#melodie writes

[eury--dice]

🌹

“A stage manager is never late,” Jared says, crossing the space left between the entrance and the front row in a few strides. “Everyone else is simply early.”

Zoe’s eyebrows knit further together. “Most stage managers would disagree with you.”

“Don’t you dare quote The Princess Diaries 2 at me,” Evan says, voice louder as he turns his attention back to the pencil in his hand. “Shonda Rhimes doesn’t deserve to be sullied by your tardiness.”

[eury--dice]

am not feeling chaotic enough to channel henry cheng and write him, any tips?

[eury--dice]

been writing this deh fic for so long that zoe is starting to look like a fake word

[eury--dice]

i’ve been spelling and pronouncing aglionby as “algionby” this whole time. the dumbass energy jumped right out

[eury--dice]

👁 👄 👁

[eury--dice]

outlined quite a bit for a deh fic and grammarly clearly did not appreciate my spelling

[eury--dice]

first (for the ask thing)

They say you always return to what you know.

So, probably more often than she’d like, Zoe returns to him-the shared memories of hours spent swinging on swing sets, fireflies caught between cupped hands, falling asleep curled together on floors while the adults talked too late, the feel of his hand in hers, the warmth of him as their limbs tangled in heaps on a couch, the way his hair feels against her cheek.

(send me a prompt from this list for a couple of sentences!)

[eury--dice]

next; prompt: watercolor

next -

Zoe stills a little as the hand tugs her over to them, her gasps or sobs or silence stretching between her and him. In her state of fear, some part of her reads the boy in front of her, logs everything about him in that moment that she’ll be able to remember much more clearly than the nightmare itself come morning. She’ll remember the warmth of his palm, the squint of his eyes, the sleep clouding his features, the sharp concern overriding it. She’ll remember the slight furrow of his brow and the gentle fall of his hair on his forehead. She’ll remember the effect Evan had as he pulled her closer to him, and she could feel his slower pulse against her rapidly moving one.

(watercolor)-

When Zoe looks back to see why Evan stopped following her, she sees his eyes eeerily focused on the wall just behind her head. With a furrow in her brow, she turns her head back forward without knowing what to expect from the look on his face. A bug? One of her parents? A sentient pair of jeans on the loose?

All her eyes find are the old framed watercolor hanging between her and Connor’s bedrooms. She’d painted it earlier in the year. Cynthia had insisted on hanging it, since she’d hung some of Connor’s work also. The swirling lines of the picture, ones that she knew layered over each other to create Evan, slumped in her passenger seat with a scarf pulled to his cheeks in the dead of winter, must have escaped his notice before.

“Sorry, I just never, I noticed that for the first time and that’s - that’s from the mornings, right? In the car?”

Suddenly without air in her lungs, she nods. “Yeah, Connor taught me how to, um, how to paint with watercolors and I was actually okay, and mom was, like, thrilled-”

“It’s good,” he cuts her off. “Really good.”

(send me a prompt from this list for a couple of sentences!)