about me: my name is alex, im italian and 17yo. i go by he/him, im obsessed over jhutch and simply post a bunch of random stuff abt him, even write oneshots of his characters and all. ah, and i call myself his son!!
interests: josh hutcherson, jules verne, the hunger games, fnaf, dead poets society, reading, drawing, painting and editing.
dislikes: dolls and homophobic, transphobic, racist ppl. dni if ur one of those!!!
sooo...gotta tell yall this. im leaving tumblr. x, too. and instagram and tiktok. i mean, as in the fandom. im not a very social person, and i dont have the time anymore to keep my passions going. im growing up, and my passion for editing just left. im always going to be josh's fan. im still going to see him as my favorite actor and father figure, im still going to look after updates about him and im still going to follow his work, but i dont think i'll keep editing and writing about him.
sorry yall, kinda unexpected ik. i thought about this for a long time, but i think it was time. not everything lasts forever, even if i wish it did. love u all, alex's outš«¶
Post FNAF AU (for more explanation check āBookshelfā story)
Authorās note : Unfortunately inspired by my yesterdayās events during dogsitting but as long as it gives some motivation to create stories Iāll take it ig
Money had been tight lately, and both of you knew it. Between Mikeās new job and rent, there wasnāt a lot of room for surprises ā which was why, when you came home one afternoon cradling a shivering, scruffy little dog wrapped in your jacket, Mike froze mid-step in the kitchen doorway.
He blinked once. Twice. Then:
āā¦No.ā
You smiled innocently. āHear me out.ā
āNo,ā he repeated, pointing toward the door like the word was a command. āWhatever that is, put it back where you found it.ā
āItās a dog, Mike. A lost dog.ā
āYeah? Well, it looks found now,ā he said, already dragging a hand down his face. āYou canāt justā we canātāā He gestured helplessly, searching for logic. āYou canāt adopt every sad pair of eyes you see on the street.ā
The dog whimpered. You looked down at it, then back up at him. āHe followed me home.ā
āSure he did,ā Mike muttered. āYou probably offered him half your sandwich.ā
You said nothing, which was answer enough.
He sighed ā that long, resigned sigh youād come to recognize as Fine, Iām losing this argument but Iām still going to complain about it. He crouched, looking at the dog warily. āGreat. Heās dirty, heās probably covered in fleas, and we canāt even afford a real couch right now.ā
You smiled a little. āBut look at his face.ā
āIām trying not to.ā
The dog wagged its tail once and then, like some sort of divine test, leaned forward and licked his hand. Mike froze, stared at the dog, then at you. āHe did that on purpose.ā
āMaybe he just likes you.ā
āYeah, thatās worse.ā
But he didnāt tell you to take the dog back outside. Instead, he grumbled something under his breath about giving it food ājust this once,ā and disappeared into the kitchen.
Three days later, Mikeās stance had softened from absolutely not to temporary house guest under review. The little dog ā youād started calling him Bean ā had claimed a blanket by the couch and followed you everywhere. Youād even caught Mike sneaking him leftover chicken once. He swore it was an accident.
Then came the morning disaster.
You woke to the sound of Mike muttering from the living room, the low rasp of his voice sharp with frustration. āYou have got to be kidding me.ā
You stumbled in, half asleep. āWhatās wrong?ā
He turned, holding up the frayed end of his laptop charger like it was a crime scene exhibit. āThis. This is wrong. Your little angel decided to eat forty dollarsā worth of electricity.ā
You glanced down. Bean sat nearby, tail thumping nervously, a small piece of wire insulation still stuck to his whiskers.
āOh noā¦ā you said quietly.
āOh yes,ā Mike replied. āHe chewed through the only thing I need for work, and now I canāt even check my emails. Harris is gonna think I died.ā
You bit back a smile, trying to sound serious. āMaybe it was an accident?ā
āAn accident,ā he repeated, eyes narrowing. āHe dragged it under the couch like a trophy.ā
You crouched beside Bean, who promptly rolled over and exposed his belly. āHe feels bad.ā
āI feel broke,ā Mike said flatly, dropping the charger on the counter. āDo you know how much this costs? Of course you donāt, because you were too busy running your stray dog rescue.ā
You stood and crossed your arms. āOkay, first of all, our stray dog. And second, Iāll cover the charger.ā
āWith what, optimism?ā he asked, but there was already a trace of humor fighting its way into his voice.
You sighed. āIāll figure it out. Maybe Iāll pick up an extra shift this weekend.ā
He looked at you for a long moment, then rubbed the back of his neck. āItās fine. Iāll ask Harris if heās got a spare one at the shop. Heās got, like, a junk drawer of random cords.ā He paused, then added, āBut the dogās on probation.
You smiled. āProbation?ā
āYeah. One more offense and heās out. No appeals, no second chances.ā
Bean barked once, as if in argument.
Mike pointed at him. āDonāt talk back.ā
You laughed, and he tried not to smile, but failed ā just a little. āYouāre lucky heās cute,ā he muttered, grabbing his jacket.
āSee?ā you said, following him to the door. āI knew youād come around.ā
He stopped, turned halfway, and gave you that half-smirk, the one that always carried equal parts annoyance and affection. āYouāre impossible, you know that?ā
āYeah,ā you said, leaning on the doorframe. āBut you like me anyway.ā
He rolled his eyes, muttering something about āquestionable life choices,ā but when he bent down to tie his boots, Bean waddled over and pressed against his ankle. Mike didnāt move for a second, then gave in with a resigned sigh and a quiet, āFine. But youāre paying for the next charger, pal.ā
Liam Hemsworth, Jennifer LawrenceĀ andĀ Josh HutchersonĀ on the red carpet atĀ The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 2Ā premiere at the Microsoft Theater in Los Angeles, CA on 16th November 2015.
