writing minor

name a more iconic duo than me and procrastination. go ahead, i’ll wait. 

Heroes of Olympus as popular text posts
  • Percy: ''Fun drinking game: Take a shot of water every couple hours to make sure you’re healthy and hydrated.''
  • Annabeth: ''Do you ever have the urge to tell someone to shut the fuck up even when they aren’t talking?''
  • Jason: ''If you ever feel bad about yourself remember that one time i didn’t understand that my waiter was just trying to give me my change so i fist bumped him instead ''
  • Piper: ''People always shoot down my ideas and I’m sick of it. two sentences in and everyone’s already shouting “what the fuck that’s illegal” or “you can’t do that” let me talk dear god''
  • Leo: ''Back by unpopular demand: me''
  • Hazel: ''I watched my brother drop a remote on his foot and the only thing he said was “i am so sick of being alive”''
  • Frank: ''Listen, I’m a nice person so if I’m a bitch to you, you need to ask yourself why.''
  • Nico: ''Gayer than intended: an autobiography''
  • Reyna: ''Girls aren’t playing hard to get… They don’t want you.''
This is how it starts:

His mother is French. An ice dancer, beautiful as they come; fluid on her feet, light on her toes. Her hair is like molten silver. She gives it to her only child. She expects a daughter (to be named Victoire), so convinced the child she carries will be female, a little dancer like herself.

But his mother never seems disappointed that she gets Victor instead. 

Victor loves her, he loves her, he loves her until the day she dies.

He keeps her alive with his skating, ma petite lune, the starlight shadow of the woman who gave him life. He does it for his Russian father, for himself. He wins every medal, every competition, stuns with every exhibition. He is beautiful, he is fearless, he listens to no one and nothing can stop him. 

He is his mother’s son, and like his mother, he is made of charm.

He smiles like the sunrise, spins like the ocean breeze, dances like a storm with his silver spray of hair billowing behind him like the fog off the sea. He is a thousand rainbow colors in the sun and pale as the stars, too distant and shining to touch.

But he aches for it. Oh, how he aches. 

Victor’s father passes from lung cancer after a lifetime of smoking, ever the artiste his mother fell in love with. In truth, he died long ago from a broken heart. 

In between his short program and his free skate at Worlds, Victor cuts his hair off in the hotel bathroom. When his blades cut into the ice the next evening, the audience cries for him. 

And he keeps going.

Strong. Bold. Beautiful. He makes his money from sponsorships and prize winnings, sells the family home and buys himself a flat in St. Petersburg, makes himself a refuge for Makkachin’s sake if not his own. It’s clean. It’s empty. It’s nothing like what he grew up with, his mother’s hair combs strewn about, pictures on the walls, his father’s paints and pastels and books, so many books. He keeps the books, but precious little else.

And he keeps going.

It’s hard out there. He pulls away from Yakov as he sees his coach’s marriage crumbling and can’t imagine a world in which love does not last a lifetime. He sees Yuri Plisetsky come into Yakov’s tutelage, his mother and father split apart at the seams, so he lives in poverty with his grandfather. Yuri never knows that Victor sponsors him that first day, makes sure Yuri will always be able to skate the way he loves (and he loves such precious little else). It’s a silent agreement that no one tells him. Nikolai doesn’t mention it. Yakov would never dare.

And he keeps going.

Victor wins and he wins and he wins and he wins, but every day feels like losing. 

And he keeps going and going and going until—

—a boy breaks open in front of him on the ice. It’s the most honest suffering Victor has ever seen. Victor wants to talk to him, wants to comfort him, wants to say I know, I know—

But he turns his back to Victor as he flees, and Victor is left alone again.

Yuuri crashes into him two nights later, steals his breath and his drink and his life and makes him smile, holds Victor’s hopes and heart in his hands and digs in until they both bleed. 

He’s stubborn, he’s a mess, he’s painful, he’s so unbelievably beautiful.

Like his mother, Victor falls for an artist—a man who makes music with his body on the dance floor, on the ice. 

And this is how it starts.

now with this companion piece

Reasons to Keep Writing

everyone starts small. just because you’re not big now, doesn’t mean you’ll never be. and if you’re just starting out, keep in mind those bigger blogs have been writing for much longer than you. building a following takes time. 

there will always be someone who enjoys your writing. every like, reblog, and comment is one person who enjoyed what you wrote and i can assure you they want more! and remember, not everyone remembers to leave evidence that they liked your writing or they might just be too nervous to interact with you. invisible fans exist, and you’ve got them.

going along with that last one, your writing has the potential to help others! you could write about a minority, or maybe you could publish a little something comforting at the exact time someone else needs it. and most of the time, when you affect someone like this they’ll tell you, whether it be through tags, or a private message or whatever. that’s an amazing feeling.

getting a compliment from someone becomes a sure-fire way to make your day better. nothing feels greater than seeing a comment from someone saying how much they love something you worked hard on. maybe write down these comments somewhere, so you can look at them when you’re feeling negative about your skills as a writer.  

writer’s block is not the end of your writing career. it sure feels like it sometimes, but everyone, even the popular writers you look up to, suffer from writer’s block. everyone puts out work they’re not 100% satisfied with sometimes, and that’s okay! when you get out of this slump, your writing will be better than ever before and you’ll enjoy it again. keep writing through a block so you can get there sooner.

These are the things I think about when I feel bad about my writing, so I hope they can help someone else too.

These days are long
These nights are short
It used to be in reverse
The nights used to be long
Because I hated being alone
Now I have found a comfort within myself
That not even the darkness can scare away
—  E.M

be there. 12x12 coda. deancas. (ao3)

Dying is different when it happens slowly.

Concern is rolling off of Dean in waves, and underneath that is fear and desperation and a dozen different types of longing that, for reasons Castiel still doesn’t understand, Dean has never acted on.

Dean tells him it’s not that bad, that he just needs time, but no one is a good enough liar to make that one believable. Even if Dean were, it wouldn’t matter. Castiel knows exactly what Dean’s denial looks like.

He knows exactly how this is going to go, too, in spite of Dean’s protestations. He can feel the rot radiating out from the wound, spreading through his chest, crawling down his arms and numbing his legs. Time moves on, and the last thing it’s going to do is heal him.

Castiel gathers the last shreds of strength left to him and takes a deep breath. These will be his last words, and he wants to make sure they’re good ones.

He knows it’s cowardly to tell the Winchesters how he feels only now, when he knows it won’t cost him anything, when he won’t have to deal with the fallout. I love you feels strange and unfamiliar in his mouth, but he doesn’t regret not saying it sooner. The words scare them all, especially Dean. He can see it in the way Dean can’t meet his eyes when he says it. He recognizes it for the rejection it is, and some small part of him is glad he won’t have to live with that.

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So, I decided to write this. Hope that’s okay, @taylor-tut. And I will most likely be doing it in three parts because it’s really long for some reason. 

Joy Buzzer: Part One

(because I’m bad at titles) Part 2 (x) Part 3 (x)

Words:933

Tags:????? help Langst, Electrocution, our boy is gonna get hurt.


“-ance? He- with me?”

It sounds distant, and somewhat familiar. It’s almost as if cotton is shoved in Lance’s ears. Where does he know that voice from? Is it someone close to him?  He pushes forward, against the flowing current. Every step, closer to the answer. The current stops, and he stumbles forward onto his hands and knees. There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

One Hour Earlier

“How much further is it?” Lance almost groans. “We’ve been walking forever.”

“Lance, take this seriously. It’s not some road trip.” Pidge doesn’t even have to look back for Lance to feel the eye roll. Her full attention is on the holo-map in her hand.

Lance quiets down after that and continues on walking in tandem with the rest of the team. Foliage passes overhead, waving in the humidity of the planet they were trekking on. Bird like creatures skim the tree tops while emitting a shrieking call to their friends. Lance pushes leafy arms out of the way as he follows Hunk.

“We’re here,” Pidge calls out from the front of the line.

Sure enough, a temple like structure is visible up ahead. It’s a strain to decipher where jungle ends and the temple starts. The temple appears more than willing to co-exist with the surrounding life. Vines creep up the walls, around pillars, and over window sills. Budding flowers peek out of cracks in the stone walls and pavement. Even the local animals have moved into the temple, if only on the outer edges.

“What exactly are we looking for again?” Hunk asks. “‘Cause I kinda don’t want to touch the wrong thing and, oh, I don’t know. Die horribly.”

“It’s an artifact that the locals need for a ritual. It’s supposed to give blessings during rituals. And the relic is vital to the Jeing in an event like changing chiefs, moving the village to a new location, or forming alliances,” Pidge explains. “Which is why we need it if we want the alliance.”

She pulls up a new image on the holo-projector. Lance’s first thought is that it looks kind of like a toy airplane. The slender football shaped middle piece has two elongated, triangular wings jutting out and slanting back. At the rear, a wedge connects to the prolate spheroid and curves upwards. All over, swirls and dots intermingle with a script that looks similar to Arabic.

“We need to be careful with it. We don’t really know what it does. Don’t touch it with your skin. Use the bag or have your gloves on,” Shiro instructs. “Once you find and retrieve it, let the other group know and we’ll all regroup back here. Alright?”

Everyone nods and the team breaks off into the two groups. Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk cross to one entrance, while Lance and Keith cross to the entrance closer to them.

“Keep up, Mullet.”

Keith only grunts in reply as he takes off behind Lance through the archway. The torch perched on the front of Lance’s riffle casts shadows down the corridor, eerily illuminating cobwebs. Keith flips on his own torch and pans it behind him.

“I’m getting a very ‘Indiana Jones’ vibe from this place. D’ya think there’s any booby traps? Like the giant rolling rock?”

“Lance, pay attention,” Keith scolds checking the way they just came. “If there are any traps, I don’t want to walk into it.”

Lance stops so suddenly, Keith plows right into him, muttering a curse in surprise.

“That’s a dollar in the swear jar.”

Keith takes in a breath of air to utter a retort, but as he sees the cavern they’re standing in it vanishes. The cavern definitely gives off and Indiana Jones vibe. THe space is wide and tentacles of sunlight stream in from holes in the ceiling above. Vines criss cross the architecture along the walls and across the ceiling. Steps lead up in a pyramid shape to a pedestal, whereon the artifact is perched. The plane like object is irradiated by a pinpoint of light.

“I’ll call it in. Check the area, Lance.”

Lance nods and surveys the area, all while creeping closer up the steps to the object. There seems to be nothing around the artifact that could be harmful. Then, why did the locals never come and get it themselves? It wasn’t even that hard to find. Just a long, boring hike through a swamp of humidity. Maybe there was something the locals didn’t tell them. Lance shrugs as he brushes off the thoughts and reaches out for the artifact.

“Shiro. We found it.”

“Alright, bag it up and meet us back at the rendezvous.”

“Lance, is it clear?” Keith calls as he turns back towards the relic, only to see Lance’s gloved fingertips millimeters from the plane like object. As his fingertips make contact, a spark arches between the relic and Lance’s chest, almost as if in slow motion. 

“Lance!” Keith’s voice is lost in the roar of the pulsing air that knocks Keith back through the opening of the tunnel. The wind doesn’t seem to stop as the wave of heat plows into Keith next, seeming to last for hours. When it finally does relent, dust is shaking down the tunnel opening. A layer of the powder seems to be coating the back of Keith’s throat as he pushes himself off the ground and staggers back into the cavern.

“Lance?”

What happened? Rubble lays strewn across the floor and holes pepper the ceiling. The relic is gone from it’s spot on the top of the pyramid. Lance is gone, too.

breredithbutts  asked:

le pen on your punching bag is my fav thing

I needed some extra motivation

icecoldparadise  asked:

prompt: as platonic or romantic as you want ( i literally dont care cuz itll be cute either way) Virgil getting his first valentine from one or all of the other sides.

Hello, it is I, your friendly neighbourhood writer, back with another fic. This is, again, a lot longer than intended. I try to write a short, cutesy little thing and it turns into a monster fic. :( Anyway.

Tag list:  @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch@lizziepopanime​ (Anyone else wanna be tagged, just gimmie a shout.)


Virgil had forgotten what February held. Valentines day.

It was only the second, but Roman was already fully immersed in preparation, although for what Virgil didn’t know, he seemed to be making a big deal out of something- and Patton was heavily involved. He couldn’t remember if it was normally this big of a deal- before the Valentines Day video, he had almost constantly stayed in his room, away from the others, so perhaps Roman and Patton’s enthusiasm was normal.

One thing he was almost certain wasn’t normal was the fact that Logan seemed to be getting in on it; hovering around the other two, pointing things out, making quiet suggestions. Virgil tried to tell himself that it was fine, they’d accepted him, they realised he was a necessary part of Thomas, but they didn’t love him. Not like they loved each other, and Valentines day was about making the people you love feel special, so it was no wonder they had accidentally forgotten him.

Except….

He loved them. He loved Roman and his loud, dramatic… everything; he loved Patton and his warm hugs, open arms, caring and sunny attitude; and he loved Logan, with his facts and debates and pointing out where they weren’t taking care of themselves in his own way. But they didn’t love him. And that was fine.

He didn’t say anything to them, he would let them have their day and then act like nothing had happened. But it would be nice to get gifts from them, gifts to show they cared, and it would be nice to make something for them, from him. Before he knew it, his hands had made bracelets for them all, in their colours, the colours he associated them with; light blue and yellow, red and white with bits of gold, dark blue and black. And then he looked at them. And laughed. They were stupid, flimsy, useless things. Why would the others, with their amazing creativity, logic, emotions, why would they want something he had made?


Virgil rolled over to glare at the clock on his bedside table. Nine O’clock. Why was he awake? More banging on the door answered him. He groaned and rolled back onto his front.

“Virgil? Rise and shine, kiddo! I made pancakes for breakfast!”

It was Patton. Obviously. But why was he waking him up this early? And why pancakes? They were only for special occasions….

He rolled back over to stare at the clock again; 14/02. Valentines day. He almost panicked, had they noticed he wanted to be included? God, he was so pathetic!

“Virgil, c’mon, I know you’re awake, don’t you want pancakes?”

Yes. Yes he did want pancakes, and their presence and to be happy and feel loved. But they didn’t love him and this was a day they could spend together; he wasn’t selfish enough to intrude on that. Patton continued to talk through the door, and Virgil continued to ignore him, until:

“Patton, go and make sure Roman doesn’t burn the house down; I’ll talk to him.” 

Logan. Logan was now here. What were they doing? He sat up to listen.

“Virgil? I know you’re awake. Please come out, we have been planning this for a while. I know I do, and the other two as well, want to to spend the day with you. It is Valentines day, although I am sure you are aware of that, a day that is commercially advertised as a day for those in romantic relationships, however if you’ll remember last year, when we all did the ‘Valentines Day’ video, there are many types of love, and this day should be a day to celebrate all of them. Therefore we would like to spend the day together.”

There was a pause and Virgil wondered why Logan was telling him this. Did he want to let him down gently?

“All together.” Logan finally continued, “Including you. And you can attempt to spend the day in your room, however I believe that Roman and Patton would then move our celebration into your room, which I’m sure we ca both agree is not a good idea.” He paused and then, quieter, “Please come out.”

Virgil stared at the door in disbelief. They loved him? They wanted to spend valentines day with him? Really?


Logan sat outside the door in hopes that Virgil would reply or exit the room, so far neither had happened. Roman skidded up next to him,

“Well?!”

He shook his head, “Nothing.”

“Well, that just shan’t do!”

Roman shoved open Virgil’s door and entered in his usual grand manner, Logan jumped to his feet in time to see Virgil’s shocked face and Roman picking him up bridal style. The shriek that Virgil made at this was probably heard by Patton, in the kitchen.

Logan watched as Roman, still carrying Virgil, strode out of the room and down the corridor. Silently and in a slightly shocked manner, Logan closed Virgil’s door and chased after the other two. He reached the kitchen to see Roman unceremoniously dump Virgil in one of the chairs and slide into the opposite one. Patton, who had been flipping pancakes, was also watching this, confused yet still with his normal sunny atmosphere.

“Virgil!” Patton said, as soon as he regained his voice, “How nice of you to join us!”

And then the laughter started, Virgil to Patton and then Logan found himself and Roman joining in, loud laughter that filled the air, and made their eyes water, their faces hurt, the kind that you only laugh with the people closest to you.


They had been planning this day for weeks, Virgil later discovered, a day to show him how much they loved him despite his occasional over protectiveness of Thomas and to apologise for all those times they had made him the villain. A day of apologies and love. And they had made gifts for him- a handmade fidget device from Logan, another cat pillow from Patton, and a collage of all the happy memories they had made as a four from Roman. They loved his bracelets and all wore them almost constantly, only taking them off to wash.

And for the first time in… well forever, Virgil felt loved.

EX-DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY REVEALS THE HORRORS OF WORKING FOR YOU KNOW WHO

A Daily Prophet exclusive by Dennis Creevey

As of today every magical book store in the country will have “Behind The Mask” on its shelves. An account of how You Know Who could gain his powers as well as what it really meant to be a part of You Know Who’s closest ranks. Witty, well written and fast paced the book scares you more than any horror story ever could.

It takes you on a journey of normal people with less than normal ideas. It draws you into a trap that will scare the life out of you. It keeps you up at night long after you finished reading. It shows you our modern wizarding world in a new light. A light that shows we are not nearly as far on the road to recovery as we like to think.

To reveal a little bit of said light I asked the author, Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, why he wrote the book.

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charlie weasley/viktor krum headcanons
  • charlie weasley is contacted by the director of durmstrang, if it would be possible for viktor to fly around and spend time with the dragons he works with
  • charlie thinks the petition it’s bloody strange, but he has heard mostly good things about this viktor krum lad, especially from ron and ginny, and he responds he and his dragons would be delighted
  • viktor is shorter, but broader than charlie has imagined him to be, when finally meets him after the summer break of dumstrang starts
  • he is also, shier and quiet, nothing that worries charlie much, he can talk for the both of them
  • his english is rough, so charlie makes sure he’s speaking slowly when he explains to him certain rules, don’t get too close to the dragons, don’t bother them when they are sleeping, don’t touch them without permission but yes you can coo at the baby dragons
  • viktor just looks at him with a blink and a tilt of his head
  • “believe me, baby dragons are cuter than baby humans”
  • (viktor makes no reaction at all, and charlie promises himself he will make him laugh at least once)
  • viktor is a very gifted flier, he moves like the broom is an extension of his body, and as an ex-quidditch player and admirer himself, sometimes he neglects his work just to see viktor flying around up in the sky
  • it takes two weeks for viktor to accept charlie’s invitation of coffee after his extenuating practice
  • charlie lives in a small cottage not far, it’s a little messy, honestly, with thousand books scattered everywhere, letters he needs to answer, and clothes he always forgets to fold, but viktor thinks it’s the warmest place he has ever visited
  • he makes them both coffees and sandwiches and hurries viktor to eat, but the conversation doesn’t flow well, it’s charlie’s blabbering followed by viktor’s curtly nods and monosyllables
  • it takes another week for charlie to talk about his quidditch years, and viktor’s eyes glisten with attention and curiosity
  • “i was a seeker, and captain too! we won two quidditch cups”
    “i-i’m a seeker too”
    “i know, a bloody brilliant one by the way you fly, i must admit”
  • (viktor doesn’t laugh, but he blushes, and charlie thinks it’s a step)
  • the next day, it’s viktor the one who suggests charlie to fly around together, it makes him grin broadly, but he tells the younger to be merciful because he is a little rusty
  • as expected, charlie can’t really keep up with the speed of viktor, but it’s fun anyway, trying to chase the other around, like it was a human sized snitch
  • after what it seems hours, charlie falls on the grass completely exhausted, panting heavily, but viktor seems almost unfazed
  • “merlin’s beard, you’re not human, how come you’re not tired?”
    “it’s true, you’re rusty”
  • (not only viktor is laughing, he’s joking and charlie feels like he has accomplished a mission)
  • they come back to charlie’s cottage later, sitting on his battered couch to share a cup of tea, but somehow the energy between them it’s different, there’s this tension charlie is sure he hasn’t felt before
  • their shoulders are brushing against each other as so are their thighs, and the silence is comfortable, and charlie can swear he can feel the waves of viktor’s magic, warm and inviting
  • when he moves to leave his empty cup to the table, viktor does the same too and moves his head to look at him and charlie feels that sparkle of energy again
  • and bloody hell, charlie weasley doesn’t really feel things like that often
  • but viktor is looking at him with impossibly dark eyes and parted lips, and charlie thinks, he hopes, he’s feeling the same energy, because he doesn’t want to seem like a git for what he’s about to do
  • it feels like everything happens in slow motion, feeling the heartbeat against his chest and viktor’s heavy breathing, closing the distance between them until their lips are brushing, messy locks of red hair brushing against viktor’s defined cheekbones
  • the kiss doesn’t last more than a second, but when they part viktor’s eyes are widened and charlie panics, because shit he’s a fucking git
  • whatever is going on in viktor’s mind, he wants to soothe it and when he moves his hand to rest against the side of his neck, the younger visibly relaxes
  • “sorry. i-i… i don’t really, i just…”
    “viktor, i know, i don’t either, listen”
  • viktor seems equally surprised and relieved, as charlie opens up about experiences of not really feeling anything, about taking good friends to the balls and events, about not really feeling that urge and that need that everyone else seems to do
  • and it makes viktor talk, too and charlie listens attentively, his hands never leaving viktor’s neck
  • their relationship doesn’t change much after that, viktor flies, charlie works, they spend time at charlie’s, cuddling and sharing stories and sometimes they kiss, and charlie manages to make viktor blush and laugh until he’s grinning like an idiot
  • the summer ends and there’s this heavy atmosphere around them when vitkor is about to leave, the both of them standing in front of each to other, viktor passing a messy piece of parchment to charlie’s hand
  • “you will write, right”
    “of course i will”

Harry Potter/Brooklyn Nine Nine AU where Kingsley is head of NYPD(or like, Scotland Yard) & Hermione idolises him in an Amy-like fashion feat Pansy/Rosa, Ron/Jake, and Harry/Terry (& maybe Neville/Boyle except instead of food he loves plants)
Hitchcock and Scully are Crabbe and Goyle

Draco is Gina

On Underage Smut

As a 18+ roleplayer, I should NOT have to consistently remind minors over and over and over again that absolutely under no circumstances will I roleplay smut and anything relating to smut with someone who’s underage. It’s illegal. You’re going to get me trouble with the fucking law. Just because you don’t care doesn’t mean I don’t, and I’m not going to go spend time in jail because you just had to write porn.

“But I had to lie about my age! No one will RP with minors anymore!” 

Well gee fucking willikers! I wonder why that’s a thing? You think it has something to do with the fact that minors don’t care about the well-being of their adult partners and jump through hoops to get in on that saucy, naughty fiction?

Bitch all you want, but there’s a reason 18+ rpers won’t write with minors much these days, and it has everything to do with smut. Now how do you fix this? Just wait the next few years out and, when you’re finally legal, you can start sending in NSFW prompts. But, until then, keep it to yourself.

Writing Prompt #31

“Okay, so, places.” She turned to face him, her eyes as sparkling as the swirling stars above them. “If you could be anywhere on the planet right now, where would you go?”

“Ooh, that’s a toughie.” He feigned contemplation for a moment, instead focusing on the way the wet grass felt beneath his back. She smiled, waiting. “I’d say… hmm… in your bed.”

Her laugh took him by surprise.

you’d think erasermic wouldn’t be on the list but there’s a fair amount of fics of them de-aged/in high school for the express purpose of porn

anyways have this meme, template originally created by @pastel-remedy !

Future Leaf: Nylander Edition

William Nylander x Reader

Team: Toronto Maple Leafs

Warnings: Children

POV: Second

I saw your requests are open so i was wondering if you could write william nylander imagine where you have a couple of years old son together who comes to a practise with you two and interacting with uncle mitch and uncle austin and coach being like wow future leaf right there and just kill me with cuteness im ready

Lowkey wanna make this into a series of different Leafs with their children


Originally posted by wagnerhockey

“Can I skate with Aus and Mitch?”

“Honey, no, we didn’t bring you any skates,” You replied for what felt like the millionth time. 

Your son only whined and squirmed in your lap, extending his hands on the glass and slapping it. “I wanna skate!”

“I know,” You soothed, running a hand down your son’s back. “I know you do, but daddy’s practicing right now, okay?”

Not happy with your response, your son groaned and threw his body back, slowly sliding down your lap, making you scoff. 

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Baby, You’re a Knockout (for @queerevak ♥) (3.6k)
Even has been crushing on the cute boy who comes into the university cafe for weeks, but he never expected a minor head injury to be how their relationship got started
[AO3]

Even had never been as glad to work in the university cafe as he was right then, because there was an honest to god angel sat a few tables away from his till.  He had gone on his break not particularly a religious man and he’d come back only to have his life totally turned inside out and upside down by a beautiful blonde angel.

The boy had the fluffiest looking hair, possibly made fluffier by the red beanie he had discarded onto the table, and his cheeks were flushed adorably pink from the warmth of the café contrasting the brutally cold air outside.  Even had had a quick smoke on his 15 minute break and was still trying to regain the feeling in his fingers, although looking at that breathtaking boy had warmth spreading through his frozen body.

Even wished he could have been out front when the boy came in, and he was surprised by the pang of resentment he felt towards whoever had been blessed enough to take the boy’s order.  Even was sure that the boy was going to have the most beautiful voice, that his words would captivate Even in a way that nothing had in a long time, and he knew that whoever had taken his order hadn’t appreciated his voice like Even would have.

All Even could do was hope the boy was in for the long haul and would order something else so that Even got the chance to actually talk to him rather than stare open-mouthed in awe at him from the door to the break room.

Unfortunately, luck was not on Even’s side that day. Hell, he considered himself lucky enough to have seen that boy; maybe he was being too greedy wanting to talk to him as well.

He watched with  a heavy heart as the boy packed up his spread of books and bundled back up to endure the Norwegian winter barely an hour after Even got back from his break.

Even definitely did not spend the rest of his shift that day moping about not getting to talk to the prettiest boy he ever did see.

***

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