but i want to write!

anonymous asked:

Oh! 38. “I just wanted an easy day with my girlfriend/boyfriend. What’s so wrong with that?” Pretty please!!

Here we go with yet another fluffy piece. Set somewhere in season 7, maybe. 

Tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic

This is exactly the kind of family gathering Mulder is used to. Yelled accusations. Past missteps. Oh yes, he knows this. Except it’s not his family. And no one, for once, is yelling at him. He’s outside on the porch, the sun trying to hide, too, disappearing quickly, going to sleep. Under him the wood creaks softly. No one but him hears it. They’re in the kitchen, Scully and her brother Bill. Mulder was in there with them moments ago. He doubts either of them even noticed when he slipped outside. Out here, their voices are muffled, but he can still hear them, word for word.

“He has no right being here!”

“I want him here, Bill!”

“Dana, you work with him I get it. You don’t invite colleagues to spend time with your family.”

“I wanted an easy day with my boyfriend. What’s wrong with that?” A pause. Mulder outside, out of sight, swallows. Boyfriend. Scully has called him many, many things. Never her boyfriend, though.

“Your boyfriend?” Bill’s voice is squeaky high and Mulder can almost see the surprised shock on the other man’s face. His own expression, he figures, is probably not much different. Boyfriend. The word makes him chuckle deep inside. Boyfriend. Warmth spreads through him, spreads joy inside his stomach. He is Scully’s boyfriend - she just confirmed it. There is a stupid grin on his face; he feels it in the pull of his cheek, in the way his lips curl upwards. Too bad there’s no here to see it. 

“Fox?” Mulder turns around, startled. There in the door stands Mrs. Scully. She is surrounded by the light streaming out from inside. The voices of her children boast loudly through the open door. With a sigh, she closes it behind her and joins him.

“I’m sorry.” He says and she throws him a look, her eyes open wide.

“What are you sorry for, dear? I came out here to apologize for my children. Bill and Dana have always been like this. She’s his baby sister and he thinks he knows what’s best for her.” Mulder nods. He doesn’t know what that’s like, can only guess, as he’s only ever had a taste of being a big brother. 

“I brought you pie, Fox. Just because these two can’t behave doesn’t mean you should miss out on dessert.” She hands him a plate with a big, mout-watering piece of pie. With whipped cream on top. Mulder licks his lips. Mrs. Scully hands him a napkin and a fork and Mulder, unable to speak, mouths his thank you and digs in. He eats greedily, stifles a moan, and forgets everything for a moment.

“Just so you know, Fox,” she waits until he faces her, still chewing. He swallows hard, the distant voices - how are they not hoarse yet? - of Bill and Scully ringing in his ear, “just because my son doesn’t understand what a wonderful man you are and how much you love Dana, doesn’t mean I feel the same.” Then Mrs. Scully does something he never thought he’d see: she winks at him. Love, she said. Mrs. Scully knows he loves her daughter. They haven’t said the words yet. Hell, up until earlier there had been no definition to their relationship period. Until Scully called him her boyfriend in front of her brother. Not even to him, no. That’s not how they communicate. It makes him smile now; no matter how their relationship changes, forms new shapes, they’re still the same people. Still Mulder and Scully. As dysfunctional as they’ve always been.

“Thank you.” The words crumble out of his mouth. 

“You’re very welcome, Fox.” Mrs. Scully leans forward and kisses his cheek. Mulder finds himself blushing. When she turns to go back inside, she doesn’t seem surprised to see her daughter standing in the door. Scully has her arms across her chest, still in defense and still ready to fight.

“You two done?” There is amusement in Mrs. Scully’s voice. How often has she had to break these two up? Mulder wonders watching mother and daughter. Scully visibly relaxes as her mother touches her arm. She nods. 

“Good. Now go be with your boyfriend.”

“Mom!” Scully blushes deeply, but so does Mulder, and giggles uncomfortably. She waits until her mother has disappeared inside before she closes the distance between them. Scully falls into his arms and leans heavily against him. She’s warm, smells like pie, and looks just as delicious. Her smile is tired yet genuine. 

“Regretting that you brought me?” She claps her hands behind him, holding him tightly against her. Either for warmth or because she likes him. Either way, he enjoys her closeness.

“Never, Mulder. I wanted you here. I wanted to spend time with you outside of work. Like a normal couple.”

“Boyfriend and girlfriend, huh?” He can’t keep the shy grin off his face. 

“You heard us fighting.” It’s not a question. “Bill was not… he’ll grow to love- like you, Mulder. You probably have a lot in common. He just needs a little time.“ 

"You think I would have been like Bill? If Samantha brought home a… boyfriend?” Mulder asks quietly. He shivers as a cool wind whiffs past them and Scully tightens her grip on him. 

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she answers honestly, “I think you’d be protective. You are.”

“I would want - would have wanted to trust her judgment.” Scully gives him a sad smile and puts one hand on his cheek.

“You might have thrown him dirty looks, Mulder. But you would have accepted the man your sister loved.”

“Love?" 

"Definitely love.” Scully whispers and before he can reply, or react in any way, she gets on tiptoes and plants her mouth over his. 

“Dana!” A voice hollers. Mulder startles and breaks the kiss, realizing it’s Bill. And he’s just seen them kissing. Yeah, Scully’s brother is definitely going to like him. Never. “Come inside.” Scully doesn’t move and stays in Mulder’s arms. “You too, Mulder.” Bill finishes grudgingly, stomping back inside.

“Did he just invite me in?" 

"He did. Now come on. It’s getting cold out here.” He lets Scully lead him back inside the house, but even while still outside, he’s never felt this warm before in his life.

I met love for the first time at 18. Love was beautiful. Love was kind. Love was funny. Love was mine. Love was consuming. Love was impairing. Love gave me fear. Love gave me tears. Love drove me insane. Love gave me pain. Love was rough. Love wasn’t enough. Love was never a mistake. Love was just a heartbreak. Love was a lesson. Love was a blessing. Love became a memory but never forgotten.

I met love again at 24. Love was not perfect. Love was not what I expected. Love couldn’t sing but somehow it had the right ring. Love was a mess, but that never gave me stress. Love was warm, and I never felt like I was in harm. Love was content, and willing to stay dormant . Love became stagnant, much like a refrigerator’s magnet. Love was predictable, and it made me miserable. Love did not grow, and that was something I could not follow. Love had lost its connection, and we soon headed in different directions. Love ended but we befriended.

I met love again at 27. Love was a beautiful reflection. Love is alone, but happy. Love is still growing, but confidently. Love makes mistakes, but love is still learning. Love loves love.


-This is not a love story.

-m.t.t.

There's a dark room inside of my head (Jason ToddxReader)

.

.

.

“(y/n)…? Are you listening?”

The latter snaps out of her thoughts and faces Jason, if it were a different situation she would’ve just laughed at the look he was giving her, but it wasn’t.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said you can head upstairs to my room, I’ll follow in a few. Bruce still has something to fill us in on.”

“I…I’m going home for today, Jason.”

“Wait, what?”

“I have something I need to do.” (y/n) turns around in haste, about to leave. “I’ll come by the manor tomorrow-” Jason quickly grabs her hand, forcing her to stop and face him.

“What’s wrong…?” He asks, a serious look masking his face. (y/n) could only swallow a lump that formed in her throat.

“W-What?”

“Something’s up with you, what happened?”

“Nothing happened, what are you talking about?” She looks away from his hard gaze. Jason catches this and places a warm hand on her cheek.

“(y/n)…”

“Jason…”

“Fine. But we’re not done talking about this,” He sighs, letting of her to run a hand through his hair. He watches the relief wash over her as she prepares to leave again.

“I’m borrowing your bike,”

“Obviously, as if I’d let you walk home.” He scoffs. (y/n) gives him a sheepish smile, placing a quick peck on his lips before heading over to Jason’s bike.

“Why’s (y/n) leaving?” Dick suddenly appears behind him, eyes directed towards the latter.

“She said she needed to go home.”

“Home? But she practically lives here,” Dick watches as the said person starts up the bike, the sound of the motor picks up as (y/n) leaves without looking back. “Did something happen?”

“That’s what I’d like to know as well…” Jason contemplates for a while, whether he should go after (y/n) or leave the situation for tomorrow, but decides to give her some time to herself.

———

The sound of glass breaking makes (y/n) cringe as she realizes what happened. She bends down, hastily picking up the pieces of the broken mug with a sigh. (y/n) retracts her hand, a gasp escapes her lips when she accidentally cuts herself.

“(y/n)?!”

The door to (y/n)’s apartment suddenly smacks open, she was terribly sure that the lock was broken now. Jason rushes in the small kitchen, the alarmed look on his face dies down into relief when he sees (y/n) unharmed.

“J-Jason…? What are you doing here?” You stand up to face him.

“Shit, I heard something break. I thought you were…” He awkwardly coughs. “I might have broken your door…”

“I figured as much.”

“Blood…your hand is bleeding! What the hell happened?!”

“I’m fine, I accidentally knocked off the-”

“Fine my ass, there’s a lot of blood!”

“As if that’s a new sight for you,” Jason gives her an unimpressed look. He helps her up, carefully dragging her hand to the sink. The running water washes the blood off of her hands.

“Is your first aid kit still stocked?”

“Last time I checked, it was.”

“Stay here, I’ll go get it.”

———

(y/n) heaves a tired sigh, watching Jason wrap the gauze around her palm. It’s been a long minute and she was waiting for him to say something, knowing that they still had a conversation to finish. As the other finishes the final touches, he gently lifts her hand towards him and places a quick kiss on it before letting go and packing up the first aid kit.

“Aren’t you going to…ask about what happened?” (y/n) mutters, slightly unsure if she shouldn’t have asked.

“No.” The straightforward answer of his surprises her, confusion clear as day on her face.

“No…?”

“I changed my mind. I won’t force you to tell me something you aren’t ready to tell. And I won’t ask you as well, I’ll wait for you to talk about it.” Jason reaches a hand towards (y/n)’s face, pinching her nose out of the blue. The surprised look on her face elicits a laugh from him, and he lets go. He stands up, taking the first aid kit with him as he heads to the bathroom. Jason stops afoot when a pair of arms wrap around his waist.

“What’s with the sudden hug…?” A smile is painted on his lips, a crinkle of amusement in his eyes was present.

“Thank you…for understanding.”

whylovesomeonelikeme  asked:

45 and 43 please omg your writing is amazing I’m in love!!!!

Hope you don’t mind I’m going to do 43 first in this ask and then make a separate post for 45 and tag you in it! I assumed you wanted these as Bughead but if not just holler at me and I’ll rewrite what you wanted! Also, you are too sweet thank you thank you! (Shameless self-promo but check out more of my writing on AO3)

43. Falling in love with best friend’s partner AU (Flipped things on its head a little bit. Also this is going to be a bit of a long one, I got carried away! I hope you like angst <3)

Maybe she should have realized it sooner, how hopelessly she was in love with Jughead Jones. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be standing here next to her best friend, Veronica Lodge, helping her decide which stationery to have at their wedding. They wanted an old Hollywood glamour wedding. Betty tried to be supportive, tried to be happy, but the truth was there were pages in her diary planning her marriage to the Jones boy.

Veronica didn’t like what he liked. She hardly knew him. She wasn’t the one who was by his side when his dad got thrown in jail or the one who had driven cross country so they could surprise Jellybean on her graduation day. No, she had been far too busy with that. Likely with her driver, Archibald Andrews.

Betty knew there was something happening between them. Something that would break Jughead’s heart if he knew. Something that would destroy him. Because when he loved, he loved absolutely. He held on tight, refused to let go. Kicked and screamed and fought for that person. She loved Veronica, with every fiber of her body, but this marriage was going to end in turmoil, and she couldn’t bear to see Jughead suffer like that.

“I have to go check out the flowers V,” Betty said, “I’ll be back in half an hour? Please don’t kill the caterer in that time. You know he’s trying his best but a wedding cake that huge is a lot to ask for.”

“What am I supposed to do? My groom’s single request in the entire wedding was that cake! If it’s not perfect then the wedding isn’t perfect!”

The two laughed and Betty departed, lost in her own thoughts. It didn’t take long for her to realize she’d left her phone back in the Lodge’s apartment. Despite having been together for two years, Jughead and Veronica had not moved in together. They both “valued their space”. Which meant, V liked her closet, and Jughead liked being able to leave his book and manuscripts thrown about a small room with little to no repercussion.

She turned around, frustrated. Of course, that would happen today. On top of every terrible thing that was already going wrong in her life, like watching the literal love of her life marry someone completely wrong for them, she’d left her phone 20 stories up and hadn’t noticed until she was at the bottom. And now both the elevators were broken. If she hadn’t been waiting on a call from her sister Polly, Betty would have counted her loses and come back after the florist meeting.

Enough flights to leave her breathless later and she had finally reached Veronica’s apartment again. It should have been simple. A laugh as she grabbed her phone, assurance that lilies and roses looked great together, and another sprint down the stairs.

But no. Life would not be kind to her today. The giggle was the first clue, the smear of red lipstick on Archie’s face the second. They hadn’t seen her, not yet, but Betty used her reporter’s ears and listened.

“I love you Archiekins. I wish this was our wedding I was planning,” she sounded wistful, making Betty’s stomach churn with anger, “But Daddy would never allow it.”

“You could just run away with me Ronnie. Forget this place, forget him, and we could start somewhere else together. You have that apartment in Barcelona. I could write there.”

Veronica’s voice sounded choked, tears in her eyes as she whispered, “I wish. God, I wish.”

Phone forgotten, Betty ran. Angry pedestrians shouted at her, street sellers tried to con her out of money, but it all sounded like a buzzing white noise. She didn’t know where she was running until she ended up right outside apartment 505. For a moment, she hesitated. Her moral compass was on the fritz. Could she possibly betray Veronica’s trust like this? Her best friend. But it wasn’t right for Jughead not to know. He couldn’t walk into a loveless marriage without being well informed.

She took an unsteady breath and knocked.

Shuffling from inside, followed by a sleep graveled shout let her know that Jughead, at 3 PM, was just now waking up. She couldn’t help but smile. That was just like him. Staying up until the sun was rising, burning holes in his keyboard.

When he answered the door, his signature cap missing and sleep still in his eyes, Betty smiled. Even without his morning (or rather, afternoon coffee) and his teeth unbrushed this man could blow her heart to pieces. He was everything she wanted.

“Hey Betts,” he smiled and opened the door further so she could sneak into his apartment, “What brings you here on this fine Manhattan…” his eyes drifted to the clock hanging above his desk and winced, “Afternoon. Wow. Guess I slept through every alarm I had. Want some coffee?”

“I’m fine Juggie. This isn’t purely a social call anyway…” her throat felt tight and she tried to keep the tears at bay. No this wasn’t about her. It was about him.

He shrugged and moved towards the coffee pot. “Is it about Veronica? She’s driving me up a wall lately,” his tone turned mocking, “Jug what do you think of the drapes? Jones, should we have these napkins or these? Can I call you Forsythe during our vows it sounds nicer.”

Betty tried to laugh, for his sake, to give him a moment of happiness before she crushed him. But it came out strangled, chocked. For a moment, their eyes met, worry lacing his expression, he opened his mouth to speak again, but she beat him to it.

“Veronica’s cheating on you,” Classic Cooper, breaking news like a blunt knife to the heart. She tried to think of anything to comfort him, “I-I’m sorry and-”

Jughead shook his head, pouring the coffee from the pot into his cup. He liked things black.

“I know.”

The silence came again. Nothing but the ticking of the clock’s second hand until she could finally break it. “You what?”

“I’m not an idiot Betty,” he took a sip, relaxing when the caffeinated wave hit him, “I’m not the one messing up her lipstick most Tuesday nights. I’m not the one texting her, making her smile when we’re supposed to be having date-night.”

She was taken aback, green eyes wide as saucers. “Then why haven’t you said anything? Why are you still marrying her Juggie? You’re just setting yourself up for something you know won’t work.”

At last his composure seemed to break. Tears tugged at the edges of his eyes and he looked away, forcing their gazes apart. It took a moment for him to finally speak, but when he did her heart broke.

“I’m a weirdo. A kid who’s dad is in jail for drug trafficking who writes mystery novels and forgets to sleep most nights. Normal people don’t fall in love with guys like me. And I figured if I just pretended we could have this unspoken agreement. She keeps seeing Archie behind my back and I get to pretend to have a regular life for once. Who else is going to marry someone like me, Betts?”

She took a shaky breath, closing the distance between them with a kiss. It was gentle, chaste, but hopefully he knew, without a doubt, that she had pages upon pages dedicated to just how special he was.

“I would.”

Blizzard, I could write you a two page essay on why there needs to be more neon skins.

Idea for a Superman origin movie

built around two solid points:
1) Lois Lane is the lead character; and
2) The audience dose not know who is playing Superman going into the movie.

So the movie centers around a young Lois, who’s desperately trying to get a job as a reporter at the Daily Planet, despite a hiring freeze as the printed journalism business struggles to keep up, and despite the fact she has no prior journalism experience (at least, not outside of an expensive degree that has yet to start paying for itself). Even though no one at the Planet will even return her calls, she barges in in the middle of a work day, trying to get an interview. She bounces off a lot of people (a number of them tall guys with dark hair and nice eyes who she barely notices) until she tracks down Perry White, who tells her, sarcastically, that he’ll hire her on the spot if she can bring him a properly sourced article revealing the story Metropolis’s new hero, who just yesterday stopped a runaway train with his bare hands. 

She gets to work. Her friends tell her she’s crazy. Her sister bails her out of jail at least once (maybe a montage of times). Her father, General Lane, threatens disownment and/or military arrest. This “menace” broke a muggers arm last week, and is wanted for vigilantism. If she really does find out the identity of this man (who’s been gaining notoriety with every feat) and brings it to a newspaper before the military, her father would have to take action. (This country is his family, after all.)

But the more Lois looks into this ‘super man’, the more she likes what she sees. It’s hard without credentials, but she’s been collecting eye-witness reports for months trying to find the pattern to track; the pattern that everyone’s been looking for. She has dozens of interviews with police, and store owners, and caught criminals, but it’s in the interviews of the regular folk that she finds the pattern:

This man is kind. 

Every headline is about a larger-than-life figure who catches falling statues, wins chases with cars, and stops bullets with his pecs. In the words of the innocent people of Metropolis though, is someone else. Someone who flies broken cars to the shop from the highway during rush hour. Someone who takes a sobbing child from the scene of a bike accident and drops off a smiling one with their parents. Someone who’s been spotted leaving flowers by the headstones of the ones who didn’t make it out of that train crash. Someone who sits in a secluded corner of the park and plays chess with the old woman who’s husband can no longer leave the house. Someone who literally pulled a dog out of a river and a cat from a tree. 

So, to find the Man of Steel, Lois searches for kindness - and she finds it everywhere. She finds all the coats freely shed for someone cold. She finds all the grocery carts paid for by the previous customer. She finds lonely veterans offered a seat at the family table in restaurants. She finds hate symbols painted over with cute cartoons and symbols of love. She finds dozens and dozens of volunteers who help clean up and serve food and rebuild after train crashes and car wrecks and robberies. 

She finds Superman.

And then she finds a man in the park.

He’s not doing much, just sitting on a bench with his head in his hands. The copy of the Daily Planet on the bench next to him speculates on the dangers of super humans, as it has every day for the last two weeks. Some have even suggested that the Man of Steel is an alien, though those theories have only barely broken into mainstream. Whatever this man is worrying over, whatever weight is on his shoulders, seems much heavier than a newspaper, though. Lois hasn’t worried herself with the same issue’s as her prospective employer, either. Thoughts still on the group of teens she’s just passed, each promising to beat up on some boy for their friend, are still fresh on her mind, and she takes the spot next to the stranger on the bench.

He’s not a stranger, though. Lois recognizes him. She doesn’t know his name, but she saw him that day at the Daily Planet months ago, and she’s seen him across the police tape at scenes she’s investigated. He wrote today’s front page article: “Man of Steel, or Menace of Steel?”

He’s politely flustered when she sits down, and she promptly tells him that everything about his article - she’s already read it, of course - is absurd. She doesn’t care who “made him write it”, the entire thing is just plain wrong. She finds herself repeating stories she’s read and re-read at all hours of the morning. Stories of regular people who’d told her how they’d been inspired by Superman. How they’d taken leaps of faith toward recovery and new lives thanks to Superman. Teenagers have chosen to live because of Superman. She quotes sources, and sources of people, including herself, who have said that the city of Metropolis - maybe even the world - was so much better because of Superman.

“Superman?” the reporter asks.

“It’s just something I’ve been calling him. He’s got that big S on his chest, right?”

The reporter laughs. He hasn’t smiled the whole time, only looked at her with wide eyes. His smile is… nice. His glasses are dumb though.

“Yeah,” she admits, “it’s a dumb name.”

“No,” he says. A weight has fallen off his shoulders while she was flipping through her notebooks. He sniffles a bit. Lois had just torn into his article with all the fury she could muster, is he crying about it? No, he’s smiling, still. “I really like it. Have you written all this down?”

Lois Lane writes it all down. Her new friend (who proofread the hell out of it because Lois is driven as hell but can’t spell) Clark Kent turned it in to his boss. The newest headline reads:

The Story of Superman -by Lois Lane


She’s getting paid more than Clark in under a year. He just seems to be so distracted all the time. Maybe she should look into that…
some journaling ideas
  • quote of the day / song of the day / thought of the day
  • what you’re looking forward to this month / year
  • goals for this month
  • spreads or lists for favourite films / shows / music albums / books
  • favourite film / show / music album of the week or month
  • ongoing projects and work to keep track of
  • to watch / to read / to listen to list
  • wishlist
  • places to visit
  • letter to your future self / letter to your past self 
  • movie tickets / concert tickets / polaroids / receipts / stickers / stamps
  • self affirmations
  • playlists
  • five years from now 
  • tattoo ideas
  • things to study / learn more about
  • favourite quotes / lyrics / poems
  • achievements / accomplishments / places you’ve been and things you’ve done and when 
  • calming / grounding senses ( favourite sounds, smells, textures, and more )
  • support websites / phone numbers for reference

I’m a writer, I whisper to myself as I struggle to add 51 new words to the fic I’ve been whittling together for months like Frankenstein’s decaying prose monster.

8

star wars movies + quotes

5

I’m the piece of shit that never finishes stuff,  pls accept this unfinished shatt stuff about ‘meeting mama holt’ when matt brings shiro home for the holidays

anonymous asked:

🃏 Reigen? (or anyone really : D )

* squints angrily at the emoji * desktop messes them upppp but i think it’s the tarot one? so yea i’m in the reigen = the hanged man camp

I’m realistic enough to know that you will never love me, but that won’t stop me from loving you from afar and supporting you up close.

-I just want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me. Part 2.

-m.t.t.

hear me out.....

richie shows up one day with bleached streaks/highlights in his hair (it surprisingly doesnt look bad) and everyone is like wtf dude just why..? but he just shrugs and doesnt say anything about it.  for once in his life he isnt saying something… its almost a full week later when eddie remembers when all the losers were talking about crushes and eddie had just barely gotten away with saying he didnt like anyone but thought blondes were cute (a complete lie) and thats why hes now in the middle of history class blushing so much while staring at the back of richies blonde-tipped head with his heart pounding out of his chest

I think I have finally defeated this enemy of my life


I have finally cut off its hand that still held me


I have finally shed its embrace that surrounded me


I have finally burst through its shadow that kept me from growing


I no longer crave it


I no longer need it


I no longer want it


I no longer have it


I can finally sleep soundly again.