#I could write a whole essay about how ryan will not shut up about these damn shorts or shane's legs

[slashsleuth]

god love the yt auto-captions making this moment at least 10% gayer

Ryan: Good thing you brought your short shorts. Shane: Well it's flirty* you know. Ryan: Giving the audience a show.

*What Shane actually says is "Florida" but we're not going to stop the yt bots from shipping it if they want

and tbh none of Ryan's constant thirst about these shorts for the entire episode (or debrief) was normal anyway

[glitterge1pen]

To Wake Up To A Mailbox Filled With Letters Only From You

Iwaizumi Hajime x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 2,071

It was driving him insane. The notes, envelopes, and pieces of paper started appearing at his desk on February 1st. They were tucked away in the cubby and made him incredibly nervous. Whoever was doing this to him was going to really, really make him lose it.

It was nice knowing that someone liked him. Even if he didnt know who it was, it was a good feeling. The only downside was that he had to keep this from you and Oikawa for as long as he possibly could. You two were Iwaizumi’s best friends yes of course, but this was too much.

If Oikawa found out he would stop at nothing to figure out who it was, the teasing would be brutal. If you found out? Iwaizumi didn't want you to think that he had feelings for anyone else, even if you werent dating he didn't want to put that idea into your head. Not only that but anytime romance or dating was brought up with you around he got nervous. Even watching Ryan Gosling movies with you was incredibly difficult. The conversation felt like walking on landmines when it came to yours or his love life.

The first day it was a purple foam heart the size of his palm. Covered in stickers, glitter glue, and in the center was a picture of him playing volleyball. It was from the stands, he could tell the photo had been zoomed in, but he was up in the air on the court. There was no message on the note other than some sharpie bubble letters that said “hottie”, he didn't really pay attention to it. He assumed it was Oikawa messing with him like usual. But when Oikawa made no mention of it he knew that it wasn't his friend.

That night at home he tucked the heart into his desk drawer. He lay in bed trying to imagine who would have made such a thing for him. Since it had been in those somehow taunting bubble letters he couldn't decipher it by handwriting. He did think the “hottie” thing was funny though. The list of people who could have left him the silly little message rattled in his mind.

He knew that he wanted it to be you. He wanted you to do something cheesy, cute, and cliche like that for him. For you to like him so much that it wouldn't bother you to do things like that. It would be your nature to give him gifts and say stupid things to him that made him laugh, that made his chest feel warm.

The next day he was surprised to see another note. He managed to slip it into the cover of his notebook without anyone seeing. It took everything in him not to peek at it during that first class. He knew for sure now that it wasn't Oikawa because they had walked to school together that morning.

It was during lunch that Iwaizumi took out the note to look at it. He had went out to grab drinks at the vending machine. Away from the prying eyes of his friends he opened the front of his notebook. This second card was much more traditional in style. Red construction paper, with white frilly lace on the edge, a mostly straight line of glitter glue outlining the heart.

This one had a picture of a bunny and text that read “some bunny loves you” , another picture of him had been doodled on so he had bunny ears and whiskers. This picture was not from volleyball and he couldn't remember where it had been taken. It was a little creepy but he cared more about who was sending these to him.

The following day he was looking forward to going to school. He wanted to see if he got another note. Even if he didnt know who was sending these, it did feel nice to know that someone could be interested in him. He had spent many valentines sharing the fruits of Oikawa's good looks. It was a good feeling to know that he could receive the same type of attention.

He did get a store bought card that day. It had a picture of a bumble bee and it read "bee my valentine and you won't get stung. A piece of candy had been taped inside the card. After that it was a cootie-catcher with all kinds of pick up lines buried in its folds. There were two more hand made cards that were covered in stickers, shiny tape, glitter and gel pen.

It was halfway to Valentine's day now. Iwaizumi woke up on the seventh of February wondering what type of card he would get. None of the other cards he had gotten helped him decipher who was sending these to him. It was once again at lunch that Iwaizumi snuck off to peak at what had been left to him. Today it had been a plain white envelope with a heart sticker sealing it shut.

Iwaizumi was expecting another bad pick up line but was instead met with an actual typed up letter. Whoever had written this actually, genuinely, liked Iwaizumi. He had this dumbfounded swirling feeling in his stomach. One of dread and excitement. Because he knew exactly what the letter was saying. The letter was true to the way he felt about you. And this letter wasnt from him to you. He didn't know who had written this.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had not seen Oikawa and Hanamaki run up behind him.

"What is this?"

Oikawa's voice had a mischievous ring to it and before Iwaizumi can properly respond the envelope had already been taken from him. His fingers ghosted the traces of the paper, trying to grab it back but missing it by inches. Hanamaki put his arms around his shoulders locking him into place. Iwaizumi was more desperate now as he tried hurling insults at Oikawa.

"Oh my god, oh my fucking god"

The look Oikawa had on his face was of pure joy. A smile spread over his face and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Who wrote it! Come on tell me who your new lover is"

Oikawa sung that last part. But now Hanamaki was interested in the letter and upon reading it he had the same reaction.

"I don't know who wrote it"

Hanamaki scoffed.

"What are you kidding?"

Iwaizumi looked at his friend confused. But Oikawa launched into a rapid fire question session with Iwaizumi.

"Wait you're telling me you have been getting these for a whole week now and you didn't say anything to me! Your dearest friend!"

Oikawa feigned injury at this, falling back into Iwaizumi as they walked.

"I didn't want to deal with it, plus I don't know who is writing these and maybe they don't want anyone else to know"

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You had been doing your best to not tip off Iwaizumi that it was you leaving him the notes. But you were rather disappointed at his lack of reaction. You didn't expect him to suddenly be walking around like a love sick fool but he appeared no different to you. You still walked home with him and Oikawa, you had eaten lunch a few times since, everything was the same.

It was after school and you were waiting outside the gym for Iwaizumi and Oikawa. On days they had practice you hung around in the library finishing up homework or browsed through the books. The door to the gymnausm swung open, you greeted Hanamaki but were halted by the extra devilish grin he had. You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed by his antics.

"What did you do now?"

You ask teasingly.

"Me? I haven't done anything"

He was faking innocence.

"Really?"

You say, raising an eyebrow.

"It's funny though, because, I think thats its you whos been up to no good"

You're taken aback not sure what he's getting at. He drops the sarcasm for a second letting out an exasperated sigh.

"I know about Iwaizumi"

You pull on his arm leading him further away from the gym.

"Did he tell you it was me? Does he know? He hasn't said anything-"

He cuts you off.

"Slow down, that idiot is way too dense to know you like him back"

Hanamaki covers his mouth at that, knowing it wasn't something he was supposed to reveal to you. But you lit up at his words.

"He likes me back? But you said he doesnt know whos writing the notes"

"That's because he liked you before you wrote him that letter...wait did you say notes? There's more than one?"

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment. So you explained what you had been doing. The notes for each day. The entire time you spoke Hanamaki had an expression that was somewhere between disbelief and bemusement. You were about to ask Hanamaki about Iwaizumi some more when said boy walked out from the gym.

You let go of Hanamakis wrist, not realizing you had been holding onto him for so long, to wave at your other two friends. They started to approach you but you waved them off.

“Go on ahead I’ll catch up!”

You turn to Hanamaki once again. More serious than before.

“How did you know it was me?”

“You help me out with essays all the time, that letter you wrote him sounds exactly like you”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The next day Iwaizumi was not able to focus. He had received a bouquet of suckers and lollipops. Each adorned with sharpie and a terribly corny phrase like “99% Angel” or “Lover Boy”. Oikawa had of course taken one of these for himself. Saying that Iwaizumi owed him. They were walking home without you today, you said you had needed to help Hanamaki with some homework. But that was exactly what had been bothering Iwaizumi .

The night before when you and his friend had been out in the dusk alone. Your hand on his wrist. You looked flustered, and Iwaizumi could only recall a few other times you had been blushing so intensely. What had you been talking about with him? It was driving him crazy that he didn't know, that you were off with him now.

“Where are the rest of them?”

Oikawa asked, grabbing at Iwaizumi's bag. Iwaizumi pulled out another sucker from his coat pocket but Oikakwa was not satisfied.

“No, the rest of the valentines cards and letters, I wanna see them, you can't hide those from me forever”

Wide eyed Iwaizumi doesn't know what to do or say.

“Those are private property”

But Oikawa knows his friend well, and it was not long before his request was granted. Reluctant and embarrassed Iwaizumi allows Oikawa to shuffle through his desk drawer where he has stashed his paper treasure. Oikawa of course photographs everything. When he reaches for the one valentine with the bunny pun he stops.

“Isn't this photo from that movie night we had a couple months ago?”

“What? No way it was only me, you and…”

His words stayed caught as whispers in his mouth. Oikawa was right. It was hard to tell because the white wall behind Iwaizumi in the photo could have been so many places, but he did remember wearing that shirt. You took that photo. It was you.

“Hey, you know you have to make them a card now right?”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You and Hanamaki had been trying to sort out some sort of a plan. You were originally going to confess to Iwaizumi face to face on Valentine's day. But you wanted to do it immediately now. You didn't want to drag anything out or confuse Iwaizumi by not telling him that it was you. There was only one more day until Valentine's day and you couldn't decide if it was worth the wait anymore.

The morning was brisk and a bit cold. You were shedding off your coat, opening your locker you saw an unfamiliar shade of pink. It was a paper heart. Similar to the ones you had made for Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi. You recognized his handwriting. It read;

I feel the same. Meet me after school tomorrow to talk. Can I call it a date if we get food? Check yes or no.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: Did I plan this out at all? No. Did I edit this at all? Also no. But this idea was rattling around in my brain and I needed to get it out. Its a little Jem and The Holograms with the whole “omg surprise its me the person you're in love with and also the person who flirts with you a lot and makes you confused” ALSO I LITERALLY HAD NO IDEA HOW TO END THIS ONE????? so sorry if its more muddled than usual

[protectwoc]

why all reylos are racist

y’all can go ahead and cancel me now because some of you are not going to like what i have to say and i am completely okay with that.

this recent gq interview with john boyega has incensed me. hearing all the things he went through, from disney and from “fans” and with no support from anyone… i’m livid. sometimes when i think about it for too long i start shaking, i’m so furious. and the response from the reylo fandom has infuriated me to a degree i honestly didn’t know was possible.

some of you may have seen my recent tumblr rampage. it’s reylo bullying hours here on my blog, and i’m not sorry either. one person threatened to post screenshots of my comments, which like… okay? i know what the fuck i said, it wasn’t that long ago. in fact i was going to include the screenshots in this post right here, but they blocked me before i had the chance. sorry. i’m sure somebody has them. anyway…

over the past two days in the star wars fandom we have seen something unprecedented: an outpouring of support for john boyega. both reylos and anti-reylos have joined forces to voice support for john in the wake of the gq interview (and the blm protests, let’s be real, some of y’all would not have given half a fuck if it wasn’t suddenly cool to be antiracist). and this showing of unity is one of the most rage-inducing things i’ve ever seen in a fandom (which is saying something; i have seen some shit).

reylo fandom, full offense intended, but where the fuck do you get off? you’re supporting john now? where was this support when tfa came out and you couldn’t stand the thought of him next to your white-girl-self-insert? where was it when tlj came out and your boy ryan completely sidelined him? where was it earlier this fucking year when y’all twisted a harmless joke (like yall haven’t spent years writing reylo-throne-room-sex-meta BULLSHIT) and ignored the vile racist shit coming from your own fav’s mouth? but you’re supporting him now? now that being antiracist is trendy? fuck outta here with that bullshit.

your fandom is the reason for the vast majority of the absolutely subhuman treatment john has endured over the last few years. your fandom influenced ryan (yes i know what his name is) to write tlj the way he did, you have behaved indefensibly here on tumblr.hell writing and drawing and fantasizing about all sorts of racist bullshit, and y’all have STAYED in his twitter mentions spewing hatred seven ways to sunday. but NOW, without a shred of self-reflection, you’re supporting him? now his experiences are valid?

the way that your fandom refuses to take accountability for its actions makes me see red. y’all stay on some “not all reylos” nonsense and i am SICK OF IT. i’m only gonna say this once, and i want you to hear me: you cannot be a reylo and be “antiracist”. you cannot participate in a fandom that has behaved the way yours has and say “blm, uwu acab.” you can’t. like do you think black people are dumb? that we can’t see right through you? we can.

“but rae,” i hear you whining. “you’re gonna say just because i like two characters together i’m a racist?” and of course not. that would be ludicrous. i think just because you knowingly engage and participate in a fandom that has racism encoded in its dna, you’re a racist. i think because y’all are in bed with racist harassers, racist trolls, and racist content creators, you’re a racist. that’s what the fuck i think. y’all lost the right to “it’s just a ship” me the instant you dragged john boyega into this.

here’s an example: i watched tfa about three days after it came out. i watched the first half, saw the obvious relationship set up between finn and rey, and thought, “aw, cute.” then i watched kylo and rey fight, watch him offer to teach her, and thought, “... interesting.”

when i got home i checked tumblr for finnrey content, saw the outpouring of love from black fans, all the cute fanart and fics blooming, and smiled. then, slowly, guiltily, i searched “reylo.”

BOOM. racism. the things i saw in the tag that night are tattooed on my brain. reylos rejoicing about the obvious rey/kyle pairing because “sw would never put her with that monkey finn”. calling him an “oaf”, “useless”, “bumbling”, “stupid”. reylos joking about how “when they talked about the Dark side, [they] didn’t think they meant that kind of dark.” “woke” reylos pretending to ship stormpilot in an obvious ploy to get finn away from kylo. and in between all of that, cute ship art. fun fics. talented gif makers. and nobody saying shit about the reprehensible behavior going on in their tag.

reylo is built on a foundation of racism. from that first week, racism has been woven into the fabric of your fandom, and it’s been going unchecked. and i don’t mean calling out other reylos. that’s not enough. i mean taking actual steps. y’all have been sitting in a cesspool of racism for five years, and its time for you to get the fuck out or shut the fuck up about being an “ally”. y’all need to leave this fandom.

don’t agree? here’s another story. in 2017, when i still watched supergirl (before i grew taste) i shipped karamel. for those of you who don’t know, karamel is the ship of kara zor-el (supergirl) and mon-el, her second love interest. when supergirl was moved to the cw for its second season, the decision was made to abruptly end her romance with jimmy olsen, played by mecahd brooks (a black man) and replace him with mon-el, played by chris wood, a white man, who was revealed to be, among other things, an alien slaveowner, as well as a playboy and all-around terrible person. and i shipped them. look, i’m not defending myself, but i never really bought the chemistry between jimmy and kara. even though mon-el’s introduction and the way that they carelessly disregarded kara’s feelings for jimmy made me uncomfortable, i thought the way melissa played her attraction to chris wood was more believable (and again, i’m not defending myself, but they are now married so it’s not like i was wrong). so i shipped them. simple as that, right?

well, no. not really. because the inherent racism in the way the writers wrote out her admittedly sweet romance with a black man in favor of a white slaveowner jerk kept bothering me. and finally i decided that it made me too uncomfortable to participate in. i never really reblogged any karamel fandom stuff, but i completely divorced myself from the fandom. i stopped reading karamel fic, and i switched to reblogging exclusively jimmy/kara content until the fandom died out/i stopped watching. i made a choice that real life racism is more important to me than a fucking fandom or a ship, and then i acted accordingly. simple as that.

and i’m not saying you have to stop liking the reylo dynamic. i still like the chemistry between kara and mon-el. i’ve shipped problematic ships before (bamon comes to mind) and i don’t think there’s anything wrong with that (to a point). but there’s a difference between liking a ship dynamic and engaging and contributing to a fan culture of racism. you have to stop participating in the fandom. y’all are in bed with people indistinguishable from confederate-flag-waving-all-lives-matter-touting racists and you don’t feel the need to get out of that environment? there comes a certain point where you have to decide if fandom bullshit is more important to you than fighting racism, and unfortunately, reylos have chosen wrong. that, ladies and gentlemen, is why all reylos are racist, regardless of what they say. roll credits.

except i have more to say, so i’m gonna say it. first of all, i’m not trying to hold myself up as some kind of paragon of virtue. i’m not holier-than-thou because all my ships are “woke” or whatever. chemistry is subjective, and we’re all going to be attracted to different ship dynamics, and there’s nothing wrong with that in theory. what matters is the execution. i finally had to say one day, “you know, this ship and the racist baggage it carries is actually less important to me than battling systemic racism on every level, including the fandom level”. y’all thought being antiracist was gonna be easy? that you wouldn’t have to make some actual changes, to make some actual sacrifices? sorry not sorry to disappoint. and if i, a normal-ass person with flaws and problematic thinking that i’m still dealing with and the whole ine yards, can make that decision, then other people should be required to as well.

(what really irks me is that the karamel fandom wasn’t even really that bad! i definitely could have gotten away with being a karamel stan in 2017. thankfully the supercat and supercorp shippers were doing the lord’s work and bullying them into submission (don’t think i’m letting y’all off the hook either, y’all have got some racism to deal with as well but that’s an essay for another day) but like most of the racism happened at the writing level; the fandom itself wasn’t engaging in racist clownery on the regular. but like the reylos are. y’all see racist bullshit coming from your neighbor, fav fic writer, artist, gif maker, whatever, and don’t say shit? don’t feel the need to distance yourself from them? gtfoh.)

i made this argument earlier when i was on my rampage (which i’m still on btw so don’t clown in my inbox, you will get your shit rocked) but i’m going to make it again because i feel like its important to note. when i pointed out that existing in the reylo fandom while you are aware of its racism makes you complicit in that racism, a white reylo told me earlier that (paraphrasing, my memory’s not as good as it used to be and i did mention that they’d blocked me) “you don’t solve a problem like systemic racism by ignoring it. leaving the fandom would be allowing it to happen.” when i pointed out that that’s police officer rhetoric almost verbatim, she (a white reylo) admonished me (a black woman) not to compare police brutality to a “ship war.” lmao.

look, clearly y’all need a refresher on what “systemic” means. it means, quite simply, that there are systems, large and small, allow for racism to exist, and it also means that allowing for racism to exist on the small scale means expecting it on a large one. like you think police officers spring fully formed from the head with racist ideals already ingrained? no! they learn it and learn to justify it with “well just because my friend made a racist joke doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because i laughed at my friend’s using a racist term in my video game doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because my friend is a racist doesn’t mean i’m a racist” and then we have people watching their coworkers kneel on a man’s back for 8 minutes with no remorse. i’m not gonna solve police brutality by fighting reylos on tumblr, but fandom racism is real racism with consequences on our world, and i don’t tolerate ANY type of racism. and the fact that you are so willing to not just tolerate it but justify it should say something to you.

and not all reylos are like this. similar to cops, good reylos don’t last. i have seen people grow so disgusted by the racism in the reylo fandom that they publicly turned their backs on it, and those reylos i respect. you’ve heard of “the only good cop is an ex-cop” well get ready for “the only good reylo is an ex-reylo”.

(and also like far be it from me to justify a cop but one could at least say they have their livelihoods to think about (not like they couldn’t just pick a nonmurderous profession but i digress) but you reylos can’t even choose between taking a stance against the hateful and unjustified bullying of a man who had the audacity to… get a job (?)... over a ship? come on now.)

the point of all this is, for all their posturing about “being antiracist” and “fuck 12” and “support john boyega”, reylos have decided that a relationship between two fictional people is more important than all the black and brown people who are hurt by that decision and the consequences of that decision. and before y’all pull some “b-but there are POC reylos!” (stop fucking using poc as an adjective, its a noun, it stands for person of color, please use it as such) internalized racism is a thing. busting out your token “reylo of color” (see how easy that was?) is not going to change my mind. all reylos are complicit in the racism of their peers, and being complicit makes you culpable. full stop.

and that is why the public support of john boyega from the reylo fandom has me seeing red. renounce your fandom or keep that man’s name out of your mouth. anyway, this was long and ranty and entirely stream-of-consciousness and i’m refusing to edit it so it’s probably completely incomprehensible to anyone besides me but if you made it this far thanks for reading ig. all reylos are racist, blm, fuck 12, acab, stan john boyega, don’t clown in my inbox unless you’re coming to bully me for being a karamel shipper, which i deserve (or do, i couldn’t give less of a fuck). good night.

[angryinternetduck]

Like a Fool

this... was supposed to be a uni friends to lovers fic.  oopsies :)  It’s still a university au (kind of? idk) but uh... well.  A bit under 2k words, no warnings I can think of besides a bit of swearing, potential underage drinking, lots of yearning, and some unpopular opinions on Starbucks. 

“You’re late,” you announced as you opened the door. 

Harry groaned, stumbling into your apartment and dumping his bag by the door. “Had the most horrific exam - lasted for hours, lad in the row behind me kept tapping his bloody pencil, questions were fucking rubbish - and then Java was closed.” 

You wrinkled your nose, shaking your head as you closed the door behind him. “Java’s coffee isn’t even good.” Harry glared at you from where he was stuffing chips into his mouth from the bowl on the coffee table. “‘s certainly better than that Starbucks shit you’re such a fan of.” 

“I’m not a fan of Starbucks,” you muttered. “Just better than Java.” 

“You so are,” Harry said with a grin. He raised his voice to copy yours, “Oh, I could just die for the caramel frappe whipped cherry cream chocolate hazel -” You scoffed, hitting him on the chest with the back of your hand, and cut him off, “You’re so dramatic! I do not sound like that.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “you do. Also, what’s the film, then? Doesn’t look familiar…” 

You sighed, collapsing onto the couch next to him. “It’s a new one.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at you skeptically. “A new one,” he echoed. 

“Yup,” you chirped, clicking on the remote. 

“Absolutely not,” Harry deadpanned as he saw the title. “I am not watching a movie called The Kissing Booth. Already sounds ridiculous.” You tsked, leaning against the arm of the couch and throwing your feet over his lap. “Give it a chance.” 

“This is rubbish,” Harry mumbled through another handful of chips, and you shushed him. 

He didn’t say anything when the movie ended, and you grinned, poking his shoulder with your finger. “You liked it,” you said, and he rolled his eyes. “I did not like it.” You laughed, poking him again, and exclaimed, “You loved it!” 

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “It was cheesy and stupid and just unrealistic. It’s -” 

You laughed, shaking your head, and interrupted, “Dude, you’re literally describing every single one of your coveted classics. Look me in the eye and tell me The Notebook isn’t cheesy, stupid, and unrealistic.” 

Harry pursed his lips. “The Notebook is a classic.” 

“You’re so pretentious,” you said. 

“Oh, shush,” Harry said back, finally breaking into a smile, and then he sighed, dusting crumbs off his pants, and stretched. “Finished your essay, then?” he asked, glancing at your open computer. 

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

“Wonderful,” Harry said, and you looked up to see him grabbing his stuff. “I’ve got to sleep, and you’ve got to write. Have fun with that.” You pouted, leaning over the couch, and said, “You should stay! I’ve got to introduce you to the modern rom com! You haven’t even seen Noah Centineo yet!” 

Harry made a face. “Sounds like a bug,” he said, and you laughed despite yourself. “Work on that essay,” Harry went on, “and next time, I am picking the film.” He grinned. “And it’s not going to have a multi legged bloody creature in it.” 

“Oh, go to Starbucks.” 

“Uncalled for,” Harry said. 

“See ya later,” you said. 

“Arrivederci,” he replied as he closed the door behind him. 

You sighed, turning to your laptop reluctantly, and got to work.  ***

“I need a date,” Harry declared as soon as he walked into your apartment the next week. 

You raised your eyebrows, able only to gape as he collapsed onto your sofa, and he frowned, noticing your expression. “You alright, then?” he asked, and you blinked. Cleared your throat. “Uh - yeah. What’s this about a date?” 

“Nick’s mum’s out for the weekend,” Harry explained, “so obviously he’s hosting a little something on Friday, and I need a date.” You nodded. “Right.” He raised an eyebrow at you. “So?” he asked, and you raised an eyebrow back. “So?” you echoed. 

“Have a start on the wine, did you?” Harry asked, grinning. “I need a date, so hook me up. Who’s single, who’s not, who’s complicated…” He faded off, staring at you expectantly, and you cleared your throat. “Right,” you said, sitting down next to him. “Um… well, I’ve got a friend…” 

Harry grinned, propping his head on his fist and leaning in. “Tell me more.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, she’s got a car and you can take her to the arcade,” you muttered, “but I dunno how friendly she’d be down in the sand.” Harry huffed. “Your references are woefully arcane.” You scoffed. “A, it’s Grease. B, arcane?” 

“Oi!” Harry exclaimed. “You’re getting off topic!” 

You sighed, picking at your fingernails. “Yeah, she’s nice. Name’s Casey. You’ll like her.” 

“Have her number?” 

You handed your phone over to him, and he laughed giddily as he scrolled through your contacts. “Bloody hell, need a proper shag - haven’t gotten laid in ages…” You made a face, shoving all the dirty thoughts flooding your head about Harry Styles and his proper shags, and told him, “Shush, Styles, nobody wants to hear about your sex life.” 

He looked up, smirking. “Sure about that?” 

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, distracting yourself from his smirk by flicking through the TV. “Figured out your movie?” you asked. “Or should I find your hundred legged boyfriend?” Harry grinned, apparently finished keying in Casey’s number into his phone, and grabbed the remote from your hands. “The Notebook,” he announced, and you scoffed. 

“You’re kidding,” you groaned, flopping onto your back. “We’ve seen it a million times!” 

“That’s what you get for comparing this classic to that kissy bench rubbish,” Harry hummed, clicking on the movie and getting situated as the sun rose and Ryan Gosling’s name flashed on the screen. 

You sighed, and grabbed a few chips, and prepared for the two hours of boredom. 

***

You were watching Harry flirt with Casey, all dimples and bad jokes and too close touches, when you decided that you were going to get drunk. Harry laughed as you walked over to the refrigerator, and whispered something in Casey’s ear that made her giggle and lean in as you cracked open the bottle of beer. 

It tasted disgusting. 

You weren’t really a fan of good beer, much less this cheap piss water the little fridge was stocked with. It tasted sour in your mouth, but maybe that’s just because you were a bit sour yourself over the whole Harry situation. 

It was weird, the whole thing, because you really shouldn’t have been mad. It was your fault and your fault alone that you hadn’t told Harry about your ginormous crush on him, that you hadn’t kissed him or confessed or even talked about feelings with him ever. 

So you had no right to be mad. 

Harry wasn’t yours. And really, he never would be. 

You sighed and wondered if there was any other alcohol in the huge house you were in that would taste better or, at the very least, get you drunk faster. You could probably ask somebody, but that would mean talking and social interaction, and you were really just not in the mood for that at the moment. 

A few seconds after you peeled your eyes away from Casey twirling her finger around one of Harry’s stray curls (he really needed a hair cut, you thought irritably), letting your gaze wander, somebody shouted your name from behind you. 

You sighed as you recognized his voice, letting faux annoyance flash over your face when all you wanted to do was turn around and kiss him, and asked, “How are you already drunk? We’ve been here less than an hour!” Harry giggled - he tended to do that when he was drunk - and shrugged, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “‘m not drunk,” he told you, slurring his words, and you rolled your eyes. “Sure.” 

“Really!” Harry exclaimed, giggling to himself like he knew he was lying. “Really, swear it, lovey, ‘m sober as - as -” He faltered, and then laughed again, and said, “I’m sober!” You bit back a smile and said, “Whatever you say, Styles.” 

“Look bored, lovey,” Harry murmured, leaning on the wall next to you. 

“You’re very observant,” you said, and Harry pouted. “Shouldn’t be bored. Should be happy!” He gave a little smile, lifting up a finger to bop you on the nose. “Deserve to be happy, lovey.” You flushed, looking away. “Where’s Casey?” 

“Oh, somewhere…” 

You looked at your beer. “Seem to like her a lot.” 

“Mhmm,” Harry hummed absently. A beat of silence, and then he said your name, and you looked up. He suddenly seemed a lot closer than before, and you blushed harder. “Yeah?” you asked, your voice coming out a whisper. 

“Can I kiss you?” he murmured. 

You blinked, startled. “I -” 

He was so close, still leaning in, so, so close, that you breathed, “Yes,” and he barely had to move for your lips to meet. He tasted like tequila and that cheap beer, but somehow minty and buttery and wonderfully sweet and perfect. 

And then, just like that, he was gone, his breaths just a tad quick, his cheeks tinged red. “You’re the bestest,” he told you softly, just a bit breathless. “The bestest in the world,” he repeated, laughing slightly. 

“I -” 

“Harry!” Casey squealed from behind him, and then he was whisked away. 

***

You didn’t talk to him for almost a whole week after that. 

And then, when he was supposed to come over for a movie and he was forty minutes late, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You walked over to his apartment, and knocked hard, ready to be mad or yelled at or have your heart broken, and waited. 

But he didn’t look upset. He looked overjoyed. “Guess what?” he asked as soon as he opened the door, not even saying hello. “I have got a date!” You froze, unable to do anything but gape, and he said, “Casey was all upset because I didn’t call her or summat, and I decided to, like, ask her out on a proper date, you know? And she said yes!” 

“Um - congratulations?” you finally managed, and he grinned, nodding as he fiddled with his tie. He frowned, glancing down at it, and you sighed, reaching forward. “Help?” you asked, already nudging his fingers away and pulling the knot through. 

“Thanks a million,” Harry said, already grabbing his keys. “Hope you don’t mind I’m missing movie night, yeah? You understand.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he went on, “I can’t wait. Bloody hell, this is gonna be - have you seen my wallet?” 

“On the shelf,” you answered reflexively, and he grinned, pocketing it. 

“Wicked,” he said, and his hand was on the door when you finally said, “Wait!” 

He paused, turning around. “What?” 

“Are we gonna - are you ever gonna -” 

Harry frowned. “What?” he asked again. 

You bit your lip. “The kiss?” 

“What kiss?” 

You faltered, and he asked, “What are you talking about?” 

“The party,” you said, your voice barely there.

He blinked. “Oh.” 

A beat of silence, and then you said, “Harry?” 

“I was drunk,” Harry said, and then he repeated, “I was drunk.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t - I don’t like you like that.” He frowned. “You know that, yeah?” You nodded. “Of course,” you whispered, and it sounded like a lie even to your own ears. 

But Harry just smiled, and opened the door, and said, “Good. See ya later, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you said, and then Harry left, and you were alone, standing in his apartment like a fool. 

***

HELLO IF UR FEELING SAD DON’T!!!! HERE’S PART TWO!!!!!

lol thanks for reading!!!! if you liked it feedback and a reblog would be v much appreciated 💜

masterlist | ask

[phantomrose96]

Ghost Speak: The Teacher Part 6

part 1- part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

A secret santa gift for @thickerthanectoplasm - who asked for something with an OC of hers (I chose Annie!)

...

When Annie Fenton got home from school, she shut the door a bit harder than usual, and wriggled off her shoes a bit more forcefully than usual, and stomped to the kitchen to start eating cereal out of the box a bit more angrily than usual.

“How was school, Annie?” Danny asked over his shoulder. He kept his words light, hands still tinkering with the ecto-earpiece he’d been trying to sync to his phone’s bluetooth for a while. The gadget was meant for communication during battle, but Danny wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity for ecto-powered (therefore, him-powered) running headphones.

Annie only huffed. The sounds of fist-being-shoved-into-cereal-box and angry-cereal-crunching got louder.

Danny set the ear pieces down, and sat up straight on the living room couch, now properly angling his body around to see his daughter standing on the other side of the kitchen counter – phone in hand, angry-cereal-grabbing with the other. “Not great then?”

“School was stupid. I wrote an awesome essay and Mr. Flannigan failed me on it.”

James, seated at the kitchen table, perked up a touch. “Mr. Flannigan’s an asshole. You probably shouldn’t worry about it.”

“Hey, language,” Danny chided, now fully rising from the couch.

James looked up. “Dad I’m 15. I can say asshole.”

“No you can’t. I was 15 once and I definitely couldn’t say asshole.”

James grumbled. Danny smiled. He rounded the couch and stopped just shy of the kitchen counter. He lowered his elbows onto the countertop and leaned in. “So, that essay?”

“Look!” Annie tossed the cereal box down, yoinked her bag from the floor, tugged the zipper hard enough to risk snapping it, and rifled through the scores of smashed and stashed papers in her bag before emerging with a crumpled, stapled-at-the-corner document. “Read it!”

Danny took the paper from her. A half-sheet rubric was stapled on top. At a glance, Danny could see all categories of the rubric had been slashed-through. Scrawled at the top in black ink it said, “Not legible. Cannot grade. Please write neatly next time.”

Danny flipped the rubric. He cleared his throat and began reading. “In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, numerous types of symbolism are used throughout the story. Such things as Gatsby’s car, the green light, and T.J. Eckleberg’s eyes all are symbolic of the themes in the story.--”

Annie slammed her hands on the counter, then threw both arms out. “See! You can totally read it!”

James nudged his way into the kitchen, ducking under Annie’s outstretched arms and sidling up behind Danny to glance at the essay.

“Annie I can read this too. I don’t know what the hell Flannigan’s problem is.”

“Language, James.”

“What the heck Flannigan’s problem is,” James amended.

Danny focused back on the essay, a bit of righteous indignation rising in his chest. He continued to skim, and not a single word was illegible. Annie’s handwriting wasn’t perfect, perhaps, and the ink had smudged in a few places. But it was neat enough, and clear enough, and certainly readable.

The front door clicked open, a gust of crisp fall air funneling in as Sam wiggled her key loose, a complicated effort with both arms wrapped about brown bags of groceries. Danny, Annie, and James all turned to watch her as she kicked off her shoes, and kneed the door shut, and set the bags down on the counter.

“You would not believe the lines today. I’ve never seen that place so crowded on a Tues—what?”

Sam paused mid sentence, eyes flitting among her family members all gathered in the kitchen, hunched over a sheet of paper. “What did I walk in on?” Sam asked, more than a little used to catching her whole family conspiring to do something stupid, dangerous, or both.

“Mr. Flannigan failed me because he’s an asshole!” Annie shouted.

“I said language,” Danny responded.

“What?” Sam asked.

“He said my writing ‘isn’t legible’,” Annie continued with air quotes. “But that’s bullshit because Dad AND James can read it no problem. Flannigan’s just a jerk and too lazy to read the essay I SLAVED over.”

“Annie’s totally right like it’s not even that messy,” James chimed in, head angling past his father.

“Yeah I skimmed the whole thing and nothing’s wrong with it,” Danny said.

“See?! Validation! And corruption in the system!” Annie banged her fist on the counter top. “I will not stand idly by as the oppressing teaching class tries to tank my grades!”

“I think we should call the school, maybe,” Danny said.

“Or I can talk to Flannigan. He knows me, and I think kinda likes me,” James offered.

“And I’ll kick his butt!”

“Or we could—” Danny started.

“Give it,” Sam said, hand outstretched and fingers curling in twice in quick succession.

“Huh?”

“The essay in your hands that you’re waving around. Let me see it.”

“Oh, right,” and Danny handed the paper over.

Sam set her eyes to it. Annie pounded one fist into her open palm.

“Whole Fenton family’s got my back,” she said. “Flannigan’s ass is grass!”

Danny cuffed her lightly on the shoulder “Language.”

“Yup, it’s exactly what I hoped it wasn’t,” Sam declared, hefting a sigh that could be felt across the room as she set her free hand to her forehead and dragged it down her face. “It’s been what, 20 years maybe? Since I’ve seen this stupid language.”

“Wait, language?” Danny asked.

“What language Mom? This is my English essay.”

“Maybe she means all your swearing?” James proposed.

“Why the hell would I swear in an English essay James? I’m not stupid.”

“Annie for the last time you better watch it with that langu—” Danny stopped cold. “…Oh. Oh. Oh no,” he said with a single quiet breath. “Wait, give it back. Give it here.” He motioned for the paper, which Sam handed to him. He smoothed out the wrinkles, and began skimming the essay again.

In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, numerous types of symbolism are used throughout the story. Such things as—

No, Danny stared closer, squinted at the paper, willed himself to see the words one-at-a-time. Dissect. Isolate. Read. Really read.

Im F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, hyrrelt num krechnor fa knurriert gan tepeirier van flyrr. Grakk kann nyrut—

“Oh no,” Danny muttered. “Oh no Annie, not you too.”

“Oh thank god!” Sam declared, throwing her arms up in the air. “Some sweet sweet English!”

“Some sweet—wait—wait was I--?” Danny motioned to himself, fingers spread, palm toward his face, hand waving up and down. “Have I not been speaking English? This whole time?”

“Nope,” she poked Danny in the chest, “not a single English word until ‘Oh no Annie’.” 

“…Really?” Danny asked.

“I walked in here. Put the groceries down. Asked ‘what’s going on?’ And all three—all three of you—just went off. None of it was English. I’ve been working off context clues.”

“Hang on what do you mean not English?” Annie grabbed her own paper back, skimming through. “I only know English. What other language could this even be in?”

“Danny, please, answer whatever she just asked, because I don’t have the first clue what she said,” Sam said, turning to rifle through her grocery bags. “I already did this whole dance with you. I’m clocking out on this one.”

“Ghost, Annie,” Danny answered, angling his shoulders just slightly to face his daughter head-on. “Ghost Speak. Ghosts and half-ghosts just kind of, know the language, I guess. We slip into it sometimes without meaning to. Well, I usually don’t. Anymore, at least. But I did right now, I guess, accidentally.”

Annie squinted at her paper. “I wrote an essay in Ghost? I can speak Ghost?”

“You’re speaking it right now.”

“This is Ghost???”

“Listen to yourself closely. You can like, hear it on the fringes of your words.”

“Are you messing with me?” Annie shut her mouth, suddenly tingling with the feeling of sharp edges and enunciations from her mouth that she wasn’t used to. Weird curves and curls of her tongue. A hiss. A light growl. Her smile spread across her whole face. “Oh wicked. Hell yeah, hell yeah! Also, um, how do I stop?”

“With practice. And with training. And with… help… unfortunately,” Danny muttered, seeming to go a little pale.

“Oh no.” Sam paused, letting the groceries sit. “Danny, you’re not going to.”

“I am. For Annie’s sake, I’m willing to make this sacrifice.”

“What sacrifice?” Annie asked.

Danny pulled his phone from his pocket. He thumbed through his contact list and settled on one, and raised the phone to his ear, and the sound of muffled ringing filled the room. A click. A muted hello?

“Hi. Mr. Lancer? It’s Danny. Yeah. Yeah. Good, and you? Yeah, so, I need a favor from you. And before you ask, yes I’m serious—”

…

Hardly 40 minutes had passed when the doorbell rang. Annie opened the door to the sight of an old man almost too tall for the frame, and yet comically too lithe for it as well, almost like she had opened the door for a tree sapling. The old man tipped his bowler’s hat, and seemed to roll and bounce into the house with limbs made of springs.

“Yo! Danny! It has been ages! How the kryypt are you?!”

“Ryan, language,” Danny said, his tone every ounce defeated.

The bean pole man wrapped Danny in a hug, gave him two quick pats on the back and shoved him back. “Yes, language for sure. What’s the damage? Where’s the culprit? I need details.”

“This…” Danny started slowly, motioning to Annie, “is my daughter, Annie. She slipped into Ghost today and hasn’t yet been able to unslip.”

Annie blinked, trying to catch up with the conversation. She got a good look at the newcomer for the first time, as he had finally stopped moving: The man was definitely in his 70’s, his graying hair spiked up front, smushed and disheveled slightly from the bowler hat. His face was deeply wrinkled, skin practically carved into puzzle pieces from—Annie could only speculate—the way his face seemed to bend to an absurd degree with every single emotion that crossed it. He wore square-frame glasses that magnified his eyes, bug-like. His outfit was thrift store chic: hawaiian palm unbuttoned shirt, graphic T beneath with a winking cartoon alligator, tie with stacks of library books printed on it, military camo pants, socks, sandals.

“Your outfit…” Annie spoke slowly, almost in mirror of her father. Her eyes lit up. “absolutely fucking rules.”

“Ha!” the man struck a pose, superman-like, and then flipped his tie over his shoulder. “Thank you! Someone who appreciates fashion!” He stuck a comically-too-large hand out for Annie to shake. “Ryan Finn, spectral enthusiast, and long-time-Fenton-family-friend!”

“More of an acquaintance,” Danny interjected.

Annie took his hand and shook it vigorously. “I didn’t know my dad had any cool friends. Besides maybe Aunt Val.”

“I set a high bar, that’s for sure!” Ryan angled his head over his shoulder toward Danny, still shaking Annie’s hand. “Danny, this child is fantastic!”

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Sam said, rising from the couch and shutting the book she was reading. “Wake me up if anything’s on fire.”

Danny watched her go, staring at the creaking staircase until she had vanished entirely. He looked back on the room, eyes a bit wider, as if suddenly much more afraid of his current company.

“Yeah I’ve um… got to go… patrol… actually… Box Ghost… you know… yeah…” Danny rose too, much more suddenly and tensely than Sam, and transformed on spot. “If you two need anything, don’t hesitate to call Mr. Lancer.”

“Good ol’ Edward!” Ryan chimed back.

“Wait, as in Zelda’s dad?” Annie asked.

“He owes me like, a million times over. Ryan’s kind of his, anyway.”

And with that, Danny shot through the roof, disappearing as a pinprick on the horizon already several hundred feet away. Ryan watched him disappear, then turned back to Annie with a grin.

“I’ve got plenty of experience teaching Ghost, so trust me you’re learning from the best of the best. I also had plenty of time to iron out the wrinkles with my lesson plans when I was running this course on your dad.”

“Wait, you taught my dad?”

“Oh he taught me plenty too. It was mutual! It’s the mark of real life-long friends to bring out the best in each other.”

“How long ago?”

“Oh, man, 20 years ago at this point.”

“So like, you taught him as a teenager? As in when he was my age?”

“Yup and yup.”

“Do you have embarrassing stories about him I can use as blackmail? Can you tell me?? Dad acts like he was only ever cool growing up, and I need to know these things. I need dirt.”

“I will tell anything to anyone who asks with enough enthusiasm! I can keep no secrets, ever! Except one, which is your dad’s identity. I kept that one. But you already know that so I am sworn to no one and nothing! And I can confirm your dad was an absolute mess as a teenager. But still, you have to earn embarrassing stories. Do well with these lessons and we’ll see what I can dish out on your dad. So! Ghost Speak Lesson One! How to stop speaking Ghost! Are you ready kid?”

Ryan struck another pose, and with a grin, Annie mirrored it.

“Oh fuck yeah I’m ready,” she answered.

“Hey!” Ryan stuck a finger out, pointed at Annie. He paused, and the grin on his face spread wider. “I like your fucking language, Kiddo.”

[allfandomxreader]

Between Every Line // 1

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Language

A/N: Here’s yet another series, I’m actually really excited about this one!!

Not my gif

Main Masterlist // Marvel Masterlist // 

Between Every Line Masterlist

You sit at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around your favorite mug, not daring to even sip the scalding liquid. It’s hard not to wallow in your feelings on a day like this one, a day that should be spent with smiles and warm goodbyes, however, your heart aches.

Zendaya rolls her suitcase throughout the apartment murmuring her checklist for the thousandth time. She types away on her phone, lost in her own scattered mind as she sets her belongings by the doorway. “Hey,” She says sternly, setting her phone on the counter, “None of that. It’s a happy day.” She reminds you, wiggling a finger towards your sad eyes.

“I know,” You sigh, pushing the hot drink away, “I’m happy!” You cheerfully force a tight-lipped smile, sitting up straighter, trying your best to fool the young woman. You are happy, ecstatic even, and yet, terrified.

The front door swings open pulling your eyes away from one another, and there he stands, beautiful as always. His outline glows from the morning sun making him look like the angel you swear he is and forever will be.

“Sorry, hope I’m not late for anything,” He kicks the door closed with the heel of his foot and flashing his award-winning smile that still makes you swoon even after three years.

“Classic Harrison,” She teases, leaning towards the young man, pressing her lips softly against his own. You force yourself to look away, clearing the lump out of your throat with a quiet cough.

“There’s my second favorite girl in the whole wide world!”

The second favorite.

He unwraps himself from their embrace, making his way towards you, ruffling his fingers through your already messy hair. “Hey, Haz.” You say bringing the warm cup to your lips.

You always thought falling in love was supposed to be something exciting, something otherworldly. It was supposed to be an untethered bond between two people. Two people free falling unafraid to hit the ground for they know they’ll be caught. Something that’s supposed to feel like summer during winter or the verse of your favorite song. It was supposed to be anything but this.

And yet, here you are, utterly in love with your best friend’s boyfriend.

Granted, you were the one that met him first. All those years ago when you moved in across the hall and drenched him in coffee while you were hurrying to make it to your 8am lecture. It’s the most cliché beginning to any relationship, but sometimes, clichés make the best stories.

It’s not like you were always in love with him. But by the time you figured it out, Z came through the door gushing about their first date. The look of pure bliss took over her whole face, lighting up the living room even in the darkness. You’d never ruin that for her out of your own selfishness. Maybe, you and Harrison just weren’t meant to be.

“I’ve planned the whole day,” Harrison begins, beaming at his beautiful girlfriend, “I’m taking you to lunch, then we’re stopping by that flower shop you love, and finally, we’ll have dinner at that one Italian restaurant that folds the napkins into swans!”

You catch the brief falter in Z’s smile that goes unnoticed by the excited boy. Your lips remain shut although your heart sinks fearing the worst is yet to be said.

“Oh, Haz, you really don’t have to do all this.” Zendaya begins to protest, her words are cut short by Harrison’s lips on hers.

“Nonsense, I’m not seeing my girlfriend for God knows how long, I have to fit as many dates as I can into one day.” Zendaya straightens, smile growing wider as she nods, giving in to the boy she loves. The couple bids quiet goodbyes before the door shut softly behind them.

Silence in your apartment isn’t normal. You or Z always have music spilling from speakers, the latest Netflix series playing on the TV, or audiobooks from your classes playing while you jot down last-minute notes together.

Now, with Zendaya moving to Los Angeles, you’ll have to get used to the quiet. You won’t have any more of her new Spotify playlists to look forward to, you won’t have the girl’s nights with popcorn and mini cakes while watching a cheesy romance movie, you won’t have your early morning coffees together while listening to a narrator's boring voice. You won’t have Z.

You shake away the feeling, quickly turning on your own music to forget about her absence even though she doesn’t leave until morning.

-

The sun slowly sinks below the horizon, filling the apartment with darkness, the only light coming from the glow of your computer screen and the television in the other room. With one final word, you shut your laptop, rubbing your tired eyes as you stand from the uncomfortable metal.

You sink into your cold sheets, mind still reeling with essay conclusions and words you’ve read all night and still don’t understand. But somehow, no matter how far you stray, you always return to the man who never leaves your thoughts.

Harrison.

You roll over, hands reaching for the box you haven’t opened in what feels like forever. Maybe if you read his letter one more time, you’ll realize that your feelings have changed, that they don’t exist anymore. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Your fingers fiddle with the ribbon, untying the delicate knot that binds your secrets into one place. Carefully, you remove the top, staring down at pieces you’ve cut out and hidden away for no one to see.  All five envelops rest right where you left them.

It’s something that you’ve done for years, writing letters you’ll never send just to get thoughts out of your head. Sometimes, on nights much like this one, you reread them, to have a gentle reminder of just how strong your feelings can be.

You flick through the unsealed letters, tracing over the black ink that tattoos the names of past lovers to the page. You hold the first and oldest in your hand.

Aaron Taylor-Johnson, your high school prom date. He kissed you that night, then promised to keep in touch after graduation. You haven’t said a word to him since that night.

Sebastian Stan, your coworker with the cute manbun at the campus radio station. He always shows you his favorite old cassette tapes and records hidden in the back room on your lunch breaks. Once, he even let you keep one. Now, he makes sure to air your favorite song each night you close.

Tom Holland, you haven’t spoken since freshman year statistics, but he’d sometimes pass you the notes and you swore you could feel electricity when your hands touched. You never got to know him very well, but you did go to the coffee shop to study once.

Ryan Reynolds, the funniest person you know. Sophomore year he made you laugh so hard you were banned from the campus library and to this day you’re still afraid to even attempt to go inside. You still think it was worth it. Sadly, he graduated last year and all contact was lost.

And of course, Harrison Osterfield.

“Hey,” Zendaya says from the doorway, waltzing through without warning. You jump at the sudden sound, shoving the papers back into their rightful spot and out of sight. Z pays no attention to your flustered state as she faceplants into your pillow, no doubt smearing her pristine foundation on the cloth.

You know better than to speak, giving her time to think, providing comfort just by being beside her. She turns her head, knotting her hair and smudging mascara in the process as she looks at you. Z extends her arm, warm fingers gripping your hand as she prepares to talk.

“I broke up with Harrison tonight,” It’s a muffled confession, but it’s the clearest sentence you’ve ever heard. Your jaw goes slack, eyes widening at the shocking information.

“You… You did what?” You stutter, but she says nothing more. “Why?”

She shrugs, frown tugging harder on the corners of her lips. “It’d be hard, ya know? Long distance never really works and if I become an actress our relationship would be in the public eye all the time and the tabloids will freak every time I hang out with someone new and I don’t think I’d be able to take it if he questioned my loyalty,” They’re all excuses and both of you know it.

It’s silent for a moment as a question plays on repeat in your head, waiting to be asked. You need to know the answer. “Do you still love him?”

“I think I always will.”

Quiet settles over the two of you again, the kind that will last for the rest of the night, the kind where you know she’s breaking and you don’t know how to help.

-

“Z, you’ve been over this list seventeen times now, I think you packed everything,” You laugh, “And if you somehow forgot something, I can just mail it.” You lean against the front door, eyes growing dizzy watching her pace and reread her writing over and over again.

“I know, I know, you’re right.” She shoves the crumpled list into her purse and grabs the suitcase handle, walking past you and into the hall.

She’s already yards ahead of you by the time you lock the door and begin to follow. Harrison’s door opens quietly, his backpack almost knocking into her as she rushes towards the stairs, determined to stick with her tight schedule for the day.

His mouth opens as he stares longingly, you can tell he wants to say something, maybe to call after her or convince himself to buy a plane ticket on a whim, but he knows that’s not what she needs.

He only gives you the slightest of nods as you pass.

Unsurprisingly, the airport isn’t busy on a Wednesday morning. Z quickly unloads her belongings from the trunk, ready for her new adventure to begin. She stares at the sliding doors into the building for a moment, taking a breath before turning to you.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” She wraps her arms around you, squeezing gently. You don’t want to let go, too afraid of what life will be like without her.

“You’re going to do big things, I can feel it,” You whisper as she pulls away with a grin. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re famous.”

“Oh, of course not,” She giggles, “You’ll be my date to the Oscars.” You both share a laugh that slowly dies like the time you have left with her. You both nod knowing the end is near. She squeezes your hand before backing away, turning to walk through the doors. She blends in with other travelers, refusing to turn around for a final goodbye.

-

The campus buzzes with life on the first day back. Some students race to find their buildings, others loiter in the grass. You walk across the quad waving at acquaintances and type away on your phone to avoid actual conversations.  

“Hey stranger,” A voice from beside you sings, bumping into your shoulder softly. You tear your eyes away from the screen and to a familiar face, smiling at the sight of Elizabeth’s dirty blonde waves.

“Come here often?” You tease, pushing back, continuing your way down the sidewalk with her by your side.

“Yeah, actually. It’s like my next class is with you or something.”

Up ahead, you spot Tom, the boy who held your heart three years ago. You watch as he flails his arms between him and his girlfriend. Laura shifts her weight to one foot, rolling her eyes at whatever comes tumbling out of his lips, she shrugs, pinching the bridge of her nose uninterested.

“Uh oh,” Elizabeth mummers, “Looks like there’s trouble in paradise.” You pass the couple slowly, both of you interested in the heated conversation.

“Tom, it’s senior year, I’m really not trying to be tied down right now.” She scoffs, making his eyes grow wide.

“Are you serious? We’ve been dating for almost two years!” He tries to reach for her hand, but she pulls away before he can even touch her.

“And they were fun while they lasted, I’m just not in it anymore.” She sighs with a shrug. You and Elizabeth eye each other, brows raised at what you just heard.

“How bad of a person would I be if I covered their breakup for the newspaper,” Elizabeth asks as soon as you’re out of earshot.

“Pretty fucking bad, Liz.” You laugh, marching up the steps and into the English building, “You can’t just exploit someone’s relationship, plus I doubt the whole school cares.”

“You’d be surprised. Holland has half the student body up his ass just because he’s the star soccer player.” She says, following you to the designated classroom.

“What if you joined the Delta Gamma? You could write an inside scoop about what it’s actually like to be a part of a sorority. Isn’t Laura the president or something?” You ask, finding your seats in the middle of the lecture room.

“Probably, Laura Harrier sounds like a sorority president’s name.” Elizabeth sinks into her chair, pulling out her laptop. “Could you imagine? Me? In a sorority?” She cackles.

“I’ve already got the title: ‘The Do Good Girls by Elizabeth Olson’ pretty good, huh?”

“My cat could come up with a better title.” She rolls her eyes, “Although, I do like how you incorporated their motto.”

“So you’ll do it!” You cheer, dramatically clapping your hands.

“Oh good God no.”

-

Elizabeth loops her arm through your own as you descend the steps of the south hall. She continues the conversation the professor spent entirely too long ranting about, you only half listen to her words as you weave through students.

“Y/N!” Someone calls from behind, “Wait up.” The two of you stop, slowly turning in the direction of the voice. Tom himself makes his way towards you, his jog coming to a stop when he’s gained your attention. “Elizabeth, right? Would you mind if I have a word alone with Y/N?” He asks.

“Uh, sure?” It sounds more like a question as she untangles her arm from yours with nothing but confusion written all over her features.

“Listen, I appreciate it, I really do, it’s just I don’t know if you missed that back there when you passed, but Laura and I quite literally just broke up so I don’t really think I should pick up another relationship for a while.” He rambles once she’s away.

“What?” Was the only response you could think of to his random outburst.

“Maybe if you said something before, during like, freshman year or something I’d be down but it’s just too soon.” You cock your head to the side, still unable to follow his words. “And, I didn’t think you looked that hard –or was even capable of seeing my… How’d you refer to them? My gorgeous chocolate orbs?”

Your eyes widen, a pit in your stomach grows so wide you think you’re about to be sick as he relays your confessions only written between thin blue lines.

“And to be quite honest, I think the electricity you felt was that one time I shocked you and it was so loud like four other people turned around.” You drown out his words as you gaze past him, locking with the silhouette you’ve memorized.

“Oh my god,” You whisper watching Harrison stride across the quad, his own letter clutched tightly in his hand.

Without thinking, your hands grip onto Tom’s cheeks, pulling him forward and crashing your lips to his. He doesn’t yank away like you expect him to, instead, kisses back almost instantly, it feels as if he even pulled you closer.

You swear the world stopped turning the second life came crashing down.

 A/N: I feel like this just got shitter as it progressed?? But it’ll get better, I promise! There was just a lot of foundation stuff I had to write :)

Forever Tags: @superfrankie111 // @rueinn // @lemonadeorange73 // @simplechicwithacrazedheart // @youshutthefuckupville // @captainpeggy40

Marvel Tags: @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy // @delicately-written

[etherealvibespls]

Cafe Strangers

A small VanOhm fic in which Ohm can’t stop embarrassing himself but Evan isn’t too far behind. Or, Ohm has headphones on and doesn’t realize he’s singing out loud.  

Requested by: Anonymous 

Also in case you don’t know, this is the song Ohm is jamming out to. [x]

Hope you all enjoy! :) 

Ryan’s not sure how long he’s been staring at his laptop, or rather, the blank open word document; the constant flashing of the evil black line has hypnotized him in a sort of trance, and all he’s able to do is narrow his eyes at it, wishing it could magically help him come up with motivation to write the essay that’s due by the next day.

Nothing happens. His brain is a blank mess, the History textbook that sits on the table is still opened on the first page, unread, and to make matters worse, his coffee is now cold. He groans, sagging his head, accepting defeat and the horrible truth that he’s not cut out for college; his procrastination is really starting to become a problem, but the thought of actually doing an assignment on time makes him shiver from the absurdity.

Maybe, his mind helpfully adds, he could drop out and become a street performer. Although, he’s not talented enough to do that, and so he goes back to groaning, mashing his head against the keyboard in the hopes that something will happen.

His lack of writing might be related to the fact that the playlist he’s currently listening to is loud, and the pop songs that play in his ears block out any sort of coherent thought, but he keeps telling himself it’s because they make him want to dance and sing, and so by default he’ll get enough energy to end up writing at least a sentence or two, right?

It’s proven to be a lie, because the songs that have been playing just weren’t the right ones, nothing more than a catchy tune that makes him sing along, or mouth along, in his case. The people in the coffee shop all look at peace in their own little world, and Ryan doesn’t want to be that one guy who ruins it by singing out loud.

With a defeated sigh, he goes to close his laptop, deciding he’s just going to take a zero, and maybe on the way home he’ll stop to get ice cream, to eat his failure away, or maybe even text Anthony so they can binge watch Criminal Minds and be distracted by laughs and incredible hugs.

He was going to do that, but before he can even pick his head up, the all too familiar sound of Everytime We Touch is suddenly blessing his ears, and then the missing energy he couldn’t find is there and he quickly sits up, already having new found motivation because this is his song, and how can he not be anything other than ecstatic when Cascada is singing to him?

There’s no time to worry about how he still hasn’t read the textbook, or the giggling teenagers in the back who won’t stop staring at him as he bops his head, because he’s finally writing, although mostly rambles, but it’s something, in the very least, and that’s all he could’ve asked for.

It lasts for a while, the new routine of hitting replay every time the song sounds like it’s going to end, and soon he nearly has one page written; he can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, as he falls back against his chair, admiring the words that stare back at him.

He looks away when there’s movement in the corner of his eye, and sees an older woman turn in her chair, frowning at him, and what the fuck is her problem? He’s still a little cranky, and the stares he’s getting from multiple people only further fuel that, but before he can ask what they’re all looking at, someone is suddenly there, in front of him, and he looks up, mind instantly going blank once more because holy shit the guy that’s staring at him with these amused eyes is gorgeous.

“Uh, can I help you?” He’s not the greatest at talking to guys, especially when they look like Aphrodite's son, with biceps that hold all his attention, made more prominent by the tight black shirt he’s wearing.

The man only smiles in this small secretive way, as he pushes up at the also black cap on his head that falls slightly, and Ryan can feel himself let out a shaky breath as he sees the veins pop out against his hand at just the miniscule movement, and he can’t help but imagine how those very same hands would look...somewhere else?

He’s starting to think he was secretly transported into another dimension, because why else would everyone be staring at him, and this godly specimen look as if he himself were trying to hold back a laugh.

Was something on his face? Against his will, he prepares for being made fun of, for something he still hasn’t grasped.

“I hate to interrupt you, and the intense staring contest you’re having with your laptop, but, I figured I should tell you, because no one else seems to want to, that you’ve been singing out loud for the past thirty minutes.”

“Oh,” He breathes, not expecting that, but at the still smiling eyes, his brain finally processes what was just said, and then suddenly the giggling teenagers and angry woman all make sense, and so a few seconds later, he not so gracefully adds, “Fuck.”

Any embarrassment he’s feeling is multiplied by ten, because the realization that this breathtaking man heard him makes him wish for some higher being to teleport his ass out of this terrible situation, and that in itself outweighs everything else.

“If it helps,” The guy shrugs, offering a crooked smile that makes Ryan’s heart sure feel as if it were ready to beat out of his chest, “You weren’t bad, although I wouldn’t recommend trying out for any singing shows anytime soon.”

He buries his head in his hands, beyond the point of wanting this whole nightmare to end, “Fuck off.”

And then because he remembers he actually just met this guy, and he doesn’t know that Ryan can be a bit snarky, he pops his head up, quickly backtracking, “I didn’t mean it in an asshole sense, I was just joking, I don’t really want you to fuck off. Well, unless you do, in which case nevermind, I was just-” He sighs, giving an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry, I’m horrible at talking to people.”

The breathy laugh he gets in return almost makes him forget he’s the physical embodiment of embarrassment, almost, because it’s hard when he’s constantly being reminded.

“It’s okay, I happen to be terrible at having normal conversations too.” He finally sits down on the seat across from his, not caring about the mess of Ryan’s things that litter the table, and Ryan himself doesn’t really pay attention to that, because he’s too busy focusing on his reply, which sounded a lot like something he’d say.

“Are you...being sarcastic?”

He’s a little in awe, as the guy takes a sip of his coffee, smile still prominent behind the glass cup, “Always.”

Ryan fakes being hurt, as he flings a hand to his chest, and gives a scandalous look, “How could you? I just embarrassed myself to the highest degree possible, and you give me sarcasm? What a jerk.”

“You did fuck up pretty bad, but,” He says pointedly, raising his eyebrows, “Have you fallen and face planted in front of hundreds of people?”

His mind immediately flashes back to that one day at the beach, where his shoe got stuck in the sand and the fall was instant; the laughs from both Anthony and Craig still ring in his ears, “Not hundreds, but definitely enough to leave a painful memory. Why, you got something better?”

The guy shakes his head, huffing, “Way better. Senior year, graduation day, everyone’s having a good time, families are cheering for those they know graduating, when finally my name is called, Evan, and I walk up all confident, holding back tears myself, but for some reason my feet decide to trip over nothing and I fall, hit my face, and boom, the whole stadium gets silent, except for a few laughs from classmates.”

He snorts, hiding his smile, ignoring the fact that the other slipped their name in there, “You’re bullshitting. There’s no way that actually happened outside of some cheesy movie.”

Evan’s smile is wide, as he playfully kicks at Ryan under the table, “I swear! My mom videotaped the whole thing, it’s become a family tradition to watch it every Christmas.”

This whole thing feels a bit ridiculous, but Ryan can’t deny his enjoyment, and the smile that has yet to leave his face because he knows the other is feeling the same.  

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the textbook he’ll most likely never read, and leans his head against his head, thoroughly captivated by this stranger who seemed to appear at the perfect time, “You know, you really are a jerk.”

Evan gets this tiny smirk, as he tilts his head slightly, eyes never leaving Ryan’s, “And why is that?”

“I just embarrassed myself so much that I’m sure people are going to go home and tell their family members about me, but instead of getting comforted, you come over here, poke at my inability to speak properly to people, and then you one up me with a better and more embarrassing story. See? A jerk.”

All of this still doesn’t feel quite real, and his mind keeps screaming at him that things like this just don’t happen randomly, but when Evan has to squeeze his eyes shut from the laugh that overtakes him, he also admits that maybe encounters only thought to happen in movies or books, came from a real life experience.

“I’m sorry,” Evan says, the laugh on his lips still airy and heavenly, “I actually came over to tell you about the singing, but also because I happen to always see you here, and I thought this would be the time that I finally talked to you. But it turns out I’m terrible when it comes to talking to cute guys, so feel free to make fun of me all you want. Swear I won’t outdo you again.”

He’s probably a little too endeared, but that doesn’t stop his heart from faltering at the small confession.

“How about instead I also say that one of the reason’s this is my favorite place to study is because I happen to like staring at you too.” Too late he realizes what he’s said, and he groans, facepalming, “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I swear I’m not creepy, I was just-nevermind, forget I said anything.”

Evan looks in disbelief, as he laughs, “Holy shit, you don’t even have to try to outdo me, it just comes naturally.”

He flicks him off, grinning when Evan just raises his hands in surrender, “I get it, I’m the worst, but that doesn’t mean you beat a guy when he’s already down. Your jerk side is starting to take over, huh?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, but how about I make it up to you?”

He hums, crossing his arms, “I’m listening.”

“This Friday night, they’ll be a fair opening up downtown. What do you say we go and see who ends up tripping over their feet first?”

“I’d say that sounds like the best idea I’ve ever heard.” He’s a little breathless, because it’s not often that cute guys ask him out, or even seem interested, at that.

“Also,” He continues on, “I’m just now realizing that you don’t know my name because of my horrible people skills, but it’s Ryan.”

“I already knew your name.”

At the confused stare from him, Evan smiles, and points at the cup of cold coffee that was meant to be to go, before Ryan had chosen to stay, possibly due to a certain someone walking in.

“It’s written on your cup. Although I should tell you, even though I know you’re name, I’m still referring to you as Singing Guy, oh, even better, Embarrassing Guy!”

“You’re the worst.”

“Hm, that is a fitting title.”

Ryan laughs, in awe at how comfortable they are with each other, and the easygoing banter he’s loving more and more, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or this date would’ve been off.”

Evan’s smile is small but captivating, and Ryan can’t help but feel a bit lightheaded, as his foot gets nudged under the table, and as Evan stares at him in a way that closely resembles tenderness.

“I’ll be sure to thank my lucky stars tonight then.”

And because they’re both terrible, Evan adds, “Speaking of stars, have I mentioned that I once threw up in front of a celebrity? Because I have, the one time I visited Los Angeles and was sick from the plane ride.”

Ryan grins, leaning forward, “But have you thrown up on one?”

“No way,” Evan breathes, “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I did. Fourth grade, on a fieldtrip.”

Evan laughs, shaking his head, “That doesn’t count! You were too young.”

“What do you mean? I still remember it clearly!”

They’re probably not supposed to be telling horrible stories, for people who have just met, but Ryan can’t deny that it’s the best way he’s gotten to know someone, especially given how Evan seems comfortable enough to rest his leg against Ryan’s own, or the way he stares at him admiringly, and so though it’s not ideal for most, Ryan wouldn’t have it any other way.

[spnrelatedurl]

Stay Beautiful - Chapter 1

A/N: I’m doing a complete re-do of Stay Beautiful. I’ll keep the original first chapter up, but I won’t be updating that anymore. Sorry. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It’s a little bit different, but still a Jared daughter story. It’s based heavily on a book I once read titled ‘Girl, Missing’ which you should check out if you can. Anyways, as I said, ENJOY!! :D

Trigger Warnings: Kidnap, missing child, fake adoption (if that’s one)

Word count: 2080

Tag List:  @winchesters-favorite-girl @winchester-writes @storyofawinchester @rosie-winchester @bea789 @straightasdeanwinchester (More room for anyone who wants to be added.)

Who Am I?

I stared at the cursor blinking on the screen as I thought of the answer to the very same question that’s haunted me since I first started gaining self-awareness. If this were a few years ago, I’d be able to answer this in no time at all. It was all so simple back then. My name’s Kendra Ryan Wood. I have brown hair, green eyes, and I am tall for my age. Like, no joke. That’s actually what I wrote in the first class of year 4. That was ages ago. But now they don’t care about any of that. They want to know who you are when you’re angry, or sad, or happy, or excited. They want to know who you are inside.

I was feeling quite burnt out at the moment to be honest. I needed a break. I decided to text my best friend, Morgan.

How are you doing with the stupid Who Am I thing – Kendra

We regret to inform you that Morgana ‘Morgan’ Caldwell died from boredom whilst attempting her homework last night – Morgan

I’ve got to hand it to her, Morgan never fails to crack me up when I’m at my lowest. We’ve been friends since primary school.

Who Am I?

I groaned and rested my head in my hand. For these stupid essays, you have to know where you come from. And I have no idea where I come from. I was adopted as a baby.

A minute later, mum was calling me from downstairs.

“Kendra, dinner’s ready.”

“Coming!”

I rushed downstairs, glad to get away from the stupid essay. And it really was a stupid essay. It was my last year of school. How did they not know who I was already?

I sat down at the table ready for dinner, kind of nervous about what I was going to ask. Mum came in, skinny and thin lipped as usual. I looked the complete opposite of her. She started ladling up the soup, and fair to say I wasn’t all too hungry. Not only was I nervous, but mum’s not exactly a tungsten chef and she knows it.

“How’s the homework going?” She asked, putting some soup in my dad’s bowl.

“Mmmn.” I mumbled.

“For gods’ sake, Kendra. Why can’t you speak properly?” She asked, setting her own meal on the table. I inhaled, gathering up the courage to ask her. Very clearly, and very slowly, I began to speak.

“Who’s my real mother?” I asked.

She froze for a second, seemingly terrified. Then she turned into stone. No movement. No emotion.

“I am, silly.” She said. “What do you mean?”

I looked away.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” I said, even though I knew she wouldn’t.

“I thought you didn’t care about knowing?”

“I don’t.”

“And anyway, I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. It was a closed adoption which means…”

“…which means neither side knows about the other. I know.” I said. My dad came in towards the end of the conversation. He looked somewhat worried.

“Is someone saying things at school?” He asked.

“No.”

Trust my parents to think someone else was putting ideas in my head. God forbid I should think for myself. Just then, my younger brother ran in. He is incredibly immature. Like, annoyingly so.

“Mum, what’s for dinner?” Jack asked. Jack’s thirteen and the spitting-image of my dad, and my mum calls him her little test-tube miracle. If we ever needed living proof we shouldn’t play god, he would be it. “Oh god. This soup stinks!”

“Not as much as you.”

He then hit me with his spoon.

“Mum, Jack’s hitting me again!”

Mum glared at us both, but I could tell she was favouring Jack even though she knows he was in the wrong. Could it be bias? That I’m not her real child? Or maybe it’s sexism. She always says boys are easier to look after than girls. So why get me, a girl, in the first place?

She used to say things that made me feel special. Like her and dad picked me out of every child in the world, which is a) completely false because some kids don’t need adopting, and b) kind of insulting to all the other kids. But now it makes me feel like I was a load of hassle and I wasn’t worth it. They should’ve picked someone else, honestly.

“This soup looks like Kendra threw up.” He said. I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I really, really hate him.

A while later I went back upstairs and got back to staring at my homework. Ugh.

Who Am I?

I typed adopted and lost in the search engine. I’d been thinking about this so much recently. Hell, if you saw me a week ago you’d probably crack up with laughter. I was so nervous, but what was I even expecting? A website by the name of kendrathisisalltheinformationaboutyouradoption.com? That would be even more ridiculous. Still, I hit search.

I flicked through page after page of hopeful stories. Rather boring and unrealistic to me in all honesty. I was ready to close the page until I found a site for missing children.

How does someone lose a child? I can understand losing them for five minutes or so, maybe even an hour then you find them hiding in the kitchen cupboard covered in flour. And also psychos kidnapping or murdering kids, but you only hear about that once or twice a year. Still, out of curiosity I clicked on the link.

I was astounded. There were so many faces. Did all of these belong to missing children? I didn’t even know what I was doing, just mucking about. But I decided to search my name. Kendra.

3 results.

One was a black 5-year-old that went missing two years ago.

Another was a white blonde toddler that went missing 5 months ago.

And then there was another one.

Chloe Kendra Padalecki

Case type: Lost, Missing

Date of birth: 31st August 1999

Age now: 18

Birth place: San Antonio, Texas, USA

Hair: Brown Eyes: Green

 The only picture was of a baby girl wrapped in a blanket in the hospital just after she was born. That’s it – because she was snatched at the hospital. Or at least that’s what everyone assumes. It was my birthday though. Exactly. And the same date I was adopted. But it was impossible. I’m British. This baby was born in America. That couldn’t be me, surely.

There was a knock at my door so I locked the computer.

“Yeah?” I asked, my heart still seemingly beating in my throat.

“It’s Morgan.” She said, coming in. I leaped off my bed, practically pulled her inside and closed my door.

“Okay, when I tell you what I’m about to tell you please don’t freak out. I mean, it’s probably nothing anyway, I just don’t want you to tell me to beam back to whatever bizarro planet I came from.” I told her.

“Oh my god! Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant!” She exclaimed.

“What? No. How would that even be possible?” I asked. She shrugged. “Look, you know how I’m adopted and everything?” I asked.

“How could I ever forget? That’s all you’ve been going on about for the past month.”

“Shut up! It’s not. Really, it’s not. It’s just. Well I was getting carried away with this stupid essay and I came across this stupid website with this stupid information about some stupid missing baby…” I began.

“Please stop saying stupid?”

“Right. Anyway, I found this;” I typed in my password and the website came up again, good as new.

She looked at the picture for a bit and studied the information.

“You don’t think that’s you, do you?” She asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh my god. You do, don’t you?”

“A little bit.” I confessed.

“Plus, have you ever watched Supernatural?” She asked. I rolled my eyes at her.

“Of course I have. It’s my favourite show in the whole world. You know that.” I said.

“Then you’d know Jared’s last name is…”

“Padalecki, I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s his. Could be his brother, a cousin, maybe even a completely unrelated family.”

“Yes, because Padalecki is a very common name in Texas.” She sarcastically said. “That being said, I mean… who else could it be? She does have your eyes. And remember when we were going through your family photo album a few months ago?”

“Oh god!” I groaned.

“Do you wanna call the number?” She asked.

“What, are you crazy? Of course not.” I answered, snatching the laptop back from her. She just shrugged.

“Just as well.” She said, flopping down on my bed.

“What do you mean?” I asked, getting really freaked out right now.

“Look, she’s kidnapped.”

“Yeah… and?”

“Well,” Morgan hesitated. “if that Chloe Kendra girl really is you, and I’m not saying she is – but if she is, how do you think all this happened?” She asked.

“Huh?” I asked, confused as always.

“I mean, how did baby you get from Texas to London straight away?”

I shook my head. This was all far too much. I could hardly stand it. Besides, trust Morgan to think of all the practical and logical questions. It didn’t ever cross my mind that there was a possibility I could be a completely different person.

“Think about it, Ken.” She smiled weakly. “Kids don’t just disappear without a reason. If this is you, you must’ve been taken deliberately.”

I shook my head again.

“What’s that got to do with my mum and dad?” I asked, dreading her answer.

“If you were taken, we have to consider the possibility that your parents were somehow involved.” She answered.

No. No. there’s no way. Not my mum and dad. And yet, what other explanation was there?

A week went past with the idea implanted in my brain. It’s not like I thought it was possible, but still. Once an idea is in your head, it gets stuck there. You can’t un-think it. It was another usual week besides that day, and I didn’t think anything could come of it to be honest.

It was later at night, which meant I was doing more homework on the sofa in the living room as my dad read the paper, sitting on his armchair. It was Jack’s bedtime, and as per usual, he came downstairs asking for a snack.

“Okay, fine. Here’s an apple my sweet, I can’t let you go to bed hungry. Now go.” She shushed him out the door. Trust my mum to give special treatment to Jack. Mum went back to the kitchen and dad looked like he was desperately trying to figure out how to say something. But what could it be?

“Listen, I know how you’ve been asking about your adoption recently – and I feel as though if you’re old enough to ask…” He began. But then mum came in, knowing what dad was talking about just by looking at him.

“Old enough to ask what?” She asked. My dad froze, shook his head, grumbled, and then went back to reading his paper as if nothing happened. Mum sighed and put her left hand on her hip. “Dave, we’ve talked about this.” She said with an angry tone.

“Oh, nice to know you guys have been talking about me behind my back.” I said sarcastically. Alright, it was somewhat childish, but I’m kind of fed up of being the only person unaware of my past.

“It’s not like that, Kendra.” Mum sighed.

“Yes, it is. I’m so sick of not even being part of the family I’ve always supposed to have been part of.” I yelled before storming upstairs.

I slammed my door from the outside – a little trick I learned when I was younger – so I could eavesdrop on what they were going to argue about.

“Why did you bring that up?” Mum screamed.

“She’s 18 for Christ sake. If not now, when should we tell her? We said at 16, then 18, but you decided against it.” Dad argued. He then mumbled something completely incoherent.

“I know. Just not now okay? Maybe next birthday.” Mum suggested.

How could they tell me something about my closed adoption? Clearly it’s not as closed as they’re letting on. So what is it they’re not telling me? Could I really be Chloe Kendra Padalecki?

[theconservativebrief]

The first 30 seconds of the trailer for Insatiable, a new comedy series coming to Netflix on August 10, introduces the story of a chubby high schooler grappling with bullies, unrequited crushes, and the FOMO that comes from nights spent on the couch eating ice cream.

It’s all a fairly standard setup for what looks to be a show about modern teens — perhaps even one that, like Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade, is benefitted by the fact that its lead looks more like an average high schooler than the glamorous 20-something stars of shows like Riverdale.

But then the trailer takes a turn. Patty, our main character, gets punched in the face, has her jaw wired shut for months, and thereby loses so much weight that by the time she goes back to school in the fall, she’s a bonafide (thin) hottie. It’s with this newfound power that she can apparently get her revenge on the kids who’d excluded her in the past.

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Because no one has officially reviewed the show yet, the trailer is all that we have to determine what the rest of Insatiable will look like and what themes it will deal with. But based on that one minute and 30 seconds, the reaction has been … not great.

Critics on Twitter and elsewhere have called the premise of the show fatphobic, triggering to people with eating disorders, and a regressive lens through which to view fat people’s stories. The Good Place star Jameela Jamil, who has advocated for body autonomy in the past, tweeted about how there’s a problem with implying that the only way to “win” in life is to diet:

Kids who bully are just miserable, badly raised arseholes. It is not, and should not ever be YOUR problem that they have a problem with you. You don’t have to conform. You don’t have to placate. Revenge isn’t a good use of your time and energy. And starving yourself is

— Jameela Jamil (@jameelajamil) July 20, 2018

Writer Roxane Gay also noted the trailer’s flawed logic that fat women can’t stand up for themselves and must undergo physical trauma to become their best, skinny selves:

Ahhh yes, a fat girl could never stand up for herself while fat and of course she has to be assaulted and have her mouth wired shut before she becomes her best self, her skinny self. Good to know!

— roxane gay (@rgay) July 22, 2018

There’s now even a Change.org petition that, as of publication, has garnered more than 145,000 signatures to stop Netflix from airing the show, on the grounds that releasing it will be damaging to young girls’ self-esteem and cause or trigger eating disorders.

One day after the trailer premiered, on July 20, Insatiable’s writer and producer Lauren Gussis defended the show against critics, writing that the inspiration was based on her own experience with an eating disorder as a teenager, and that comedy is a means of dealing with our vulnerabilities.

Star Debby Ryan, a former Disney Channel actress, took to Instagram to defend the show, writing that it was a satirical look at “how difficult and scary it can be to go to move through the world in a body,” and assured viewers that the humor is “not in the fat-shaming.” Alyssa Milano, who also appears in the trailer, said in a 30-minute Twitter video that she “totally gets” the backlash to the trailer, but hopes people will wait to see the full show before judging it.

This, above all, is what the creators and stars are attempting to communicate. But for people who are so accustomed to seeing their stories told onscreen via the same harmful tropes, the Insatiable trailer could be seen as just another exhausting example of the negative ways TV and movies portray fat people.

To understand why the Insatiable trailer hit such a nerve, you have to look at pop culture’s terrible track record of telling fat people’s stories.

On July 23, artist and writer Kiva Bay asked his Twitter followers to name the fat-hating moment in media that has stuck with them, starting with the scene in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets when Aunt Marge inflates to such great proportions that she literally floats away.

Responses ranged from Bridget Jones being consistently described as fat (in the books, she weighs 130 pounds) to pretty much the entire premise of Pixar’s Wall-E, which depicts a futuristic dystopia in which everyone isn’t just overweight, but share the negative characteristics associated with being overweight: that they are lazy and stupid, and that all they care about is passively consuming whatever’s in front of them.

The problem persists even in media that’s often held up as progressive — many people in the thread called out Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Parks & Recreation’s recurring fat jokes, while others brought up the inherent fatphobia of shows like Gilmore Girls and 30 Rock in which objectively thin main characters have an obsession with unhealthy food.

A 2009 Jezebel piece described the “skinny glutton” phenomenon as “a sure indicator to the audience that these women are Single, Quirky and, (because they’re thin, only gently) Sad” because casting an actually fat actor in the role would, the thinking goes, be too pathetic.

The Insatiable trailer also reprises an especially troubling Hollywood practice: the fat suit. When a character actually is meant to be fat, instead of casting a bigger actor in the role, often a thin actor will wear a fat suit.

We tend to see them used in flashbacks to a time when a now-thin character was fat, like Monica in Friends, Schmidt in New Girl, or Ryan Reynolds in Just Friends. The “humor” comes not only from seeing actors wearing a silly costume, like Eddie Murphy in Norbit or The Nutty Professor, but also from the ability to crack jokes at a past character’s fatness with the knowledge that the present character is laughing now, too.

Few uses of fat suits, however, are more controversial than the 2001 film Shallow Hal, in which Jack Black plays a man who has to be hypnotized to find Gwyneth Paltrow in a fat suit sexy enough to be his girlfriend. Not only is the entire premise pretty gross, but, as a Telegraph piece noted after comparisons were drawn to the recent Amy Schumer film I Feel Pretty, the movie consistently uses fat bodies as punchlines:

“The camera linger[s] over every dimple and crease on the physical form of Ivy Snitzer, Paltrow’s body double, and contrasting the sight of Paltrow in revealing booty-shorts with a large woman spilling out of her clothes. Jokes are endlessly made about her appetite, while every chair Rosemary sits on appears perilously close to collapsing (it’s a sight-gag that is repeated twice on-screen, along with a deleted scene involving a caved-in bed).”

That contrast — the visual of the character wearing a fat suit versus the character without it — can have the effect of implying that fatness, when constantly compared to the superior thinness, is grotesque and deserves to be laughed at.

That’s the history Insatiable is drawing on when it puts Debby Ryan in a fat suit, regardless of intention.

And there is yet another pattern that Insatiable seems to fall into: the idea that weight loss is the road to happiness. Friends’ Monica and New Girl’s Schmidt are both characters who don’t accomplish their goals until they lose weight. The entire wellness industry is based around this false promise — that losing weight is the key to getting whatever you’ve always wanted, whether that’s love, money, or revenge. (See: Khloe Kardashian’s extremely on-the-nose reality series, Revenge Body.)

In an essay for Medium titled “To the writers of Insatiable,” fat activist and writer Your Fat Friend wrote about the problem with this narrative, pointing out that not only do 97 percent of dieters gain back what little weight they lose (or more), but that weight loss is often the only narrative that fat people get to have.

She continues:

I have never seen a fat life like mine on screen. I have not seen fat people recklessly, happily in love, as I have been. I have not seen thin partners struggle to accept their own attraction to fat people. I have not seen fat people getting promoted, getting fired, working hard, succeeding. I have only seen fat people fail. Anything else, I have learned, is reserved for the penitent thin.

In short, fat characters are defined entirely by their fatness, and only get to become multi-dimensional once they lose the weight. It’s a trope that the Insatiable trailer even touches on in a meta way: When Patty returns to school, newly thin, she muses, “Now I could be the former fatty who turned into a brain, or an athlete, or a princess,” as if these character traits can’t apply to fat people because their main identifier is already “fat.” Until we see the show, it isn’t clear where this strain of self-awareness’s endpoint lies, or how far the series will take its meta-understanding of fat tropes, but it could be a promising sign.

So yes, the Insatiable trailer, as of right now, is still just a trailer; there’s still a whole show to come and be watched and discussed, starting on August 10. But many viewers are worried that the groundwork seems to be laid for a series about the same stories of fat people we’ve seen thousands of times over.

And though its stars and creators promise the show is an empathetic look at the pressures modern teenagers face surrounding body image, well, don’t we already sort of … know them? Above all, what’s necessary is an empathetic look at fat people in general: one that ideally doesn’t involve weight loss — and certainly no fat suit.

Original Source -> Why 150,000 people are calling for Netflix to cancel the teen comedy Insatiable before it debuts

via The Conservative Brief

[ayyoitsalex]

Chapter 5 - The World We Live In

Being a teacher at my old high school is still a bit weird considering it hadn't even been a whole decade since I even went here. I'd only graduated about eight years ago, and here I was calling the teachers I once looked up to for guidance my peers. Though there was a certain new teacher hazing process I dealt with. I had last choice of classroom, supplies, parking, and no one really sat with me in the teacher's lounge. All the better because I felt weird eating with them anyway. I'd either have lunch in my classroom or pop into aunt Bri's office. I absolutely loved being back home, and being able to do so while supporting myself was all the better. Pay itself wasn't exactly top notch, but with Sam we made enough to live nicely.

-Friday-

"Alright class, today's writing assignment will be on someone that is or has been in your life that made a significant impact. I'll leave it up to you to decide what is meant by significant because it's kind of a subjective question. There's no real wrong answer here, but I want some thought put into how you talk about this person. I want a page and a half by the end of the period. Feel free to talk amongst your group to get ideas, but I want you to remain on topic."

I sat down at my desk, inputting grades I had yet to catch up on. Jazzy approached my desk, waiting for me to look up. "Yes Jazzy what's up?" I set my pen down. "So does this person have to be currently alive?" "No, because you can write about like a family member that's passed away or a friend." "Okay cool. I think I can start." "Good, look forward to reading." Jazzy is a very good student, and so far actually one of my favorites. Opposite of what her brother was as my student during my job tutoring. I continued my grading as the class worked. As the bell rang for the end of the period, I stood by the door collecting papers, sort of like an exit toll. Jazzy whipped her bag over her shoulder before handing the paper over to me. She wiped her eyes a bit. "Everything okay Jazzy?" "Oh yeah Ms. Ryan, I just got kinda emotional writing my paper." "Okay just checking to see if you're alright." "Yeah thank you I'm okay." She walked away. I looked down at the paper, and as I suspected she had written about Alex. The paper was written beautifully, and I can see why it made her a bit emotional. I got a little choked up too just thinking about him. I ran my hand over the tattoo on my hip. "She misses you so much Alex..just like I do." Sam knocked on my classroom door, holding up a bag of food. I waved her inside, and she took a seat in front of my desk. "Aha how's school today Ms. Ryan?" "Shut up haha, what brings you here?" "I had some time, and I figured I'd bring my love some lunch." My eyes widened, and I could smell it was italian takeout. Sam knows the way to my heart is through carbs, and especially pasta. "I got your favorite, chicken parm with penne." "You are the best, thank you so much." I leaned over and gave her a kiss. "So how goes your day so far? Looks like a lot of grading ahead." She flipped through the stack of papers on my desk. "I'm getting through it." "Have you told Jazzy that you know her. Well knew her and Alex?" "I have no idea how, or even if I should. I don't know what purpose it would serve either of us. It looks like she's very happy, and I don't want to just come in and bring up that her teacher was basically there when her brother died." "True, so I guess just keep an eye out on her. Probably what Alex would want." We finished up lunch before Sam had to head back to work. "I'll see you tonight." "Alright thank you for lunch again." "You're welcome. Now teach  the future leaders of this country. Inspire them and whatnot." "Haha will do." We kissed quickly before a flock of students sat down for the next class. The rest of the day went off without any hitches. My eyes hurt from staring at the white board all day, and I needed a pick me up.

-RING-

"Hello?" I answered. "Hey Sel, can you do me a big favor?" Mom asked with the sound of a busy background. "Sure, what's up?" "Can you pick up Elizabeth? Your dad and I are caught up with work, and Nathan and Natalie couldn't find time either." "Yeah no problem." "No ice crean trips on the way home Selena. She barely eats dinner as it is." "Of course not mom. I wouldn't think of it." Come to think of it, I hadn't had ice cream in a while..hehe.. "Okay I'll be there soon to pick her up." "Thank you sweetie. Love you." "Love you too mom." I clicked the line. Right then I got another call from aunt Alana.

"Hello?" "Selena! Glad I caught someone. Can you pick up Holly from school?" Jesus christ what do I drive a bus? "Yeah sure, she just goes to the same one as Liz right?" "Yeah same place. I usually pick them both up, but today-" "I get it, Seems like everyones busy at work today." "Thank you so much!"

I parked in front of the school, spotting the little blonde one with Holly. They pulled at the front seat doorhandle arguing immediately. "No! I get to sit in the front!" "I'm older Elizabeth!" "Well it's my sister's car! Selena!" She pouted her lip at me knowing full well it was something I could never resist. That and her huge green eyes. What can I say, I spoil the crap out of her she's the baby. "Holly sit in the back please." She groaned, finally giving up. Elizabeth climbed in, giving me a kiss, and subsequently pointing her tongue out at Holly laughing. "How was school guys?" I asked, making awkward small talk with small people. "It was fine." Elizabeth yawned. "Tired, and want to go home." "Oh thats too bad, I was thinking maybe we get ice cream." Both of their faces lit up as soon as I said ice cream. "But you gotta keep it a secret or else I'm gonna get in trouble." They both nodded their heads furiously. We stopped in at the local shop, and got cups with a few scoops each. I went with some basic chocolate and vanilla. While the girls went crazy on the newer weird flavors. When we got home, mom was in the kitchen with pizza for dinner. This was just a good day, and I sat down for a piece. "Elizabeth eat dinner." Elizabeth groaned, and I knew my secret was going to be uncovered. "I don't feel like eating mom.." She sat down next to me. Immediately mom leered at me. "Did Selena take you for ice cream?" Mom asked sternly. She nodded her head slowly. "Selena?" "C'mon mom it was one time and I hadn't been able to do that for a while." I pouted my lips like Elizabeth earlier. "Nice try. Next time listen to me." Damnit. "Way to keep a secret Lizzy." I rolled my eyes laughing. "Sorry." She giggled, taking a slice of pizza to appease mom.

-Next day-

I got into school a bit early, and went to the classroom to get settled in. Before school even started I had a few parents knocking at my door. I opened the door a bit confused as to why I was getting parents so early in the day and so early in the semester. "Can I help you?" I asked feeling a tiny bit uncomfortable. "You're Ms. Ryan?" One of the fathers asked. "Yes?" "We're here because we have students in your class." "Yeah I sort of figured that out. Can we kind of y'know get to the point?" At this point I was more annoyed than anything. "We don't feel comfortable with someone with your lifestyle teaching our children." One of the mothers in the back spoke up. "My lifestyle?" I asked raising an eyebrow. "Some of our kids found out that you have a girlfriend. And while that's your business we just don't feel comfortable with you teaching." "Um..I teach english. It's not like I speak a different kind of English because of my sexuality which by the way is none of your goddamn business. Look you can request a different teacher for your kids, but trust me when I say I'm very qualified for my job to teach. I do my job well and professionally. Take this little mob of whatever the hell this is, and get away from my classroom I have a job to do. Now whatever issues you have you can take up with the district." They stood there silently staring at me before backing away.

I took a seat at my desk a bit shaken that I'd even had to deal with something like that. For fucks sake I live in California! I thought we were all progressive and believed in equality. Well I guess not everyone. Class filed in as the clock hit eight, and for a bit I just gave some independent reading time, as I handed back the essays. I proudly gave Jazzy her A paper, along with a gold star. Yes I still believe stickers are great for grading papers.

Right when I thought to get the actual class started a knock came at my door, and this time it was Sabrina. The look of concern was painted across her face. "Hang on class." I met her outside the door. "We have a problem." "What's that?" "There are a group of parents-" "You mean the group of parents that showed up at my class this morning who have a problem with me having a girlfriend?" "Yes. One of the parents is very close with someone down at the district. They're claiming you're not qualified, and your job is simply due to my relationship with you." "That's totally not the case! You said there weren't any other condidates with my qualifications." "There weren't but they're just using this as the reason to get you out. Instead of the sexuality which would have no bearing. So it's either I resign, or-" "I'm gonna fight this aunt Bri. This is some bull. I'm hiring a lawyer. We're not losing our jobs because there's people out there that can't live in the real world. Can you call a sub for me, I have some business to take care of." Sabrina nodded, and I stormed away whipping my phone out of my pocket. I dialed quickly. "Hey, wanna make your first big case?"

[hidturner]

12 Books that Changed Me in 2016

The trouble, of course, with reading a good book is that there is always another one lurking around the corner. Now that I've had a couple of months away from the last year, I feel confident that I can point to the books that actually changed my year in 2016. There were a few essays and short stories that re-opened my eyes to the world around me, but I've decided to stick with full-length books out of simplicity. Also, there's not any order to this list; some of these books I believe I'll re-read a hundred times, and others I plan on letting go. What is important, above all, is that I think we should all be reading more things, and hearing more voices, and listening better, and these books have made me better at that kind of sensitivity in some small way. I thought that I should avoid being gushy - for a minute - and then I decided I'd rather gush about these books. This is my reading testimony, not reviews. With that said... 

Bird By Bird - Anne Lamott Most writers read this book - and that's not uncommon. There are a few books that we all have to read to understand what it is that we do. Very few books are the kind that I immediately turn around and recommend to others. If you've ever wanted to make something, read this book, or at the very least, the first two sections, which can be found in PDF form here.

Operating Instructions - Anne Lamott When I make these sorts of lists, I do my best to avoid including the same author twice, but that's just too bad this time around. If Bird by Bird is the writer's guide to writing, Operating Instructions was my guide out of a very dark place. It came to me at just the right time, and I'm grateful. It tells Lamott's own story of having her son and losing her best friend in the same year. It is heart-wrenching in the sense that it stretches your heartstrings: they can now play music again.

If on a winter's night a traveler - Italo Calvino This book blasted open the edges of what a story can and cannot do. If you think you know how books work (as in, how they must and always work), I would humbly suggest this particular book, in which you will fall in love and see story in a whole new light.

The Cocktail Party - T.S. Eliot This is a play in verse that explores the ability of the sacred to invade the most ordinary of situations. It's what I needed to know could exist to become the kind of writer I'll be one day.

Gilead - Marilynne Robinson Stories written as epistles aren't uncommon. What is rare is the delicate kindness with which Marilynne Robinson explores the depths of her main character's soul. Like Anne Lamott, she asks questions of faith that may not have easy answers, but does so in an entirely different mode - an aging preacher with a young son - instead of an autobiographical account. There are three books (so far) that take place in the town of Gilead, and I recommend all of them. 

Civilwarland in Bad Decline - George Saunders This is a series of interconnected short stories that will make you question America, whether you are a liberal or conservative or somewhere in between. The book is not even political so much as it is personal: what kind of ordinary, decent people experience disaster, and how does it change them? Do they recover? How? This is a book I'm going to read again. 

A River Runs Through It - Norman Maclean Of all the books I've read in prose, this is the one that comes the closest to reading like poetry. It is a book that merits reading by a fireplace. Rather than explain what this book is "about," know that it is a story that will show you a river, fly fishing, family, and love in a light that is always fresh, because it is always true. 

All Involved - Ryan Gattis Remember what I said about listening to different voices a few lines up? Try listening to 17 first-person narrators telling their stories through the horror of the Rodney King riots. If you follow my blog, you know this book has come up over and over, and it is because it is a book that will make you look through eyes that are often shut too young, shut down, and silenced by violence against either the bodies they inhabit or the words those bodies say.

Little Bee - Chris Cleave This book and All Involved came to me at the same time and from the same person - needless to say, I'm grateful. It's a hard book to explain without giving anything away, but once again, this is a book that will reach your core. 

Nine Horses - Billy Collins Billy Collins is a great poet of the ordinary things in life. I've read individual poems before, but last year, I finally read a book of his and was blown away by its simple exploration of an ordinary life, and how well he sustains this love of life through the ups and downs of his ordinary joys and losses. There is a reason he was the Poet Laureate of the United States. Now I know it. 

Bandersnatch - Diana Pavlac Glyer Wanna know how collaboration works? Read this and learn from the Inklings, one of the greatest groups of writers of all time. If you'd like to know more, check I will refer to the original review I wrote about Bandersnatch last year, which can be found here.

Romance's Rival: Familiar Marriage in Victorian Fiction - Talia Schaffer Academic books rarely make it easier to read source texts. Sure, there are basic explanatory notes, but interpretations are not always helpful for the reader (as opposed to the scholar). This book was an exception; it made it easier and, in fact more enjoyable, to read Victorian fiction. While I might not recommend actually reading this book to everyone, I was pleasantly surprised by how helpful Schaffer's book was.