoxious sharing court with Hargrove is, basketball practice is the only thing keeping him sane as he counts down the days till graduation.

Steve didn't even mean to go back to his locker that day not wanting to be disappointed by the lack of a crimson note. But he needs his notes to study for chemistry, and as he pulls out the binder the crimson letter falls to the floor.

Steve can't help the way his heart clenches at the sight. How such a simple thing can remind him why he loves his holiday so much?

He then figures that the sender. Must be someone in his grade if they've kept these notes coming all four years.

Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me , I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Steve sinks onto the floor as he reads the poem over and over again. He can't help but smirk at how the bits about girls are stricken through, but also that it's a farewell of sorts. It leaves Steve with a bittersweet feeling to know he'll never find out the sender's identity.

Over piles of discount candy in 1986, Steve shares with Robin the details of the crimson notes tucked under his bed. Robin can't help but laugh as she looks through them pointing out to Steve how fucking homo erotic all the poems are.

After a bit of denial, Steve finally admits that Robin may be right and kicks himself for only searching for girls back when he was in high school. Realizing he didn't bother to get a copy of the yearbook he asks Robin if he can come one day to search the pages at her house for clues. But a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

Part of Steve wishes he actually bothered to get a copy of the yearbook so he could search the pages, but a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

It's February 1987 and Steve is wondering how he's spending Valentine's Day Eve cleaning up his kitchen after the party wraps their D&D session for the night.

Eddie is helping him tidy as he recounts how on the ride over to Steve's, Dustin was explaining how nervous he was about his radio date with Suzie the next day wanting to do something special but not cheesy.

“I told him he should recite some poetry and he told me that's lame,” Eddie says in a way that expresses their mutual frustration with Henderson.

“It's not lame. If it's done right,” Steve agrees.

“The little shit then told me that metal lyrics don't count as poetry and I told him that I know more than just metal lyrics.”

Steve can't help but look amused and gestures for Eddie to regale him with a poem.

Eddie clears his throat and begins, “To find a kiss of yours what I would give…”

“A kiss that strayed from your lips...dead to love,” Steve finishes unthinking. After all, he read those words hundreds of times.

That's when it clicks for Steve. The E written in the corner of all those notes stood for Eddie.

Eddie's eyes catch Steve's and he visibly swallows. His complexion pails and he looks like he's about to run for it, but Steve sputters out his confession.

“I kept them all.”

Eddie's eyes widened even further at that as if he couldn't believe what Steve was saying.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Want to see them? They're in my room.”

“That's quite a line, Harrington”

“Well not all of us can be poets.”

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #myfics #valentines day #secret admirer #stranger things fic #steddie fic

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redheadspark · 10 months

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pretty words promts

lyrical - write a scene where your character has to make a speech or perform poetry. Again you pick the character!!

A/N - STELLA THIS IS BRILLIANT! I would love to write this for you, Thanks for requesting this, bestie!

Sonnet

Summary - Poetry was not his forte. But for you, Druig was willing to try.

Warnings - Just come cute fluff :D

"Thanks for coming with me tonight, Sersi!"

"Of course! I love poetry reading, if only I could bring Dane along. He finds it a bore,"

"Well then he and Druig can be good friends then I guess,"

Sersi laughed as you both were sitting together near the small stage at the back of the bar, a smaller booth that was tucked against the wall and already sipping on your wine. The mood was light and intimate, the lights were dimmed low with only the tea lights on the table giving a small glow, and a handful of other poetry lovers were sitting and waiting for the event to start. It was one of your favorite weekly events to go to, a great way to unwind and not think about your job or the stressful drama of your family.

You loved and adored poetry, starting way back in middle school when you had to do research on poetry. The love and obsession came so naturally, coming along with you and your life as you were an English Lit. Degree with a minor in Poetry. Diving into poems about heartache, rage and anger, history, but most importantly, love.

You were a sucker for the poetry about love. How could you not? No other drug or alcohol could hold a flame close enough to warm you at night to bring you more joy and a unique sense of pleasure. Being in clubs and groups that were just as obsessed with poetry as you helped you pass your time in college, which is where you met your best friend Sersi, and got roped into being with her group of friends

It was also where you met your current boyfriend Druig, who did not like poetry at all.

There were a few reasons for that, but the one main reason was that he thought of it as corny. Maybe it was, Druig was more of a cynic and sarcastic in what he thought was great and what he thought was corny. It was in his nature and it never bothered you really, he was a Philosophy major with a minor in human studies so he had to question plenty of things around him. Poetry, in his mind, seemed to be a waste of time when it came to describing how you felt.

"Just say what you feel, don't put it in a sonnet," He said one time on your second date together, you raising a brow to him as a shrugged, "I'm blunter than the average guy,"

"Clearly," You joked back, seeing him roll his eyes as he shoved your shoulder playfully.

You invited him to Poetry Readings before, and he did come to one just to be a supportive boyfriend to you since he knew you loved it. But by the second hour in, you could tell it felt more like torture to him, fidgeting in his chair next to you and his leg bouncing in both anxiousness and boredom. You had to give him credit for waiting it out for two hours, and you took him home early to not torture him any longer. Of course, he felt bad and he was going to come up with an excuse for it, but you were simply glad he made the effort.

It's been a year since you two were introduced by Sersi, 8 months since he asked you out on a date, and you both were still in love with each other. Druig had you move into his apartment since his roommate Kingo was getting his own place and Druig didn't have the heart to let go of the apartment he was in since he loved it too much. All of the steps you were taking together were pointing in the direction of engagement and marriage.

Yet Druig never proposed.

Now you could be patient for so long, but something inside of you was itching to ask him if he wanted to get married in the future. Did he like the thought of marriage? After seeing Sersi and her previous fiance Ikaris break off their engagement in a nasty manner did leave a bitter taste in his mouth, he hated Ikaris ever since he walked away from Sersi. His own personal life was rough, his parents splitting up when he was young and that left a bad scar along his heart. However you knew he loved you, he would show you and tell you constantly he loved and adored you more than he could ever comprehend.

So, all you could do was wait and hope.

"Ladies and Gentleman, thank you again for coming out to this special Poetry Slam tonight! We are excited to get to the artists who are showcasing their words tonight, but before we do, we have a special reader who wishes to go first. He's new to our reading, so go easy on him. Please, give a warm welcome to Druig!"

"Oh my God!" Sersi said in a shriek as your eyes were huge, seeing none other than your boyfriend going up onto the small stage about 50 feet away from you. He was sporting his black leather, a gift you gave him on his birthday, a dark shirt under the jacket with fitted jeans, and his boots. It was his usual wear, but you noticed that his hair was cut and styled to the side, something that wasn't like him. But there he was, looking rather nervous as he was clutching a thin book in his hand.

"Hi," He said into the microphone. A few people clapped and snapped their fingers as he cleared his throat, "I...I wanted to read something special, for someone special that is in my life. This is very new to me, so bare with me," He joked, several people were chuckling as he looked over at you. You grinned, feeling your heart pounding in your chest as he smiled widely at you and pointed to you with his spare hand, "This is for my girlfriend, and the love of my life,"

Some people cooed and awed as you felt Sersi rub your arm in encouragement, your eyes never leaving Druig as he flipped open the book. You could see his hands were shaking, beyond nervous, and almost looking a bit pale. But he then took in a long breath, the nerves were gone, and it almost felt like it was just you two in the bar. Everyone else melted away, just you in the booth and Druig reciting poetry to you.

"It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

Tears were forming in your eyes, knowing this poem very well. You could recite it on your own if you could, and as Druig was saying that poem smoothly into the microphone, you were mouthing along with him. Hearing his tone, how the words flowed into the room and painted the picture of Poe, made you shove the tears away rapidly as he went on.

"I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.

You remembered feeling him about this poem in particular back when you two first officially got together. You had to stay at his place over the weekend since there was a leak in your bathroom at your apartment and the maintenance crew was going to take several hours to fix the leak and any other problems. You brought your Edgar Allen Poe book, reading it next to Druig as he was turning off the lights and snuggling in bed with you.

"Read it to me?" He asked.

"But you hate poetry," You reasoned.

"Aye, but not when you read it," Druig replied, making you blush madly as you then read Annabelle Lee. Druig listened, hanging on your every word and never once losing interest as you recited the poem in such a gentle tone and with no urgency.

Now Druig was doing just the same in this moment, just for you.

"For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulcher there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea"

The bar erupted in clapping and snapping of fingers, Druig closing the book and smiling as you moved out of the booth without even realizing that you were rushing to him. You hugged him tightly, and the clapping got louder in the room as Druig hugged you just as tightly. You weren't thinking about the other people in the room, of that you both were still on the stage under the lights, you were focusing on Druig and the fact that he recited poetry in front of a group of strangers. This was out of his element, out of his comfort zone, and it didn't stop there.

He fell to one knee, taking out a small ring box from his jacket pocket and opening the top.

"Marry me, my love?" He asked, though his voice was being fogged by the erupting of cheers from the bar and all that was watching. You were freely crying, nodding rapidly as a flash of a camera taking your picture went off. The ring slipped on your fingers, Druig kissed you with a massive grin on his face, and Sersi took another picture with her own tears in her eyes while she sent the picture to the rest of the group in your group text.

Druig would read the same poem to you again a year later at your wedding, you proclaiming that poem as your shared poem together.

The End.

#druig fluff #druig x oc #druig eternals #druig x reader #druig x female reader #druig x you #druig x y/n #eternals fan writing #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fanfiction #mcu writing #mcu fanfiction #mcu phase 4 #mcu #marvel fanfic writer #marvels eternals #marvel writing #marvel fanfiction

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stephanie-black-swan · 2 months

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Hello to you, who will read these few lines 🙂 I don't think Taylor Swift will read my message here, but rather to a member of her team? Anyway hello!

I am writing this somewhat special message today to ask a question. I know my post will be just one of 1000, but maybe someone will read it anyway.

I am Stephanie, and I live in France. I have my ticket for the Eras Tour. For me it will be in LYON at the GROUPAMA STADIUM N2 on June 3, 2024. I have a VIP FOSSE OR LEFT ticket with early access.

Here, we do not have postal or email addresses that we can use to contact our favorite international artists (or their teams). So I am trying my luck on this address, hoping that someone is interested in what I write here. And even better, that someone reads my message to the end.

I am 28 years old. Apparently, I am an adult. I think? In any case, I never stopped writing and dreaming. If this makes me a child, if this is the price to pay, I accept it! Maybe I have a slight Peter Pan syndrome.

Despite everything, I am a fairly introverted and reasonable person. I am very rational, I like to analyze everything, and I hate being noticed. As a result, I have never been a “fan” as people tend to say. I have never gone after an autograph or a photo with a public figure. Besides, most of the time, I don't care if a person is famous or not. I myself would absolutely hate being famous. I also never claim that you can truly know a public figure solely through their image and the marketing around them. Above all, stars are not Gods, just people like the rest of us. They also have their fears, their joys, and their demons. But all this rationality does not, sometimes, prevent us from admiring a person. Not because she is famous, but because she shakes our emotions and our thoughts through her art.

Since childhood, I have been very socially awkward. I was teased and harassed most of my schooling. For what? Oh, just because I was already 5' 11" tall at the very beginning of middle school, and I often sat in my corner scribbling poems and stories on my sheets of paper. I was listening to music in my ears non-stop, and I was in my own world. And besides, I haven't changed that much. Maybe it's also because I have autism, that's what the psychiatrist told me haha. Words and music have, are and always will be my only escape in this sometimes brutal and dark world. I still write, whenever my emotions need to be expressed. Because I never express them as well as with words. After my father died of cancer when I was 18, words and music were kind of the only thing in the world I still had. And that's what kept me going.

You now see very well where I was going with this: yes, during this period, I discovered and listened to the music of Taylor Alison Swift. So obviously not only that, I've listened to thousands of different artists, and there are a lot of them that I love. But no other artist has touched me like Taylor Swift has. Apparently people say she's a witch? No, she is a magician with words. The poetic magician of the 21st century.

I read everywhere that at a concert, people were chosen to interact with her during the song "22", and others to meet her before and/or after the concert. But also that these people were often chosen based on their super stylish outfit, their screams, their dedication on the internet. But I have neither the time nor the energy to create "fan pages" on social networks (besides I don't particularly like social networks), I don't have the means nor the desire to spending fortunes on merchandising or "cosplay" clothing to attend the concert, and above all I don't have the "thing" to scream and move in all directions. As I said, I am not a fan per se, and Taylor is a human being. Besides, I don't care about autographs, even photos. I don't want visibility on the internet, that's not what I'm looking for. I don't want any gifts. I don't need all these things.

But that doesn't stop me from dreaming of one day having the opportunity to shake the hand of an inspiring artist. Look her in the eyes and simply say “thank you, for your music, for your words, for everything”. Yes, I dream of that. And I admit, in my life I am often saddened by the fact that I never had luck. Please note: I am not complaining. I have a wonderful mom who I am very close with, I have a wonderful boyfriend who I love with all my heart, and they are the most precious things in the world. But regarding the little extra thing, the bonus, the little dream moment: I always watched others have it. I know for a fact that many others are like me, and that I am not a special person compared to others. And most of the time I don't care if they get lucky and I don't, I don't need it. But for this time, just for this, I would really like to have a joker and be able to say "hey, this time I'm the lucky one today!". But no matter what, this Joker would never happen alone. Luck provokes itself, it decides. This is why I sent this message, to try to induce luck. For the rest... Fingers crossed!

For the person reading these lines (IF someone read this), and if they have made it this far: thank you from the bottom of my heart, and have a wonderful day :)

@taylornation @taylorswift

#taylor swift #taylornation #swifties #swiftie #the eras tour #france #lyon #hope #writer #Spotify

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indigowallbreaker · 2 years

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Can you please write some Lorenz/Bernadetta with 'squeezing hand for comfort or encouragement' from the handholding prompts? :)

(Writing Lorenz is just so fun, it’s a wonder I don’t do it more. Have some cute post skip encouragement/comfort!)

Lorenz had spotted Bernadetta some time ago, standing in the shadow of the stables and shuffling her feet. He didn’t acknowledge her-- spend enough time around the shiest member of the Alliance army and you picked up a few of her cues. If she had yet to make herself known, it meant she was still working up the courage to approach. Move too quick and she’d run back to her room. With a bit of patience, however...

“H-Hello, Lorenz.”

Hiding an amused chuckle, Lorenz turned around. “Good afternoon, Bernadetta!” He greeted, placing his curry comb on a nearby stall door. She tensed up. Softening his voice, Lorenz asked, “May I help you with something?”

Bernadetta held a rolled up piece of canvas in one hand. The other was clenched at her side. “Um, well, kind of. I have something for you.”

“So I see.” His eyes flickered to the canvas.

“But-- I won’t give it to you unless you promise not to get mad,” she said in a rush.

Lorenz knew she spoke fast when she was nervous, and he hated being the one to cause such nerves. He really thought he had improved his bearing since their school days. “I promise,” he vowed.

“You still might. You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“A gift from you could never be something to lose my temper about.”

“But--”

“Bernadetta, I may never know what the gift is unless you show me!” Lorenz held out his hand. If this were anyone else, he might have said her behavior-- demanding promises and withholding gifts-- was unbecoming of a noble. But Lorenz knew Bernadetta had a lot to overcome before she could tackle learning the nobility’s social graces. He would hold back his criticism for her. But only for her.

Taking a breath that puffed out her chest and raised her shoulders, Bernadetta gave Lorenz the canvas. He unrolled it carefully. What he saw made his eyes widen.

It was a painting. A thick forest with sunlight pouring between pine needles and branches. In the middle stood a tall person with their back turned. Before them, one hoof stepping out of the dark of the trees, was a horse wearing a timid, yet trusting expression.

“This is...” Lorenz’s mind spun with adjectives, each as ill fitting as the last. “This is... wonderful!” He settled on. He beamed at Bernadetta. “How could I be angry with this? Look at what you’ve created, Bernadetta! A masterpiece!”

Her cheeks flushed with the praise. “I-- Oh, well-- I...”

Lorenz looked over the painting, trying to see what Bernadetta saw. It was easy to get lost in the details-- a few hairs of the horse’s mane out of place, the shadows on the forest floor, dirt on the person’s boots, the cautious hand outstretched. What was he missing?

“The last time we had tea together in your room...” Bernadetta gulped. “You left to get more cream for my tea. And I was looking around. And I found a notebook open on your desk a-and... read a bit of it.”

Dread creeped up Lorenz’s spine. “You read one of my poems,” he surmised.

“I didn’t mean to! I thought it was a textbook o-or a tome! I didn’t realize what it was until I recognized your handwriting!” Bernadetta folded and unfolded her hands before her, head lowered, eyes darting around like she was making sure she had an exit. “After that, I couldn’t get the words out of my head. ‘Unsure steps on a well trodden path, I make it clear I hold no wrath, out of the dark steps the one I love, lit only by the sun above’. It was beautiful! I had to paint it!”

It certainly sounded beautiful, in Bernadetta’s voice. Lorenz opened his mouth but Bernadetta beat him to it. “I knew you would be mad!” She shrieked, turning away.

“I’m not-- Bernadetta!” Lorenz flung out a hand to grasp hers, squeezing it tight. “I’m not angry! I am-- I admit I am embarrassed you read unfinished work of mine, but I am far from angry at you!”

“But I-I read it without asking! Invaded your privacy! I could have read Alliance secrets and then you would have had to kill me and we wouldn’t be friends anymore!”

Lorenz snorted indignantly. “Really, as if I would leave such a thing out in the open with company around.” He tugged her closer and spoke firmly. “I do not recommend making a habit out of snooping. But if my words inspired you to such creativity as this, then I’m honored.”

Bernadetta met his gaze at last. “R-Really?”

“Indeed.” Lorenz look at the painting again. “But I must ask, why a horse?”

“Well, the poem talks about trying to help a scared creature, and you like horses, so I thought that might be what you were talking about?” She frowned. “W-Was I close?”

Lorenz looked down at Bernadetta-- who, despite her growth these past five years, was still smaller than Lorenz. The terror had left her face but she remained cautious. And her hair certainly wasn’t white.

“No. You did miss your mark on that front.” He laughed when she huffed with disappointment, sounding much like a horse herself. “But you are not wrong, I do like horses.” Lorenz let go of her hand to roll up the canvas. He bowed low. “Thank you, Bernadetta. I will treasure this gift.”

#fire emblem three houses #lorenz hellman gloucester #bernadetta von varley #lorenzetta #or maybe #bernadenz #anyway please be nice about my and lorenzs poetry #we're doing our best #hand prompts

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wh1sp3rr · 3 months

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thinking fluffy thoughts of u & katsu !

ೀ masterlist ೀ requests ೀ

You sit at your vanity, back straight, Hello Kitty headband on, and begin pressing little dots of creamy white into your face, slowly massaging and bringing it out to where your skin stops and your hair starts.

Katsuki’s on your bed, one leg crossed over another, reading one of your feminist literature books, page turning every few minutes; he was a voracious reader after all.

Your focus on your reflection, on the meticulous routine you’ve perfectly curated, doesn’t allow you to notice the quick few glances Bakugo shoots at you, so curious and in awe of how pretty you look.

He never really had a skincare routine since he was blessed by the gods above with glassy clear skin, though he was always down for you working your magic on him by warming some sort of balm or essence into his skin or even the two of you putting on face masks together.

He’s always so aware of how different your dorm room is to his: how your bed is stacked with blankets and how your books were perfectly organized; your vanity with its massive oval mirror and the pretty string lights you have lacing its woody body.

He hears you slap your skin repeatedly, softly but still loud enough for it to break the threshold of silence that was once blanketing the room. He slots his fingers between the front cover and the page he’s at right now as to not lose his place when he speaks.

“What are you doing?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

“It’s serum,” you reply, still focused on the action in your large mirror.

He laughs breathily, “Okay... but why are you slapping your face?”

“It increases the blood flow to the skin.”

“And that does…?” he continues. You turn around in your seat, lacy pink silk robe swaying as you move.

“Honestly, I don’t even know,” you chuckle humbly, “but I know it’s supposed to be good for you,” you turn back around, continuing with your next step.

He walks over, book still in hand, and looks down at you before staring at you in the mirror, watching your precise motions with your fingertips. They circle a newer, thinner cream into your face and you glide it up your cheekbones, noticing the slight face lift it gives you each time you’d pull. You eye the corner of the mirror, Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar low in Katsuki’s hand.

“That a good book?” you ask, eyes honed in on your hands dragging the slick down your neck now.

He sighs, a quick break into humility. “Oh yeah, I’ve read it before.”

Your eyes widen and smile grows then turn around in your seat to look up at him; he immediately follows and smiles back down at you, “You’ve read The Bell Jar?”

He laughs gently: boyish. “Yeah, we did some of her poems in middle school and I liked them so…” he slaps the book against his hand, “just read her book. It’s the only one she’s got.”

“Oh yeah, I knew that,” you emphasize, “that’s why I bought it. Still haven’t found the time to read it though…” you trail off.

He drops his hand with the book and gives you a little frown, “You should. It’s good, I think you’d like it.”

You smile up at him then turn around and finish off your routine, “I’ll start it tonight.”

He still hovers over you, watches you peel off your headband then carefully put on your bonnet, leans down and presses a kiss between your exposed shoulder blades, “You look very pretty.”

“Thank you,” you smile, and you grab his free hand, rub your thumb over the two fingers it can reach back and forth.

“Want me to do your skincare?” you offer.

He puts the book down on the one spot of empty space, “Sure,” he says casually, like he wasn’t hoping you’d ask him that.

“Okay, go into the bathroom and wash your face!” you excitedly say, and he agrees, calmly follows your orders. “Wait!” you interrupt his egress.

He doesn’t say anything and instead waits for what you have to say; you bring your pretty red-bowed Hello Kitty headband and over his head, tip-toeing and arms stretching to reach his height even while he leans down to accommodate, and pull it up to hairline, spiky blond tufts sticking out over the soft white plush. “Much better,” you nod, smiling. “Now off you go,” you shoo him away.

“Okay, Mom,” he sarcastically obeys.

#whispers fairytales ౨ৎ #wh1sp3rr #ahhh not my feminist literature books #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou fluff #mha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bnha x reader

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imaginationstimulation · 1 year

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GIFTING FLEETWOOD MAC’S THE DANCE TO MY MOTHER | by Spencer Silverthorne

— after Chad Bennett’s “Silver Springs”

I bought my mother The Dance for her birthday the year I got into pop music. I wasn’t allowed to watch MTV most likely because it was too sexy and irreverent, but one day I got tired of being in the dark when a boy said Dookie.

I didn’t know my mother listened to pop music because she listened to NPR. She considered herself pretty centrist. I popped grapes as she drove me to the bus stop while Steven Inskeep interviewed an animated representative. Lessons in illuminating, interrogating, or mollifying lies. We only had 30 seconds left until the bus came. Another day where I never knew what was next. It was a battle of interruptions and I wanted to listen to Y100.

Everyone was tired of Beavis and Butthead. I still could do an impression of Beavis and would pull the back of my shirt onto my head to say cornholio. Everyone laughed or told me to f*ck off. I had no idea what I was doing. I was just trying to get boys to like me in the worst possible way.

The boys must have known something that I did not know.

Peter Jennings said Congress wanted to rid the world of Beavis and Butthead. They would rally from time to time.

I used to gift my mother portraits of our family depicted in front of our house. Everything, including our bodies, was constructed out of boxes. Just in case anyone would forget, I identified a mother, father, son, and god with terrible penmanship and indicating arrows. Dots for eyes, one above an up-slanted eyebrow, nails for hands, roof unfinished. I didn’t know how to draw and my mother later discouraged me from pursuing a career in the arts.

My mother said Pink Floyd and Fleetwood Mac were her favorite bands. That fall I wanted to dress up as a hippie for Halloween. My mother asked her best friend to send her bell bottoms with all kinds of patches on it. One patch had a peace sign, and another had a happy face from what I remember.

I drew them all over my margins and on the brown paper that covered textbooks. I didn’t know the origins of this sign. I didn’t know that Gerald Holtom wanted everyone to read the letters N and D into the symbol that originally stood for nuclear disarmament. I did remember one boy telling me that the symbol was fascist. I did remember thinking he was an *ssh*le and then wanting to jump into the TV screen to escape his lies. It would be better there, and I could learn about everything.

The boys must have known something that I did not know.

A few months before I bought my mom The Dance, another boy from a stricter family than mine lent me his copy of Dookie. I wondered how he got this tape because both our parents hated cursing in music which is why they sent us to Catholic School.

Twenty years later, and five years after my mother’s death, a member of my family would yell shut up you f*cking liberal b*tch to a newscaster on NPR.

I heard boys say Green Day Rules on the bus but I couldn’t remember what they said sucks. I liked the Elton John song on the Lion King soundtrack. I thought the piano was moving because I played it. Middle C, but the wrists are wrong! Life swoons in epithets. I learned enough to pound along. I kept my mouth shut because I misheard Day as Bay.

I did not know their f*cking rules at all.

In the mid-90s my father was always traveling to Green Bay, Wisconsin. He gifted me a keychain of a football embossed with the letters GO PACKERS.

I don’t know how to invite anyone to this poem, because I was obsessed with the line from the song, I found out what it takes to be a man/Mom and Dad would never understand.

These misunderstandings between Bay and Day were apparent in my composition. I went to the psychiatrist to interpret patterns like any other art f*g in Catholic School.

I starred as Rudolf the Rednose Reindeer in the Christmas play. My mother couldn’t attend because she was recovering from chemotherapy.

It’s a story that’s told every holiday gathering. My father is exhausted from bringing my mom home from Pennsylvania Hospital and I come off the Bryn Mawr bus to remind everyone that I’m Rudolf. My mom remarks O Yea I Forgot to Tell You, and this is where my father goes CONK! To describe how my mother passed out. And everyone chuckles.

This story is told over and over so that the sting of the grief softens. The way the body has been thought of as a system that needs continuous repair. The hospital, chemo, vomit, sallowness, weight loss mitigate symbols within a sphere of knowledge. Illness, care, and survival involve symbols that have the strength to evade meaning but the sting remains.

I have told friends that grief is a monster. That’s the only thing I can really say about it. It’s not a monster with recognizable scales, but a deadening shadow akin to what I picture as an angel of death. Except no letter to save the day.

I struggle to write about my mother, my father, my family, my solitude, my rage. Those long bus hours, the moments I was told not to cry, not to act out, to pray, to feel shame, to suck it up, you have to suck it up, as she would say as a lesson from firsthand experience, probably from chemo, and to be good, to be so f*cking good, like a god everyone wants to be.

“I just wanted to be wanted” like a bad Frank O’Hara misquote, like his acolytes, like the other men writing like him.

I often misinterpreted goodness with disappearance.

Every time I left the house, my mother, like any other, would say, Be Good!

[via: Verse of April]

#poetry #poem #list poem #list #mother #music #fleetwood mac

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meghansworks · 2 years

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I Love My Mustard-Yellow Room

21 September 2022

Personal Essay done for a portfolio piece in my Creative Writing class.

My new room was god-awful ugly. From its mustard-yellow walls to its cobweb-covered crusty windows, it was ugly all around.

Some people say that your room reflects you as a person. Well, this room said it all; Used only in the summer by a little old lady who would read all day waiting for her husband to come home after a day-long fishing expedition. The first time I had stepped into that room my first thought had been, man, does it smell like a retirement home!

At the time, it seemed as though I was the only person in my family to have a problem with moving. I had it all back home, a tight-knit friend group basically sitting at the edge of our seats waiting to go to highschool, a new boyfriend, great grades, and an established name for myself. Middle-school me had it all.

As soon as I stepped foot into my new school as a Freshman in Wisconsin I felt so, so little, even though I was only one of about thirty kids in my entire class, I still felt like a nobody. Every day, I had only survived with the thought that being able to call my friends from back home was only a few hours away. In turn, I’d spend all of my afternoons on a six-hour call with my friends. Life seemed slow and dreary for me in Wisconsin, so-much-so, calling them made it easier to pretend like I didn’t live there. Placing my happiness and motivation into the palms of my friends’ hands from back home was not a smart idea. Especially in the hands of my boyfriend from back home.

I can remember the exact moment I started chasing this boy. It was seventh grade, and my study period was at the last of the day. Like usual, I had one earbud in an ear playing a cheesy romance song while I typed away at a computer, when a peer, Alex Marcos, walked in and whispered something in the teacher’s ear, and got up to the front of the classroom to read a poem he had written himself. I had always been super fond of any form of writing so slipped the earbud out and was the first to sit tentative to whatever he was preparing to read. The poem was about his view of life. It was a view that I had never listened to before; one so eye-opening that it shushed the room of about thirty kids. He was quiet, but so loud that everyone wanted to hear what he was laying down.

By the third out of almost fifteen stanzas, I already knew that Alex was exactly the kind of person I wanted to be. From then on, I would spend the majority of my two middle school years thinking about him. Every other conversation I had was about him. Every day, his name would come out of my mouth probably thirty times. I spent my time daydreaming about him and falling asleep to scenarios about him every night. I began drawing doodles of him when I wasn’t paying attention in class and gushing about it to my friends.

And, around the same time, my parents announced that we would be moving.

It had felt as though my world was crumbling to bits; like nicking your mom’s favorite vase with a ball and then your heart just sinks to your stomach. Of course, I didn’t take this well. And soon every waking minute of my life was dedicated to showing my parents just how much I didn’t want to move. I then threw my priorities out the window. I no longer cared to try at the things I loved. I no longer cared to get out of bed early. And, god, I no longer wanted to care for school. I was in a vulnerable place at this point. And the only person to recognise was Alex himself.

He was everything I could ask for during that time: Tentative, poetic, smart, and someone to motivate me. He called me when my friends couldn’t, sent me motivational messages during the school day, and was able to answer my texts at a moment’s notice. But, he did this all under one condition, being that I give up calling my friends altogether.

I didn’t know what the word ‘ultimatum’ was until much later. Looking back on it, that should have been my first instinct to get out of the relationship as fast as possible. But I always reminded myself how he helped me every day; I turned my head away from the option. Along with my old friends, he never approved of my new ones, either. New people trying to enter my life made me feel ashamed so I never ended up keeping them in it. It had even extended to my parents.

Soon that ugly yellow paint on the walls of my room would appear when I closed my eyes. I never left it– even if I hated it so much. I relied only on Alex to make me feel at home, not Wisconsin. I held onto that feeling even if it meant being blind to everything that Alex was subjecting me to. Even with my parent’s concerns and the cliff that my grades had been thrown off of, I still persisted in keeping my attention on him. At that point, it felt like my life was put on pause. It only kept repeating. He continued to hurt me without me flinching or contesting, just leaning my head to the ground. The focus of my life had completely shifted to be around him. So-much-so, he knew the ins’ and outs of my brain. If I had done something wrong, he would insist he needed a break from me. I remember vividly the feeling I would get whenever he texted me during school, insisting that we “needed to talk.” It would leave me to feel like there was a blockage in my lungs for the rest of the day. Sometimes he would say it in the morning so that I’d go through the whole day unable to focus and running to the bathroom to continuously beg him to tell me over the phone. Some days, I wouldn’t even speak because that pit feeling in my stomach threatened to let tears out of my eyes if I did. And he knew exactly how this made me feel. All the while I sat in a pot of boiling water, trying to adjust my temperature to survive just like a boiling frog.

~*~

I was never opposed to the idea of therapy. Growing up, it was rather taboo to partake in, and had a rather bad stigma. It was a common insult to tell your friends they would be “sent to the psych ward” if they attended such a thing. So my first day of it had my stomach in knots.

But, like many things, therapy required practice. Every Tuesday I had an opportunity to practice it, and I found myself becoming better and better at it. And soon it felt like such a relief to go– almost like getting ice cream; eating it everyday would ruin it, but in just the right intervals of time it really felt like something special. It really became something I looked forward to. It was my diazepam.

There were days where he would send me home with “homework.” Just a small task I had to complete sometime during the week. The tasks could be anything from meditation to building a new nighttime routine. Some of these tasks, however, were difficult to tackle. For example, one was turning off Alex’s messages during the school day and to only turn them on when I arrived home. It was difficult for me to adjust to this– I felt like a child holding onto my stuffed animal for dear life as someone tried to wretch it out of my grasp. But, with enough practice, I was able to take control of my curiosity and need to see whatever he was saying and shove it in my closet till later. And it felt amazing to go through my day without worry. I had finally begun opening up to people around the spring of Freshman year, and everyone noticed. But, Alex was still a definite part of my life– a part that I still wasn’t willing to break off. Therapy had just been a candle given to me in a dark room; the way out was left for me to find.

At another one of my sessions, I had been opening up about yet another fight Alex and I were in. With no apprehension in my voice, I said, “I don’t know how much more abuse I can put up with.”

My therapist stopped me before I could say another word. Much to my confusion, he would point out something that truly opened my eyes about my progress: “Meghan, that was the first time you described what Alex is doing as abuse.”

~*~

April 28th, 2021 would mark the exact date Alex’s reign over my life came to an end.

Neither one of us initiated the long-awaited breakup, but the authority. Once I had, apprehensively, told my therapist about an event of a sensitive situation, it was inevitable that Alex was practically dragged out of my life. Although I was freed from the mental prison he kept me in, there was a need to go back. In turn, I regressed quite a bit in my recovery. This time, however, I allowed myself to be uplifted by the people around me. I found solace in new people, and surrounded myself with a new group of friends.

As much as I hated my mustard-colored room, I also hated my entire house. I always expressed this to my parents in the form of endless complaining about the wi-fi connection, cobweb-covered corners and small septic tank. It simply paled– no, was more bleached in comparison to my former house: high ceiling, white walls that made the room seem bigger, lofts leaning down from upstairs, a pool table in the basement, three bathrooms and endless entertainment. I felt like this new house was tedious just to live in. But, as I began widening my social circle it was inevitable that at least one of them would ask to come over. As much as I dreaded the idea, I missed having friends over.

Reluctantly, I finally complied to allowing a friend to have a short visit. After I showed them out the door, I stepped back inside to two tear-filled parents, who I also found out missed the constant chatter and laughter among my friends and I in the house. With this, I invited friends left and right, finally indulging in the typical teenage debauchery; from staining the dining table with nail polish and makeup products to being shushed by my parents at a rough three in the morning.

Entering Sophomore year, I decided to(and not influenced by my therapists’ weekly tasks) challenge myself. With very much reluctance, I scrolled all the way down through my contact list to find the name of one of my best friends from my old town. While it was awkward, at first, I persisted through many stale conversations to provoke the nostalgia of the antics we got into when we were younger. It took just a few weeks, until I found some of my afternoons spent on six-hour calls, raving about small jokes and my mustard-room filled with laughter. It had felt like a part of me had returned.

After that, Sophomore year flew right by. Soon, it was spring once again and I stepped out much more accomplished than the previous year, and, more importantly, a licensed driver. April was a heavy month for me, as the day of the 28th snuck up on me. At nearly ten at night, I checked the date, realized and just froze, staring at the calendar on my phone. What I ended up doing was driving to a nearby grocery -store and picked up one of those small cakes– like everyone does on a whim. I placed it on the dining table, grabbed a recycled candle from the junk drawer, and lit it. The entire house was dark and quiet, as I was the only one awake. I contemplated seeing if my mom was awake to share my reflections on the past year, but figured that I deserved this celebration to myself. Looming over this small cake, the only light originating from the one, half-burned candle squashed into the middle of the icing, I let tears fall. To this day, I cannot decipher if they were ones out of sadness or happiness– but I couldn’t care less. Because, exactly a year from that day, I would have never expected I would have gotten that far. I felt like throwing the door open outside, thrusting a finger up to the night sky with only the statement, I did it.

~*~

Later in that year, my parents surprised me with an entirely new bedroom set– Humorously, titled ‘The Meghan’ in the furniture store; it was the perfect one for me. It was ergonomic, painted a simple white, with subtle accents that really complimented my yellow walls. When I walked into the newly-furnished room one day after school, it felt like an entirely different place. Sure, it still had the same gross carpeting, asymmetrical windows, small closet, and that god-awful mustard color, but it felt so refreshing stepping into a room I was proud of.

My mom, standing beside me, asked, “Since your stuff’s not in the room yet, we have the time to paint your walls. What color do you want them?”

I did not even have to think when I answered, “No thanks, mom. I like the yellow.”

#personal essay #mental abuse #high school #passion project #essay writing

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cheadle-yorkshire · 2 years

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[fanfiction] Concordance, ch 2

Title: Concordance Pairing: Kururi x Piyon Word Count: 1036 Summary: He’s always thought that the beginning of any endeavor sets the tone for its success, and Professor Kururi has a good feeling about this year’s group of graduate students. A/N: There’s more!! :D I posted these to Ao3 ages ago but never over to tumblr. Chapter One can be found here on tumblr, or here on Ao3. Takes place ~4 years pre-Dark Continent Arc. I hope you enjoy!

Midnight Sun

Piyon finds herself in the language lab, sitting before one of the banks of computers, headphones draped around her neck and a print-out of Padokian ballads resting in front of her.

The class had quickly departed from the Nankul-ese of their original lessons and they immersed themselves in working on translating examples of literature from the surrounding region, in what was today called Padokia. The area was famous for a specific type of poetry, and they had been tasked with translating the ancient verses into a modern version of the Padokian language—still in use today, by a subset of the population living along the rural parts of the most northern sections of the continent—and then recording the words so that Professor Kururi could more accurately ascertain their pronunciation and syntax. Piyon would be glad when they returned back to the ancient linguistics of the more oceanic Nankul people.

The language lab is otherwise empty; her only company is a disinterested tech who signs her in and offers to show her how to use the software in a tone that suggests he hopes she declines. She's used similar programs in undergrad, with more modern languages—her count is impressive, but there are a few in her classes that eclipse her, to their constant reminders—and she picks a computer in the middle of the row and gets to work without a care for the stillness of the room or the thoughts of anyone who might overhear.

She doesn't understand the ecology of the area well enough, which irritates her—she knows that in some arctic places the sun does not go down for days or even months at a time, and she does not have more than the shallowest understanding of the currents and volcanic or tectonic activity in the oceans surrounding the mainland that lend the island chains off to their right their significantly warmer climates. And she's seen pictures of auroras on her phone in low resolution, and endured whatever works of literary canon assigned to her throughout grade school, but reading poetry about the significance of such natural phenomenon does not inspire the deep wellspring of emotions in her chest that she believes it should.

Her poetry was blocky and the rhymes, while consistent, lacked elegance. Still, it is the recording that is most important, and the accuracy of her pronunciation, so she pulls the headphones over her ears and adjusts the microphone in front of her mouth.

She tests the connection, before popping a blank CD into the drive and starting to record.

/I dream of sunrise in the black midwinter / when the ice thaws /

For months / And months / the sun revolves in one place / like a curved clay bowl upon a wheel /

I look down because / there is nothing to see on the horizon /

Beneath my feet is the reflection from the sky in the glare of the ice /

Sometimes shaking and writhing with ripples from something far-off and unreal and ignored /

That will choke the heavens with smoke overnight / That lingers like a stain /

Like a failure / Like a bad relative / Like a shiny scar on the twisting curve of a shoulder /

I cannot see the impossible end / Only bitter ash / For months / And months /

Loss is the sky without the sun/

Each of her classmates had been given a different stanza of the poem to translate, and Piyon, arriving late to class the day the assignment went out, had been given the last section. It had been explained that some of the truly rarer and more inconsequential poetry from the area had never been translated into the modern Padokian, like this one—some minor poet of little reputation, nothing like the more popular ones of the same time from the insular farming regions that wrote tedious pastoral epics, for which Piyon was thankful were not on the syllabus—and their translations would all be combined together and added to an online database to share with the few others around the world who cared. It seemed like an odd way to go about doing it, but Piyon never questioned her assignments, or the people who gave them.

She clicks around on the screen, ending the recording and settling her headphones around her neck. Earlier language lab sessions had seen them relaying mostly verb conjugations, and while Kururi would say that the intersection of arts and language is a striking one, worthy of great care and attention, Piyon finds herself yawning into the back of her hand.

Even on the days she does not have class, she cannot help but get up just as early. If nothing else, it seems to be having a positive effect on her productivity.

She slides the CD out of the drive and seals it in its case, scribbling her name across the front in black marker. Thinking of the poetry, she adds a cartoonish sun and a few clouds in the top corner.

/Loss is the sky without the sun/

Kururi marks his grades with a green pen, not red—one of his colleagues at Barvard had done a study and found that using red makes someone more critical, and he wants to approach his students' work with fresh eyes and a clean perspective. This one has a few unexpected word choices, especially towards the end, and he marks the places where the translation was more forceful than necessary. As he adjusts the cord of his headphones around the tangled curls of his hair he notices that the counter on the last one has an extra thirty sections of space, even after the conclusion of the poem.

It's mostly silence, with only a mechanical skipping noise to indicate that the recording is still ongoing. He thinks it might be a mistake, an error with the software—and they had just upgraded the computers this semester, he's sure there might still be a few bugs to work out—when a soft, cheerful voice breaks through the quiet.

"Hi Professor! Hope you're having a great day!" Another pause. "That's all. See you later! Bye!"

It's in the modern Padokian dialect too, and with perfect pronunciation. He picks up his pen with a smile on his face.

Notes:

1) In looking at the general Hunter World map, it's unlikely there would be a significant polar region since, you know, there's a gigantic ocean and lots of land beyond that, but I wanted to take some of the cooler aspects of our own world and apply it to the story here. I looked at areas like Svalbard and Kiruna; in Svalbard there is no sunset from 19 April to 23 August (wiki), and the North Pole has midnight sun for almost six months, from September to March. Polar Night is the opposite phenomenon, where the sun stays below the horizon during the day. I considered areas like the Galapagos; islands located at the equator would otherwise lead to a more tropical environment, but the currents bring cold water from southern Chile that has a really strong effect on the ecosystem. Padokia is on the very northernmost part of the map, and we see from Killua's home that it is mountainous and I imagine it's easy enough to infer that there could be a more arctic-inspired climate at the very top of the continent, and there are a few islands on either side of the continent marked on the map. We don't know where the Nankul people Ging and Kururi talk about live, but I imagine it's somewhere along the top of the map, closest to where the Dark Continent would be.

2) I'm really bad at poetry. I apologize for that, lol. But I did have a lot of fun imagining a translated poem, and thinking in particular when choosing words why that word would have been picked over others, and how the meaning could change if you went with a softer or more aggressive word choice. I liked the idea of a person missing a sunrise in a place where the sun is always up. And I always hated language labs, lol. But it was nothing like this, just verb conjugations for days.

3) Here, have another of Kururi's cute faces:

4) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments.

#hunter x hunter #my writing #piyon #kururi #piyon x kururi #fanfiction

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sublimecatgalaxy · 2 years

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Brown Eyed Girl- Part One

Pairing: Elliot (Euphoria) x Reader

Summary: The reader and Elliot have been dating since middle school. Best friends through baby pictures, pre-school, grade school, everything. But when middle school sweethearts are turned into parents in a seemingly quick turn of fate, will their lifelong friendship and relationship last?

Word Count: 2.1k (shorter cuz it's like a opener)

Warnings: Mentions of sex, pregnancy and abortion, angst.

A/n: Hello all, I've finally got a fic going on! This will be like ten parts and I'm really hoping you guys like this and I can't wait to see all of your lovey messages and comments❤️

I never wanted to be a trope.

I’ve been reading fanfiction since puberty, hyperfixating on my newest obsession, my newest comfort character, my newest obsession. Every other week I’d have someone new to focus on, someone who caught my attention, tugged at my heart strings, someone who made me feel beyond belief. There’s something comforting about investing in something like that, waiting for the newest part, interacting with people with similar interests, implanting yourself in these complicated, well-written (sometimes) stories and ideas. It was the greatest escape I had ever found and experienced and still is comforting to me today. To be able to take a break from my parents fighting, from their split, my dad’s complete vanishing act from mine and my sisters life, my mom's alcoholism; the reading gave me an escape from all of it, and a healthy one at that, especially compared to my eldest sister’s denial.

I suppose that’s why my sister Lexi and I get along.

She’s a bookworm too, a total art freak. We shared a similar taste in music, movies, shows, actors and actresses, along with the same dislikes and pet peeves in art. And boy, could we go on for hours about all of it. None of our other friends growing up shared our similar liking to books and poems, even down to our movie choices; they thought we were odd because of our ‘mature’ taste, finding it weird that we weren't watching the childish shows and reading the picture books that our friends were enjoying.

Not only that but we were constantly reading and writing years above our grade and age group. The school system considered having us skip grades at a few points throughout our pre-highschool years but they didn’t want us to miss out on the social aspect that elementary school and middle school offered to us. But we weren’t interested in the social aspect of school, knowing that we were enough for each other and not caring for all the drama that kids our age were so obsessed with.

She and I were always sharing and swapping stories and ideas based on the books we were reading. We would read published books, we’d read on social media, watch fan-edits, scroll through Tumblr and Reddit into the deep, dark hours of the night. I dabbled in writing a bit but not like her, no, not like Lexi. She had a knack for writing, for creating these deep stories like the ones that we loved reading when we were kids when our dad would read us to sleep every night.

Lexi and I were always best friends, but I guess that came with the title of twins, right?

We were genetically identical, maybe not so much in looks though. We differed in our smiles, our eyes were the slightest bit different in color and shape but somehow our mannerisms were completely the same and have been as we grew up. Maybe it was because we spent all the time with each other that was humanly possible, picking up on each other’s quirks throughout our years. It was easy to get to know her throughout my life because she was practically me, the way her eyebrows would tick up, what certain smiles told me about how she felt, how her blinks changed when she was excited. We knew everything about each other and we were closer than any siblings could ever possibly be.

Our other sister on the other hand was a bit different than us.

She’s our eldest sister, the one who’s supposed to pave the way, to be the guiding hand that leads us through life and steers us out of trouble. An older sister is supposed to be someone you can go to when you’ve gotten yourself into trouble or someone to rant to when you need advice.

But Cassie was not that. She still is not that.

Cassie is reckless, the one who needs most of the advice compared to being the one to give it, she’s erratic and emotional. She’s always been the type to feel with her whole heart which is probably her biggest strength but in the past has also proven to be her biggest weakness. Between her relationship choices, the people she chooses to get involved with, her decisions to try to keep in touch with our father after he left to fall into a little white baggie, and her constant disapproval of how everyone else around her lives their lives; she’s reckless, controlling and she craves everything that life has to offer, in every toxic way.

She was no help when our father left, clinging onto the fact that he was going to return, begging a god she didn’t believe in to send him home, waiting at the end of our driveway every other weekend. She wanted him to become a new person, to suddenly get sober, become better, and to come home to us and our mother.

Our mother, who was falling apart every day in the marriage let alone out of it.

It was in her best interest to be without our father, who spurred her alcoholism on, it was the best opportunity for her to grow without him holding her back. That was something that Cassie could never see or accept. Lexi and I knew this, we knew our parents weren’t the best people, that they both had their faults, but together they were suffocating their kids, especially their youngest.

Over the years, my mom had improved, her drinking slowly dissipating and slowing down. It just clicked one day, maybe after Cassie got pregnant, that her children needed her and she needed them more than the empty bottles of wine that she was collecting by her side instead of her family. Once Cassie needed her, she was awake and ready, and it definitely hurt Lexi and I that after all those years of neglect and how quick to anger she was, she was ready to be a mother again the minute that Cassie got herself into a bad situation. And to think of all the times that Lexi and I could’ve used a mom, it’s upsetting.

But either way, we got our mom back.

Lexi and I got our way through high school, all the way to senior year, Cassie graduating and getting a move on with an interior design degree. Lexi and I were most excited to be done with highschool, to be done with the people and the teachers who constantly mixed us up. We were most excited to move on with our lives and solidify our individuality with different college degrees. Lexi was obviously going for journalism and myself, still undecided. I was hoping that things would fall into place and help me make my decision and looking at how my day is going today, it’s starting to make a bit of sense.

I know that I said that I didn’t want to be a trope and I meant it. I didn’t want to be what I read, I didn’t want to be predictable or ‘old’. I wanted to be something new, something important and relevant in the world and I definitely didn’t want to be like Cassie. I knew that. Cassie and I had nothing in common, she hated school, she only cared about things that were measured at face value, she was more about shock factor than the quality of her actions. She’s reckless. I never thought that anything would bring us together or give me perspective of how and why she does what she does, but this?

This gave me perspective that I didn’t want.

It’s important to know that I wasn’t the type of person to ‘trap’ guys. Cassie did that, Cass is a trapper of men, figuring out anything and everything to keep the most toxic of men at her side like some trophy, like an accomplishment. I just wanted a wholesome relationship, something easy and full of life, something new and life changing. I didn’t want to just be in a relationship to be in a relationship, I didn’t want to date to just date who ever the fuck I wanted, to fuck whoever I wanted. I wanted to be in a relationship full of love and life, I wanted to feel everything that love had to offer and I wanted it with the one person that I’ve known as long as I’ve known myself.

Elliot has been my best friend since birth. Our mothers grew up together, pushing us together the minute that I was born. We were literally bred to be together, like some arranged marriage type thing. Our moms would dress us up together, take photos daily together, we played together, went to school together; everything. Every memory I had of my life, Elliot was there along with Lexi. They were my people, my whole heart and soul.

I knew that I felt more for Elliot when he first started dating around in ninth grade, right around the same time that my dad left and around the same time that his mom died and he moved in with his cousin. I already had these issues, clinging onto the men around me, Elliot, my male family members, male teachers who told me they were proud of my good grades. It hurt when he started to venture out into the world, kissing and hugging, holding, other girls that weren’t me. It pissed me off, my barely teenage heart could barely handle it so we fell off for a bit. That was until I told him how I felt.

I remember it like it was yesterday, the end of sophomore year and Elliot had just broken up with his latest fling. He told me it was because she just ‘wasn’t for him’ but he later told me down the line that it was me that was for him and he just wanted to be done with all the other girls. It came at a convenient time because he had just realized his feelings for me and I had been working up the courage to actually tell him that I thought that I was in love with him. We ended up blurting it out at the same time, giggling for a few and then agreeing that we would take it slow, not wanting to ruin the almost sixteen years of friendship that we had going for us.

It’s safe to say that we didn’t ruin anything.

Our relationship, because of our friendship, was so simple. No jealousy, no fighting or agitation. Just simple dates, heated kisses in the backseat of his car when I was supposed to be home. He gave me this sense of newness while also giving me the same familiarity that he had given me for years. He was my safe place, my person, even as our relationship grew deeper and deeper, even more intimate by the day. I always felt safe and never doubted his loyalty and love for me.

But now, looking down at the two lines on the test that seem to be staring back at me, it’s the first time that I’ve ever questioned my loyalty to him. How could I do this to him? I know that this isn’t my fault, that it takes two, but I almost feel guilty as I set the test down onto the cool tile counter, my eyes tearing up as I think of what to do. I didn’t want to be like Cassie, not because of her choice, because her choice was valid and it was hers, but I didn’t want my decision to be dictated by a man. She was so quick to let her boyfriend at the time have full say over what was going to happen just because she wanted to be with him. And she didn’t even end up with him in the end, left with this ghost of a decision that she ponders every day if she did the right thing.

I’m going with my gut and my gut is saying that I’m going through with this, that even if Elliot turns his nose up to it, not wanting the pressure or responsibility yet in his life, I would understand.

I would have to understand. He’s my best friend, always has been, even if we have different opinions over this situation. So if Elliot is loyal and wants to be with me like he’s said so many times, this was his test. This was the ultimate test of both of our loyalties towards each other, a test of our love and strength, to see if it survives a pregnancy and a child, even at our young age.

So screw college, screw making a decision, this is my decision.

﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡

Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @chiyongberry @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy

Euphoria Taglist: @colbysbrocks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx@ssprayberrythings @username-lols @pessimisticbiitch@urmomsangel @iamasimpingh0e @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @rosepetalsparks

#elliot #elliot euphoria #elliot x reader #elliot smut #elliot angst #elliot euphoria x reader #dominic fike #dominic fike x reader

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missyflufffics · 3 years

Text

Harry Potter Universe Recommendation List

Last Updated: 12/21/2020

Marauders Era

James Potter

One Shots:

The best prankster by @deathlyhogwarts Summary: When a lowkey Gryffindor who values her education is disrupted during class by a roudy group of boys she decides to retilate, and she is determined to win.

Falling For You by @theweasleysredhair Summary: Soulmate AU. After suffering thorugh the pain of your soulmate, whom was not particulary careful about injuries, their identity is revealed during a Quidditch game.

What’s Happening To Me by @harrytpotter Summary: James Potter was starting to feel more and more overprotective towards his friend Y/N and considerably annoyed at the blatant flirting she and one of his best friends were displaying publicly and at the thought she might be falling for Sirius. What was happening to him?

Sirius Black

One Shots:

Drooling like a dog by @deathlyhogwarts Summary: Dogs are great pets, and it´s annoying how all kind of pets are allowed at school but dogs. So when you realize a group of friends frequents one you can´t help but shower it with affection.

Cardigan by @gcdric Summary: You love everything Sirius’s family hates about him.

Remus Lupin

One Shots:

Scared by @thoseofgreatambition Summary: y/n’s mother has left their family, and because of this the reader is quite scared to form romantic relationships. Remus does his best to build her strength and trust up. in doing so they fall in love.

Peter Pettigrew

Lily Evans

Regulous Black

One Shots:

Mon Soleil by @poppin-potter Summary: Lupin!reader; no-Voldemort AU. Regulus Black helps you with your lycanthropy symptoms

Narcissa Black

Golden Trio Era

Harry Potter

One Shots:

One step from happiness by @weasleydream Summary: After the war is over, there is one person he needs to see, a muggle that made Privet Drive seem less gloomy.

Dumbledore’s army by @poppin-potter Summary: Lupin!reader. When you help your boyfriend, Harry Potter, you start to notice a few things in his teaching style.

The Girl I Once Knew by @lunalovegxxd Summary: Malfoy!reader. When you receive the Dark Mark the best you can do to keep those you love safe is to play perfect pureblood daughter, sadly, that includes making Harry hate you so he’ll stay away.

Hermione Granger

Ron Weasley

One Shots:

Coffee Shop by @lunalovegxxd Summary: Coffee shop AU; Soulmates AU. In which you meet your soulmate in a coffee shop.

Only For You by @iliveiloveiwrite Summary: Ron Weasley is a family guy and a sap.

Draco Malfoy

One Shots:

Sneaking out and Shooting Stars by @stupxfy Summary: Draco wakes you up in the middle of the night to go watch the meteor shower

two sworn enemies Part 2 by @wondernimbus Summary: there is only one thing worse than being hated by draco malfoy; it’s being fancied by him.

A Beautiful Dream by @angelinathebook Summary: You meet up with Draco during the night and discover the boy buried underneath the pain.

Play Dumb by @willowbleedsonpaper Summary: Ravenclaw!reader. One day visiting your friend Myrtle, you found that she already had company. Learning some things you shouldn’t about Draco Malfoy you become really nervous around him and see yourself in the need to face him.

Carrot Cake by @willowbleedsonpaper Summary: Soulmate AU. You decide to put your own café after the war and you find yourself with some unexpected clients.

Seamus Finnigan

Dean Thomas

Fred Weasley

One Shots:

The Smell Of Love by @leahstypewriter Summary: You remain unranked by the Weasley twins catching one of the readhead’s attention.

Act Like a Gryffindor by @hp-imagines-07 Summary: Gryffindor!reader. The 4 times that Fred Weasley made you blush and the one time that it was the other way around…

Nervous by @hufflepuffgirly Summary: Fred’s nervous about meeting your family, but he really has nothing to worry about.

Blue by @hufflepuffgirly Prompts: “You’re so agitated, what’s wrong?” “You know exactly what’s wrong.”; “Come here.”; “Your hair smells nice.”

Surprises by @acciotwinz Summary: All the times Fred never manages to catch Y/N off guard and the one time he does.

George Weasley

One Shots:

Lifelines by @diary-of-an-onliner Summary: Gryffindor!reader. Your happy line responds to George as you flirt incessantly.

Gryffindor bravery by @heloisedaphnebrightmore Summary: Your shy and quite personality never matched the infamous bravery of Gryffindor. However the little bet George initiates might just help you find your inner Gryffindor, the bravery you have been looking for.

5th December by @george-fabian-weasley Summary: You read him a poem as he laid on your chest, loving the sound of your voice.

Ginny Weasley

Neville Longbottom

One Shots:

Childhood crush by @angelinathebook Summary: professor!Neville x professor!reader. You lost contact with your best friend after the war but neither is planning on passing up your chance when you find yourselves back in the castle you grew up in.

Oliver Wood

One Shots:

Little brother by @poppin-potter Summary: Hufflepuff!reader. Your boyfriend comes to meet your family and everything seems to be going swell, except for the fact that your little brother doesn’t seems to like him much.

Charlie Weasley

Bill Weasley

Theodore Nott

One Shots:

Terrible Tuesdays by @gcdric Summary: You get paired up with Theo in potions who defies all your preconceived notions on what a Slytherin is. Needless to say, Theodore Nott was not at all what you were expecting.

Lonely Heart by @willowbleedsonpaper Summary: After years of frienship you realize that although you might not be alone you’re lonely. You’re not part of the Golden Trio and they don’t seem to care when you drift away from them. You learn to be by yourself when certain Slytherin enters your life and change it for the better.

They don’t know about us by @willowbleedsonpaper Summary: Hufflepuff!reader. You are open and unapologetic about your relationship, even with its particular critics.

Blaise Zabini

One Shots:

Chess is for chumps by @peeves-a-legend Summary: Chess is all about sophistication and strategy; everything that Blaise prides himself on. Monopoly is about frugality and… also strategy?

Cedric Diggory

One Shots:

Ceasseless Interruptions by @imaginexmeintheuniverse Summary: Five times you almost kissed + when you finally did

4 AM by @random-imagines-blog Summary: You’re a transfer student at Hogwarts, and all of these changes are feeling restless. You develop a late-night hobby, but a handsome Hufflepuff catches on.

Yule Ball from the Sidelines by @imaginexmeintheuniverse Summary: In your attempt to avoid the elephant in the room you tell your best friend to go with someone else to the ball, and he does. Don’t worry, he has saved a dance just for you.

Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them

Newt Scamander

One Shots:

The Dress by @poppin-potter Summary: platonic!reader. You and your best friend, Newt Scamander, try to find the perfect dress for your wedding.

Theseus Scamander

One Shots:

Care For a Treat? by @poppin-potter Summary: Theseus never cared for sweets until his little brother’s best friend walked into his life.

Tina Goldenstein

Jacob Kowalski

Queenie Goldenstein

4K notes · View notes

en-hale-archives · 3 years

Text

Me with You ~~

pairing ⑅ bestfriend!Jake x fem!reader

genre ⑅ friends to lovers, fluff, slow dancing, suggestive/smut

words/read time ⑅ 3.9k/12-19 mins

warnings ⑅ 18+ content, light cussing

synopsis ⑅ Jake is back in his hometown to spend time with his closest friend. During some fun and frivolous dancing, things start to heat up...

author's note ⑅ I’m really proud of how this story turned out. I'm not a huge fan of second person, so I wrote in first, but if anyone asks, I can copy and post again in second person. It's more fluff than anything, but it does get a bit steamier towards the end, so I’m just going to go ahead and put a warning.

————✧————

When the back door finally slammed shut and the cacophony of barks faded down the street, I could finally let out my sigh of relief that I had been holding in since this morning. I tapped on my phone. How many days had we been watching Mrs. Chen’s pets? And just how was I able to put up with hours of barking, the smell of fresh turd lying across the lawn, and dog walks till dark? Including their rigorous feeding times and bathroom breaks -- I’m surprised I haven’t exploded yet.

I had so much planned the minute they left my house, but instead, the sudden silence felt all too relaxing and I laid my head against the cold countertop. I could finally stop stressing, stop thinking, and stop worrying about reprimanding for chewing on my shoes or peeing in the house or the continued barking that never ended. I was free. I felt like I could’ve stayed laid on the countertop forever, drowning in the evening sun. Who knew watching five dogs would take such a burden out of a person. Jake and I had taken on the job of dog sitting for Mrs. Chen while she visited some family in Tokyo. We both switched off every other day; some of the dogs at my house and the others at his; until we realized it would be easier if he just spent the few days at my house as we co-doggy sat. He got up bright and early to take them on their walks while I prepared their highly detailed and specific meals. Then from there, we spent the rest of the day making sure they didn’t run off somewhere or cause too much destruction in the house. But alas, Mrs. Chen came back early from her getaway and picked up Toby, Caleb, Khao, Sofia, and Pickle on her way home. Although I was exhausted from watching 3-foot dogs all day, the pay was amazing for me, and it would help tremendously for all the online classes I was going to be taking next semester.

The warmth of the sun cast a comforting trance over my heavy eyelids, and soon enough I was fast asleep, standing in the middle of the kitchen with the soft sound of nothing surrounding me.

By the time I had fluttered my eyes open, I had realized I was now seated in my dining chair and a large black jacket was placed over my shoulders. I sat up and let out a yawn, wincing at the bright light coming from the tv and shaking my now numb arm awake. I must have been sleeping for a while because the evening sun had turned to pitch of black. The moonlight beamed through the window and danced along with the sways of the large oak tree out front. I stood up and walked over to the refrigerator in which I grabbed two water bottles and some leftover pasta.

I was sure that Jake hadn’t eaten since lunch, seeing as he only ate if someone sat food in front of his face. I dragged my feet up the stairs until I heard the slamming of a book and the fast typing of a keyboard come from the living room. I turned and looked behind me. Jake had settled his things on the coffee table and floor, large books, folders, and several amounts of crumpled up pieces of paper found their way around Jake, himself slouched up against the edge of the couch. He had changed clothes since the last time I had seen him, he now wore a plain blue shirt with grey sweats, his eyebrows furrowed as he worked hard on whatever he was getting at.

“Oh yes, I was starving!” Propping himself up on the couch, he took the plate of pasta. I placed the waters on the coffee table and settled comfortably on the couch beside him.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever seen anybody sleep standing up before. Look,” Jake took his phone off the charger. “I got a picture.” He pushed the screen in my face, and of course, there was my unconscious body laying on the counter, mouth open and all. I playfully pushed it back his way as his face lit up with a smile I was all too familiar with.

“What are you doing down here so late, it’s almost 12 in the morning,” I asked. Jake’s smile disappeared when he was reminded of the work he had been doing seconds before.

He let out a large huff of air. “Trying to get some words on paper but instead it turned into a paper massacre,” he jokingly replied, “sorry for the mess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied, taking a swig of water. I was going to ask if he wanted to watch a late-night movie, or pull an all-nighter and talk endlessly until the sun rose, but I could tell by each passing second that Jake was worried about this, and he wanted the time he had now over the summer to work on his music. I wished I was motivated to work on my own music, but unlike Jake, I wasn’t in a globally popular boy band. My complicated best friend for over 10 years had been working his butt off since middle school. It was his annual time to sit back and relax while he had the time to, but instead, he chose to use that time to help watch a bunch of dogs with his hometown bestie. God, I loved him.

Jake pulled himself off the couch and right back onto the floor, leaving the rest of the pasta to me. He picked up his pen again and started scribbling down words as quickly as he could, trying hard not to forget the lyrics that had floated into his head. Until he stopped, closing his eyes for just a split second, and let out a powerful sigh. Crumpling up the sheet, he stacks it on top of the others in frustration and started frantically tapping his pencil against the table.

“Maybe it’s best to just try again in the morning,” I advised, taking a small bite of the pasta that was left by my side.

“How come I’m having such a hard time with this?” He gazed up at me frantically for a clue, as if I had the answer to fix a problem as big and as important as his was. I looked at his doleful eyes and the bags that were starting to grow underneath them. I couldn’t help but think, because I made you sit up and watch a bunch of dogs with me.

“Do you want me to see if I could come up with something?”

“If you want. But, hold on, I think my thoughts are coming back up.” He quickly grabbed another piece of paper, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

I tried my best to keep occupied by watching videos on my phone, but I found myself suddenly bored out of my mind. I laid out on my back and picked up one of Jake’s folders. Briefly looking through it, I couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous at the amount of fan art and letters, praising him and the other members. Followed with that were just more and more engene stuff, full of nothing but kind words and heartfelt messages. Part of me wished that I was able to travel with Jake and see the world like he was. How fun would it be to meet people that praised you? And how cool would it be to see that you had fans? I couldn’t help but plaster on a huge smile as I skimmed through some of the notes until I finally came to one with familiar handwriting.

Remember Me were the words written on the top of the paper in bold and bright colors. But the message written underneath is what caught my attention:

To the person that makes me the luckiest guy in the world, this song is for you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but please just remember me -- it was Jake’s handwriting.

I didn’t feel like I was breaking any crime reading his stuff until this moment, but curiosity killed the cat, and right now I didn’t mind being a feline. I checked to make sure Jake was still busy, and he was, almost like he had teleported into his own world. I quietly turned back to the sheet and started reading. It was about a girl, presumably his crush I’m sure. She was someone important to him, someone who made him love so much that it hurt. But this was far from a happy song, in fact, it was terribly heartbreaking. She didn’t understand his love, she wasn’t able to interpret it like he wanted her to. But he confesses that he was scared of what telling her would do, worried that she wouldn’t feel the same. So instead, it was like he was apologizing, and asking that she forgive him for not being brave enough to tell her, and if he did ever get the courage to, for her to remember him even if she wasn’t able to love him like he wanted her to.

The song ends like how the title began, and I find myself flabbergasted at the beautiful mixes of rhymes and metaphors that read like a poem. This was the first of Jake’s songs that made me feel this way, like I had just finished watching a tragedy movie with Ryan Renolds starring. I blink back the tears that I didn’t realize were forming. How come he never told me this? We never kept secrets from each other, like ever. It never mattered the subject or the severity, we had always promised that we would be open and honest with each other. I wish I would’ve known this sooner, maybe I could’ve saved him from feeling this way. And what girl could it possibly be? I knew for sure I was the only girl he was presumably close to; but was there someone else?

I glanced down at Jake, who was still in a focused state of mind with the pencil in his mouth and mumbling lyrics softly under his breath. I tried picturing my bubbly Jake writing these agonizing words and miserably failed.

Jake looked up at me as if he could feel my gaze on the back of his head. “I think I’ve found the chorus, but it’s the rest of the song I’m not able to get, and how come it’s so hard to find another word that rhymes with severe? Beer? Sphere? Revere? Appear? Gosh, rhyming sucks some serious ass!”

“This song is beautiful.”

Jake furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Huh?”

“This song I found in your folder.” I glanced back at it in my hand. “Remember Me.”

Jake’s gaze leaped from my eyes to the sheet, and I felt his body tense. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I was just going through one of your folders. Did you accidentally get it mixed up in your fan folder? Cause this is -”

“Did you read it?” He interrupted.

“Yeah, and it’s perfect.”

Jake glanced at me for a split second before turning back around, obviously uncomfortable. “I was watching one of those Kdramas you love so much and it inspired me. Could you help me rhyme with severe now?”

I knew Jake like the back of my hand, so I knew continuing on with this conversation would get him upset if he’s clearly avoiding it. But, I wasn’t going to just let him off that quickly. “Jake, come on, you can tell me anything. Who is this about?”

Jake looked back at me with a hint of something in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before, and something I wasn't able to decipher. “Nobody, I was just feeling really inspired, that's it.” His tone had switched from calm to agitated.

I give him my I’m-not-stupid look and he comes back with his own you’re-being-delusional stare. “It’s seriously nobody, truthfully and honestly.”

“Okay, okay I’ll back off.” I could tell he was starting to get defensive, and when he got like that, it took him at least a few hours before returning to normal. I watched Jake's Adam's apple move up and down, a way in which I could tell he knew I was not convinced in the slightest. “Well, sometimes we go through things that can remind us of situations like that, but not necessarily in that same exact context, you know? It has to be amplified for that audience appeal.”

“Okay...but have you ever felt this way before? Not exactly like how it’s written, but maybe somewhere along these lines?”

I thought I was going to get another vague answer, or worse, an aggravated one. But instead Jake looked down at his pencil as he tapped it along his wrist. “...maybe, but I think everyone can connect to the words in some way. I mean, everyone feels some kind of heartbreak in their life, right?” Jake's answer was still pretty vague, but at least I was able to get something out of him.

“Okay, but you know you can tell me anything, like, anything ever because you know that you’ll never actually have to feel this way, right?” I said, maybe too much in a hurry.

“Of course I know that.” He replied, giving one of his awkward grins.

“And if anyone has made you feel this way, then you know you can tell me that too cause there a sucker to lose out on a perfect person like you.” I teased in a sing-song way, poking his shoulder hard. Jake chuckled and poked me back.

A weird silence grew in the room, and Jake went back to trying to find rhyming words. I tried getting back on my phone, but I knew I needed to say something to let go of the tenseness in the air.

“Hey, crystal clear rhymes!”

He leaned his head back and looked up at me. “Nevermind, I give up for tonight.”

I could see the stress that played on his face. “Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, but by the time I do, it’ll be too late.”

“What do you mean?”

Jake pulled his knees up to his chest and spoke. “This was going to go on our album comeback that needs to be finished in the next four months. By the time I think of something, it'll be too late and I’ll have to wait until the next four months. But by then, I'll have forgotten. This always happens and I have no idea how the hell to fix it.” I couldn’t tell if he wanted my help or just a bit of comfort.

“Did you try asking the other guys to see if they had any ideas?”

“Yeah, but they’re working on their own parts, I can’t ask them to do this too.”

“I’m sure they’d be willing to help if you asked,” I assured him.

“I know they would, but I just don’t want to. I always ask them for help, I thought being away from the studio and being back home would help my brainstorming abilities.” He gave a weary chuckle that almost sounded like a groan.

“Well, maybe tomorrow will come with better results.” I did my best to give him some motivation, but I could tell I was failing miserably at that too.

Jake watched as a car zoomed past the window, a low bass sounding off as it zoomed away. “I bet it’s easier to just listen to music than to try and come up with it. I remember when I would just blare NCT all day long and jam out in my room. It seemed so much easier back then to come up with stuff than it does now. I miss it.” He took a slight pause before continuing. “ Did you know that song you read was the easiest thing I have written in my life? I remember writing too. I just had this super weird feeling in my chest one day so I basically locked myself in my room and took maybe two hours and just wrote a bunch of words down and connected them to sound like a song. For once my mind had just gone blank and I couldn’t stop thinking and feeling that song, like I knew what it was supposed to sound like, I knew what the lyrics were supposed to mean. I just knew everything. And I miss that feeling, that feeling of like- '' He broke off his sentence when he looked back up to my eyes. It seemed like he was talking more to himself than to me. He swallowed hard and looked back at the pencil still in hand.

“Well, I'm sorry you don’t feel free anymore. I wish there was something I could do to make you feel like that again-”

“No, please don’t feel like that. It’s just something that had just recently started happening, something I really just can’t fix…” His voice gets softer and softer the more he spoke.

“Have you spoken to your manager about it?” I asked. “He’s super nice from what I understand. And he’ll probably have better answers than your friend who can barely play the piano, let alone produce an entire song.”

Jake laughed before I had the chance to. “ See, now you're underestimating yourself. Remember that song from freshman year? The one about-- what was his name, Josh?” Jake teased. I grabbed a pillow and slammed it into the back of his head. “Oh my gosh, I thought we promised we’d never bring it up again!”

Jake chuckled and laid his arm on the couch completely turning towards me. “How about we sneak out and go get ice cream and try to not wake up your mom in the process?”

I suddenly jumped to my feet when I have the perfect idea on how to cheer up the gloomy Mr. Shim. “Or, we could do something even better!”

“Urgh!” Jake groaned.

I grabbed my phone and hooked it up to the speaker. I was going to turn on his hit song Drunk-Dazed as a joke, but Jake needed this break from his career, so instead, I crunk up Beyonce as loud as it could go without disturbing my mom who slept upstairs. I turn back to Jake and reach out for his hands, already moving my hips to the music.

He shook his head and threw it back onto the couch as if throwing a temper tantrum. “I literally dance for a living.”

“Okay but this will be different, I promise.” I grabbed the piles of papers on the ground and threw them in the trash, I then pushed the coffee table near the wall and piled his folders and books neatly on top.

“Come on, cowboy!” I grabbed his hands and helped him up. He was reluctant to get up, but he threw one last groan before standing on his feet.

“This will get the brain juices flowing again!” I told him. I go back to my phone and switch it to one of my favorite Beyonce songs that she covered, At Last.

I sang dramatically to get Jake to smile, and luckily, it worked. I placed both my hands over his shoulders and swayed us back and forth, still miming the song as overly exaggerated as I could. Jake still couldn’t help but smile, and it didn’t take him long to join me in the rhythm and sway naturally with me. I learned at our middle school dance that Jake had perfect rhythm. He was able to impress the rest of the crowd when he busted out moves from BTS. Everyone was impressed, including me.

Now we were on a steady roll. I accidentally stepped on his feet a few times, but it was fine seeing as I was wearing foam flip-flops and he was barefooted. After a while, the song switched and played another of my favorites that didn’t match our style of dance, but we still moved slowly to the beat. Jake tried twirling me, but since I have two left feet, I almost ended up hitting the wall each time and Jake laughed loud at my clumsiness. The moonlight from the kitchen had now switched to the window in the living room. It gleamed through and glistened on Jake like a spotlight, just like the ones on the stage did for him. In a split second, I was reminded that he wouldn’t be here forever, just like he wasn’t here for the past year. I tried to not let it settle on my face that I was scared to see him go again, so I played up on the fun we were having now. Jake looked like he was at ease; finally, since he’d been here, he looked genuinely happy and I wasn’t going to ruin that.

After another handful of songs full of laughs and giggles, we were soon sweating and taking deeper breaths than normal. Each song was different from the one before, but it didn’t stop us from sticking to our style of dance. Even with the simplicity of the moves and the slowness of the steps, I had to take a minute to relax. I hooked my arms around his neck and rested my entire body on his. I could feel Jake’s own sweat seeping through his shirt, But I didn’t mind the wetness that was now attached to my cheek. I thought he would act awkward and ask for me to pull away, but instead, he gripped tighter on my hips and started slowly moving me side to side. I let out a long overdue sigh, trying my best to match the steady breathing of Jake’s with my own. It was actually therapeutic: hearing his heartbeat in one ear and the softness of the music in the other.

I tried to continue our steady breathing together, but his had picked up a bit, almost out of nowhere. I felt the heat of his breath on the nape of my neck, and it made my entire body tingle in a way it never had before. After this sudden feeling, I realized just how close we really were. His leg hair tickled my legs, I could feel the bone of his foot connecting to mine, I could feel his thin waist against mine as well. I felt like I needed to back up, but instead, I couldn’t and continued to sway softly against him. A few seconds later, Jake’s hands rose a little higher, planting themselves on my waist and tightening their grip as if they were trying to pull me closer than we already were.

The sensation hadn’t stopped though, it clung to my body like my damp shorts did on my thighs. Sooner or later I felt pressure on the lower part of my stomach and thought for sure that Jake was messing around and wasn’t feeling what I was, which indicated that I needed to pull back before this feeling became too much.

This is so embarrassing. I thought. How could I let myself feel like this? How was this in any way okay? I finally pulled back, the sensation becoming too unbearable, and glanced up at his face. His pupils were large in a way I hadn’t seen before. His mouth was slightly open and a drop of sweat slowly traced down his forehead, onto his nose. That pressure I was feeling on my stomach had now doubled in force, and Jake's face had switched from calm and subtle, to alarmed and panicked...

————✧————

(part 2 possibly...?)

Thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave any constructive criticism you have on helping improve my writing!

————✧————

None of the images are mine, They all belong to their rightful owners :)

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

cherry knot | reader x ryujin

a/n: you may be thinking to yourself, ro! a gg fic?? how unlike you!! well, boy do i have news for you 😂 truthfully, i’ve always been toying with the idea of writing a lil somethin’ (esp for ryujin god i love her) so i thought why not! if this isn’t your cup of tea, that’s totally okay <3 those who do read, thank you so much for reading and i hope that ya like it hehe and let me know what you think of it! :D (thank you @dom--minnie for enabling me too ;)

cherry knot | reader x ryujin

🍒 Pairing: self insert, female reader x shin ryujin

🍒 Genre: fluff n’ a lil bit suggestive

🍒 Tags: friends to lovers, high school au (everyone depicted is 18+), all girls school au, high school crush!ryujin, shy!reader, confession of feelings, that good, good makin’ out, ryujin being flirty and smug as hell bc i love her, yeah this is just me gushing about shin ryujin, ro trying new things on the blog :)

🍒 Word count: 2.9k

🍒 CWs: mentions of food and eating reader included

The grass felt sticky and uncomfortable under your crossed legs, and when you swiped your hand against the skin, you could feel the indentation from the blades. Your knee-high socks felt itchy too; everything felt itchy. Even the cotton of your shirt felt like it was suffocating, and the bow tied around your neck which hung loosely should have hung even looser.

To distract yourself, you plucked up the blades of green and tied them into knots absentmindedly. It was easier to pay attention to your idle hands compared to paying attention to her.

Could she even tell that you were looking? Could she see out of the corner of her eye when she threw her cotton-candy pink hair behind her ear? Could she tell that you watched as she gulped down the lemonade and caught a glance at the peachy fuzz of her neck exposed by her collar?

Stop looking. Stop looking.

Your other friends tied up their hair in clips and with lazy hair ties to free their sweating necks from the sun. No matter the sweltering heat, it was always tradition for your picnic just before the summer vacation. One of them had brought a cake and each of the girls attacked it viciously with small forks and smeared bits of frosting on each other’s noses.

“Come here!! You’re next!!” They beamed while launching themselves in your direction to dot your nose with the white cream.

A flurry of high pitched giggles peeled out from each of you once another frosting victim had been dubbed. Your cheeks felt furiously hot knowing that she was looking; and that she was laughing along with the rest of them.

“Awwww cute.” She adored with a smile that turned her dimples into whiskers on her cheeks.

You quickly wiped it off with a handkerchief that settled into your damp hand.

She’s looking, she’s looking…

The other girls pranced around the checkered picnic blanket in their white socks--undoubtedly painting them with green that their mothers would scold them for later. Their careless steps made a mess of the food wrappers and canvas backpacks that held down the corners of the thin fabric. The joyous cheers of the girls seemed to harmonize with the song of the cicadas in the trees; both sounds reminded you of the coming of the summer and the humid weather that makes the air dense.

One of the girls brought out her phone and played loudly from it one of her favorite songs which she knew every word too, regardless of the fact that her tone was far from the singer’s.

You and your friends never cared much for how others would view you. Even at school when you would march through the hallways arm-and-arm, others would stare at the way that none of you batted an eye at those who would glare.

They were just jealous was all.

“Be careful!!” You found yourself scolding, “What if you fall running around like that?”

In response, your friends promptly stuck out their tongues in your general direction.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryujin coolly popped another cherry into her mouth from the bowl by her crossed legs. “If they fall, let them! It's funnier that way.”

She threw a wink right at you, which you almost didn’t catch because you had quickly averted your eyes to become much more interested in the tiny tea-cakes.

“You’re always worrying Y/n! Its summer!”

“I-I do not.”

Ryujin chuckled in that way that always made you feel like your heart was just about ready to leap out of your chest.

“Lighten up! Come on!”

Before you could process it all, your friend patted down the wrinkles in her skirt and threw off her shoes. She rose, and neared your corner of the blanket with hands outstretched.

“Stop worrying about things or if people are watching!” She scolded you with a cute and tiny pout, “Get up!” Ryujin wriggled her hands with emphasis to show you that you could take hold of them.

“W-what…?”

The other girls giggled on, hardly even noticing the two of you over their singing.

You grabbed onto her hands, already loathing how damp your own felt against hers out of your own nervousness. She still held onto you tightly, saying nothing of them and helped you to your feet. Immediately she brightened once you played along and started to swing your arms in tune with the song. Your friend lip synced to the rap part and you felt just about ready to swoon from how cool she looked saying the words with ease.

“Dance with me!! Don’t pay attention to people walking by or anything like that!”

Ryunjin led you by the hand to the patch of grass with little white and pink flowers laced into it. You really did try to pay attention to dancing, but everything else seemed to be distracting even when you tried hard enough. She brought your hand up higher to spin her, and when she twisted, everything seemed to happen in slow motion: the billow of her plaid shirt, her rosy-pink hair which swiped just at her shoulders, even the way that the sunset melted behind her into swirls of sunburst yellow and vibrant orange. It was like she was all a part of it.

“Your turn!” She said, twisting you too.

You didn’t realize that you would have been as dizzied by it as you were, but when you lost your footing, she was just as quick to help you with her hands carefully grasped onto your shoulders.

“You okay?” Ryujin asked, out of breath, but still genuine.

“I’m fine!”

Your knees wobbled with barely any strength to them, but you mustered every bit of confidence that you had to keep being this close to her. You surprised yourself when you reached back for her hands to continue swinging them between you.

The other girls collapsed back onto the blanket in a pile of shallow exhales and airy laughs that they exchanged between them.

“No more dancing, I-I can’t do any more…” One of them announced while leaning against the shoulder of another one of your friends.

“I forgot! I brought this!!” One of your friends with pigtail braids dove deeply into her backpack and pulled out nearly all of the contents before finding the small cube-case which was decorated with an obscene amount of keychains. “My camera! We have to take some pictures so that we can remember this!”

The other girls squealed in agreement and ganged up on her to fit into the frame of the white Polaroid camera that she had also splattered with stickers.

“Here, I wanna show you something.” Ryujin drew your attention back to the blanket where she settled back down with her own bag draped over her legs.

“What is it?”

“Ryujinnie! I wanna take your picture too! Your pink hair is so pretty…” One of your friends cooed with a sad downturn to her lips, “I hope that you never change it.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. We’ll see. My cousin has been saying that she wants to see what I would look like blonde these days.”

The small talk didn’t concern you too much, you were more concerned with what it was that your friend had to show you.

“I’m going on a trip with my cousins soon so we’ll see what happens.”

Your friend sighed, and skipped over the mess of the blanket to pull Ryujin by the wrist to the walkway a little farther off. “You’d look so cute over here!”

She pardoned her, and stumbled after the eager girl to let her take a Polaroid of her. Even from far away, you could still hear the two of them admire the picture with happy little expressions of “ah! I told you that it would look good!”

The two girls returned, and you began to worry if your friend even remembered what she had said in the first place.

What is it? What does she want to show me?

“Shoot!!” Another one of your friends huffed out while looking at her phone, “I forgot that I have to tutor the middle schoolers today!! I’m late!!”

The girls went to action in a mere matter of seconds sweeping up the picnic assortment and shoving the leftovers into their backpacks.

You helped them and tried to look over to your other friend who didn’t return your glances. Perhaps she really had forgotten.

You let your imagination run wild for just a few moments, although the more that you did, the more it all just seemed preposterous. Maybe it was a confession letter, maybe she had written for you one of those poems like she had liked to do, maybe she had rather wanted to talk to you about something...say something that you wanted to say back…

“I’m going to stick around.” Ryunjin said suddenly with her hands on her hips. “Y/n, you’re welcome to stay too if you want. We don’t exactly have to go home yet since the sun’s still up.”

Your friends looked to you for your answer, to which you stammered out an, “O-okay…” The best that you could.

“See you later!!” They called after with their shoes only half-slid onto their feet.

You waved them off, but the farther that they walked away, the more the realization started to hit you that you were alone with her. The sound of your heartbeat echoed in your ears, and you calmed it trying to think about anything else but the fact that now her attention was truly undivided upon you.

“You said that you wanted to show me something?”

Your friend nodded, and patted the grass beside her for you to join her. She gathered up the small bundle of cherries left behind and positioned them into her lap.

“I learned this trick a little bit ago and I wanted to show you!”

“A trick?”

She nodded, and plucked from one of the crimson berries a stem which she put directly into her mouth.

“What are you doing?!” On the surface, it didn’t seem like the most sanitary thing to do.

Ryunjin stifled a laugh and lightly hit you on the arm to chastise you. “Just wait a minute!”

You watched in your confusion as her face contorted a little, and her eyebrows twisted like she was thinking. Her cheeks puffed a little too, and you could tell that she was doing something with it in her mouth--it was only then when you realized that you had been intensely observing her mouth.

In your embarrassment you threw your eyes in the other direction, but it was no use one you heard her start to giggle at how flustered you had become.

“It’s okay, you’re supposed to look.” She assured you.

“What-what is it?”

“Annnnd done!” Your friend proclaimed proudly and you struggled to meet her again without feeling like your whole face and the tips of your ears were burning up.

Right on the pink of her tongue she had tied the stem into a tiny knot which she displayed proudly.

“You...did that with your tongue?”

“Mm-hm!”

Your hands reduced back to their clammy state, and they found the grass between your own folded legs to find something to do.

“That's...that’s pretty cool…”

“I know right?!”

Back came your friend's little dimples, and this time your chest started to feel like it was swelling with heat.

Stop looking, stop looking…

“I can teach you how to do it some day if you’d like.” Ryujin’s tone dropped lower, and more serious in the way that some had thought to be intimidating. To you, there was nothing more that could make you feel the beat of your own heart more obviously.

“Teach me? How??”

The question felt like a butterfly in your lips, fluttering and ticklish, light and uncertain. You met her eyes the best you could; even though you knew that there was nothing about her that you didn’t already know, or that was threatening.

Your friend tilted her head, inspecting you and the way that you could barely keep your glance away from her lips--stained just a little red from the cherries--then smiled.

“W-what? What is it? Why are you smiling?”

She sighed, and craned forward on one of her hands in the grass, bridging the distance between the two of you to caress down the side of your face, all the way to your jaw with the back of her fingers.

“You’re just too cute.”

“Hm?” Your chest threw itself up and down, and you could thinly feel the breath that tried to fill your lungs when she was this close.

“I just can’t handle it any more.”

“Me?”

Ryunjin nodded, softening her eyes until they were nearly closed, and rid the two of you of all space, leaning over just so you could feel the weight of her chest nearly pressing into yours. At first, she placed the lightest of kisses into you, so light that it barely brushed against your lips, but merely imprinted upon them. She leaned back, leaving you with the ghost of a feeling of her upon you. It felt a bit unfair how fleeting it was, and how she looked at you like that: smug as ever, but as blissful as she always was.

Your breaths tried to make sense of it all, if it had just happened, and what to think of it. As quick as it was, all you could want was to feel it again.

“Ryu--”

She cradled both sides of your face in hers, leaning in with more fervor and parting your lips with hers, leaving you to squeak from the sudden movement. You couldn’t figure out how to kiss back at first, or if you should hold her too. Your head felt like it was spinning in circles from your disbelief when you could taste the tiny tang of the sweet and sour cherries which lingered on her lips. She rubbed her thumbs into your cheeks, and angled you better to let her growing smile paint your own mouth from corner to corner.

At last, you were able to find a rhythm which suited you, and you kissed her right back. She giggled at your stroke of confidence and the vibrations made your whole body tingle. Your feet had surely fallen asleep where you had folded them beside you, but the numb feeling of them dissolved once her hands fell to your shoulder where she held to you tightly. The pressure from the tips of her fingers made you shiver, and you too smoothed down the pink shine of her hair.

The warm and ticklish feeling of her tongue grazed your lower lip where she changed her approach and deepened her kiss. The heat of tongues finally met in the middle testing and learning more of the other the closer that you became, and tiny airy gasps got stuck between both of your curiosity. In your lap, her hands found yours and they laced together and held tight; each digit wrapping the other and becoming one with the eagerness of her thumb rubbing little circles into the squishy parts of your hand.

After the heat of your passion started to melt, you found yourself hiding your giddy laughter the best you could once she started to peck at your lips over and over until you felt like she had kissed you so close to the brim that you would overflow.

“I said that you’re cute and I mean it!” She snuck the phrase in between a couple more kisses, eliciting you to fold up in your giddy embarrassment from the compliment.

Ryunjin pulled away, and popped another cherry into her mouth from the bundle, then threw her arms around your shoulders. You simply let your hands rest in her lap covered by the plaid of her skirt; shaking from the release of the endorphins and the adrenaline.

“Ryujin...I wanted to tell you that I’ve had a crush on you for a...really long time…” You shied, but she brought your chin back to look at her directly.

“Good. Me too.”

You couldn’t even process the combination of her words for them to make sense. White noise filled your ears, even though it should have been obvious from the way that she had kissed you like that.

“Oh! Here. I wanted to give this to you too. Something to remember me by.”

She reached for her bag, and pulled out a white-out pen from the front pocket. The Polaroid had faded into its full color, and she focused with her tongue peeking from her mouth as she wrote the message:

see you soon <3

- ryujinnie

Over her head in the picture, she doodled a few hearts, then she blew on the ink to dry it.

“For you!”

You took the picture with your hands still thoroughly shaking, and all you could utter was a “thanks” while you took in your friend looking as gorgeous as she always was. You knew then that you would treasure the image forever, and the day which it was taken.

“Who knows,” Ryujin started, and let her head fall to your shoulder where she nuzzled in, “This might be the last that you’ll see of my pink hair too.”

You turned the picture over, already sensing how it made your heart feel like it was aching sticky and sweet, just like the cherries.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @dom--minnie @waterthemoon @pastelracha @mistakensilence @hotgorloikawa @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

Text

small world ~ corpse husband

word count: 2053

request?: yes!

“Can I get a Corpse x fem reader where reader an corpse are both streamers and they meet each other for the first time and realize they used to know each other as kids? I know Corpse has said that he didn’t have many friends when he was younger so maybe have it where reader was someone that was really nice to him? Sorry for the long request and thank you if you do it! 😊🖤”

description: he never would’ve thought that the new addition to their friend group would be someone from his past

pairing: corpse husband x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

“Hey Corpse,” Karl said. Corpse hummed in response, focused on the drawing he was doing for their Jackbox game. “(Y/N) is also from San Diego. Do you know her?”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Karl, San Diego is pretty big. We’re not bound to know one another. Besides, just because he lives here doesn’t mean he grew up here.”

“I did grow up in San Diego actually,” Corpse said. “I don’t think we would’ve known each other though. Even if we happened to be in the same area, I didn’t talk to many people and I dropped out in the seventh grade.”

“I was, regrettably, popular in school,” (Y/N) added.

“Regrettably?” Karl asked.

“Yeah. Looking back, I hated being popular. I hated it when I was popular even. My friends were mega jerks and made fun of everyone, even me sometimes. I would try and make them be nice but they just let the popularity go to their heads. I haven’t spoken to any of them since we graduated. There was this sort of outcast in middle school I used to have a crush on. I tried to be friends with him, but he preferred to keep to himself. I always wished I had been friends with him because I feel like I would’ve been so much happier. I never saw him again either. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

Something about her story triggered a memory in Corpse. The year before he dropped out, there was a girl in is class who was always nice to him and tried to talk to him. He brushed it off as another way he was being made fun of. When it kept up, though, he realized she was likely being genuine. He still kept his distance, but he found himself gaining some feelings for her as well. When he dropped out, he never heard from her again.

I wonder where she is now, Corpse thought to himself. Man, what was her name?

Corpse accidentally gasped, drawing the attention of everyone in the Discord call.

“You good Corpse?” George asked.

“Y-Yeah,” Corpse responded. “Just uh...just realized I fucked up my idea a bit. No big deal, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The game started prompting for everyone to show what they had created. Taking the opportunity of not having to speak, Corpse went to Google (Y/N)’s YouTube channel. She had come into the game as a friend of Karl’s and Corpse hadn’t heard of her channel, but now somethings were starting to click together.

The first thing that popped up with the top Google Image for (Y/N)’s channel name. It was a beautiful girl laying in a garden of flowers with a wide smile on her face. Corpse sucked in a breath as he realized that the girl in the picture looked familiar.

“Corpse,” came Karl’s voice, snapping Corpse out of his trance. “It’s your turn.”

“Sorry,” Corpse said. “I was distracted.”

The rest of the stream Corpse felt like he was in a daze. He continued to play the games and forced out laughs when he realized someone was making a joke. Every time (Y/N) spoke, he felt his heart flutter with excitement. He couldn’t believe that after all these years he had finally been reunited with her. And what was better was that she had actually admitted to having feelings for him too!

Don’t get too excited, he thought to himself. She said she used to have a crush on you. That was a very long time ago.

He tried not to seem too eager when the stream finally ended. He waited for someone else to leave the call first before he exited out of it himself. He waited another few minutes before messaging (Y/N) directly on Discord.

hey. it was fun playing with you tonight. weird request, but can we voice call maybe? just the two of us?

Corpse didn’t expect her to respond any time soon. It was late in San Diego, like nearly 3am late. Most people were going to bed by now. She had mentioned once during the stream that she was starting to get sleepy. He figured she’d see it in the morning and either call, or just ignore the message.

To his surprise, near seconds later, she was calling him.

“Hey stranger,” she said when he answered. “Long time, no speak. You must’ve missed my voice a lot, huh?”

Corpse chuckled. “Exactly, I really did.”

“Makes sense. I do have the best voice on the internet.” She laughed this time. It sounded like such a perfect sound. “For real though, is everything alright? Why did you want to call?”

How did he even tell her? Hey, so you know that outcast you liked? It was me! Surprise!

No, he couldn’t say that. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember, or maybe she wouldn’t believe him. He had to figure out some way to bring it up.

“I kind of wanted to talk more about your popular school days,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and teasing. “It’s not every day I meet a streamer who’s in my own area code. It would be nice to get to know someone who isn’t like a five hour drive away.”

“Oh!” She seemed excited by this response. Her excitement was almost contagious. “Okay, where should I start? The shitty friends or the shallow popularity?”

Corpse chuckled. “You pick.”

She talked for nearly an hour about her high school experiences with her popular friend group. Despite how much she despised being popular, (Y/N) still spoke with a light tone in her voice. She tried to bypass a lot of the more negative details and speak only of the good experiences she went though, which was nice to hear.

Corpse nearly jumped with excitement when she began to talk about middle school unprompted.

“It really was the last good years I had in school,” she admitted. “All my friends, the ones who went on to be super popular with me, they were nice then. Annoying, but all middle schoolers are. We didn’t care about popularity or social rankings. We were just...we were just kids. We didn’t even really know the difference between ‘losers’ and ‘popular’, which was why it was so easy for me to talk to that guy that I liked at the time. My friends weren’t mocking me for having feelings for an outcast.”

“You said you never saw that guy again,” Corpse said. “Do you know what happened to him?”

She sighed heavily. “No, I don’t. He just stopped showing up before we hit high school. I thought he moved, but I knew his mom and I saw her around everywhere. I don’t even remember his name anymore to look him up. Wherever he is, though, I hope he’s doing better. Even if they weren’t sucked completely into their popularity at the time, my friends and the other kids were still awful to him.”

“I feel that,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly the most liked kid in school. Before I dropped out I didn’t even have any friends.”

“That’s awful.”

“It wasn’t too bad. I’m not really a friendly person I don’t think. I’ve worked on it since that time, but the thought of trying to maintain a social relationship still gives me anxiety from time to time. There was one girl who tried to be friends with me the year before I dropped out though. She was nice.”

“What happened to her?”

Corpse smiled to himself. She would figure it out soon, he knew she would.

“I just didn’t hear from her after I dropped out,” he responded. “I guess that’s mainly my fault. I never reached out to her or anything, but I barley knew her name. Just her first time, and she never gave me a number or anything. I couldn’t look her up online. Maybe we just weren’t destined to be together.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you two were just right people, wrong time. Maybe you’ll cross paths again and finally have that opportunity to be friends with her again.”

“Maybe you’ll cross paths with that guy from your middle school, too.”

There was a prolonged silence. Corpse wondered if (Y/N) was starting to put the pieces together. He could barley even hear her breathe. The longer she went, the more worried he was becoming. He was about to say something when she finally spoke again.

“I made him a Valentine,” she said, her voice soft. “Special handmade one. He was the only one I gave it to. It had some really badly written, sappy poem in it. I watched him open it and...I really think he got emotional while reading it. Of course, he’d never tell anyone that.”

Corpse had gotten emotional over the Valentine (Y/N) had given him. It was the first real Valentine he had ever gotten. It wasn’t one of the generic ones that everyone gave out to every classmate so no one felt excluded. It was made from the heart, and that fact alone touched his. Like (Y/N) said, though, he didn’t let anyone know how emotional he had gotten. It would’ve just been more mental ammo for them to use to bully him.

He quickly got up from his chair, racing to his room where he had his box of memories shoved in his closet. It was little things from throughout his life that he kept in a shoebox. Whenever he felt particularly down or depressed, he would open the shoebox and look at all the things that made him smile.

At the very top of the box was (Y/N)’s Valentine.

He went back to his computer and took a picture of the Valentine using his phone.

“That sounds really nice,” he said as he went into the Discord app on his voice. “It must’ve meant a lot to him that you put so much time and effort into a handmade gift.”

“I don’t know if it did. I never got to ask him what his reaction was.”

“Oh, I’d bet anything he was happy.”

He sent the picture through Discord and waited for (Y/N) to open it. The silence between them felt deafening. The seconds felt like they had slowed to hours. He wondered what (Y/N)’s reaction would be. Maybe she’d be weirded out by the fact that Corpse kept the Valentine, or by the fact that Corpse was the middle school crush in general.

What if she’s upset that this is who I am now? he asked himself. What if her crush was just a middle school thing, and the moment you dropped out she moved on?

“I knew it.”

Corpse couldn’t help the smile on his face when he heard the slight excitement in (Y/N)’s voice.

“I knew it was you!” she continued. “Well, I didn’t know know, but when you asked me to call you I had a bit of a suspicion. I can’t believe it...it’s actually you!”

“It is me,” he confirmed. “And it’s you.”

“Small world we live in, huh?”

“Yeah, small world.” Do you still like me? Did you ever stop? Do you know that your kindness stuck with me for so long?

The silence returned. Corpse was starting to get sick of it, but he didn’t know how to fill the void between them. When he heard her yawn, he realized how late it had gotten. “I’ll let you go, you sound tired.”

“We just had this breakthrough and you’re asking me to sleep?!”

Corpse chuckled. “You have to sleep eventually, (Y/N). It’s like 3:30am, normal people sleep at this hour.”

“I am offended you would think I’m anywhere near normal.” She yawned again, cutting off her short lived rant. “But you’re right, I am tired. Listen...promise me you’ll answer when I call tomorrow. I...I’d really like to catch up. Maybe...to pick up where we left off.”

“Okay,” Corpse said, then realized that wasn’t really a response. “I promise. I’ll be waiting by the phone the moment I open my peepers.”

(Y/N) giggled. “I’ll be sure to call you the moment I open mine.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight Corpse underscore Husband.”

kind of a bad ending, but i wasn’t really sure where else to go with it as i wrote it. sorry! :(

#corpse husband #corpse husband imagine #corpse #corpse imagine #corpse x reader #request #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic

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plant-flwrs · 3 years

Note

Heyy!! I wish you would write a fic where Fred is lowkey really into Shakespear and Romeo and Juliet and tries to woo the reader cs she’s muggleborn? Idk but it would be so cute!! 🥺

romeo and juliet // fred weasley

masterlist!

summary: Fred reads Romeo and Juliet and can’t help but fall in love

a/n: schools out, so hopefully that means more time for writing! thanks for the request anon i thought it was adorable, hope you like it!!

(2.5k)

At first, it was a secret. Fred had no intention of actually enjoying it. He had simply accepted the book Professor Lupin had lent him, thumbed through it, and stayed up all night to read it by accident.

Maybe it was because Lupin had seen the way Fred looked at you across the class, separated by hidden bloodlines and upbringings. You, with your muggle pens that you smuggled in. You, with your muggle records you used an entire bag to carry onto the train. You, with your muggle magazines that spread through the common room like wildfire. You, with those weird little things called cigarettes that you sold in your third year to the older students. You, with the way the older pureblood witches would sit and ask you to do their hair for them because only you could do all the newest muggle styles. You, with your reluctance to Quidditch but your love for soccer.

Fred was gone, absolutely gone for you. He was even more behind than usual in class because he couldn't help but find you with his eyes, no matter the room you were in or the distance between you both. Remus Lupin, the secret romantic, asked Fred to stay after class.

"Mr. Weasley," Professor Lupin called, feet kicked up on his desk while he levitated a novel wandlessly in front of him. A half-eaten apple rested on a napkin beside a chocolate wrapper and Fred was forced to remember the breakfast he had barely eaten, choosing to instead pretend he hadn't noticed the fact you had only sat a few seats away.

Fred stood in front of Lupin's desk, waiting as the room emptied out and George shot him a wink from the doorway.

"Yes, Professor?" Fred rocked on his feet, hands stuffed in the pockets of his robe. He tried not to wonder if you had noticed that he had been called behind, or if you had noticed him at all. He vaguely registered that this might what his brother would call 'pathetic'.

"You never turned in that essay on wandless defenses," Lupin said slowly, the book moving to rest on his desk as he moved his feet to the ground.

Fred was quiet, biting the inside of his cheek as he couldn't seem to recall the last time a teacher had bothered to talk to him about his assignments instead of deeming him a 'lost cause' or a student who 'simply wouldn't apply themselves'.

Professor Lupin sighed, moving again to stand. Fred thought he caught a flash of pain on the professor's face, perhaps a wince as he stood, but the moment was gone before Lupin was giving Fred a calculating and sympathetic glance.

"Do you need an extension?" Remus offered, leaning his hip against the desk and inclining his head to show Fred the importance of this offering.

"I'd appreciate that, Professor," Fred admitted.

They were silent again, Remus still looking at Fred like he was something to figure out. Remus shifted, eyes dropped to his desk and lips lifting.

"What's got you so preoccupied?"

Fred was blushing before he could think of a lie, and then he realized he didn't want to lie. He hadn't even told George about his crush on you- no doubt it was obvious. Fred had had flings and crushes on loads of girls, all fun and easy, but this felt heavier. He didn't want to have a fling with you.

"I guess-" Fred sighed, removing his hands from his robes and wiping them on his trousers, "I've just been distracted recently. A lot on my mind."

"Ah," Remus smiled fondly, nodding slowly.

A book began to move from a pile in the corner, elegantly and easily avoiding the tall stacks of clutter and various lumps of papers to levitate to Fred. Fred reached out for it, moving it in his hand to read the cover. Romeo and Juliet.

"I'll make you a deal, Fred," Professor Lupin said, his voice sounding so mischievous that Fred was surprised he hadn't become ten years younger right in front of him. "You can either write the essay on wandless defenses, or you can read that and write an essay on 'Romeo and Juliet'."

Fred thumbed through the book, eyebrows furrowed. He had never liked reading, most of the books at the Burrow belonged to Bill, Percy, or his father. He was pretty sure that George would find Fred reading Shakespeare to be just as funny as the time they released Cornish Pixies in the Slytherin changing rooms.

"Yeah, alright."

Fred managed to eat dinner that night, with you safely at the opposite end of the table. The curtains to his fourposter had been closed for hours and the light from his wand had been steadily bright for just as long. He had gone from laying on his back, head propped up beneath his arms, to resting his back against the headboard, to sitting upright in the center of his bed, head propped on his fist, to laying on his stomach, to laying on his back again with his head at the foot of his bed, and soon enough, the sun was flooding through a crack in the curtains. He had just finished Romeo and Juliet when he heard the showers starting.

"Lupin!"

Remus stopped and watched Fred catch up to him. He looked tired and simultaneously wide awake, his hair was a mess, and Remus was almost certain that he was wearing his pajama pants beneath his school robes.

"Mr. Weasley," Remus said cordially, continuing his walk to the greenhouse.

"I wanted to talk to you about that book you lent me-"

"Oh, you can keep it, if you'd like. I've read it dozens of times."

Fred hesitated, a wide smile spreading over his face, "Oh, thanks, Professor! It's just, I wanted to tell you I really liked it."

"You've finished it, then?" Remus asked with an impressed smile.

"Read it last night," Fred admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

"I look forward to the essay, then," Lupin said with a kind smile and a nod, turning into the greenhouses and leaving Fred in the corridor.

Inside his robes, he felt the weight of the tiny book against his chest. He kept it in a pocket there, fingers itching to hold it and read it again.

He couldn't help the roaring thoughts in his head. The idea that you were his Juliet, that you and he could find a hidden love, just for you two, amongst your external differences. He was oddly disappointed by the ending and decided he might not completely finish the book if he read it again, perhaps pretend it ended differently. He leaned his back against the stone wall behind him, fighting a blushing smile from his face.

So, Fred loved Shakespeare in secret. He loved reading in secret. He loved the weight of the book in his hands in secret. He loved the words and the phrases in secret. He loved the way it made him think in secret. He loved you in secret. He loved in secret.

Until you started dating Thomas Meadowbrooke. Thomas was a Ravenclaw, wickedly smart, handsome, kind, and the victim of many of the Weasley twins' pranks for a while. George didn't directly ask Fred why they were suddenly pranking this one boy so relentlessly all of a sudden, but he didn't need to.

Thomas wore blazers with patches on the elbows and combed his silky hair down the middle. He always had a flower in his coat pocket to give to you and he always carried a book of poetry with him. He was sensitive and wistful in all the ways girls loved, including you.

You thought Thomas was painfully boring. He would fawn over you in the most annoying ways, giving you poems that he wrote (horrendously awful, they were) and quoting lines from old and boring books to you. He didn't listen to Joan Jett or Janis Joplin and he cringed when you played your records. He suggested Bach or Debussy instead. He was boring.

You had only agreed to go out with him because he asked. Thomas Meadowbrooke may have been able to put a cornish pixie to sleep just by talking to it, but he was undeniably handsome. Well, he was more handsome before he had fallen victim to a particularly entertaining Weasley twin prank that turned his hair gelled and spiked up for a few days.

You broke up with Thomas soon after. He took it well, saying it gave him fuel to finish some poetry he hadn't been inspired enough for before.

Remus heard this gossip quite excitedly.

"She did, did she?" Remus tilted his head, a coy smirk on his lips.

The smell of fertilizer was strong, but he learned not to mind it as he watched the merry witch digging in various pots.

"He was quite heartbroken, the poor thing. Filius said that when he did routine bed checks, he could hear Thomas crying for weeks!" Professor Sprout sighed, patting down the soil and checking for weeds.

"Teen romance is always quite fickle," Remus commented, following Pomona as she moved to the next pot.

"Says you!" Pomona playfully scolded Remus, her red cheeks filling as she smiled.

Remus chuckled, thinking back to Sirius who would sneak into his office later to distract him from grading papers.

"You know, Pomona," Remus said in that voice of his, the one that got Sprout to drop her trowel and lean in close to hear the latest gossip. "I think Fred Weasley's got a bit of a crush on Y/n."

Pomona gasped, dirty hand flying to cover her mouth. She paused, scrunching up her face and sticking her tongue out to spit out the clump of dirt.

"He hasn't!" she continued, not minding Remus' amused smile and the clean rag he offered her to wipe her hands.

"He's always staring at her," Remus said, thinking on it. "I reckon he's quite the secret romantic."

Pomona cooed and awed as she continued to tend to her plants, she and Remus trading anymore gossip that they could think of.

The weather changed at quite a convenient time for Fred. With the slightly warm but still a bit chilled fall weather, Fred could dawn his lighter coats. His lighter coats that happened to have wonderfully shaped pockets on the inside, just the right size for a book.

Fred wondered if you had gone out with Thomas because Ravenclaw book nerds were your type, or if you had broken up with him because Ravenclaw book nerds weren't your type. Fred had spent almost all of the warm weather contemplating how he was going to continue to live if he was determined to remain secretly in love with you. By fall he had figured it out.

Fred wasn't going to hide anything, not the books he had recently begun to love, or the way he loved so strongly. He wasn't going to miss meals because you were so distracting. He wasn't going to suffocate under his crush on you.

It was a beautiful day. George was up in the dorms with Lee working on a prank and Fred had decided to take a walk down to the Black Lake. His lighter coat was a bit heavier because of the book in the pocket, and Fred pushed his hair out of his eyes as he looked down at the ground to avoid stepping on tree roots. He found a nice spot beneath a tree, resting against the trunk and reading.

"Hey, Fred," a voice called, coming closer as they easily avoided the maze of tree roots.

Fred looked up to see you, in those perfect muggle clothes you wore any chance you could, hair styled in that wonderful muggle way, one of those muggle cigarettes tucked behind your ear, walking towards him.

"Hey," he responded, surprised by how easy his voice sounded.

"Have you been reviewing at all for Lupin's?" You sat next to Fred like it was the easiest thing in the world, brushing your shoulder against his.

"No, not really," Fred closed his book with his thumb tucked between the pages saving his spot.

"Mmm," you hummed, leaning your head back against the tree and closing your eyes. "What're you reading?"

"Romeo and Juliet," Fred replied, looking at your profile while he had the chance.

"Didn't think that was your thing," you said playfully, opening one eye to catch Fred looking at you.

He flushed and turned his gaze to his hands in his lap. "Me neither," he admitted, swallowing.

"I always liked ‘The Taming of the Shrew’, personally."

Fred smiled to himself, because of course, you had also read Shakespeare, and of course, you would have a cool favorite.

"I like that one, too," Fred said lamely, enjoying the way you were smiling at him.

By winter, Fred had devised a plan. It was perfect, more perfect than any prank he had created or any Zonko's product he had bought. He would die if he kept all this love to himself, so he decided all he needed was one kiss.

The Yule Ball was in full swing, the classical and slow music long forgotten as everyone moved to the dance floor and rocked to the loud and fast rhythm. Fred had seen you when you first arrived, noticing with glee that you were alone, and hadn't lost sight of you since. He had removed himself from the heavily crowded dance floor, stumbling to the table with the juice he and George had spiked hours earlier. He loosened the collar of his robes and pushed his already disheveled hair out of his face.

You watched Fred move through the crowd like a tornado, a mass of energy that you felt required to look at and admire. He strode to the table, a quiet and self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he took a long sip of punch.

Fred caught you staring at him with pleasant unexpectedness. You looked just as beautiful as you did when the night started, skin glowing and everything dawned upon you with your magical muggle-ness. Fred put his cup down, a comfortable pink hue warming his cheeks, and approached you. He touched his hand to yours.

"Hey, Fred," you said with an entertained smirk, glancing down at his hand on yours.

"I need you to do me a favor," he slurred, voice easy and breath warm as it landed on your skin.

"What kind of favor?"

"I need you to kiss me," Fred pulled his mouth away from your ear, looking to your face.

He didn't have much of an opportunity, though, before your lips were on his and you stole his breath. He tasted of the spiked punch and his hands were trembling and careful as they rested on your waist. You grabbed a fistful of his robes, pulling him close to you with urgency.

He pulled away, lips red and swollen, with his eyes still closed.

"I need you to do me a favor," you said, mouth hovering above his.

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me," you whispered, just loud enough for Fred to hear.

He listened, and held onto you with less trembling and more confidence as you kissed for the second time.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fic #fred weasley imagine #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred #weasley #george weasley #professor remus lupin #fred weasley fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #hogwarts #yule ball #romeo and juliet #Shakespeare inspired fic

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raindownforme · 3 years

Note

Hey! I’m back with another request!

Reader and Ted practicality have all the same classes and whenever they have to do projects or work in pairs Ted without fail or shame is always like “Can she work with me! Please!” Even in front of the class So he can flirt with her during the project

She/her pronouns pls :D

Also I LOVED ORBITING JUPITER I NEVER HEAR ANYONE TALK ABOUT IT

An Ode to You

Ted Nivison x reader [she/her used]

The teacher, Mrs. Statham, smacked a stack of papers on her rolling cart. She lined the edges of them up to make it straight, then held the stack in her off arm. She turned to face the class, smiling kindly as she stood tall in her professional shoes.

“This week, we’re starting a project. You and a partner will be writing poetry based on prompts and discussing your different styles of writing. Your partner will be randomly assigned-“ the class groaned, some shutting books in protest. “Hey. It’s 9am, you think I want this either?” The class grew quiet. “Exactly. Now, I’m pulling names from a hat. First is…”

y/n leaned into her open palm, closing her eyes for a moment. She could hear students shuffling around their chairs, tennis ball covered legs scraping the cheap cement. She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back to stretch her back over the cheap school chair.

“YES.” Someone stood quickly in the opposite corner of the room, the scraping and falling sound of the chair making y/n jump. She opened her eyes to see her classmate Ted standing up in the corner with his arms upright in a cheering motion. He smiled widely, looking over towards y/n. He quickly realized his outburst, dropping his arms and pushing his glasses further onto his face. “Should I pick up that chair?”

“Yes, Ted. Then go move over to your partner.” Mrs. Statham shook her head, going back to the task she’d been working on before hand. Ted gathered his things, placing the chair back to where it belonged, and headed across the classroom to where y/n sat. He pulled the chair next to her out and sat down, smiling widely.

“Hey, come here often?”

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to hide a small smile. “Good morning Ted.”

“Good morning gorgeous.” Ted looked away from y/n, sorting through his backpack for a spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil. He turned back to y/n, intending to say something, but Mrs. Statham spoke first.

“All partners have been assigned. On the board are types of poetry and some one-word prompts. Yes you and your partner must pick the same type of poem and prompt. If you have any questions, I’ll be up here grading. Go ahead.”

The students began chattering as Mrs. Statham went to her desk. y/n huffed, staring at the board. She wasn’t well-versed on types of poetry, and the list was quite long.

“How about an Ode? You know like an Ode to something?” Ted gestured with his pencil as he talked. “I’ll let you pick the category.”

“An Ode to…” y/n scanned the board, looking for the right word. “Does that say darling?”

“No?” Ted squinted as he looked at the board as well. “I think it says daring. But I like darling! An ode to darling.”

y/n smiled, turning to begin writing in her own notebook. The rest of the lesson went on with only a few scattered comments from Ted.

“What color are your eyes?”

y/n looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“Never mind I got it.” Ted furiously scratched at his paper, y/n returning to her own.

“What season is your favorite would you say?”

“Fall.” y/n set down her pencil, smiling kindly at Ted. “I like the leaves and it’s usually a nice temperature out. You?”

“I’m a late spring early summer kind of guy.” Ted taped his pencil over and over in a slow rhythm he could only hear in his head. “I mean, unless you have a pollen allergy.”

“Why?”

“I can’t take you out if you’ll be sneezing and coughing the whole time. I don’t know, maybe the fall could be a good time.” Ted waved like he was getting rid of an idea. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay?” y/n thought to herself for a moment, then ignored Ted’s question to go back to her work.

“Hey what’s your-“ Ted was cut short by the ringing of the school bell. He groaned dramatically as y/n stood to gather her things. “No! Stop.”

“Why?” y/n didn’t stop, instead zipping her bag shut and throwing it over her shoulder. Ted grabbed onto the edge of her shirt, tugging slightly.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Ted, I have a class across the school. I’ll see you tomorrow.” y/n gently pulled her shirt from Ted’s grasp. He sighed, standing up.

“Fine. Let me walk you there at least?”

It took Ted all of a minute to gather his things. He shouldered his back pack and led y/n out of the classroom. He let his hand fall to his side, gently taking y/n’s middle finger and wrapping his own finger around it. He looked down at her, smiling softly, and held on tighter when she showed no sign of discomfort.

The two walked in silence across the school, taking y/n to her science class. Ted stopped her before she walked in, keeping her finger is his grasp. “Can I see you later?”

“Ted, we have class tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” y/n patted him in the arm, politely excusing her self. She watched him walk backwards down the hall, and turned to walk into the class.

“I’ll be thinking of you!” She rolled her eyes at Ted’s outburst, avoiding the peering eyes of her classmates.

———

The next few days continued the same way; Ted endlessly flirting while y/n write her ode. The writing came easy to her. She wrote about the stars, about the constellations and the night sky. It was a basic topic she knew, but it was easy to write about and it fit the prompt. She wasn’t sure what Ted had written about, but by now everyone had finished their poems, and it was time to present.

“Alright, Ted and y/n?” Mrs. Statham sat behind her desk, yawning into her mug of tea. “Please state your type and prompt.”

“We chose an Ode, and I miss read the prompt so instead of daring we chose darling?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the grading sheet in front of her. “I like it. Go ahead.”

y/n cleared her throat. She looked over at Ted, waiting to see who would go first. He gestured to her, offering her to go first while smiling kindly. Oddly enough, for it being the first class of the day, Ted seemed to be the most awake in the classroom.

“For darkness around you, a pattern to make do…” y/n read robotically from the sheet of paper in front of her. The poem lasted only ten seconds, letting her quickly set it aside and awkwardly smile at her classmates. There was light clapping from the crowd, complimentary almost.

“Very good.” Mrs. Statham scribbled on the grading sheet with a blue pen. “And what was that called again?”

“An Ode to the Stars.”

“Thank you. Ted you’re next?”

Ted nodded eagerly, straightening himself. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and looked expectantly at Mrs. Statham. “Do I-“

“There are no extra credit points for memorization. However, if you’d like to, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Ted turned back to y/n, smiling widely. “I’m encaptured in your loving stare; My darling girl, my lady, fair.”

Ted went on for a long minute, leaving y/n a flustered mess. Every stanza, Ted found a new way to look at her. A new way to gesture to her. A new way to emphasize the lines he spoke. And after that long minute, the class fell silent for a moment before clapping loudly for Ted’s display.

“Thank you both. Class, did we notice any differences in Ted and y/n’s writing?”

Someone y/n didn’t know the name of put their hand upwards, prompting Mrs. Statham to call on them. “Well, y/n wrote about an object, Ted wrote about a person.”

“Good. Is there anything else we can infer class?”

“Oh!” Someone in the back classroom sat up straighter as they shouted out. y/n couldn’t quite see who it was. “y/n wrote kind of factual? Like things that we could all see. But Ted sees the person differently than we’d normally… perceive them?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Alright good job you two, go ahead and take your seats.”

Ted followed y/n to the shared desk in the far corner of the classroom. Another set of students went up to present theirs, and y/n kept her eyes glued forward on the pair, avoiding looking at Ted.

“I really liked yours.” Ted leaned over to whisper in her ear. She jumped a bit, surprised by how close he sat. “I think it was beautiful.”

“Thanks.” y/n chewed at the inside of her lip. “What was yours called again?”

“An Ode to You.”

“Sorry?” y/n tried to swallow the heat rising to her face, trying to not be flustered in front of Ted.

“It’s called An Ode to You.”

“To me?”

“No— well.” Ted twirled a pencil around in his finger tips. “It’s called An Ode to You, not like An Ode to y/n, I mean technically it is about you-“

“Me? What, are you flirting?”

Someone snorted in the seat in front of y/n and Ted. “You just noticed?”

y/n watched Ted’s face turn bright red. “I mean, they’re right. You just noticed?”

“I assumed it was a joke.”

“Why would I be joking?” Ted looked at y/n with concern etched across his face.

“I don’t know! Are you not joking?”

“No.” Ted very gently took y/n’s hand in his. “y/n, my darling. I would never joke about you.”

“Well Ted, honey, it’s 9am and you’re flirting with a tired teenager.”

“Can I flirt with you some other time?”

“Yes.” y/n yawned, stretching her arms upwards. “Any other time.”

“Tonight then? 7 o’clock?”

“Why 7-?” y/n stopped, her face becoming increasingly heated as the realization came to her. “A date? You want to take me on a date?”

The school bell rang and Ted stood from the desk, placing a folded piece of paper in front of y/n. “Text me, I’ll come pick you up.”

She watched Ted walk away, then looked down at the paper. On it read a phone a number that she assumed belonged to ted. When she unfolded it, however, was a hand written poem with a title reading, An Ode to y/n.

#ted nivison #ted nivison x reader #chuckle sandwhich x reader #chuckle sammy #chuckle sandwich #lunch club x reader #lunch club

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