#I feel like I got front row seats to a Shakespeare play

[kittykatninja321]

I’M still reeling from Kendrick dropping an hour after Drake’s response and then dropping another diss the next day I can’t imagine how Drake feels. That man Kendrick is evil

[absolutepokemontrash]

Kid!MC/Teen!MC Needs someone to go to Parent Teacher Interviews for Them and Guess Who’s Available?

Masterlist

The brothers being bad babysitters/dad figures is something I love very much, I bet you all could already tell that considering the Fic/Headcanon series I have going on. I would just like you all to know that Asmo’s section is based on a true story. Anyhoo~ onto the Headcanons!

Why? Why Him? (Lucifer)

Is MC really dumb, or are they just a kid? No one knows.

Obviously MC asked Lucifer, the only competent one in the house, the most professional, hard-working, controlled-

MC got their things together and gave Lucifer the run down on their teacher(s) before Lucifer got too absorbed in extolling his own virtues in an intense internal monologue.

News flash Lucifer, this isn’t a Shakespeare play, you can’t have a dramatic monologue or soliloquy about how great you think you are

At the actual meeting, if MC is in there, no, MC is not actually in there. Lucifer will speak to the teacher as if MC isn’t there. As someone whose not a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down kind of person, Lucifer expects the teacher to behave the same and not spare MC’s feelings.

Feelings do not deserve to be spared if MC is being a nuisance. No fake-kid/little sibling of his gets to be the class idiot!

If MC’s doing very well academically, he expects to be pointed at projects or tests they’ve done and the grade on it. It really makes him proud to see MC doing well.

Even if they’re not the best academically, if they’re not failing and they’re doing well in other aspects of school, he’s proud.

If MC really struggles in a school environment and just hates it there but they’re still keeping their head above water, they get a head pat of approval.

On the drive home, if MC came with him to the parent teacher interviews and everything went well, he just happens to turn onto the street that has a Baskin Robin’s or something of that caliber.

If they didn’t go, he picks something up on the way back.

No fun treats if MC is being a disruptive little heathen in class, no kid under Lucifer’s care is going to be the class Mammon. Not on his watch.

MC was busily stuffed their face with the treats that were gifted to them. Lucifer had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes at the kid’s blatant disregard for basic table manners when it came to sweets.

“Is everything the teacher said true?” Lucifer asked, MC looked up at him with a smile.

“Yep!”

“Good, good.” Lucifer held out his hand and patted them on the head. “You’re doing well. Keep it up.”

“Geez,” MC mumbled as they continued to stuff their face. “Can you get anymore affectionate?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, MC. It’s uncouth.” Lucifer said sternly. “Besides, I’ll have you know that many people enjoy my headpats. I’m quite affectionate.”

“Really now? Name one person.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He and MC stared each other down, one pair of eyes much more nervous than the other. Spoiler, MC was still calmly eating their treat as they maintained eye contact.

“…Cerberus.”

“If you’re reaching for Cerberus, you’ve already lost.”

…his pride was under attack. Right in front of his desert…

“You’re grounded.”

“Worth it.”

*Rides by on a Skateboard* School is for NERDS (Mammon)

Pff! Stupid human! He’s not goin’ to some lame parent teacher conference-

Wait! What’s with that face?! Ugh… fine. MC’s gone and forced his hand with those damn puppy dog eyes…

Mammon does not dress up for this event, he dresses like he would every day, maybe throw on some designer stuff to let all the parents and teachers know he’s hot shit.

If MC goes with him, he pulls up in his beloved car and takes up two parking spaces (pure evil.). Every parent present already hates him, but at least the other kids there are impressed with MC’s sweet ride. MC would have gained some street cred if Mammon hadn’t managed to trip up the stairs to the classroom in front of everyone.

He’ll act way to casual with the teacher, turning the parent chair backwards and sitting down so he can lean on the seat.

Mammon gets bored crazy quickly while the teacher lists and explains all the stuff the class is learning, so his eyes begin to wander to any and all displays in the classroom. Projects, annoying posters, class pet, anything is more interesting than this teacher’s explanation.

When MC finally becomes the main topic of the interview, he’s all ears. MC’s doing great in school academically? Ha! Nerd! Maybe giving MC a playful noogie and interrupting the whole interview wasn’t a good idea, but whatever.

If MC’s failing anything, or just isn’t that gifted when it comes to grades, it’s very much a “Aw man me too” from Mammon.

This teacher is speaking with the Great Mammon, the first demon in RAD’s history to fail three semesters in a row. If this teacher thinks bad grades will phase him, they’re dead wrong.

Grades don’t mean anythin’ about smarts anyway! I mean, look at him! He’s a fuckin’ genius but he can’t get through a history test without sobbing even though he LIVED THROUGH MOST OF IT.

MC gets treats no matter what’s up in class. Though, if MC didn’t go with him, he’s likely to forget and just order something for the two of them when he gets back home.

“Goddamn teachers and their rambling!” Mammon whined, grabbing a slice of pizza from the open box on his coffee table. “You owe me, MC! Ya really do!”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” MC said, they leaned over and rolled a pizza slice into a pizza-scroll then proceeded to eat it like a veggie roll. “How do you think I feel, listening to them every day? You know how long it takes to get to the actual class material?”

“Five years?”

“Ugh! Five years if I’m lucky! I swear, I know more about my teacher’s grievances with like… five of my classmates than I do about trigonometry, and guess which one’s on the test next week?”

Mammon winced in sympathy, then remembered he was supposed to be whining and went back to it. “School’s shit and a waste of money, ya should drop out as soon as you can and help me run my new business.”

“You mean your pyramid scheme?”

“It’s not a pyramid scheme, MC! It’s legit! It’s a multi-tiered marketing-”

“It’s a pyramid scheme.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SOCIAL INTERACTION (Leviathan)

Everyone else must have been sick or something for MC to have asked Levi. He’d flat out refuse to go otherwise.

So, Levi couldn’t exactly go to the interview in his usual “I haven’t left my room or changed clothes in eight weeks” look. With the help of MC, he was able to find his military uniform at the back of his closet.

Asmo nearly fainted when he saw Levi in the uniform, not because “oooo, a man in uniform~”, it was because the outfit was so crumpled and wrinkled that it made it physically painful to look at. No time to iron and wash, the conference was in an hour!

Levi (and MC if they went with) rolled up to the school in a less than impressive ride, but one look at the uniform and all the other people present went “yep, time to be respectful (tm)”

For the first time in his life Levi was more intimidating than Lucifer! And he wasn’t even trying!

When the teacher starts explaining the course material, Levi spaces off in horror as he realizes he remembers literally nothing from school (AND HE’S STILL IN SCHOOL!) all that’s running through his head is “A squared + B squared = C squared” and “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell”.

The actual interview was the least interesting part of the trip, the real stuff happened when Levi passed by some art on display in the hallway and something caught his eye-

Those colours… that hair… that adorable smile..!

IT WAS HER! LEVI’S PRECIOUS RURI-CHAN IN ALL HER GLORY!

Levi immediately started fawning over the art class fanart and by sheer coincidence, one of the kids walking through the hallway happened to notice.

The kid asked MC if their… parent and or guardian liked anime. MC responded with “obviously.” Levi then asked the kid if they drew his adorable Ruri-chan. The kid said no, and that they drew the My Hero Academia fanart a few rows down.

Levi was absolutely floored that there were two anime fans in one class, then his entire world shattered when MC explained there was more anime art inside the art room and other classrooms.

H-hang on… did that mean that… a lot of people here… liked anime..?

Levi needed a while to process. No snacks on the way home…

Levi and MC were sat in the back of their Uber, Levi, the Avatar of Envy himself, was having his entire sense of reality warped. S-so much anime fanart… in a school of all places..! What did this mean for the future of anime?!

“Levi. Stop.” MC sighed. “If this were an anime, the camera angle would be doing that thing where it’s right on the bridge of your nose and dramatic music plays in the background.”

“S-so many kids in your class like a-anime huh..?” Levi stuttered, weakly trying to smile. “Must be nice..?”

“Oh, that’s just my class. The other classes and grades have their fans too.”

“Oh… really?”

“Levi,” MC stopped looking out the window and looked at the otaku that was having a full scale silent mental breakdown. “Anime isn’t even a niche interest anymore. It’s a pretty casual thing to watch now. At least a third of my class watches- Levi?”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH! ANIME! A THIRD OF THE CLASS?! ANIME… HIS PRECIOUS ANIME… WAS BECOMING A NORMIE INTEREST! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

“Levi?” MC waved their hand in front of their spaced out demon’s face. “Leviiiii? Okay he’s dead.”

The Know it All (Satan)

Ah, a smart choice, MC. Satan would be glad to help further their education. He’ll do everything in his power to make sure that the human’s brain is fed all that sweet sweet knowledge.

Satan can’t dress himself normally, MC had to coax him into a suit jacket, but he still only wore one sleeve.

MC was coming along to the interviews whether they wanted to or not, it’s important to hear what they need to improve on from the teacher themselves after all.

The two arrived pretty early, so Satan asked MC for a tour of the school. It was pretty tame until they reached the library. Satan was horrified at the state of some of the books…

Their spines lined with duct tape… pages missing and torn… someone apparently used a taco as a book mark…

The first thing Satan does when it’s time for his interview is demand the teacher take better care of the library, even though they’re not the librarian. MC tries to explain this, but Satan is too distraught to listen to reason.

He enjoyed hearing about the course material, but he made it known if MC thinks the assignments are too easy that they need to be given more challenging work. THEIR BRAIN NEEDS TO BE STIMULATED DAMN IT.

It was up to MC to either agree with Satan and nod to the teacher, or make frantic eye contact with them to try and communicate “NO DON’T PLEASE”.

Similar to (ugh) Lucifer, as long as MC is doing their best, he’s happy for them.

…but if they are in any way in the running for valedictorian he is HELPING THEM WIN.

He decided to stop at a cafe or bookstore to let MC pick out a “congrats on surviving your pitiful school” present after the interviews.

MC gleefully perused the shelves of the bookstore, there were so many books too look at…

“I’ll buy you as many books as you’d like, MC, just,” Satan shuddered slightly. “Promise me you won’t treat them like those poor library books…”

MC put their hand over their heart. “I swear on the duct taped book spines that I will never treat a book like that.”

“Good… good…” Satan breathed a sigh of relief and went back to looking at his book about cats.

“Are you… reading a Warrior Cats book..?” MC asked tentatively.

“Yes, why?”

“Satan, put that back.”

“I Will Seduce the Teacher For the Sake of Your Grades, Don’t Worry.” (Asmodeus)

Oh MC dear! He’d be delighted to go! Just let him get ready~

Asmo may not be the best choice, but he was at least going to be the best dressed person at that conference. (And MC just had to come too so all the other parents could be jealous of how well coordinated their outfits are)

He teased MC a little by saying he was going to flirt with their teacher to make sure they passed the class, but he was just kidding! …but he made sure to ask if their teacher was cute, he needed to know!

While waiting for his turn, Asmo flirts with some of the single parents, if he doesn’t see a wedding ring, they’re fair game.

Once his time slot arrived, MC realized that Asmo is one of those “my child has done and will do nothing wrong ever” types. This may have ended up working in MC’s favour if they were a class nuisance.

If MC is doing very well in sports, clubs, grades, anything, Asmo is fawning over them and gushing to the teacher about how great, smart and adorable they are.

Asmo surprisingly does not exactly flirt with the teacher, he was just teasing MC after all. But um… if MC’s teacher just happens to be cute and young, he may turn up the charm, just a little. Enough to make the teacher giggle and make MC cover their face in embarrassment.

After the interviews Asmo will probably schedule a nice day out for the two of them, shopping, a movie, mani pedis, something fun!

The real weird stuff happens in the months after the interviews… if Asmo did lightly flirt with the teacher, MC gets quite a few questions about their guardian. Questions that ask if Asmo is single in not as many words…

Oh lord, MC’s teacher developed a crush on Asmo.

Nail painting night was supposed to be a fun occasion, but MC was hopping mad and embarrassed. Asmo didn’t seem to notice as he continued to paint the little human’s nails.

“And then I told Phenex to get lost. The nerve of that little monster, right MC?” When MC didn’t reply, Asmo looked up and tilted his head. “MC?”

MC’s angry face would have been much more threatening if they weren’t just so adorable, but it was getting the message across.

“MC..?”

“Asmo.” MC’s glare deepened. “My teacher wants to know if you’re single.”

Asmo blinked a few times, before he hit his tongue to keep from laughing. “Really now~. I knew they’d be madly in love with me-”

“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIIIIIIIIIIIS?!”

Oh My Demon King is That a BAKE SALE?! (Beel)

Of course Beel said yes! He’d gladly go to MC’s parent teacher interview!

He even put on a nice outfit :D he ended up looking a bit like a secret serviceman guarding MC, the tiny president.

Beel stopped for McDonald’s on the way there, all the other kids were so jealous of MC when they stepped out of the car eating fries.

But a little something something caught Beel’s eye when he and MC walked into the school… was that a… bake sale?

MC quickly explained that the bake sale was fundraiser for their class trip that year and the snacks weren’t complimentary. He had to pay.

And pay Beel did. He cleared out the entire table. MC’s grade’s overnight trip was going to be decadent as hell. That was no longer a crowd funded thing, that trip was privately funded by a tall buff ginger secret service member and this tiny in comparison child.

Kids are incredibly blunt, just like Beel, so when a random kindergarten kid wandered over, looked up at Beel, and very knowingly said “you’re very tall”. Beel was like “yeah”. The kid then said “what’s it like being that tall?”

Beel’s response to this kid’s question was to pick them up and hold them for a few seconds before placing them back down. For just a few moments this kid knew what it like to be over 6’4. Of course, more kids swarmed in and asked to be picked up.

Sure it was cute, but Beel now has an army of kids ranging from kindergarteners to third graders.

Finally, the conference actually began. Beel snacked the entire time and dutifully listened to everything the teacher had to say.

After the interviews are over, he checks with MC to make sure everything the teacher said was true and that they weren’t lying. If all was well, the two made their exit.

They stopped at Wendy’s on the way home.

“I’m so full…” MC groaned, Beel held up a massive cookie.

“So I can eat this?”

“No. Gimme that.” MC took a very defeated bite out of it. “My stomach says no but my mouth says yes…”

“I don’t want you to get a stomachache, MC,” Beel said worriedly. “No more snacks.”

“It’s a little late for that. It’s past nine and I’m still eating, there’s no way I’m getting to sleep at a reasonable hour.”

“Oh…” Beel mumbled. “I may have not completely thought this through.”

“*Snore* Huh? Wha? MC’s Grades? Uh… Fuck…” (Belphie)

MC must be failing a class or something because why on earth would they pick Belphie otherwise.

They ask him to go while he’s delirious from just waking up from a nap, he sort of half nods and mumbles some gibberish before going back to sleep.

MC had to basically carry his ass to the school. Belphie drooled all over them in the waiting room, and when it was their time to go into the interview, Belphie had to be manually put into the chair and slapped awake.

He barely listens, he just sits and nods along with whatever the teacher is saying. The teacher could say MC brought an alligator to school and he’d just go “uh huh…” “mmmph… yep…” “really now?” then yawn.

The only thing that could possibly get Belphie to be interested is if MC is studying space. If they are, than boy howdy is Belphie suddenly interested in their education.

Other than that? *snore*

If MC is in fact failing or doing poorly, MC’s teacher asks to see another one of MC’s guardians at a later date. Their plan failed miserably.

MC drags Belphie out of the school and yells at him for not helping them. Belphie, still sleep delirious, tries to press the snooze button. MC does not have a snooze button.

“Belphie!” MC shouted, shaking the Avatar of Sloth awake. The House of Lamentation’s resident bastard was somehow sleeping standing up outside. “HOW COULD YOU?!”

“Eh?” Belphie half-snorted and looked around confused. “What’d I do? Where are we?”

“At my school! You said that you’d go to my parent teacher interviews!”

“…MC I don’t think I’d pass well for you.”

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GO AS MY GUARDIAN!”

“Sheesh,” Belphie murmured while he rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes. “You humans are so noisy.”

MC looked up at their dearest demon friend, and gave him their best glare. “I’m going to take all your fancy temperature changing pillows and switch them with normal pillows you traitorous bastard.”

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— US AGAINST THE WORLD ; PART 4 / ?

( credits to @animusrox for this gif )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2247 hot diggy dog

SUMMARY: You have a heart-to-heart conversation with one of your students before the play and you're hit with the realization that your love for Bruce may be more than meets the eye. hence, you’re starting to wonder if it was a mistake you can never fix.

A/N: This one’s long and kinda depressing. I’m in an angsty mood now whoops. Nevertheless, thank you for reading this series, the bagels will make its appearance and enjoy this one folks.

WARNINGS: Anxiety, depressing thoughts.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

The night of the show arrived quicker than you anticipated. The flurry of theatre kids rushing about backstage is quite the sight, feeling the incredible sense of pride of a mother for her children. Yet in prayer, you ask Mrs. Wilson for the gift of strength and ability to manage a bunch of highly-strung teenagers. It’s only Shakespeare after all but you knew that wasn’t the genuine nature behind their stage jitters. With all tickets sold out within a week, it has easily become the biggest event of the year aside from homecoming. It may be a little pretentious for a high school production of an over-performed Shakspeare play to emerge as the highlight of the year, but you know it will help with some of the students’ portfolios for acting school.

The clock ticks—thirty minutes before showtime and panic starts to creep.

Your fingertips dance along the selvage of the extensive drapery of the stage as lighting queues are being run through for the last time. The urge of curiosity lets you crack open the curtain as you peeked at the rest of the theatre. The bustling crowd made up of mostly teenagers with seats rapidly being filled, it’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Amongst the settling audience, you spot Bruce, seated between Mr. Walken, the principal, and Mr. Huckleberry, the vice-principal, likely being shamelessly asked for donations. He looks engaged, but his posture and the gaze of his eyes tell a very different story—Bruce is barely listening to a word they’re saying.

He then turns in the direction of your hiding spot and despite the distance, he catches your eye, immediately recognizing it’s you spying from behind the curtains. You watch the curve of his lips turn up into more of a smirk, swiftly sending a wink your way. You instantly disappear behind the curtains, cheeks burning.

You sometimes find it hard to believe you’re sleeping with the man with no strings attached because you’re incredibly attracted to him.

Someday, you’ll burst out into an exaggerated love confession, and you know it’s going to be ugly. It’s a reality check and right now, it’s the last thing you want. Running away from your problems is more of a habit than a choice as you would rather live in the world your mind has created, where miracles are made and defects cease to exist. Anyone would trade the cruelties of reality for a perfect one yet getting too caught up in a daydream will eventually evolve into toxicity. Bruce orbits the very core of your problems and daydreams. You want to run away from him and allow yourself to be engulfed by his presence at the same time.

You just need...to breathe. Hence, the second dressing room has a weird stench to it. It’s a mess but it’s empty. Yet, it seems you aren’t the only one in need of space, away from everyone else. Shaniqua is seated at the far corner of the room on a crooked metal chair, dressed in a somewhat modernized version of an Elizabethan era dress. Very elaborate and theatrical. Despite her introverted character, she was constantly bright-eyed and keen during your classes. She had a drive like no other. Hell, she miraculously memorized all her lines in two days.

You’ve never seen a furrow of the girl’s brows, until now, and it worries you. Even her glitter-covered eyes could not conceal the dismay they portray with prominence. Gingerly, you made your way to her as she stared at her fidgeting hands. It was only when you settled on the opposite dusty old chair when she finally noticed your presence.

“Stage fright, huh?” you casually asked, resting your arm on the dressing table. She mirrors your posture, heaving a deep sigh, and shakes her head. “No, it’s just,” A pause, her gaze finds yours. You nod, flashing her a smile. It’s a simple gesture that you’re here to listen. “It’s about Oscar...” You catch a hint of a smile as she trailed off and in an instant, your brow raises with curiosity. Oh? Another beat of silence, her eyes dart around the room. You sit quietly with patience because you knew she had more to say.

“It’s just that doing this play has got me thinking a lot about my feelings. I mean, if Romeo and Juliet could be lovers, despite their feuding families, then it must be easy enough for me to admit that I like Oscar.”

“You have a point.” You chuckle, eyes crinkling with amusement. Sometimes she thinks too much for her own good. She reminds you of Bruce. Shaniqua flashes you a faint smile, lips pressed with doubt. “But why am I finding it so hard to just tell him that?”

You stayed silent for a moment or two, mind deep in thought. The chair creaks as you shift in your seat. “Well, could it be that you aren’t sure if he likes you back?”

A hum in response, shrugging coyly as she mumbled a ‘maybe’. Although it was clear as day to you that Oscar liked her back, you wondered if her doubts emerged due to their differences in character. The familiarity of the situation is beginning to feel a lot like deja vu.

“How do you know that someone is the one?” Her sudden question catches you off guard because, in all honesty, you aren’t confident if you knew the answer. A straightforward question, commonly seen in the pages of teenage magazines, written for innocent eyes. You knew its true nature and it terrifies you. The image of Bruce charges through your thoughts like rushing water, memories of times when the two of you were younger clouding your mind. You forcefully push back your university days, buried back deep into your conscience.

“I don’t exactly know the answer to that but in my opinion, it’s—it’s the feeling of completeness when you love them and know they love you. They may be different from you, but it doesn’t make you love them any less. There’s no conflict or strife; it’s just the two of you against the world.”

Those words were raw and genuine, carefully crafted directly from the heart. You weren’t surprised by your words because you’ve thought about it a lot, especially on nights you slept on Bruce’s bed. Maybe, you do love him, and that's a huge ass problem. It’s amazing how unexpected situations tend to encourage apprehension on large issues you never knew existed in the first place. Perhaps it was your astonishing lack of discernment when it came to matters that could potentially alter your life.

Tonight, a sixteen-year-old girl did just that.

Amid your growing anxiety, you manage to catch sight of the wall clock, hung on the other side of the room. It’s now eight minutes until showtime. Your eyes are now wide as you sprung up from your seat in the sudden realization that everyone should be at their respective positions two minutes ago. “Oh God, we’re running late. Shaniqua, word of advice—don’t end up regretting something you didn’t do,” You shoot her a pointed look, index finger stretching towards her. “Now, you really need to go, or we’ll have to delay and you know Mr. Walken hates waiting.”

-

It’s a quarter to nine, and the theatre is empty. Outside, the foyer and the hallways are buzzing with the remaining audience, lingering and sharing inane conversations as others wait for a car to take them home. You had only just finished rearranging the costumes in the wardrobe of the dressing room. You tried to sweep the scatter of glitter all over the floor but it deemed a task as impossible; you’ll deal with it next week.

You’re sitting in the seat at the front row, nearest to the aisle with a large box filled with props on your lap. Alone in transcendental silence, feeling as empty as the theatre itself. It was partly the conversation you had with Shaniqua that hit you with the reminder of all the mistakes you made that have led you to this unchanging world of a blur that takes the blame for the wretched feeling in your chest. Yet, as the show progressed, hearing the words of affection from two lovers had sent your mind reeling. You were desperate to head home, crawl into bed and potentially cry yourself to sleep but the growing anxiety forbids it, you don’t even think you could drive home.

So, you stillness of the theatre reminds you of Edward Hopper’s painting, Solitary Figure in a Theater. With eyes shut, you pretend you are the figure in the painting, sheathed in black, sitting alone in the cavernous dark.

You hear the door of the theatre squeak, swinging open followed by the shuffling of feet. You don’t look at first, too tired anyway. You’d assume someone had either forgotten something or it was the janitor that you’re sure is going to be upset over the glitter massacre in the dressing room. It looked like a crime scene, except it was the murder of a literal unicorn. You made a mental note to send an apology sandwich of some sorts next week.

It was the familiarity in the whiff of cologne that made you snap your eyes wide open, looking over your shoulder to meet with the sight of Bruce, ambling down the aisle towards you. He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “What are you still doing here?” He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “I could ask you the same question.” He settles in the seat next to you, elbow brushing against yours. Your head tilts, gesturing to the box. Bruce merely hums and nods thoughtfully.

“So, how was the play? Does it get a Wayne seal of approval?” There’s a hint of teasing in the curve of your lips as his eyes drift to the stage. “I liked it. The kids have talent.” Your eyes glint with amusement, your smile growing wider. “I never knew you were a fan of romance.” His laugh comes out more like a huff of air, crinkled eyes meeting yours, and nudges you lightly. “Well, now you know.”

He recognizes the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes and the way you’re fussing with the edges of the box on your lap. Something is bothering you and he knows it. He nudges you once more. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You blink once. Then twice, face wincing instinctively. You keep forgetting how well Bruce can read people, especially you. You exhale slowly as he watches you struggle to pick the right words.

“It’s really nothing. It’s just-” you say after a long minute, cutting yourself short. Then, you turn to Bruce. “I’m growing older, and I’ve spent my entire life in a fog with so much fear for reality, I’m afraid it’s too late to fix all my mistakes and regrets.” Your voice dwindles with every word that escaped your lips. You were young, naïve with the notion that time was extensive to make decisions without thinking it through. To know that you could never take back the things you did. Saturn’s rising, it’s a wake-up call now that you’re older and the fear that you would never change creeps onto you with every passing birthday.

Bruce defines the epitome of the sinking feeling in your chest whenever you lay in bed at night and let your mind reel about your existence. Yet, it isn’t as simple as you want it to be. The boy you met at university has grown into a far more complex and entangled mess of the grief of his parents, the responsibility he held over this city and the drive to just...keep moving on. For the longest time, it was him against the world, and a part of you wants to believe that it doesn’t have to be that way. That maybe, you could be enough for him.

He glanced away from you, trying to hide the despondency in his eyes. He holds back a sigh as he speaks, “Do you regret us doing this?” As vague as his question is, you know what he exactly means. He remembers the time the two of you used to exchange senseless conversations and laughter so vividly that it scares him. Juvenile friends, lacking the knowledge to know what love really was. Hence, the agreement—it was just two friends, messing around. Nothing could go wrong. Now, the hole has been dug in too deep, with no way of getting out.

“I don’t,” you reply and with just two simple words, his chest feels like fire. It was the way you had said it, with so much confidence and assurance, despite the intricacy of this relationship. For the first time in a long time, you were extremely sure about an answer. You could never regret Bruce. Never.

It’s almost hesitant in the way his hand finds yours, but it represents his care for you, even if you may not know it. The warmth of his hand feels like fire. Hell, your chest feels like it’s on fire, heart burning for the man beside you. “I’ll drive you home,” he whispers with a squeeze of your hand. You flash him a grateful smile as the two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Silence so eloquent that you don’t feel so empty anymore. No longer a solitary figure trapped in a painting but now two, hand in hand, against the world.

TAGLIST

@raineeace

[teawaffles]

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 2

The next day.

After finishing his work at the mansion, Bond headed to Whitechapel’s Leman Street, where Maya and her company normally held their rehearsals. [1]

Walking down the noisy street was not just Bond, but also three other employees of the Moriarty household. One of them was Fred Porlock.

“It would’ve been fine if only you came along, Fred…… But thanks for joining us anyway, you two.”

Bond directed that to Jack Renfield and Sebastian Moran, who were walking a little behind him.

As Fred was a master of disguise, Bond had asked him to contribute his opinion on the performance too when Jack and Moran decided to tag along. Now the four of them were on their way to the rehearsal — with Louis’ permission of course.

Jack roared with laughter.

“No, you don’t have to thank me. I’ve watched my fair share of theatre, so I thought I could help them out, even if it’s from an amateur’s perspective,” said the old butler, nodding as he reminisced about those good old days.

“You’re probably just after the young girls from the theatre company, aren’t you old man?” Moran said, half in disgust. “Bond said this Maya chairwoman is a dashing lady in her own right, so I came along to feast my eyes on—— Ow, that hurt!”

Jack had clapped Moran on the head, as a warning to not shoot his mouth off.

“The only one here chasing women is you. Really, you didn’t even finish your chores properly before coming here.”

“I did my part just fine. For once, I’m not skipping out on work.”

“Rubbish — I did a check before we left and found some cigarette butts in the hallway. Don’t you dare annoy Louis any further.”

“……W-Well, the more the merrier, right?”

“…………”

Listening to their usual argument at the back of the group, Bond smiled wryly, while Fred was silent.

Finally, they had reached their destination. Waiting in front of the theatre was Maya, and her little sister Mae.

“Mister Bond!”

“Hey, haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

Mae waved her arms up and down in excitement, while Bond greeted them with a smile.

“S—sorry. Normally, she would play with the other children near our place, but today she insisted on coming with me…… By the way, um, who might these, d—dignified gentlemen be?”

“Ah, they work at the same household as me. The short one here is Fred. The somewhat scary-looking one is Moran. And this dandy old gentleman is Mr Jack. If you’re alright with it, I thought you could use their input as well.”

As Bond introduced them, the three men also greeted their host. But Maya seemed a little perplexed.

“……Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here in a big group,” Bond admitted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“No, no.” Maya hurriedly waved her hands. “I—I’m really grateful to be able to, hear valuable feedback from, so many people. For now, let’s not stand here to talk, please come in……”

Maya guided them into the theatre, stooped in a self-abasing posture. Her faltering voice was much as the same as from their previous encounter, but today, nerves seemed to have crept in as well.

“She has a sort of shadow about her, but that has its own charm. Like the transient beauty of a young widow, don’t you think?”

“She’s pretty, for sure, but not really my type. More like the kind of woman who complicates things when you break up with her.”

“Um, sorry you two, but if you could just keep your voices down,” chided Bond, as Jack and Moran whispered about the chairwoman behind her back.

Right after the entrance was a cramped space. The box seats above them looked hastily constructed; in truth, the interior decorations made it seem more appropriate to call this place a playhouse, rather than a proper theatre.

But their guide had only praise. “The manager here is, a really nice person; whenever we say we want to practise, he’s always happy to lend it to us. There are performances held at night, so we can only use it during the day.”

“He trusts you, doesn’t he.”

Hearing her speak with such sincere gratitude, Bond was quietly impressed by her character. Perhaps her dark aura easily invited misunderstanding, but she was definitely genuine at heart.

“Speaking of which, Miss Maya, you said that you’re the director for this performance, but surely someone else is responsible for the sets and the arrangements at the other theatre during this time?”

“Another member is in charge of the sets, but the negotiations and the like, w—were handled by me. Even so, the manager of the larger theatre — a nobleman — had actually approached us to be the opening act for another company, and I just accepted his invitation.”

“Still, isn’t it great to be invited to perform on a bigger stage, even if it’s just as an opening act?”

“Yes; for people like us — a theatre company from the slums, we don’t have many chances to show the world what we can do, so everyone’s doing their very best.”

Saying that, Maya secretly clenched her fists. Surely the one working the hardest was none other than Maya herself.

There was no audience in the stalls, and on the stage were a number of men and women — likely the company members themselves — doing light warm-ups and vocal exercises. A few of the children he’d met yesterday were also frolicking about on stage.

One exceptionally tall man on the stage had noticed Bond and the others enter the hall, and spoke up.

“Oh, is that the rumoured theatre master?”

Moran whistled at this unusually grand title.

“Theatre master, eh. A fitting name considering your experience, Bond.”

“Fufu, I’m honoured.”

Bond accepted it with his innate courage and composure. Then, he went onto the stage with Maya, while the other three sat in the stalls at the far end, so as to not stand out and interfere with the rehearsal.

The company members each stopped what they were doing and lined up in wait.

“Everyone, this is Mr Bond, who will be watching our performance today,” introduced Maya.

Right then and there, her voice had become clearer and stronger. A little taken aback by the sudden change in her attitude, Bond took a quick look around the room.

“Hello to you all. I’m looking forward to what you have for me today,” he said solemnly, as he bowed.

“We’ll do our best!” The company members bowed their heads in unison.

From their greeting, Bond could feel the the quality of their bearing, and the strength of their cohesion. Not only that, the tension he himself once felt when he stood on stage came rushing back in waves.

He switched his frame of mind from that of a special agent, to that of an actor, and looked over Maya and her company with an earnest gaze.

“Well then, without further ado, please show me what you’ve got.”

“Yes!”

Even though his instructions had been given with no introductory remarks, they asked no unnecessary questions, and jumped straight into preparation. Even though they had only put up plays in cheap theatres, Maya’s company already displayed the high level of professionalism they had developed.

“Miss Maya, what’s the programme for today?” Bond asked, as he moved to the row of seats right in front of the stage.

Maya was also directing Mae and the other children to sit down. “We’re starting with ‘The Red Shoes’, followed by ‘The Little Mermaid’, and lastly, ‘The Little Match Girl’.”

“Hmm, fairytales, I see.”

The unexpected subject matter piqued his interest.

In a time when Shakespeare was all the rage, to perform children’s literature in a proper theatre, and a serious scripted play at that — now this was a bold move.

But as someone who liked to do things unconventionally, that was precisely why their play intrigued Bond. Yesterday’s playful rendition of “The Little Match Girl” was probably inspired by it as well.

Then, the tall man who noticed Bond earlier spoke up.

“Ain’t it interesting? Maya always makes sure to write plays that even us poor dumb folk understand. Today’s script is also entirely her work,” he said cheerfully.

“Weren’t you in charge of creating the play too? You should be able to write at least one decent line of dialogue.”

At the man’s self-satisfied tone, a woman beside him sighed. But he ignored her pointed comment and carried on.

“There were a bunch of people who’d always thought ‘Hamlet’ and ‘Macbeth’ and the like were plain boring; but after Maya broke them down into something easier to follow, they’ve gotten hooked onto Shakespeare.”

“Being able to interpret works in a way that everyone can understand…… A wonderful talent indeed.”

But if you were to put on a proper production of Shakespeare in an unregulated theatre like this, you would be caught by the censors. To avoid that, incorporating music and the like into their productions was a brilliant adaptation on their part.

Bond had said that last part out loud, and the man thanked him for his words of praise. The members of the company had shown their admiration for Maya, but the woman herself took in a deep breath, as if to hide her embarrassment.

In other words, in order to put on a play that everyone could follow, the answer she'd arrived at was “fairytales”. Although it may be the best choice given the short length of the opening act……

“I’m sitting next to Mister Bond!”

“Hey, no fair!”

Bond had been absorbed in thought about the contents of the play. Nearby, the children were scrambling for the best spots. Having won the seat to the left of Bond, Mae asked him a question.

“Mister Bond, do you like ‘fairy tales’?”

That pulled him out of his thought process for a moment, and Mae smiled.

“Yeah. I read them when I was a child.”

“I like them too, because Maya and the rest always read them in a fun way—”

“Me too!” The other children raised their hands and shouted. Reading stories aloud while acting out the roles was indeed a theatrical way of reading to children.

However, Mae immediately pouted in frustration.

“But I really hate that story.”

“……Why is that?”

“The little girl always looks so sad. I tried asking Maya to give it a happy ending, but she just said that we have to ‘respect the intent of the story’ and didn’t listen.”

Her words helped Bond discern the true nature of the incongruity he'd felt.

As Mae had said, all three stories had their protagonists fall into unfortunate circumstances and perish. It was true that many fairytales were cruel, but there were others with happy endings too. Was there some hidden intent behind these choices?

As Bond pondered the new question that surfaced in his mind, Mae leaned in towards him.

“Mister Bond, do you also think it’s important, what Maya said? No matter how sad a story is, can’t we make it happy on our own?”

She asked that question with clear eyes. Bond thought for a few seconds, before responding.

“It’s true that it’s important to understand the intention of the original story. If you change its contents haphazardly, the fans of the story would be upset. I think your sister is the type who would take that very seriously.”

Mae glanced down in disappointment at his level-headed answer, but Bond continued.

“However, if we were all afraid of criticism, then nothing new would ever be made. If you have something you really want to tell others, then I think it’s possible to add a new interpretation to a story. After all, one form of respect is to show the world how you would’ve done it.”

“……Oh I see!”

Mae brightened up, and Bond smiled. Her question was one that had always, and would continue to vex all interpreters of stories. But at the very least, he didn’t want to make a decision on which way was right.

Just as their conversation had come to an end, it seemed the preparations for the performance were now complete.

“Without further ado, let us begin.”

Standing on a platform, Maya gave a bow, and with that the curtain rose.

Footnotes:

[1] Leman Street is a little to the north-east of the Tower of London and St. Katharine Docks, and within walking distance of both.

T/N: Is this chapter some meta-level commentary on the series itself?! omg

[jiminrings]

honestly i could talk w band!hobi abt numbers all day, like i wouldn't even mind. what are ur thoughts on 27 hobi? i think they a bad bitch. also UM might i request a drabble abt like a film major! yn (that is very enthusiastic abt films and the aesthetics + cinematography and whatnot) w like,,, a theatre kid?? any of ot7 works fine and it's all good if u can't or don't want to! thankyouu 💜

muse of mine

pairing: namjoon x y/n

wordcount: 4k

glimpse: namjoon’s always been a little sensitive to feedback whether it’s positive or negative, y/n’s an endearing type of talker, and smuggled snacks to the theater haven’t ever tasted this sweet :D // gif from pinterest!

notes: i kinda switched it up a lil bit and made them more established in their respective fields bc my mind went berserk on this concept!!! also this is mayhaps my oNLY piece that’s just pure fluff

“27? The number? Hmm. That sounds... sexy.” - band!hobi

this been’s bugging you for the past half hour

this whole experience feels oddly familiar

you’ve been in this theater for half an hour so far to watch this play!!

lmao ur gonna admit RIGHT off the bat that theatre’s definitely not it for you

your slight unfondness for it is deeply-rooted back to university and for four years, you’ve consistently taken dumps on theatre kids even if it’s under your breath

alright it’s possible that you don’t hATE the actual people ( only some of them ;D ) themselves but rather this whole type of cockiness and the “i’m a direct descendant of shakespeare himself. trust me bro. on god” energy that they always seem to exhude

but realistically, maybe this deep-rooted hate stemmed from seokjin

he was the guy you’d share the exact same elective class with him for two straight whole semesters and you’ve been seatmates from time to time

homie took foreign language as an elective?????

the language is korean?????????????????

“wait b-but i — aren’t you — n-no but i really???”

that’s what you first sputtered to him in realization when he took his seat beside you

the two of you have only ever shown each other notes bc the other was dozing off and the occasional sharing of gummy bears that’s already pre-opened to not make any noise

but for some reason, it’s only dawned in you why seokjin’s a god in this class and he answers your questions without even looking at his notes by hALFWAY through the whole semester of foreign language

one day, u are gonna find a way to bodyslam yourself and never recover from it ever again

“mhmm. don’t sweat it, sweetheart. i personally think it’s very don quixote of me to y’know, take something as impractical and amusing as this.”

you snort at his choice of words because honestly!! you barely remember don quixote and jin’s use of it as an adjective jigs up a refresher course on your brain

who was he again?? 

was he the donkey

.. or are you thinking about shrek again because of your film analysis

you sWEAR there was a donkey in that story

it’s good fun to talk with jin even if he keeps sliding bourgeoisie words here and there and you’re a lil confused with all these references that he makes but that’s okay !!!

atleast even him saying it in a long-winded way that he was like someone from the merchant of somewhere, you know now that he pretty-pleased and charmed his way to the registrar for him to take korean as an elective

...

two weeks later, jin sits next to you in class 

in ACTUAL non-elective, non-native language he already speaks class

now that you’re squinting a bit more, jin does look a little uh?? different

his hair that was once a hybrid of lavender and peach and pink and then blonde was now wholly black and it’s probably his original hair color because it matches with those eyebrows of his!!!

his combo of a black bomber jacket with a silk button-up underneath honestly SLAPS and it makes you forget how he used to exclusively wear only knitted shirts and argyle-patterned cardigans

you have ur jaw dropped because you totally would’ve fallen for seokjin jAW-FIRST 

— if only he didn’t strike you as the brother type when he smacked the back of your head because you were falling asleep on class again and uhhh you mUst be forgetting that the two of you were sitting in front

you had no time to reevaluate whether you should develop a crush for him or not 

he’s immediately slapping his hands on his knees, looking at you so intensely before pointing a finger at you with so much conviction, and then scoffing to himself

“switched majors to film. theatre was gonna be the death of me!!! y/n, if you even think about trying to switch to that cheap, amazon-ordered quill and tanning lights for stage lighting major, you’re absolutely dEAD to me-”

you’ve never had a conversation this striking nor long with jin but you genuinely have no complaints at all

seokjin talks pure shit about theatre and theatre junkies and everything in between for the WHOLE day 

trails beside you for every single class you had, which was convenient because he can then sweet-talk his way again (if anybody even dared to question him) that he’s just newly-switched 

sat with you for lunch and him not eating because he just needS to tell you all about it and you trying not to choke on your pasta as you try to reply to him

followed you back hOME and decided to crash the night there

yeah, that. your unfondness for theatre’s rooted on that one

uh-huh safe to say that you’ve become best friends with jin ever since that day

you’re a sponge for your friends and jin’s the closest one you have, so it was only natural that you soak up his distastes and whatnot

not to brag but aha :D

you add salt to the water while you boil pasta so u may be a little bit of a masterchef or somewhat, no big deal :D

he’s absorbed your fascination for all kinds of lights and fixtures that he has about seven different nightlights in the form of squishies or neon and everything else on his bedside table, in which he turns all of them on at night

fun fact: he’s capable of sleeping in the dark

jin’s the whole reason for your stance on this

he’s adamant about his points and you’ve graduated uni four years ago!!!

which is why you DON’T get why jin would give you a scented black envelope, with “don’t come to this” scribbled in gold at the front, carrying a single ticket to this play with a sticky note saying “don’t watch this at 7 pm, wearing your boss lady year-end award show type of clothes, sitting at the ninth row from the back and two seats from your right.”

because of course!! what the hell did he expect you to do? NOT come to this play at 7 pm wearing your boss lady year-end award show type of clothes then sitting at the ninth row from the back, two seats from the right???

OF COURSE YOU WOULD

your goal in life is to do exactly the opposite of what jin tells you. there’s literally nothing else in life you’d want to fulfill

he’s made it quite easy for you to spite him and although you wouldn’t admit it.,,.,., you may be a little petty ok

he’s the even bigger goof out of the two of you and you can never have the final say!! it’s always him and his wit and yOU being the dunce

it’s a lil sus that jin’s basically ASKING for it with his instructions but whatever

whatever it is, this is finally your chance to enact the final say and you’re gonna pull ALL the stops

all you know about theater-goers is that they dress fancy and wear these mini binoculars and that’s about it

there’s not even one film you know that you see anyone in the audience wearing a worn-in cardigan or even a puffer jacket even if the theater’s mad cold

all the people bring are scarves and shawls???? thee thinnest version of a blanket that won’t warm them up against the frigid airconditioning

that whole dress code sounds ridiculous!!! great please ring out this thousand-dollar dress im gonna wear to the theater thank u

you’re a little worried that you’re not gonna blend into the crowd, but after some digging about the invitation, formal wear is most definitely recommended

it’s an exclusive invite-only play which would be later released to the general public later on so yeah the situation dOES call for a gown thank u very much

also how could you forget that jin explicitly told you not to wear this type of attire

if you’re being humble right now, which you always normally are, even if that jUST sounded boastful talking about how you’re humble all the time —

you do look pretty breath-taking :-)

even when the doors weren’t opened and everyone’s just collectively loitering outside the hall, you’d feel glances at you

the sweet security guard did a double-take at you and mumbled a “very very nice evening to you, miss :D” instead of his normal “enjoy the show!” to the other patrons before you

you’re gonna soak all the silent compliments up and try to remember all of them before writing them on your journal later hee-hee

your midnight blue satin dress that’s floor-length and off-shoulder is dEFINITELY in your favor :D

your dress still glimmers even if the spotlight isn’t on you and you wish you weren’t shy to ask a random stranger to take a picture of you

going on self-timer isn’t ideal either when there’s like a hundred other people in the room

they probably wouldn’t even care if you took a picture of yourself!!! but in your head they probably think that you’re laughable so you’d rather not.. do that

the theater’s dark as hell if that wasn’t established

it is literally pitch black in the room and the ushers at each row holding the flashlights that are meant to guide the patrons aren’t exactly helpful

big kudos to them though,, must take a lot of self-control to not wave their lights like it was a rave :D

a flashlight tHAT bright?? whew pls is this what ships feel in the night

the last time you were in a rave, your thirty minutes of fun was cut short when seokjin immediately got hammered and wouldn’t stop throwing a fit if you didn’t drive him home that instant

his energy seemed to compelling everyone that he’s managed to somehow suck the energy out of a WHOLE rave so you took him home for everyone’s enjoyment :(((( except yours apparently

you’re trying hard to focus on the play that’s happening because for the past twenty minutes, all you’ve done is zone out randomly with ideas all of a sudden 

you NEED to listen

....

uh-huh...

UH-HUH......

wait this is actually.. good

you find plays hard to follow and absolutely boring when you don’t immerse yourself in a run-down PRIOR to watching it in order to get

it’s the same analogy as reading the plot of a movie on wikipedia before watching the movie at the cinema.... absolutely useless

it sucks out the fun from something you weren’t supposed to know

watching plays is two hours of you being confused, going home to read the plot and only understand it by tHEN, and never coming to the theater again because you’d waste your money.... watching something cluelessly in the theater..... for a plot you’d grasp at home

but no

because this one

actually this one that you’re watching...

it’s not bad

it’s nice, actually.

within two minutes, you managed to grasp that it’s a story about a never-ending spring between these two lovers

there’s something about the whole setting of it actually that just sucks you in

in some plays, the outfits would seem so forced even in the given context that it reminds you of uh a particular superhero movie

and yes ur aware that stage makeup has to be enhanced so that people all the way to the back row would see

but there’s just something in this scene that’s laid out right-now that actually gets you in awe

it’s of the couple in the back of their pick-up truck and everything about it seems so natural

the background straight up looks like what it’d be if you were to go outside

the guy’s arm around her shoulder seems so natural and in nature that it doesn’t feel like a random cue in the script

the girl twinkles and it doesn’t even feel like a forced type of laugh you’d cue in attempt to warm the audience’s hearts

it’s of a plot where the the guy eventually falls out of love with the girl, while girl gets even more smitten with the guy at the same time

it’s what you take from the past ten minutes that you watch in dead silence, and you don’t even remember in the back of your head that you’re supposed to hate plays

“no way.”

you mumble in disbelief under your breath, head shaking profusely

is your mind playing tricks on you???

you’ve got too used to seokjin sitting beside you that you immediately turn to your right, whispering out your concerns 

“is it just me or is she wearing a different shade of pink?”

you don’t even buffer for one second when you ask the stranger beside you

you’re so concerned that you’re looking at him intently while waiting for his answer that could either console or despair you, a random theater-goer that’s too noisy with her questions for her own good

it’s absolutely dARK as fuck in the theater but after awhile your eyes adjusted slightly

and the first thing you look at after the stage is him

him as in the dude in your right that you just asked all of a sudden

you could only see his silhouette and the faintest features of his face along with his well-dressed suit but god

... you are totally not lying if you say that even the barest silhouette of him doesn’t look handsome

you’re expecting him to tell you off for being so noisy but instead, he’s the one who takes you by surprise

“how did you notice that?” 

:O

“oh my god!” you exclaim almost too loudly that you yourself even jolts, the guy even making you duck with him slightly for a brief second, “im sO sorry!! am i accidentally spoiling it out for you?”

the guy blinks twice, lips slightly parted before shaking his head no

“no, no... this is the first screening — i mean uh, how would you know that?”

oh boy

you’re adjusting yourself on your seat, bum now warm as you try to explain and not be nervous because what if you just made a wrong assumption about this play and you’re sitting next to a goddamn tHEATRE BUFF???

“well i —uh, uhm what’s your name?” you’re flustered and the FIRST thing you ask is what was his name.,.,,

he seems equally as flustered before he adjusts his glasses, “o-oh uhm i’m namjoon...?”

alright! handsome guy is namjoon!

“you see, namjoon — okay it might just be in my head, but i tHINK it looks deeper with the light somehow. but uh...? the spotlight’s not following her and — is it just me or without the light, her sweater looks brown?”

you’re squinting and if u squint even more, maybe your contacts would just crumple by then

hold on a second

“brown, like — oh my gOD LIKE-”

namjoon puts a hand over his mouth before you could even gasp, hand reaching out for your forearm even before you manage to grasp his shoulder to take it in realization

was it under your nose the whole time??

“... fall.”

:D

holy fucking shit

namjoon looks positively euphoric looking at your face of realization, his once-heavy chest about the whole scene becoming completely devoid of weight

“exactly!!”

his confirmation makes you inwardly squeal, grinning as you point at him and the stage back and forth

“i think this is the first play i’ve become ever interested in watching.”

okay what now

his ears perk up at that, your first sentence that you’ve said after your pink sweater that looks like spring also looks brown like fall in certain scene because of the lighting realization

“it is?”

he takes the chance to look at you as best as he could, trying to play his squinting as cool as he can

namjoon’s far sighted and the glasses he’s wearing are nOT up to date with his current grade bc he’s pretty sure his eyesight’s worsened the past month

he can’t make you out wholly, but he does know that you’re pretty

his eyes don’t linger on you because of the snacks you’re fishing from your purse while you talk that are absolutely illegal in this theater house lmao

but instead, his gaze lingers on you because you’re so pretty

the minimal light that’s bouncing off the stage is enough for him to see a faint outline of your features, highlighting your smiles just right and your dress to glint underneath

“mhmm. i actually hate plays,” suddenly, you’re not scared if namjoon happens to be some sort of theatre buff and you’re offending him because honestly, you feel at ease. “crunch?” you’re holding out the mini bar of chocolate out to him, one he politely declines to because his eyes are bulging out the next second

“you do????”

his genuine reaction indulges you, making you grin ultimately that you put off eating snacks for now to focus on him

“yeah! this is my hate outfit :D”

namjoon giggles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard

you automatically scoot closer because this time, it’s yOUR turn to shush him

this is totally for just the reason of talking more discreetly and not distracting anyone and is totally not an excuse to be closer to the next guy and touch shoulders with him then get a whiff of cologne because it’s rare for a guy to be handsome and aLSO smell good

your eyes get used to the darkness and eventually, you could make out features of namjoon beside you

he has the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen

and the way he looks at you makes you feel safe and even your height difference is visible with how probably lonG his torso is compared to yours, his gaze doesn’t make you feel small

namjoon’s still (unsurprisingly) far-sighted and ur so close that he’s a lil cross-eyed 

fuck it he’s gonna go to ophthalmologist FIRST thing in the morning tomorrow

“then why are you here?”

“my friend seokjin,” you lean back upon realizing the original reason why you’re here, the situation being so ironic that you puff out a smile

your friend’s named seokjin?

cool :D kim seokjin is namjoon’s of his favorite directors eVER!!

second best for him actually though.,., no one could quite compare to his first

your explanation makes him cackle several times, a swell of pride recounting why you hate (it’ll be past tense probably after this one) theatre 

“what about you?”

you turn the question to him, making his dimples disappear effectively that you think you’ve just spooked him

“i uh, well i always wanted to see a story that went like this, so i’m here.”

“you’re a critic? oh god. please don’t tell me you heard all my mumbles.”

no this is even WORSE

namjoon’s not a theatre buff

HE’S A CRITIC????????????

god im coming up

“don’t worry, i also think that the drapings must probably be dirty.”

he breaks out into a smile recounting how you were talking to yourself earlier, a snort escaping him involuntarily 

“RIGHT??? it’s like how do you even clean them?? do they fit in washing machines or-”

my god he’s such a nice guy!!!

in fact, he’s everything you want in a guy

you’ve went through atleast twelve facets of emotions for the past hour and you’re not even dating!!!!!!!

“my thoughts exactly!! and if it’s by hand, how do you even scrub the entirety of it?? or wring the water out??”

namjoon KNOWS exactly what’s up :’)

“is there even a clothesline that’d bEAR the weight??”

the two of you are so happy that you just look at each other laughing, a moment in time before namjoon nudges you to lean back because the ending’s happening

you don’t even question him how he’d know that it’s the ending and not just another opening to a new scene, just listening to him

you’re so happy

the play made you happy but namjoon made you even happier :-)

“if you are a critic, you should probably open up your review with this chatty play-hating girl beside you, then at the end, close it off with how she loves it.”

it’s the parting conversation as you realize and holy fuck you are nOT ready for it

you r gonna drag this out for as long as you could <3

......

and namjoon wants in too <3

“noted. if i was a playwright, i’d even make you the lead. which detail should i include? offering me wrapper-covered rice crispy snacks, or asking how you’d watch it while going thru the bathroom?”

this feels so natural

as natural as the couple in the play you’ve just finished watching :))

“you’re hilarious,” you’re not even the slightest bit annoyed and your restrained smile tells him all about it

yea you may have brought in snacks illegally but you aRE gathering your trash up as you’re a decent human being

namjoon wishes you’d pick up after yourself slowly, standing up from his seat as he has the plan of picking up trash that isn’t even his

“what name should i put then?”

you’re silent and oh god he thinks you found his company stupid and would definitely not give him your name

you’re not ignoring him though!!!

his words are still stuck in your head, realizing it lately with his “which detail should i include?”

“me wanting to turn this into a film, actually.”

you test the words out on your tongue, nodding to yourself after a few seconds that you seem so sure of it

“yeah. i wanna make it into a film.”

the lights turn on after being dim for so long, namjoon’s eyes going wide trying to digest what you’ve just said

“w-what?

.....

no fucking way

HOLY FUCKING SHIT SWFRWFBWRHGBRBVWRV SWBHJSDB SHJAVBHGJDS BWHRGHBSVWBGRH

namjoon’s malfunctioning as he’s looking at you from eye to eye, bottom lip trembling while he’s so keen at pointing at you

“y-you’re miss y/n!!”

....

right

oH RIGHT

he’s a fan of yours??

namjoon’s fanning his face because he’s about to literally burst into tears

how could he nOT???

how could he not be emotional when all along, he’s been talking to his number one favorite director????

you and your films are the absolute gems of his life namjoon’s not even kidding

your films were world-renowned for being so natural and sentimental without loading too much into it!!!! you’re known for being so humble through the multiple back-to-back awards and praise you get!!!! 

he cannot calm the fUCK down when you’re rubbing circles on his back

“you w-want to turn my play into a film?”

oh my gOD

you’re fumbling for the envelope and it’s only nOW that you realize that it’s not from seokjin in the first place

spring day a play by kim namjoon an invite for director y/n y/l/n

“it’s you!!!!”

“no it’s YOU!!”

jin’s plan worked alright :D

he’s just FOUR rows behind you lmao

it was just two weeks ago when yoongi, the executive producer of his film that he was directing, let it slip that he was co-financing a play

he met yoongi some semesters later after he became close with you, and he’s aLSO converted yoongi into hating theatre then he fit right in to your little posse of theatre kid-hating film students

that gave jin the laugh of his laugh and yoongi was not joking at all

“no, no. i’m telling you man. it’s different! i even have the script that i’ll let you read.”

and holy shit it IS different

if you see a couple tears on the last seven pages of yoongi’s copy of spring day’s script then mind yo oWN fucking business

then two weeks later, here he is :D

jin managed to also convert you to love theatre even IF it is namjoon’s play that did all the work

( also coincidentally found you a future boyfriend because he’s tired of seeing you alone and the closest you’d get to having someone is projecting your yearning into writing the scripts for the films you’d make )

he’s also secretly co-financed the whole play along with yoongi and he’ll drop that bomb later on lmao

“and that must mean i looked like a total FOOL beside you oh my god im so sorry!!”

namjoon panics at that, about to cry when another realization hits him when he’s about to put his head on his hands

“then that means the friend who gave you the ticket was-”

SEOKJIN VBFHSBVHSFBVSFHDVBSJFV SFJVJSFVSJVSSV SSV V FS FSV SFBVRBVRSVSWVGU

he cries to your shoulder and you never expected to be hugging and consoling someone you’ve just met two hours ago, a more than fond smile on your face he takes advantage of when he sneaks in the chance to ask you

“do you mean that?”

“now why would i lie to the playwright who’s been listening to me talk shit, then theorizing, then crying for the past hour?”

it’s true though

namjoon’s seen it all

he’s still handsome as ever even when he sniffles, his dimples on display when you return his question

“now did you mean it? writing me into your play?”

why are you even ASKING

:D

he’s the biggest fan of u

namjoon’s made notes of your work, dedicated scripts to your movies, and he’s thinking about how it’s not yet hitting you how your whole epiphany about the pink sweater turning brown on his play,,, was entirely inspired from you and your affinity for lighting in your films

he thinks it’s still a little early to kiss you on the cheek even if you’ve already hugged, instead settling on pinching your cheek with satisfaction present in all corners

“you’ve always been my muse.”

[belizedeservesbetter]

Six is Super Fun But Also Kinda Bad

sorry not sorry ‘bout what i said... 

In a way, I’m not entirely convinced Six is actually a musical. It feels more like a concert than anything, with a paper thin plot and dialogue that had me constantly cringing. However, much like a concert, I was there for the music and the music was of course fantastic. 

To begin, I want to say that I won the $30 lottery seats for this, which put me in the front row. To be very honest, I would not have paid any more than that to see this show. It is only about 70 minutes long and is again very much a concert and not a musical so I really couldn’t justify paying even a TKTS price for it. Unfortunately, the cheaper seats are usually in the back of the theater and this is very much a show where you want to be as close as possible. 

I really expected to be blown away by this show, but honestly? I was more disappointed than anything. The plot is genuinely bad and the dialogue is genuinely awful (filled to the brim with “lol” and social media references) and I’ll definitely be going into spoiler territory here but honestly it doesn’t even matter because there isn’t enough plot to hold the weight of a spoiler in the first place.

So basically the premise is these six queens are performing this show for you (how? why? don’t think too hard on it) since they have decided to form a girl group but will now hold a contest to see who had it worst with Henry VIII to see who will become the leader of the girl group - even though girl groups don’t really have leaders but again don’t think too hard on this. The six queens then each sing a song about their life and somehow skip all the actual interesting details about themselves before Catherine Parr (wife #6) is like guys WAIT we shouldn’t be pitting ourselves against each other! We should be feminist and be a TEAM and then they all turn to the audience and are like ACTUALLY we were a team all along and this was all a trick to get us the audience to see how bad comparing women is. Why was it a trick? Didn’t we already know comparing women is bad? Anyways, this “plot twist” occurs like ten minutes before the show ends and is just... kinda there? It’s very much a “oh okay” moment where you really can’t do anything but accept it for what it is because we know they’re gonna do the big MegaSix number at the end and that’s the best part anyway. 

But like I said before, the music is super fun and super catchy and in the moment is an absolute BLAST. So I had a fantastic time watching it because it’s a fun time, but once you give the show one single shred of thought it kind of falls apart completely. 

Also, the costumes are super gorgeous and I loved getting a front row seat to see all the details. I visited the Showstoppers NYC! exhibit in August and got to speak with one of the guys who hand makes Katherine Howard’s costume so it was very cool getting to see them all live and in person. 

Since the cast is only six people, I’ll go through them all (and their songs) one by one. Uniformly they were great, but I will admit that almost none of them stayed in character unless it was their turn to have their number. I blame this on the weird and clunky choreography, which is so excessive and so many moves that make them all look like robots. 

First up is Catherine of Aragon, played by Adrianna Hicks. She sings “No Way” which is a fantastic first song of the Queen Competition. She really commanded the stage and was super interactive with the audience.

Next up is Anne Boleyn, played by Andrea Macasaet. Her song is “Don’t Lose Ur Head” and it’s the best song in the show. It will in fact be stuck in my head forever and I loved how bubbly and fun Macasaet was! She is so tiny but her energy filled the entire theater! Her costume is also my favorite of the queens. 

However, as much as I loved her performance, I do take issue with how Anne Boleyn is portrayed. In actuality, Anne Boleyn was wicked smart and very religious and was not the ditzy having fun all day long person that she’s portrayed as. Her sister was Henry’s mistress and Anne really didn’t want to get involved with him. She was more interested in religion than anything else. 

(and a side note, something I found odd was Catherine of Aragon’s brief mention of Mary but Anne Boleyn not bringing up Elizabeth at all. She even jokes about writing lyrics for Shakespeare in a better version of her life but Elizabeth was not only one of the most influential queens England had but also saw Shakespeare’s plays) 

Which brings us to Jane Seymour, played by the lovely Abby Mueller, who looks and sounds strikingly like her sister. Unfortunately, Mueller is given the very worst song in the show in “Heart of Stone.” Oh man. This is a bad one. It’s the lowest energy song and has the worst lyrics and since you know the song is literally about Henry VIII you absolutely cannot get behind it. It’s a shame, because Mueller is giving the best performance in the show, and also the most consistent one!! 

This brings me to my wider Jane Seymour Problem. Jane’s whole character is basically “wait but actually I loved him” and the show kinda brushes aside the whole fact of Henry being completely awful whenever it comes to Seymour. Anne Boleyn does chime in a couple times with a “but he literally beheaded me” but Seymour is consistently trying to spin it around. The show doesn’t know how to navigate the fact that Henry probably only loved her because she gave him a son and that very little is actually known about this woman. In Jane’s little “better version of her life” in the last song, she actually pairs herself with Henry as a long term relationship/family thing, even though the whole point of the song before is that they don’t need Henry? Make it make sense, Six! Make it make sense! 

I’m gonna skip right over “Haus of Holbein” because that song was stupid and that whole sequence was stupid. 

Luckily the next song was way better, with Brittney Mack’s Anna of Cleves bringing down the house with “Get Down.” On the cast album, “Get Down” is the one I always skip but I don’t think I will anymore because Mack was incredible. She made that song one of the absolute highlights of the show. She was absolutely fantastic. 

Usually Katherine Howard is played by Samantha Pauly, but she was out and tonight the character was played by Courtney Mack, who was really wonderful. She can Sing with a capital S! “All You Wanna Do” is a really great song and it actually dives into interesting emotional territory and I wish more of the songs had that! I wish the show had more of that!! K Howard is usually the one no one talks about so I was glad she had a really good song that really laid out her life in a fairly raw way. 

Coming in at song number six is “I Don’t Need Your Love,” sung by Anna Uzele’s Catherine Parr. Uzele has a lovely voice but her song is kinda boring and the fact that it’s tied so tightly with the “plot twist” is kind of a let down. 

Then the six queens all sing a song (called “Six”) about what they would have liked their lives to be, and most of them are kind of absurd and have to do with becoming pop stars even though that wasn’t a thing back in Tudor England. 

Ultimatey, the show is ridiculously fun but has absolutely nothing to say, even though the show really thinks it’s saying something about feminism and history. It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. The closest it gets is “All You Wanna Do” and even then that’s barely breaking the surface. The show is also very high energy and high fun, so they expect you the audience to also gloss over all the inaccuracies and weird Jane Seymour stuff. 

This show is being built up as this pinnacle of feminist theatre but honestly it’s mostly mediocre writing that’s saved by catchy songs and powerhouse performers. 

Looking back at this review, it does look pretty negative but I swear I had a really good time! I swear it’s very fun! It just isn’t anything more than that. 

[knuffled]

just practice - chapter ten

chapter ten is here, yay! hope you all enjoy it! somewhat important update in the notes at the end of the chapter on ao3 for those interested. thanks in advance!

ao3 link here

Holding the premier of the school play on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving was a bold move in Annabeth’s opinion, so it was surprising that the school’s parking lot was nearly filled, although that almost certainly had to do with the fact that Piper was playing Viola in the school’s production of Twelfth Night. Her performances in the school plays had turned into something of local legend after all. It had all started when she landed the role of Ophelia as a freshman, a feat in and of itself, but it was the way that she had sent audiences home in tears each night of the production that had catapulted her to near mythic status among the student body. It had gotten to the point where even many members of the football team could be found patiently waiting in line to watch a Shakespearean play.

Ever prepared, Annabeth had come fairly early to help secure seats for herself and the rest of her friends. The moment the doors opened, she made a beeline for the rows close to the stage and found some center seats, but when the auditorium began to fill its seats quicker than she anticipated and none of her friends had yet to arrive, she was forced to concede all of the seats she’d reserved except for two, one on either side of her. As more and more of the seats began to get filled, She came close to sending a text in the group chat as her sense of worry grew. Fortunately, that was when Jason showed up, a grateful smile on his face as he sank into the seat next to her. He took off his jacket, draping it on the seatback, and rubbed at the dark bags beneath his eyes.

“You look like a panda,” Annabeth said, smirking.

Jason ran his fingers through his hair and scowled. “Very funny. I’ve been neck deep in planning for the stupid after-party, and it has been a total nightmare.”

“So I take it that working with Drew Tanaka isn’t a good time then?”

Jason rolled his eyes and said, “There’s just something about event planning that turns her into a demon. At one point, I legitimately thought she was going to skin me alive.”

“Very dramatic,” Annabeth teased, squeezing his shoulder. “At least the worst is over now.”

“I sure hope so,” Jason muttered. “Otherwise, I might not live to see another day.”

Annabeth was about to say something when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out and looked at the caller ID, which immediately sent a frisson of irritation running through her. That was probably the seventeenth time this random number had called her over the past two weeks. She didn’t recognize the number at all, but whoever it was happened to be incredibly persistent about calling her.

“That number again?” Jason asked.

Annabeth sighed and nodded. “It’s starting to get really fucking annoying.”

“You should just block ‘em and save yourself the trouble,” Jason said, shrugging.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Annabeth said, sighing. “I’ll do it after the show.”

Jason nodded and pulled out his phone to shoot some texts, presumably to the group organizing the after-party. Annabeth spent her time scrolling mindlessly through Twitter, waiting for Percy to show up, but he was still missing two minutes before the show was due to begin. It was only once the lights began to dim that Annabeth heard the familiar cadence of his footsteps behind her. Percy squeezed past the people who were already seated, murmuring apologies as he passed by, before he sank into the seat beside her. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and winced as he probed his upper back muscles.

Annabeth looked at him with concern and said, “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Percy said, grimacing.

“I swear your coach has been extending practices by an hour every month now since the start of the school year.”

Percy huffed a laugh. “You’re probably right. I swear, he’s trying to kill me. Literally every part of my body hurts right now.”

Annabeth frowned in the dark. In all his years on the team, she had never heard Percy complain about his body hurting after practices. His coach must have been pushing him even harder over this past month than normal. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She leaned in to him to whisper to him and found her face heating up at the distracting scent of body wash and chlorine clinging to his skin, evidence of the post-practice shower he must have taken before coming here.

It took her a moment to collect her thoughts and mumble, “If you feel that bad, you should have just gone home. Piper would understand.”

“I’m not missing the premier just because I’m a little sore,” Percy said, shaking his head.

Annabeth paused before giving him a tentative nod and turning back to the stage, but she still felt lingering traces of embarrassment. That scent was beyond familiar to her and it had been for years, so she was troubled by how she had suddenly become so conscious of it.

Fortunately, the start of the play gave her a way to stop treading down that creepy train of thought. She had read Twelfth Night once during middle school, but it hadn’t made much of an impression on her. Seeing it performed now, the play was a lot better than she had remembered, but then again Piper had always insisted that there was a huge difference between reading a play versus seeing one live. For a high school play, Annabeth couldn’t help being impressed by the level of care and effort that had gone into every element of the production, from the set design to the lighting and wardrobe. Of course, the actors were great as well, but Piper stole the show as Annabeth had expected.

It took her a while to realize that Percy was mouthing lines beside her, nearly verbatim. At first, she’d thought she was hearing things, but when she stole a sidelong glance at Percy, she noticed that he was leaning forward in his seat, staring intently at the stage and whispering the lines to himself.

“But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them,” Percy mouthed.

On stage, Piper said, “Thy reason, man?”

Percy whispered, "Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.”

Annabeth shook her head in amazement before knocking elbows with him to get his attention. He froze in his seat, face turning a gentle shade of vermilion in response to being caught, before turning to face her.

“You know all the lines?” Annabeth whispered incredulously.

Percy ducked his chin. “Not all of them, just the scenes where Piper has lines. Must have helped her rehearse them like a hundred times.”

“And let me guess, she didn’t ask for your help: you volunteered,” she said, sighing.

Annabeth found herself shaking her head again when he rubbed the back in his neck and looked away with a sheepish smile. It was amazing that Percy had managed to memorize all those lines, but it was even more impressive that he had done so while juggling all his other responsibilities. Her heart welled up inside her chest looking at him while he tried to not-so-subtly divert her attention back to the play, still blushing profusely, as if he didn’t realize he was more amazing in her eyes than anything Shakespeare could’ve ever written.

Before she knew it, the play was over, and Annabeth found herself waiting backstage with her friends for Piper to finish changing into her normal clothes. Leo and Frank spoke quietly to one another while Hazel was noodling with her phone. Jason drummed his fingers against his pants and rocked on his heels and kept looking down the hallway to the changing rooms with poorly suppressed excitement, practically embodying the spirit of a golden retriever. Percy stood beside her, leaning against a wall with his eyes closed, close enough for their elbows to touch.

When Piper showed up with an exhausted smile on her face, Jason rushed in and pulled her into a fierce hug.

“You were amazing,” he said.

Piper laughed tiredly and whispered, “Thanks, Jace.”

Jason stepped away suddenly and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed by such a public display of affection. Piper rolled her eyes and poked him with her elbow before turning to address the rest of them.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. I really appreciate it.”

“Jason is right,” Frank said. “You were really great out there tonight.”

Everyone chimed in with words of agreement, which flustered Piper a little, much to Annabeth’s delight. Piper rarely ever got flustered except when she got bombarded by compliments that she had rightfully earned. Percy was the only one who didn’t say anything, but he watched the entire scene with a soft smile on his face. Once she’d given everyone else a hug, Piper met Percy’s eyes, her eyes shining with gratitude, and a wordless understanding passed between them.

“So, after-party everyone?” Jason asked.

Piper leaned against him and nodded tiredly. “I could certainly use a drink right now.”

Jason smiled before turning to the group and saying, “It’s at Drew’s place. I texted the address to our group chat in case anyone didn’t remember it.”

With that, they dispersed and made their way to the parking lot. It was dark outside even though it wasn’t all that late, but it was nothing unexpected considering December was on its way. Annabeth buried her hands in the front pocket of her sweatshirt, but she still couldn’t help shivering as the wind howled past them.

Percy smoothed his wind-tousled hair with a scowl before he gave her a sidelong glance. “So I’m guessing your parents didn’t change their mind about the after-party then?”

Annabeth nodded. “They are still insisting that I spend some quality ‘family time’ with them for Thanksgiving. Whatever the fuck that means.”

“Maybe it’s a good sign,” Percy said.

Annabeth snorted and said, “Knowing Helen, I highly doubt that. It’s probably just going to be a miserable meal with passive aggressive comments for dessert.”

Percy stopped and gave her forearm a gentle squeeze, forcing her to meet his eyes, which shone with concern.

“If it gets bad and you ever need to get out of the house, give me a call, okay?”

Annabeth tried for a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to her ears. “Come on, Jackson. You don’t think I can survive one measly dinner?”

“I know you can,” Percy said, firmly but not unkindly. “But there’s a big difference between surviving something and not having to suffer because of it.”

She didn’t really know how to respond to that, so she just remained silent. Percy looked at her and waited for a short while before he sighed and dropped her arm. Annabeth could tell by the downturn of his lips and the furrow of his brow that he still wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t plan on changing her mind. No matter what happened at tonight’s dinner, she was determined not to call Percy. A nameless fear had begun to take root inside her. She couldn’t say what it was, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible would happen if she continued to rely on Percy as heavily as she had. Maybe she was completely off-base or maybe she was simply imagining the whole thing. And yet it grated on her like an itch she couldn't scratch, telling her, compelling her to at least do something.

Percy scuffed his converses against his ankle and nodded again. “Well, I guess I'll see you when you come over on Friday then?”

Annabeth nodded and watched him leave before she made her way back to her car. She didn’t remember much of the drive back home. The spam caller called again at some point, but apart from that the only thing that stuck out was how the pit in the center of her stomach grew the closer she got to her house. When she wasn't eating outside the house, Annabeth usually holed herself in her bedroom until the rest of the family finished dinner before she went downstairs to microwave the leftovers and bring them back upstairs with her. Tonight, unfortunately she had no such avenue of escape.

Once she parked in the driveway, Annabeth continued to sit there in the dark, her hands wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly the cheap stitching on the faux leather dug into her palms. She couldn’t help thinking at that moment that silence wore many different faces. When she was with Percy, silence was companionable and radiated a warmth that felt like trust. When she went for a run, silence was open and peaceful, almost like a physical space where she could leave reality behind for a short while. When she watched Percy give his mother a hug before he left the house, silence was wistful and forlorn, wrapping around her heart like tendrils of smoke. But now, as she sat in the car outside her own house, silence was unforgiving and violent, like a shark sensing blood in the water, waiting for her to tear herself to shreds.

But eventually, Annabeth screwed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath before she finally made her way inside. She slipped past the door and quietly took her shoes off before heading to the dining room. The rest of her family was already seated and had started eating.

“Ah, Annabeth, we weren’t sure if you would make it, so we got started a little early,” Helen said, voice dripping with faux sincerity.

Annabeth pursed her lips and nodded sharply before she pulled out a chair for herself and sat down. She didn’t put much on her plate — barely enough mashed potatoes to make a mound drizzled with gravy, a small piece of grilled chicken, and some buttered vegetables — and tried to finish her food as quickly as she could so she could retreat to her room.

Of course, it didn’t take long for Helen to take issue with that. “Someone certainly seems to be in a rush today.”

Annabeth looked up from her plate and tried to quell the fire in her eyes, but it was difficult when Helen looked at her with that smile of hers like poisoned honey, while the coldness in her eyes communicated her utter and absolute disdain for Annabeth in a way words never could. Briefly, she looked to her father to see if he might intervene, but like always, she was disappointed. He was staring absentmindedly at the wall behind her, probably thinking about his research.

"I'm just really tired," Annabeth lied.

"And yet you had just enough energy to go to your friend's play," Helen said.

"It's almost like human beings have less energy over the course of a day."

She had tried very hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it didn't seem to matter judging by the tick of Helen's jaw. Annabeth couldn't help deriving a twisted sense of pleasure at the momentary collapse in Helen's composure.

Helen sighed with mock affectation. "Children your age are so disrespectful these days."

Annabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "Must be because we’re on our phones all the time."

A gleam passed in Helen's eyes. "Or maybe it's because you associate with the wrong kinds of people."

Annabeth furrowed her brow and deliberately set her fork aside. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Helen raised her wineglass and took a sip before she spoke, and when she did her tone was feather-light. "Oh, it's nothing. As your mother, I'm just concerned when a girl your age spends all her time unsupervised, doing lord knows what, with someone like that Jackson boy."

Annabeth balled her hands into fists. “‘Someone like him’? You don’t even know him.”

Helen looked at her imperiously over the rim of her wine glass. “I don’t need to know him to know that he’s of the wrong sort.”

It took Annabeth a second to decipher what Helen had meant, but once she did the pit in her stomach burned with hellfire.

Annabeth barked a harsh laugh and crossed her arms over her chest. “So he’s the ‘wrong sort’ just because he isn’t white?”

“That wasn’t what I said,” Helen said mildly.

“No, but it's what you meant.”

For the first time that night, her father spoke, voice low yet firm.

“Annabeth,” he warned.

Annabeth bit her tongue and wrestled with the urge to scream. At that moment, her phone vibrated again in her pocket, so Annabeth decided to run with it. Anything to give her an excuse to leave.

Her chair emitted an unholy screech as she stood up. “I have to take an important call.”

Annabeth didn’t wait for Helen’s permission and left the dining room quickly, only just noticing the irritation in her eyes. She went upstairs to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her before pulling her phone out of her pocket.

When she looked at the caller ID and noticed it was that same spam number again, Annabeth clenched her jaw and made to reject the call before an idea occurred to her. If she couldn’t show any emotion around her family, well then this stubborn asshole who clearly couldn’t tell she wasn’t going to answer the phone would give her a good opportunity to vent.

“Hello?” Annabeth snapped, answering the phone.

The voice on the other end of the line sounded male. “Oh, um, hello. Am I speaking with Ms. Annabeth Chase?”

“Yes,” Annabeth spat. “And who are you?”

There was a pause — the speaker was clearly taken aback by Annabeth’s open hostility, but it didn’t take long for them to recover.

“I apologize if this is a bad time, but my name is Rick Waters. I’m the coach of the women’s cross country team here at the University of California, Berkeley. I just wanted to reach out to you regarding the offer of admission we sent you a month or so ago.”

A panicked flurry of thoughts blew through Annabeth's mind. “Oh, sorry, I thought you were a telemarketer. Did you say that you sent me an offer of admission a month ago?”

“Yes, we sent a letter in early October to be precise.”

“I never got anything in the mail,” Annabeth said, frowning.

“Oh, well I suppose that certainly explains things. Perhaps there was a mistake made somewhere along the way, but no harm done. I could inform you of our offer over the phone now, if you'd like."

Annabeth pressed a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes. "Um, yes, please do."

"Well, we've been scouting all over the country for new runners for the incoming freshman class, and we were very interested in you. You are clearly a very talented distance runner, and I think you would be a wonderful asset and a great fit with our team here at Cal. All our facilities are state-of-the-art, and we have some former Olympians on our coaching staff in addition to a team of dietitians, physical therapists, and psychologists. I’ll pause here if you have any questions.”

“No, not at the moment, sorry. I’m just a little overwhelmed,” Annabeth said, mind reeling.

“I understand,” he said. “The reason I have been trying so hard to reach you, though, is because we need to know your decision before the 30th, which is in four days.”

Only four days? How the fuck was she supposed to write all those supplementary essays in only four days? It had taken her months to just finish the essays for the Common App.

“What is the process if I decide to commit to Berkeley?” Annabeth asked. “Like, am I required to send an application and include essays?”

“No, we wouldn’t need anything supplementary. We do, however, require a transcript, but we’ve already been in contact with your high school regarding that, and it was more than satisfactory. In fact, we were highly impressed with your academic performance.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Annabeth said, feeling relieved.

“Of course,” the coach said. “One final thing I wanted to mention is that we would be willing to offer you a fairly sizable athletic scholarship should you decide to attend in the fall. It would cover a majority of your tuition and room and board fees.”

Annabeth leaned against her door and sank down to the floor, smiling so widely it hurt. The one fear she had had was how she would afford going to Berkeley, so she was beyond relieved that they were willing to give her a scholarship. For once in her life, it seemed that all her hard work had actually amounted to something. For once, her accomplishments actually mattered.

“Thank you so much,” Annabeth said quietly.

“Take some time to think about it, but please do get back to us by the 30th so that we can secure your admission. To be perfectly honest, the deadline for athletic recruitment ended in October, but I’ve been adamant with the Admissions Office that you were special and that the deadline be extended on your behalf.”

Annabeth's throat constricted and her heart squeezed in her chest. “I really don't know what to say. Just thank you so much. I really do appreciate it. I’ll be sure to get back to you by the 30th.”

“Wonderful,” he said. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

With that, the phone call ended, and Annabeth knocked the back of her head against the door and stared up at the ceiling, not sure whether to cry or laugh. As the coach had said, recruitment was usually finished by October, so the fact that she hadn’t received any offers from schools had been depressing. She had assured herself that her application was strong enough on its own to brave the conventional admissions process, but this was an immense weight off her shoulders. Of course, that meant that all those hours she’d spent on writing her stupid Common App essay had been pretty much useless, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The only thing that soured her mood was the knowledge that she still needed to go back downstairs to deal with her step-mother now that the call was over. Annabeth sat there and looked up at her popcorn ceiling, trying to muster the strength to get up, but it still took her the better part of ten minutes before she finally rose to her feet and closed the door behind her.

:::

Friday at the Jackson household was often a rambunctious affair, but it was quieter than normal when Annabeth came to visit the day after Thanksgiving. But that was largely due to the fact that Paul happened to be away at a teacher’s conference, Estelle at a playdate at a friend’s house, and Sally was upstairs, working on her writing, which left Annabeth alone with Percy downstairs.

He had been the one to suggest that they bake something together, much to her relief. She had wanted to do something where she could turn her brain off, and there was just something about baking in particular that tended to calm her down. As Annabeth sat on the countertop, swinging her legs, and watched Percy riffle through the pantry in search of ingredients, it occurred to her that that was probably why he’d suggested the activity to begin with. The domesticity of Percy humming a tuneless melody under his breath while moving about the kitchen in his pajamas made warmth blossom in her chest.

"Are you gonna help out or are you just continue checking me out, Chase?" Percy asked, looking inside a cupboard for vanilla extract.

Annabeth felt heat rush to her face as she hopped off the counter. She tried to keep her tone light and asked, "What am I not allowed to check out my fake-boyfriend?"

Percy looked at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Then surely you wouldn't mind if I were to check out my fake-girlfriend then."

Annabeth's heart fluttered in her chest. "It almost sounds like you're asking for permission."

It was hard to tell if the look in Percy’s eyes was teasing or challenging. "And if I am?"

Her throat had suddenly become completely dry. She wasn't sure if the move here was to say yes and double down or if she should play it off and change the topic.

She settled for the former and said, "And what would you do if I said yes?"

Percy's eyes darkened and his eyes darted to her lips for an instant before he cleared his throat conspicuously and turned away. “Good job. That should work when you get a real boyfriend.”

With that, the tension in the room dissipated into thin air, leaving Annabeth with a vague sense of dissatisfaction, although she couldn’t explain where it came from. Annabeth tried her best to put the interaction behind her and started helping Percy find the remaining ingredients, but she found her eyes wandering towards him without her permission. It was definitely because of the previous exchange, Annabeth reasoned, that she suddenly began paying attention to the way his back muscles strained against the fabric of his thin t-shirt when he reached up to get some nutmeg or the hard line of his jaw when she caught a glimpse of his profile as he turned away.

Her face began to heat up again, but this time it was because she was actually guilty of the crime she'd been accused of. She shook her head in an effort to dispel those thoughts, but she couldn't erase the images taking center stage in her mind's eye.

This was really fucking weird. She'd seen Percy practically every day for the last ten years, and his body had never distracted her like this, so it felt creepy and wrong. Yet, her eyes continued to wander towards him whenever she wasn’t vigilant, much to her embarrassment, as they started making the cookies.

They were nearly ready to put the chocolate chip cookie batter into the oven when Percy stopped and suddenly groaned.

"What?" she asked.

"I forgot the blue food coloring," he grumbled. "Mom and I ran out last time we made cookies."

Annabeth knew better than to ask him if it was really that important for the cookies to be blue, so she nodded and said, "Should we go to the grocery store?"

"Yeah, just let me get changed," Percy said, leaving the kitchen.

Sally made her way down the stairs and smiled as Percy went past her. She stepped into the kitchen and surveyed it for a moment before looking to her with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Well, at least you both don't make nearly as big a mess as you used to."

"Sorry," Annabeth said, her face heating up.

"Relax, dear," Sally said, laughing. "I'm just pulling your leg."

Annabeth managed a smile and said, "How was your book tour?"

Sally leaned against the counter-top and sighed. "Exhausting, but overall, pretty good. Each time I have to do one of them, they just keep adding more and more cities. I know that it's a sign my books are reaching a wider audience, but it still wears out an old woman like me."

"You're not old at all, Sally," Annabeth said genuinely.

A warm smile crossed Sally's face. "You're sweet, dear. How have things been with you?"

Percy came downstairs, now that he'd changed, and jangled his car keys. "Ready to go?"

Annabeth looked to Sally and felt a surge of gratitude when Sally told Percy, "You go on ahead. Annabeth and I are going to have some girl time."

Percy looked between the two of them for a moment before he shrugged and left the kitchen. Annabeth waited until she heard the sound of the garage door closing before she spoke again.

"How did you know?" Annabeth asked.

"Hmm, know what?" Sally asked.

"Know that I wanted to talk to you.”

"I've known you since you were seven, dear," Sally said, giving her a significant look.

Annabeth couldn't help the fact that that brought a smile to her face. "Percy told me that he got recruited by USC."

"Mhmm."

“I’m happy for him and everything, but- I don’t know. It’s just that college actually feels real now and not like something imaginary in the far off future,” Annabeth said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"It’s a big change," Sally admitted. "But I'm sure you both can handle it when the time comes."

"I know,” Annabeth said. “I’m just worried about being apart from Percy and stuff.”

"Well, if you’re that worried, what if you found a college close by LA?" Sally asked.

Annabeth shook her head. "A recruiter from Berkeley reached out to me Wednesday night about joining the cross country team there. He said the university would even be willing to give me a pretty big scholarship, so I'm thinking of accepting."

"Annabeth, that's fantastic," Sally beamed. "Your parents must be so proud of you."

"They just asked how I was going to pay for it," Annabeth said, smiling thinly.

Sally's eyes softened and she pulled her into a warm hug. Annabeth didn't expect a lump to form in her throat, but it didn't surprise her when it happened. She knew from prior experience that Sally Jackson's hugs did tend to have that sort of effect.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm so incredibly proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished," Sally said. "Lord knows how hard you've worked these past few years."

"Thank you," Annabeth said, trying not to let her voice quiver.

Sally pulled away and framed Annabeth's face in her hands, smiling softly. "You've grown into such a wonderful young woman. It’s almost hard to believe that bossy little seven year old would grow up like this."

Annabeth wiped at her nose as a watery laugh escaped her. "Well, one thing hasn't changed: I'm still pretty bossy."

"Well, no one's perfect, after all," Sally said, a twinkle in her eye. "I really don’t think you have anything to worry about, dear. Berkeley and LA are in the same state."

"It's a five hour and forty-two minute drive," Annabeth said. "I, um, checked on Google Maps."

"That’s not that bad," Sally said. “You and Percy can deal with that.”

Annabeth shifted on her heels. "No, it's not that. I know we'll be okay, but I'm just worried it'll change things."

"Well, I know that the way you two feel about each other won't change and that's the most important thing," Sally said firmly.

"Of course, things will be different, but that doesn't mean it has to get worse. This is just another stage you have to pass through in your life, just like Percy does. But despite all that change, you will still be Annabeth and Percy will still be Percy, and that is enough for me to believe you both will be fine."

Annabeth considered her words before nodding. "I still haven't told him."

"He'll be happy to hear it."

"I know he will," Annabeth said. "I just want to be less of a wreck when I tell him. I don't want him to worry."

Sally smiled and said, "That boy will worry about you regardless of what you do."

"He shouldn't have to though," Annabeth said desperately. I’m not worth it.

"No, perhaps he shouldn't," Sally admitted. "But he chooses to anyways, and who are we to say he's wrong for it."

There was a pause before Annabeth quietly said, "Sometimes, it feels like he loves so hard, so honestly, so naturally that it's impossible for me to catch up."

"That's just the way he is," Sally said, a sad smile on her face. "His name means 'To Destroy', but there's no one more protective, more loving than my boy. Been that way all his life, even when he shouldn't have had to. Because of that, I’m afraid that I've hurt him without knowing, hurt him in ways that can't be fixed."

"You mean with Gabe?" Annabeth asked.

Sally's eyes turned hard. "He started trying to protect me from him ever since he was six and I don’t think he has ever stopped. Even now, I can see he still doesn't completely feel comfortable around Paul, but he bears it for my sake. He has always been willing to cause himself pain if it means alleviating someone else’s suffering. Sometimes, I worry that he feels the need to be responsible for how other people feel.”

Sally’s words immediately made Annabeth think about her conversation with Kara and how she had said something similar:

I just remember being so fucking stunned. Like, your girlfriend is telling you she’s breaking up with you after cheating on you, and your response is to go be someone else’s fucking therapist?

Annabeth balled her hands into fists and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure what to say. She had never been good with words or emotions, but she wasn’t even sure if this was something that could be fixed with just words. If she were like Percy, maybe she could think of the right combination of words to say in order to make this better, but she wasn’t.

She hated this. All her life, Annabeth had been praised for being intelligent. Most of her identity was built around that fact. Whenever her life went to shit, the one thing she could count on was the fact that she was smart: it was the one thing that made her feel like she was worth anything. But lately, Annabeth couldn’t help questioning if she’d built her entire sense of self around a lie. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been able to use her intelligence to solve a problem, or at least not any problem that mattered. It seemed pointless to have all this purported intelligence when life only sent her problems that couldn’t be solved just by thinking really hard.

Sally must have sensed Annabeth’s frustration because she put her hand on Annabeth’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Although she felt a bit better, it did nothing to dispel the underlying sensation of weight, like someone was sitting on her chest.

The garage door opened and Percy popped into the kitchen with an exuberant smile, holding a bottle of blue food coloring in his hand.

“Managed to get the last one!” he beamed before his smile fell and he looked between the two of them. “What happened here?”

Sally gave Annabeth’s shoulder another squeeze before making her way to the staircase. “Oh, nothing. Just girl stuff.”

Percy nodded but clearly looked unconvinced. Once Sally was gone, he turned to her with a question in his eyes.

“Girl stuff?” he asked.

Annabeth found herself settling for a half-truth yet again. It seemed like that was all she did these days when she spoke to Percy.

“A recruiter contacted me from Berkeley,” she said, looking at her feet. “They’re giving me a big scholarship if I go there to join the cross country team.”

Percy blinked before breaking into a smile and rushing to her with open arms. “Holy shit, Annabeth, that’s insane! I’m so happy for you!”

Annabeth returned his hug and smiled into his shoulder — Sally had been so spot on about his reaction that, despite her heavy mood, it was kind of hilarious.

“Thanks.”

Percy looked at her with a searching gaze. “Then why do we seem so sad?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “I’m not sad. I was just getting emotional with your mom about how much I’ve matured.”

“Hmm, you don’t look all that mature to me,” Percy said, appraising her.

“Asshole,” Annabeth grumbled. “I don’t seem to recall that being your opinion back when you were trying to get permission to check me out.”

Percy’s face flushed at the accusation, and his voice jumped an octave as he stammered, “T-That was to help you practice.”

“Yeah, sure,” Annabeth drawled. “Very convincing.”

“Now who’s being an asshole?”

“Couldn’t be me,” Annabeth said lightly.

“Of course not,” Percy said, rolling his eyes. “Now should we start making these cookies or not? I’m starving.”

Annabeth followed him to the batter and watched as he drenched it in blue food coloring, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, and found herself desperately wishing they had more time. There was a delicate, almost exquisite pain that came with the awareness that this couldn’t last, but watching Percy roll misshapen balls of blue cookie dough made it easier for her to ignore it. At least for a while.

[eddiesasspbrak]

When I’m With You: Epilogue

Eddie can’t stand the barista at his favorite coffee shop. Richie has fallen in love with the man he sees twice a week. Stan is dating someone but won’t let his friends meet them. Ben is in love with Beverly, but is so afraid of scaring her away he’s not moving forward. Chaotic friends navigating college together. 

Read on AO3

1k+ words

“Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie cursed, breathless as he rushed down the street. It was warm out, far too warm for a November evening and he was sweating in his jacket but couldn’t slow enough to take it off. He was already running late and couldn’t risk stopping or slowing down for anything. Except maybe cars, he definitely didn’t want to get hit by someone speeding or stopping in the crosswalk rather than before it.

As he stood at the crosswalk, waiting for the red hand to disappear and the little green person to appear, he checked his phone. He officially had five minutes to get the venue and was roughly eight minutes away. Sucking in a deep breath, he sprinted as soon as the light turned (and he was sure no cars were blowing through the red), determined to make it.

With the venue in sight, he pushed his (tired from the six-hour shift) legs to carry him just the last few feet. Once inside, he panted to catch his breath, climbing the stairs from the noisy bar below to the quiet room above with difficulty. He took a puff from his inhaler while searching the seats for his friends. They were easy enough to spot with Bev’s red hair tied up in a bun atop her head. He squeezed between the rows of seats, finally peeling off his jacket after plopping down next to Stan.

“Cutting it close, aren’t we?” He asked.

“Becca was late for her fucking shift again. I told her I needed to leave a little early today. She’s so unreliable I don’t understand how she hasn’t been fired yet.” He sighed, taking the bottle of water Stan held out to him.

“I told you, you need to look for another job and leave that place. They totally take advantage of you.” Bev spoke up, leaning forward to see Eddie across Mike and Stan.

“I know, but the tips are so good there.” He whined.

They immediately stopped talking when the overhead lights were flashed, indicating it was about to begin. Eddie settled back in his chair, the cold air in the room cooling the sweat on his skin and making him shiver.

Richie and two others appeared in the empty space in front of the audience from a back room. He wore suspenders, a white button up with the sleeves rolled up his biceps, his wild hair slicked back. Eddie had already seen this costume at home, but he still got butterflies in the stomach as he took in all that was his handsome love. The room was quiet, and then they began…

*

The group sat at the bar, the tables already claimed by the cast and their friends and family. Rose, Kara and Jen joined them, only staying long enough to greet Richie before they had to head out. They were basically Richie’s family and Eddie knew he’d be happy they’d come to see him and support him. Kara was going on about the little plays he’d put on with Jen when she was smaller. He was her favorite babysitter. One thing Eddie had come to know about Richie was that he was very smart and very academic. So, he’d help her with homework, bake something sweet with her and then act out scenes from whatever Shakespeare play she was obsessed with at the moment. Rose joked that he would make a good dad one day, nudging Eddie with her elbow and giving him a wink. Flustered, he stumbled over his words, assuring them that they were a long, long, long way from anything like that and Rose only laughed, Kara scolding her for teasing him. He really liked them.

Some of the cast began to filter down the stairs and into the bar below. They were smiling, beaming and vibrating with post show excitement. Eddie turned and watched for the mop of black hair he knew oh so well. When he emerged from around the corner, grin in place and chatting with a costar, Eddie once again felt his chest tighten. He’d almost missed it. Almost been late to see the show he was so proud of. They’d been working on it for months, finally securing the bar attic to put it on with promises of business from the cast, crew and audience. He’d have hated himself if he’d missed even a second of it.

Richie stopped near the bottom of the stairs, continuing his conversation. While they spoke, he scanned the crowd, his eyes landing on Eddie and his grin growing upon seeing his face. Eddie waited, watching as they conversed, Richie occasionally looking back over to him. It was maddening. He wanted to see him. Sure, he’d seen him that morning, waking in the same bed even, but he missed him and wanted to congratulate him and tell him how wonderful he’d been in the show. Moving in together only made him want to spend even more time with him.

He longed for the rainy nights, cuddling on the couch they’d stolen from Eddie’s old place, lights turned low and listening to the raindrops hit the window nearby. Movie nights with their friends, the apartment smelling of popcorn and freshly baked cookies, the chatter and laughter of people they loved filling the room. Lying on the bed with Penny, watching her scurry around on the sheet before cuddling in close to Eddie to nap while Richie cleaned out her home. Even when they’d clean together, organizing and doing laundry. Domestic. That’s what it was, and he loved it. He loved him.

When Richie finally ended the conversation, bidding his castmate farewell, he made his way straight through the crowd to Eddie. Before he could even greet him, Richie was pulling him into a tight hug. Eddie could feel his smile against his neck where Richie was placing a chaste kiss. He could practically feel the joy radiating off of him and his eyes were shining when he pulled back to look Eddie in the face.

“Did you like it?” Richie’s smile always made him feel some kind of way, and now he was practically glowing.

“I loved it.” Eddie placed a hand on Richie’s cheek, his fingers pushing into his dark hair. “You were amazing. The best one up there. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Can you ever?”

“Nope.” Eddie smiled, pressing a kiss to Richie’s lips.

“Come on you two, you live together and can do that whenever. Let us congratulate the talented thespian too!” Bev called out, standing from her stool at the bar.

The two turned to their friends, smiling and walking hand in hand back to the group. Rose and Kara both got teary eyed as they hugged Richie and told him how proud they were. Jen teased him about his costumes. As early evening turned to night, the sun slipping below the horizon, the friends claimed a table that had become empty, ordering bar food to feed an army, drinking, talking and laughing the night away.

As Eddie looked around the table, his heart felt full. Ben and Stan had pretty much always been there, the two people he could rely on more than anyone else in the world. His brothers. Mike and Bill, who made Stan so much happier than he’d ever seen him. That alone made Eddie love them both. Bev, who was the first girl worthy of Ben’s love and admiration and one of the best friends he’d ever made. And Richie, the person he was sure he was mean to be with. The first person he had ever loved and made him feel worthy of love. He stood by him even when he was rude and dismissive, and through all the bullshit with his mom. He felt strong with Richie by his side. For the first time in his life, he was happy. Truly and completely happy. Sure, things would come up in the future that would hurt and shake his happiness, but for now he felt at peace. He felt like he was home because that’s exactly where he was. His friends, new and old, and Richie…they were home.

[bagels-and-seagulls]

Cheerleader matteo and hot jock david!!!??!’mmm

listen listen listen i have so many asks about my au’s that i am ignoring because this has been wearing me down and i feel like if i don’t answer it, i will explode. also, by cheerleader x hot jock i hope you meant enemies to lovers between the over cliche cheerleader captain and quarterback of an american football team because that’s what you’re getting. cheers :)))

-matteo heard whisperings about the new kid in school who was supposed to be fast enough to win a 400m with a handicap and an arm that was accurate enough to throw a 70 yard hail mary in the last three seconds of the game and make a connection that you really had to see to believe. everyone, for some reason, wanted to get matteo’s opinion about it as one of the cheer captains who was inevitably going to have to encourage some sort of enthusiasm in this god given talent of an athlete, and each time he would smile amicably and say that the team would cheer for whoever ended up replacing george, who was out for the season with a broken leg in four places, regardless of how good they were. but when it was just him and his friends, shooting the shit and talking out their asses, he admitted that he didn’t really care about the new quarterback. he was sure he was going to be an asshole anyways. they always were. 

-he meets him in passing, the new guy- well, meet is probably not the best word to use. the defensive captain, one of the left tackles, is talking with this boy that matteo has never seen before but feels like he might want to look at again, at least a couple of times if he were given the chance to appreciate the view, when the tackle bumps shoulders with matteo as he was waiting for the rest of the squad to join him. and matteo stumbles back a few steps as the tackle looks at him with a sneer and an eye roll, over emphasizing a dramatic, anyway, to the boy he was talking to. the boy looks over his shoulder. matteo looks away already making up his mind about who this guy was going to be. 

-later as he’s stretching on the track, kiki points over to the field as she drops into a low split and asks, have you met david yet? matteo looks over the team messing around to see the boy from before throwing the ball in a perfect spiral down the field maybe twenty or thirty yards. david? he repeats, feeling the way the name sounds in his mouth. kiki nods, yeah, the new qb. 

-they get formally introduced in the locker room later- well, formally, once again, probably is an overstatement of their brief interaction. matteo usually tries to avoid the football team if he can, either going before or after them, but he was staying late with sam, who had pneumonia the week before, to help her go over a new routine they were working on and ended up gathering his things right as the team rowdily made their presence known on their way in. david, apparently, has a locker in the same row as matteo, probably because most of the other ones were taken, and he casually says, hey, to matteo as matteo is trying to get his backpack zipped up quick enough to leave. uh, hey, matteo responds and clears his throat. i’m david, he says with a smile that was friendly but on the edge of something else, something with a bit of canine in it. i heard, matteo responds. did you? david asks and now the smile is filled with an arrogance that is too overly done for people like him. oh, one of the other players jeers, if it isn’t the cheer captain! here to give us a dance? he taunts and makes a lewd gesture that has matteo slamming his locker shut with a clang and a thought that he wanted to maybe kick someone’s teeth in. you’d like that wouldn’t you? he throws back and all the team members laugh at his back when he walks away. yeah, matteo thinks, i know exactly who this guy is going to be. 

-are you really the cheer captain? david asks him as he slides into the chair next to him in literature class that was unforntuately permanently assigned to him for the year. after a stilted introduction where the teacher forced david to awkwardly introduce himself to the class by halfheartedly saying he moved from up north and was looking forward to playing football here and that his favorite shakespeare play was romeo and juliet, she pointed to the seat next to matteo that was empty and told him to sit there. what about it? matteo asks in return as he crosses his arms over his chest and watches as david leans in a little further. i just never got your name is all, didn’t think it was leonie, he says with something sparkling in his eyes that makes matteo remember the barbs and gibes from most everyone that runs across the football field with david behind them that make him unsettled and something else entirely, and matteo wants to clench his teeth and say something a little too loud for this setting but all he does is hiss out, right, and i’m sure your the defensive line captain, too. how many tackles you get last year?

-apparently, their lockers are only a few down from each other, because of course they are. why wouldn’t they be? matteo thinks to himself as david says hello to him when he passes by with sly, little smiles tugging at his lips and winks at him when he catches matteo looking his way, even when he’s talking to his football buddies who always make it a point to throw a comment or pointed look  when matteo is caught. just another asshole, matteo answers to jonas one day after he asks who he was looking at. really? jonas repeats. looks like he was checking you out. and matteo scoffs as he shoves his books in his locker and shakes his head because even if david was the most devilishly attractive boy that matteo has come across in a long, long time, he wasn’t a moron, and he didn’t really think jonas was either. the quarterback? please, jonas, screw your head on straight.

-they have to work together occasionally on literature assignments since they oh so fortunately sit next to each other, and david spends more time looking at matteo with his lip between his teeth, throwing sarcasticm little comments at him, than he does listening to what matteo was trying to say about the book they were supposed to be reading that week. and matteo was starting to wonder if it was because he liked to hear matteo get mad and bite something back at him that was off topic and not productive or if it was because he liked the way that people would look over their shoulders and snicker at the way they got caught up bickering with each other. they get yelled at by the teacher for not staying on task, and matteo just glares at david for the rest of the day, who seems tickled pink by the whole ordeal. 

-matteo and david will occasionally cross paths as matteo is leaving the locker room and david is just coming in. matteo tries not to stare. really, he does, but when he’s tired, and sore, and sick of not being able to stick the round off triple back hamstring that leonie was certain was going to make the routine a whole other level if him and carlos could just get themselves on the same beat with their dismounts, the way that david’s hair sticks to his face, and the way his skin looks with sweat rolling down his temples, and the way that his flush goes down his neck under his collar, and the way that he pushes up his sleeves up his shoulders, and the way- matteo tries not to stare, but sometimes, just sometimes, he gets a little distracted. it’s not like he’s proud of it. 

-the season starts next week, david says to him one day when the lit teacher is running late and everyone starts whispering that if she doesn't show up in fifteen minutes, they’re legally allowed to leave. i know, matteo responds, making a point to keep looking down at his homework that was really as good as it was going to get at this point. you gonna cheer for me? david asks, and that gets enough of matteo’s attention to look at him with a raised eye brow that david smirks at, his pen flipping around in his hand. we cheer for everyone, matteo responds and flicks his eyes away because david was looking a little too satisfied with himself for matteo to really deal with right now, don’t flatter yourself. and david laughs, just a little like it was purposefully small and just for matteo to hear, well, i’m excited to see your little dance anyways. 

-david is good, like really good, and they win the first three games of the season by a landslide because david is quicker on his feet than matteo has ever seen anyone else before, and the way that everyone starts fawning over him and falling for him makes matteo rolls his fists up and look away.

-did you watch the game last week? david asks him during his usual pre-class routine of asking matteo a stupid question just to watch matteo roll his eyes at him. i go to all the games, matteo responds with a sigh, you know that. and david smiles because matteo has gotten into the habit of not responding to him these past couple of days, so he takes the minor victory where he can. just cause you’re there, doesn’t mean you watch, he responds, you said so yourself, you cheer for everyone. and matteo doesn’t really have a good answer that doesn’t seem too revealing for some reason, too like he’s exposing himself to something he wasn’t ever really going to admit, even to himself, so he just goes, yeah, and? and david looks like that was the answer he wanted to hear because he scoots his chair a couple inches closer, i watch you, you know? you finally got your front flip things timed with that other guy. 

-and matteo stares at him for a second, waiting for the second part of the joke, for the shoe to drop, for him to feel the wave of humiliation that usually comes from when a footballer pays him too much attention. you’re in the locker room when we perform routines, he says instead because he wasn’t going to fall for any tricks. yeah, but you got it in practice on thursday afternoon, so i just guessed, david shrugs and watches the way that matteo looks at the desk and then back at him like he thought david wasn’t done talking. matteo clears his throat and looks to where the teacher started standing up by her desk, you need to watch your right side in the pocket, he says. your ol on that side isn’t as strong, and if you were paying closer attention to the right, you would have avoided that sack in the second quarter.

-something changes between the two of them, and matteo can’t quite place why, maybe it was the fact that he finally gave david the attention he wanted, something other than a scoff and half a glance walking away, or the fact that he answered seriously, admitted to something david has been getting at for a while, or maybe it was because david was tired of playing the game he was, when matteo didn’t know the rules, didn’t know if he wanted to. 

-david’s sly smiles turn into little wiggles of his nose that make matteo laugh the first couple of times, and his winks turn into wide eyes and over exaggerated eyebrow movements like he wanted to include matteo somehow in whatever conversation he was having even though matteo couldn’t hear them. his sarcasm turns into a quiet type of seriousness that makes matteo’s collar feel a little tight and his cheeks a little hot when he compliments matteo on a move or a routine or just something like the color of the sweater he was wearing. his pre-class questions turn from taunting to curious, and he’s asking about where matteo is from, how’s his family, does he like his classes, who are his friends. matteo answers seriously on the days he doesn’t feel like he’s too much of an open book for a guy he can’t even watch make a pass down the field without blushing and possibly dropping one of the flyers. 

-the attention makes matteo feel like he’s floating and at the bottom of the ocean all at once. he doesn’t really know how to come to terms with that, so he decides to just not while he can help it.

-one of the perks for being on the cheer squad is that matteo gets invited to most every party anyone at school throws in one way or another, and when he has a group of rag tag best friends who shoot their shot with people they have zero chances with, he inevitably has to tag alone to whatever social disaster he’s about to face just to watch them try their luck with another unfortunate victim of their attention. this week, it was leonie’s house party because her parents were away for the weekend, and the football team was having a bye week. so they were fit to have a rager that was for the history books, and jonas had convinced abdi to go, who convinced carlos to go, and they all three had to convince matteo to go because he was the one that was going to get them all in after all. 

-it happens during a game of truth or dare, because of course, it does. how cliche this whole thing is.

-matteo, i dare you to sit on david’s lap for the rest of the game, leonie says with a sinister smile, and he vaguely wonders if this was punishment for not going with her plan for a full pyramid during the last game they had. but when he looks at the way she keeps sending david little smiles that has mischief pasted on her teeth, he vaguely remembers that they were actually pretty close friends at this point and thinks there might be something else happening here, like a setup, though he couldn’t decide for who. matteo looks over to david, who was taking a sip of his beer a little too slowly to be real life. and all of sudden, everything happens very quickly. david leans back on the couch and makes some motion to mean for matteo to come over. someone cheers. matteo thinks it’s jonas. david winks and pats his lap. matteo needs a hit he decides but goes over anyways and tries to make himself comfortable as david wraps his arm around matteo’s waist to keep him steady.

-matteo ignores the way that it burns, like he was on fire.  

-this is nice, david says into the fabric of matteo’s shirt and rubs his chin over his shoulder as people are cheering sam while she twerks on a wall somewhere. is it? matteo asks because he’s been trying to hold himself perfectly still to not bother him at all for at least ten minutes now, and david’s forearm flexes where it’s wrapped around matteo’s waist like he was meaning to pull him closer, and responds, yeah, don’t you think? and matteo is sick of whatever is happening, all of it, from the glances to the questions to the way that david sometimes makes him feel like he’s the only person in the whole wide world with just a little bit of well placed attention. and yeah, matteo’s a little buzzed, and it’s making him a little bold. so he asks, are you serious? david does tug him then, just to get matteo’s attention enough to look at him. i’ve been flirting with you since i got here, he says like it was already written in stone somewhere, and matteo blinks at him, is that what you call it? he asks, more in shock than anything else, and david laughs in a way that makes his eyes scrunch up in the corners and take matteo’s breath away. hey, i never said it was good flirting. 

-they make out in the bathroom when everyone else is too busy paying attention to the way that carlos claimed he could do a headstand for at least eight minutes. better than seven minutes in heaven, matteo thinks as david runs his teeth over his jaw. 

[everydaymj]

Call You Mine - Peter Parker x Reader - Part 2

“Alright, can anyone tell me why we still study these plays,” I asked, watching several hands shoot up. 

Glancing around I rounded the desk and leaned against it as I went on, “And don’t say it’s because Shakespeare is the world’s most prolific writer, give me a real reason.”

I watched as the majority of the hands went down, the first day of class was always a fun one and these kids weren’t disappointing as I spotted a few nervous hands come back up. Zeroing in on Rosa, who had picked a seat right up front I nodded at her. 

She took a breath nervously but met my gaze as she said, “Because they are still relevant to current issues, the themes are still ones that resonate in the modern world.”

Smiling I said, “That’s part of it, yes, the human race is eternally fascinated with itself and perhaps no other writer captured the essence of humanity as well as Shakespeare.”

Seeing a boy wearing an Omega Delta shirt in the third row roll his eyes I narrowed my eyes as I snatched up a piece of green chalk and started to write on the board.

Large sweeping letters started to come together into a list of emotions. 

Cracking the chalk harshly, I said, “Hatred, something I am positive you’ve all felt at one point.” Pointing to the frat boy that was looking more bored by the moment I asked, “You, what’s an example of hatred?”

Eyes going a bit wide he stuttered out, “Ah I guess when a girl ghosts me for another guy?” 

Grinning at the opportunity he had given me I said, “Ah but is that hatred or love? I think over the course of the semester you will all find they are one and the same.” 

Before I could give an example of this in one of the plays we would be starting next week, Rosa’s hand shot up again so I just nodded at her. 

“But can you really say love and hate are the same? I mean motivations might be similar on the basis of passion but true love doesn’t have space for hatred, there are countless examples of this in the plays. I just don’t believe they are in any way the same Professor Y/L/N,” she said, a great deal of conviction in her eyes. 

Whispers started to circle and I could tell right now that this was going to be a lively class with lots of opinions and that was my favorite kind of class. 

Raising a brow at her I said, “Agree to disagree, love is a game and even when you win you’ll find that you lose.”

Moving on to the next point, I called on a different student and steered the conversation back to different themes. 

This would be an interesting semester to be sure. 

                                                         ~~~

Peter couldn’t help the grin on his face, even if half of the students looked like they were bored out of their minds and wanted to just go home already, he would call this first lecture a success if just for the fact people had actually shown up. 

Should his standards be higher? Probably, but he didn’t really care. 

“So ah, now that we’ve wrapped up this introductory lecture does anyone have any general questions about the material or what we’re going to focus on,” he asked, looking around the large lecture hall to be sure he didn’t miss anyone. 

Listening intently his enhanced senses picked up the mutter of “How does any of this apply to real life,” from the back row.

Deciding not to let it get him down he smiled as he said, “That’s a great question, how does any of this apply to real life? Well, physics is so much more than numbers and whiteboards if you think creatively it can apply to the most base of human actions in day to day life.”

Seeing one of the students in the back duck down, he bit back a laugh and kept going, “You might not believe it at first but even things like relationships and the more abstract concepts of humanity can be broken down if the laws of physics are used.”

In the front row, one of the girls that had actually been taking notes raised her hand.  

“Ah yes, Rosa wasn’t it,” he asked, hoping that he remembered correctly. 

She nodded, giving him a smile. 

“So Professor Parker, you’re saying that even something like emotions can be broken down into the terms of physics,” she asked, watching him intently. 

Thrilled that someone was engaging he beamed at her, wondering in the back of his mind if possibly he had something on his shirt with the way several other students were staring at him. 

“Exactly! Take Newton’s Third Law, even if yo-” 

He was cut off by the tick of the clock signaling the end of class and the shuffle of students getting up to leave. 

“Ah right, have a good weekend, I’ll see you all next week,” Peter said, slightly disappointed class was already over. 

Turning to grab his papers—he would not be losing any more notes from his aunt—he felt a tap on his arm. 

“Ah Professor Parker, do you think you could explain what you were about to say,” asked Rosa, a curious look in her eyes when he turned to face her. 

Putting his bag down, Peter leaned against the desk and smiled as he said, “That was a great question you know, ah yeah, so it’s not a popular theory or anything but personally I like to think so much of humanity and its complexities can be explored through science. Not saying that it can explain everything but it’s a fun way to try and put things together.”

Furrowing her brows, she asked, “So even something as complex as love? Or hate? You think things like that could be taken apart with the laws of physics?”

Already thinking that he would love for her to take his theoretical physics class next semester he rubbed the back of his neck in thought. 

“Well, I’m not sure anything could explain something like love but hatred is an easy one. Before class ended I was going to say that Newton’s Third Law was a great explanation for something like hate, to every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. In my experience,” he paused, thinking of all the villains he’d fought over the years and the burning hate thrown at him. “I’ve found that it’s almost always an initial action followed by a reaction that causes something like that.  What’s got you thinking about something like that.”

She thought for a moment before saying, “So you wouldn’t say it’s the same for love. You don’t see them as the same thing.”

Confused at the notion of something so outlandish he couldn’t help a laugh. 

“Not at all, I’m not sure there’s any one action that could lead to or cause love. It can be similar I suppose but I wouldn’t call them the same thing at all,” he said. “I mean everyone can have their own opinions on it, but that’s just not how I see it. What got you curious about all this?”

She shook her head, glancing at the door. 

“Just something another professor said in a literature class, this just made me think of it again. It’s sort of funny you would think a literature expert would believe in that sort of thing, not a physics professor. No offense,” she hurried to add.  

Seeing the time he grabbed his bag and said, “Not at all, I’m glad you find the class interesting. If we have time next week maybe we can bring the topic back up for class discussion.”

Waving as she left, Peter smiled to himself, glad that at least one of his students seemed to be really interested in the topic. Starting back to his office, he wondered what kind of literature professor would start a semester off by saying love and hate were the same things. A very bold take if you asked him. 

Lost in thought, it was only his lightning-fast reflexes that kept him from running into the person that rounded the same corner he was turning. Catching them with one arm and bracing against the wall with the other, he found himself looking into the same Y/C/E’s that he hadn’t been able to forget since the last time he saw them. 

Determined not to act like an idiot this time he quickly let go and said, “Ah sorry, wasn’t looking where I was going. That’s on me.”

The hint of a smirk on her face she raised a brow. 

“You certainly were, on me I mean. I’m afraid I’ve really got to be going, I have an evening class in twenty minutes,” she said, brushing back a strand of hair as she started to walk away. 

Calling after her, he said, “You know my name, isn’t it only fair I know yours?”

Stopping, she glanced over her shoulder with a look in her eyes that Peter knew was nothing but trouble. 

“Life isn’t fair Parker, but I’m feeling generous today. Y/N, but you can call me Y/L/N,” she said, turning without another word. 

“Okay Y/L/N, that’s better than nothing,” he muttered to himself as he tried his best not to keep from thinking about how attractive that smirk was as she walked away. 

Watching her go, Peter knew for a fact the smart thing to do would be to stay as far away from her as possible. But he also knew for a fact he would be doing no such thing.

                                                           ~~~

Taglist: 

@annathesillyfriend @daughter-of-the-stars11 @imagine-what-would-happen @r-does-stuff @captainamericasdaughter @fxnfarra @unstablewritings @intoomanyfandomsblognstuff @starlight-starks @glenn-the-cinnamon-roll-rhee @tom-holland-is-spiderman @hello--zuko-here @peterfromqueensny @rubberducky-jrr  @opinions-you-didnt-ask-for @cunaeparker @intoomanyfandomsstuff @thegryffindorstudies @t-monosapiens-h @chaoticpete @myserenewords @appreciating-chase-brody​

If you want to be added or removed just let me know! 

[marlinspirkhall]

I mentioned my dream diaries a while ago so, while I’m resisting the urge to yell about Lin Manuel Miranda for little reason, does anyone want to hear The Hamilton Dream I had in 2019? OF course you do, here it is:

 THE SCOTTISH PLAY STRIKES AGAIN

-Dream Diary Entry 21/2/19

 I was sitting at a small venue's performance of Hamilton. I was secretly recording the whole thing from my pocket, and was worried that someone would find out. I was also worried that Lin Manuel Miranda would confront me, but I couldn't work out why yet. I had a horrible, sinking feeling that I had called him 'boring' on Twitter.

As I sat there, not fully engaged with the performance, Lin donned a pair of boxing gloves, and then tried to tear off his blue cape. He couldn't grasp it because of the gloves, but nevertheless, he challenged me to a duel.

 "You want me to box?" I asked, already standing up.

 "No," he said. He picked up a sword, then dropped it, because of the boxing gloves. He went to pick it up again, and it went skittering across the stage. I raised an eyebrow at him.

 "You should remove the gloves," I said.

 "THESE AREN'T GLOVES," he shrieked, and I glanced at his hands again. He had giant red lobster claws.

 "Please don't tell anyone. That's why it took me eight years to write Hamilton- I kept smashing the keyboard."

 I barely held back my laughter. "I can't promise anything. This is too juicy not to get out."

 He got angry, and snapped his claws in my face. SNAP! I was back in the auditorium.

I had front row seats, but the room was unusually empty; only about 15 people were there.

The stage was sunken, surrounded by Amphitheater seating- wide, stone steps. There was a slight chill in the room, but my fur coat kept me warm. The room was surrounded by giant braziers, but they were just for show and emitted very little heat. I tried to sit still, but the scratchy tici-tick-tickle of the dead animal around my neck made me want to claw my skin off.

This rendition of Hamilton was terrible. It was a "period-appropriate" retelling of the story, so everyone in the cast was white (and the audience; there were only about 12 people) and the costumes were made of real fur. We had found only one venue willing to accept the "avant-garde" performance, but the town that the theatre was located in had outlawed white rap in 2010, in an attempt to keep Eminem out of town. So, instead of rap battles, the characters simply unfurled comically long scrolls with the lyrics on, and started doing a really slow, off-beat poetry rendition. The orchestra accompaniment (and by orchestra, I mean One Man, Playing Electric Piano) continued to play at normal tempo underneath, so everyone kept skipping the end of their verses in order to start singing the chorus. The lyrics made no longer made any sense. One woman in the audience started sobbing before they were even halfway through.

I sunk a little lower in my chair. My face stung with shame. Thoughts came flooding back to me. This had all been my terrible idea. I clutched my pearl necklace anxiously.

 King George sang "you'll be back" two octaves too high & very off-key, and then tripped over his robes. As he was finding his footing, the midsection of the stage began to rotate, and the hem of his robe got caught in the mechanism. There was an awful, screeching sound as the hem began to get shredded, and King George stood there, horrified.

"MY MINK!", he yelped, as Eliza Hamilton came running onstage. She kicked him in the crotch and yelled "OOPS, MR SPHINX, I GUESS IT'S THE MINK JINX".

 A security guard gave her a warning glance, and she made sure to continue the rest of her rescue in a flat, careful monotone with no rhythm.

 "Oh no. George. You're on fire," she said, unhelpfully.

(The stage rotation mechanism had sparked, and set the hem of George's robes alight. He began running about the stage, spreading a trail of flames behind him. The other cast members began climbing the amphitheatre steps in panic.)

 "My my, this is an unexpected development," said a voice behind me.

I turned to look. A man sat diagonally across two seats. For a split second, I was worried it was LMM, finally come to slay me for revealing his true crustacean nature, but it was not.

 The man was dressed in all green, and held a ripe apple in his hand. I stared at him. A bow and arrow sat on the seat next to him.

 "... Robin [Hood]?" I asked. He gave me a wink, and put his feet up on the back of the chair in front. I wrinkled my nose.

 "You tell me," he said. He sounded like an Elvis impersonator. I squinted at him. He was wearing a dangerous amount of hairgel, and vaguely resembled John Travolta. A chunk of gel slid off his hair, and dripped onto his leather jacket. The green tights had been swapped for pink ones, and he had dark blue legwarmers and pastel blue ballet slippers.

 I gasped. "Cut down on that hair gel, Trav. You'll make the stage slippery."

 "I already have, my dear Horatio," Travolta smiled. On top of his leather jacket, a ruff materialised. For a moment, his gel-coated hair transformed into a bald patch. He gave me a knowing wink, and tossed the apple in the air. He caught it, and it instantly changed into a comically tiny stage prop; a skull.

 "Hmm, that's no good," he said, and tilted his head thoughtfully. "I shall have to get a new one." He gave me a contemplative look for a moment, and then shook his head.

 "Excuse me," he said, vaulting past me. I wasn't sure what he meant until he launched himself, screaming, at the flaming King George. Shakespeare/Travolta was immune to the flames, and ran through them with ease. He grabbed the hem of George's cloak.

 There was a tutting to my left. I turned to see Lin Manuel Miranda. He folded his arms, and his lobster claws glowed orange in the flame light.

 "Sweetie, that's what happens when you pitch a show in Vancouver," he said.

 "Why? Did it happen to you?" I asked, as Shakesvolta transformed into the grim reaper (He made a quiet pun to himself as he sharpened the top of his scythe: "A-scythe from this, I only shake spears").

 "No, but I did say 'Macbeth' on the opening night of the Moana prequel," Miranda sighed. King George yelped, and started running in circles.

 "But there isn't a Moana prequel," I frowned.

 A dark shadow passed before his eyes. "Exactly."

 "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, I knew I should have stayed in business school!" George sobbed, as he tore off the smoldering remains of his cape. The fire had already spread to his wig. The grim reaper calmly contemplated his scythe, and gave me a grin. Admittedly, he always looked like he was grinning, because of the skull, but I like to think it was a friendly gesture.

 "Heed not the rabble..." A confused Samuel Seaberry began singing. There was nothing but flames and screams to accompany him, for the piano player had taken refuge behind his seat, holding up the keyboard as a shield.

  "Look away, darling; this is the messy part," the grim reaper shrugged, and charged at Samuel Seaberry.

Squelch.

Suddenly, all the sounds ceased. I woke up.

[thanos-was-right]

All New Aftermath

This is half of chapter 1 of a WIP I started. I don’t know much cause I’m new to writing long form work and while I think I’m half decent I think I could learn lots from here. Anyways , here’s some 1600-ish words, tell me where I can Improve please.

Endless Day 

“Hell is empty , all the devils are here.”

That line , one line , from hundreds of years ago , written by a man who imagined spectacles ahead of his time. That line , stuck since I had first heard it. How many months has it been? Seven? Eight? It's eight I think… yes eight. Eight months ago I joined them and on day one they put that line on the board and left the room. We were perplexed first. What did it mean? What did we have to do? Explain it? Were we supposed to use this line to answer a question? Find who said it? Who wrote it? The whole room was flying off the walls in just twenty minutes , every trainee was agitated and confused , well except for a few. There was this one over at the wall outlet , charging his phone , earbuds in , he was looking at something. An animated show or something , he was several rows over and I have bad vision past like five meters. He was oblivious, I assume , to the sound of thirty or so students arguing very loudly around him. He seemed unfazed , even more concentrated on his show the longer they argued. I found him strange , sort of , interesting. I watched him for about five minutes until I felt the burn of two focused eyes at the back of my neck. Some girl , yet again , several rows back , was being a hawk. Her predatory gaze , ever so vigilant , maybe a bit too vigilant , as she must have been lost in her thoughts as she kept staring at me. I couldn't tell what the guy looked like cause he was looking elsewhere , but I can profile this girl the best I can. Hair first , brown i think , dark brown … looked extremely natural and that drew me in. it ended just below her shoulders for the most i could have told from my angle. Her eyes were black , carbon wasn't dark enough to be compared to these eyes. Gliding downwards … her nose was small and her lips were the colour of- I don't know. I am terrible at describing people. Her lips were some other beauty i can say myself , a pale pinkish highlight on her fair face. Hmm . wait no I’m thinking of her again too much. FOCUS! Yes. I didn't know if we locked eyes yet so I made a face. An ugly one. I squinted my eyes and bared my teeth. When I stopped squinting about a second after , I noticed she stopped looking at me. I noticed something else. The class … was quiet. The fuss from before was calmed and I turned around to some painfully bad timing. The instructor , we’ll calm him Sir. Isaac , stood in front of me. This man was terrifying. He was Swedish or Swiss maybe. He was an albino regardless. His hair was white even though he was in his late twenties and his voice was commanding , much more so than the Commander.  Ironic, I tell myself. He is looking at me with those dead black eyes that pierce your soul. I was frozen , I couldn't breathe , i couldn't move , i was locked in this gaze. Then he spoke. 

“To the front … Alex was it? That doesn't matter , I need you to answer something for us” 

My body moved before I thought of it and in no time I was in front of the board , staring back at thirty silent observers waiting to see what my doom might be. Isaac shifted his gaze from me to the line on the board. “About half an hour ago I left the class to find a reason as to why I gave this line , the only clue , the line” he declared , his voice reaching the most nether corners of the room. “This morning , Alex , will answer our first question , then the disrespectful child over there with the earbuds in and that one at the back , Miss Clay I believe.”

Heart racing too fast for me to handle , this man’s presence was choking the air around him and was choking me too. “Okay , where is this line from?” he asked me right away. I-i don't know this , this is such a simple line it doesn't ring any bells. It sounded like it had a meaning though. Maybe I could guess and be wrong and proud. My old essay teacher in sixth grade said if I did not know an answer , I should answer the best I could , even if I was wrong , even if I knew. Said that I should always give support to my reply and always sound certain. I have never found real use of this skill but I think of it all the time. By now , ten seconds had passed , the atmosphere was gaining tension , and I needed to speak.

“It’s from Shakespeare Sir , I knew.” 

Isaac looked surprised? I was right perhaps? That’s ama- “Yes Mr. Alex but which play or poem?” 

He winded me , I don't know this. Why would I? Shakespeare wrote so much stuff. I myself have only read two plays but maybe I could answer… “The Tempest , Sir”. Isaac yet again looked impressed. I think I’m saved for no- “Which Act?” 

HUH? What , why is he not letting me go? “Act One Sir” … Isaac looked over to the class and back to me intensely. He looked like he was disappointed , for some reason I feel that his impression earlier was just his initial reaction to me. I feel like I have failed this man already. “Which scene?” Hmm. I don't know , man. Wait , this feels off…

“Sir wait , weren’t you supposed to ask us one question each?”

“I don't care child , when i ask you a question you answer , no back talk.”

“But , this is a mind game is it not? I am supposed to have only answered one question since you said so!”

“No. You are wrong , I had asked for a location for this line , you have not given a full answer yet. You keep guessing and you keep thinking that you don't know , you keep thinking about everything except the one thing I asked , maybe you can just go sit down and not speak to me for the rest of the term. You should not question my question when you yourself cannot answer one.”

I-I was… He… what? My heart sank deep inside. I felt helpless. “I …” paused. I don't know what to say. He shut me up for good. I walked back up the aisle without looking back , back to my desk when just as I arrived at my seat… “Heh , how is he here?”

The earbuds dude. Put his phone away , earbuds hanging off his ears , head tilted sideways , looking forward but talking to me behind him. “They picked us because we were promising candidates from our region , the Caribbean for us specifically. We all boast a skill that makes us eligible on the global stage , you don't seem too physically intact so I guessed you were a smart ass or something. Nah. You’re too not good for this. Anyways Sir White-as-Milk , the dunce is right , The Tempest Act One Scene Two , i think it was that Ariel said that Ferdinand said that.”

Isaac was silent , his face tilted down and eyes fixated to his shoes. “Sir white-as-what?” Isaac’s voice blew up and he started staring down the earbuds kid. I did not take a seat yet , I was stunned by what was inevitably about to happen but what got to me more is not that it happened but how it happened. 

“Yes sir White-AS-Mi-!” a solid and loud thud came after followed by a flurry of “What?” , “Whoa!” , “Holy Shit!” and “How!?”.

The time it took the earbuds kid to say that line , Sir. Isaac had flown up the twenty or so foot distance , grabbed the kid by the neck and threw him to the wall. He kneeled down to the boy , clearly in lots of pain and said with a not so subtle rage in his voice “If I am Sir White-As-Milk then you shall be Mr.Full-Body-Cast!” Isaac stood up and dusted his coat off , his slowly rising glance silenced the gasps of the room. “Well I guess I can’t hide the reason you all are here anymore , you were set to find out in a week from now but this ass had to piss me off. Okay , so… you are all here to fight ghosts with high tech equipment in high danger zones of the world with most minimal training.” He looked around the room at the dropped jaws and panicking teens and sighed. “If you want to not do this job you can leave , I promise we won't shoot you on the way out and remove your family from all records of existence. I promise on your life.” Isaac was harsh but honest in his words. He did not seem to enjoy us. “Go to your dorms , training for today is off and wait. I want someone to tell me what this line means by this afternoon.” 

And then Isaac left the room , students went crazy but all left slowly anyways. They got phone numbers et cetera , I didn't have a mobile device so I didn't care. On the way back to the dorms I walked alone , I didn't want to believe what just just happened , what was going to happen or what the whole reality of the situation was. I got to my room first , I was too tired to unpack my stuff so my suitcase was on my bed. Nowhere to rest I walked out to the hallway where I would meet someone Ii did not expect to speak to for a long time coming. She didn't say high , just started walking and signaled me to follow. This afternoon already started early in the morning and would stop even if I wanted it to.

[lonely-bored-writer]

Casper High Ch. 1

Fandom: Supernatural & Danny Phantom

Summary: Sam Winchester had experience many different things in his life, it came with the family business. Different schools, people, and motels every week. However, he never quite met anything like the enigma that is Danny Fenton.

Sam Winchesters has been to many different public schools, ranging from terrible to decent to great. He had gone to countless schools all over the United States, joining during different times throughout the school year. There was the school in Florida, where he got in a fight every week. Then there was the one in Maryland where he was able to go unnoticed his whole time. So, you can say Sam knew a thing or two about surviving in a new school as the new kid.

He's been to Illinois before, this wasn't much of a difference. However, he's never heard of this particular town- Amity Park. It was a strange, small town where locals kept mostly to themselves, nothing odd about it... if you ignored the red brick building with a neon 'Fenton Works' sign protruding from the side and a UFO like thing attached to the roof. They were the resident 'ghost hunters' and they were someone his dad wanted to consult with for a case a few hours over in the neighboring state.

Not that the younger Winchester can complain, he did very much enjoy when it was just Dean and him. He missed school lunches with Dean, the older Winchester had actually graduated two years ago, when Sam was starting freshman year. It's his second year going to high school on his own so he can't say he minds all that much anymore.

The one annoying thing about new schools is learning where everything was located again. Every school was different, different winding hallways and room placements. Being the new kid always entailed getting lost.

That's what Sam Winchester was doing in his search for his homeroom, English 3 with a Mr. Lancer. It was then that he saw it, the sight of a small group of people causing him to pause in his search for his class. Sam was not unfamiliar with bullies, having dealt with a few in his time but this was totally new. He couldn't help but note the almost bored look the smaller teen had as four jock looking kids pushed him around, spewing insults at him as they did.

Sam wasn't one for giving bullies the satisfaction of pulling emotions from him, but he couldn't even think that someone would look so passive throughout the whole thing. Kids always had a tick- something that would give away their emotions, but this odd kid had none. Sam stayed behind the corner, waited until the jocks had actually fully shoved the kid into a locker and stumbled off to do god knows what. Sam had made up his mind as he made his way over to the locker. He could always play the 'lost new kid' card if he needed too.

"You alright in there?" Sam calls once he reaches the locker, already messing with the lock to unlock it. He hears a soft yelp and thump inside the green metal box. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Sam apologizes, finally opening the locker to see the shorter teen. Sam must say, he is surprised to see that he was nine or so inches taller then the small teen.

"Uh, it's okay." The teen mumbled as he stumbled out of the locker, and pulling out his bag. He then turns to Sam with a hesitant smile; Sam spotting the hidden flecks of worry in the bright blue eyes. "I'm just not used to people finding me so quickly."

"I was turning the corner when they locked you in." Sam offered an apologetic smile. "I'm Sam by the say, Sam Winchester." Sam didn't miss the barely-there flinch the teen gave.

"Danny, Danny Fenton." Danny greeted, shaking the hand the Winchester offered. It was then that Sam noticed just how thin the teen was, and the dark eye bags that rested under bright eyes. "Are you new?"

"Um, yea. That obvious huh?" Sam chuckled, smiling when the teen laughed as well. Before he dawned on him he could use help finding his homeroom. "Do you know where 415 is? English 3 with Mr. Lancer?" Danny's eyes brightened at that.

"That's actually my next class." Sam couldn't help his eyebrows rising in surprise- if he had to guess he would have said Danny was a sophomore not a junior. Danny only chuckled, tugging on the sleeves of his stripped jacket. "Yea, I know. I'm small for junior, but I'm seventeen. Anyways, we can walk together if you'd like?"

"That'll be really nice, thank you." Sam smiled politely falling into step with the scrawnier teen.

"Why would you even move here?" Danny broke the short silence that had settled, glancing over to the taller boy as they walked. "People don't normally come to Amity Park willingly."

"My dad's job needed us stay here for a few weeks." Sam responded, continuing before the teen could ask he's next question. "He buys, fixes, and sells unique cars."

"That's pretty cool." Sam was surprised to see Danny was being genuine with his words. As they slowed in front of a door, Danny took a deep breath. "We're here brace yourself." He warned before opening the door and walking it. Sam felt confusion run through him when he saw the classroom was pretty civil. No bracing needed.

"Mr. Fenton. What a surprise, you're only fifteen minutes late to class." Came the annoyed greeting from the overweight teacher standing up front with a book in hand.

"I was showing the new kid to class." Danny shot back as fast as Lancer had greeted them.

"Ah, you must be Samuel Winchester." Lancer greeted, a warm smile replaced his scowl. "I hope all is going well, you may take a seat next to Daniel." Lancer motioned a hand to the rows of desk, Sam followed behind Danny quietly taking a seat to the desk the smaller teen motioned to. Sam saw it the moment Danny sat down, a kick jolted his chair forward and slammed his stomach into the desk. Sam was a little surprised by the forced used in the kick considering the desk and chairs were attached to each other.

"As I was saying, in Shakespeare's play 'the taming of a shrew', Shakespeare makes it quite evident that without Katherine being wedded off that Bianca will not be able to. You can find this quote in Act II, scene 1. As it reads..." Sam glanced over to Danny who seemed to look up at the exact moment, the smaller of the two offering a sympathetic smile before the two pretended to pay attention- Sam only pretending because he's already read this exact play four times.

When lunchtime rolled around, Sam was a little more than confused. The school only had two lunch periods, which meant half the school should be littered through the cafeteria and the courtyard. However, it seemed only a quarter of the students were on campus.

"Most of us have lunch off campus." Sam jumped, turning to see Danny who offered up a small smile. Since homeroom, Sam hasn't seen much of Danny in the two periods the followed just a small glimpse of him turning the corner most of the time. "I eat at the Nasty Burger, you can join me if you want, it's in walking distance." Sam hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"As long as it doesn't live up to it's name." Sam agreed, pulling a laugh from Danny.

"Don't worry, it's the best fast food joint here." Danny responded as the duo made the seven-minute walk to the Nasty burger.

"This is the first school I've gone to that let's us eat lunch off campus." Sam confessed, eyes trained on the small joint that did have teens in it.

"Casper High is kind of an old school like that. None of the parents complained about kids skipping after lunch so they kept it. Plus the food served here would make other school's look like they served five star food." Danny responded, shuddering at the last part. The duo put in their orders and Sam was relatively surprised when warm food was ready for them under five minutes. He let Danny lead them to a small booth at the corner of room, eyes scanning over all the students he's seen around school already.

"So, what do your parents do?" Sam asked, Danny glanced up from his burger before answering.

"They're scientists." Danny responded, and Sam had a clear feeling that the other teen was keeping some things to himself. "They invent a bunch of things, and work with a tech company called Dalv Co., which is owned by my parent's old college friend."

"That's cool." Sam smiled. The more Sam got to know Danny, the more confusing the teen was. Most kids would brag about their scientist parents working for a billion dollar company. "Any siblings?" That seemed to do it, Danny's face brightened instantly.

"I have a sister Jazz, she's two years older." Sam couldn't help but smile at the fondness in his words and his smile. "She's also in Michigan. She got a free ride to MIT."

"A free ride? She must be really smart." Sam said, words coated with awe.

"It's because she is such a good student and for her great psychology work." Danny paused, seeming to remember something before he turned his attention back to Sam. "What about you?"

"An older brother, Dean. He's actually four years older." Sam laughed at Danny's shocked face. "He helps my dad out with his mechanic business and stuff."

"Wow four years... what that would make him..." Danny paused, glancing up. "Twenty one, that's cool."

"Not as cool as some would think." Sam chuckled, thinking about the few ways Dean's age didn't work in his favor. "He refused to buy me alcohol." Sam gave a clearly exaggerated sad sigh at the end, pulling a loud laugh from the other teen. Sam soon joined in, smiling. He was happy he was able to make a friend today, even if he isn't staying long.

Sam grinned when he approached Danny who sat at the curb, his smile slipping slightly when he noticed how sad the teen looked. A honk pulled his attention away from Danny, eyes finding his brother leaning against the impala, smiling at Sam with a wave. Sam smiled back, before nodding his head to Danny and holding a hand up as a hold on motion, receiving a nod from Dean who took a seat in the driver's side.

"Hey Sammy." Danny greeted with a smile when Sam stopped next to him.

"Hey Dean. Oh Danny?" Sam smiled, before glancing over to his brother's car. "Are you getting picked up?" Sam watched Danny glanced down at his phone before sighing.

"I'm actually going to have to walk home." Danny pulled himself to a stand, typing at his phone. "I need a car." Danny mumbled under his breath, Sam was pretty certain he wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Do you want my brother to give you a ride? Or you can come over?" Sam added as an afterthought. "We're staying in a motel room but its two adjoined rooms." Sam offered with a shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck. Danny paused, and Sam felt like the teen was going to deny his offer.

"That'll be nice. Motel or not." Danny smiled, getting a grin back from Sam, the taller of the two leading the way to the car. "This is his car? It's so cool!" Sam couldn't help smiling some more, at least he knew Dean and Danny would get along.

"Hey, I'm Dean." Dean gave a charming smile when the teen settled in the back seat, holding his hand out over the seat to Danny. Danny smiled, and accepted the handshake.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Danny."

"It's good to see Sammy made a friend on his first day." Dean chuckled. "He tends to be the loner for a while." With that, Dean starts up the car, the Impala purring as it pulled out of the school parking lot.

[sharp-cheekbones-locked]

A Christmas carol (Pt.6)

Summary: Happy Nikolaus. A bit late, but there's a phrase in Germany „Better late than never.“ The Doctor surprises Stella.

Royal Victoria Theatre, Lambeth, 51° 31' 4.79" N 0° 07' 13.20" O London,

December 6th; 4.03pm

I had not spoken to the Doctor since yesterday about the incident, which should not be mentioned by name. But I felt that the Doctor had a guilty conscience and it was nagging at him, even though he didn't know why. I could tell by the way he drove himself through the brown hair with both hands, widened his eyes or barely talked. But above all I noticed it because of the lifelessness in his eyes. There was no sparkle in them.

I don't know what was wrong with him because I had assured him several times that everything was fine between us. Apart from the fact that it was definitely not a real kiss. Almost. When I concentrated, I could still feel his warm breath and soft lips touching the corner of my mouth.

So the Doctor had a guilty conscience and the feeling of having to put something back in order. I could smile at him so often or squeeze his hand, it didn't help. He wanted to fix it, so he should do it. I didn't know that the Doctor was struggling with the same feelings and thoughts as me at that moment... When he finally told me he had a surprise for me and I would like it on a 98.7% probability - I didn't know how he always came up with those probabilities. He had once tried to explain to me what factors were involved, but I was already wandering of after two minutes - of course I was happy.

"Stella! It is the sixth of December! Today is St. Nicholas" the Doctor had greeted me in the morning and had run around at the console, driving senselessly at levers and switches. I yawned loudly.

"Good morning." I had mumbled and stretched. My toes wiggled in the fluffy, rose bath slippers and white rabbits were printed on my pyjamas. My hair probably looked as if I had been caught in the storm of Jupiter - which, according to the Doctor, was not a storm at all but a swarm of Vashta Nerada - and I certainly had a pillow fold on my face.

"What do you want to do? We could visit the real St. Nicholas in Turkey in the third century," he suggested and once again put a lever on.

"But that could be a bit difficult with the inaccurate time." he murmured, then looked at me over the edge of his glasses. It was definitely too early for me and he spoke much too fast for me. I held my head, which was already spinning because of so much superfluous information.

"I got it. Brilliant! Oh, that's brilliant! Blimey! You'll love it!" He grinned at me, then pulled a lever down with full force. The TARDIS started to roll. She moaned and sighed, the console was bathed in a green light. Suddenly it became quiet. Nevertheless, we were not loaded. The Doctor gave the control center a courageous kick and howled in pain. Jumping on one leg and holding his aching foot, he pressed the final button and then we were there.

Grinning joyfully and still with the foot in his hand, the Doctor directed the other to the door of the TARDIS.

"Come on! You'll like it." Finally he let his foot go and stretched out his hand towards me.

"Doctor! I can't get out like this," I said pointing at my shoes.

"I must getting changed first!"

"Oh, what! The filters of the TARDIS work perfectly. Nobody will see what you wear! Is nevertheless funny. Come on now!" I wanted to refuse, but the Time Lord put his trench coat directly around my shoulder, then pulled me outside.

We had landed in the middle of 19th century London. More precisely, we were standing right in front of the entrance of the Royal Victoria Theatre, better known in our time as "The Old Vic".

I looked at him with big eyes. The Doctor knew of my love for literature and theatre, but what were we doing here? It was too late for Shakespeare's original premieres.

"What are we doing here, Doctor?" But his mouth remained closed and he just smiled at me mysteriously. Then he bent down to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. His soft lips stroked across my skin and his cheek scratched a little of the stubble he had overlooked while shaving.

"All the best to St. Nicholas, little star," he murmured near my ear before holding the door open for me, through which many people were already streaming.

Inside he led me skilfully between the crowds.

"We have the places of honour," he said and winked at me under his hair. He led me into one of the front rows with a perfect view of the stage, on which stood only an abandoned chair and a table with a cup of tea. I looked around excitedly and dragged his Trench Coat closer around me as I noticed how chic the fellows were dressed.

Eventually the Doctor cleared his throat and nervously pushed his tie back as if worried that I wouldn't like his surprise, but I was already happy. When the curtain finally lifted, I stared in awe at the front. The Doctor looked at me from the side and paid no attention to the stage. The flickering light of the gas lamps was reflected in my blond hair and blue eyes. He could not tear his gaze away. My eyes widened in surprise as a single man entered the stage. Immediately the whole audience fell silent, his presence was so enormous.

"No," I said disbelievingly and looked at the Doctor with big eyes. The Time Lord just smiled broadly.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"He is an old friend of mine and owed me a favor. We have the most beautiful seats in the whole auditorium."

"No." Now he laughed quietly.

"Look to the front" he whispered into my ear and I could not suppress a slight shudder, the hair in my neck stood up as soon as his fingertips stroked over the skin of the back of my hand.

The man in front of us on stage cleared his throat after placing a small booklet on the table. He stepped to the edge of the stage and bent forward a little.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am very pleased that so many of you have appeared this evening. It is also a great pleasure for me to welcome you now. This evening, at this time of reflection, I have the pleasure of reading you my latest story. For those of you who should not know me, my name is Charles Dickens." The audience applauded cautiously and I beamed. While I applauded fiercely, the sleeves of the Doctor's coat flapped around my wrists.

"Thank you very much. Now we shall begin." He sat down on the wooden chair and crossed his legs, then took the booklet. In red letters I read the title "A Christmas Carol", one of my absolute favourite stories! It was quiet as he cleared his throat and glanced over the audience. When he saw me, I believed he was winking at me. I looked at the Doctor with big eyes, but he only looked ahead smiling. Charles Dickens devoted himself to the book before him.

"Marley was dead, let's start with that. There can be no doubt about it..."

Although I knew the story by heart, I listened to it full of suspense. His voice was rough and gently played around the vowels. I could have listened to him forever. It was one of the greatest things I had ever experienced.

*oOo*

I enjoyed every second of the lecture. I laughed, cried and trembled with the audience. They all heard the story for the first time. Probably they were the people who heard the story for the first time, but I was a part of them.

And that made me incredibly happy. Little by little he talked about the ghost of the past, present and future.

"The last ghost of Christmas had triggered something in him. Some said about him that he celebrated Christmas like no other. With his help, Bob's youngest son survived. God bless each one of us!" With a bold slap he threw the book shut and jumped from his chair, almost toppling over. He bowed and lifted his cylinder.

Everyone applauded. But I only looked at the Doctor. "Thank you" I whispered and looked at him. At that moment there was only me and him. As if it had never been any different. It has always been that way, it is always that way and it would always be that way.

[rosegold-thorns]

poker // h.s.

guys i love harry styles

Word Count: 1,034 words

College!AU Harry Styles

***

Harry wasn’t the type to say much. Around his friends, sure, a snarky comment here or there, but his charm was all in the brooding, quiet, hard exterior that many had tried to penetrate, yet failed. He had a poker face that would give any poker champion a run for his money, and dark, long eyelashes that protected his emotive eyes from any onlookers.

He was currently sat in a small lecture hall of about one hundred students, aimlessly twirling a ballpoint pen between his fingers as he waited for class to start.

Harry soundlessly watched as college kids entered the hall, either in groups of restless chatter or as an individual in a flustered state raced to make it to a seat before they were late.

His hooded green eyes landed on a willowy, blonde figure. On his right, a couple of rows down, said figure was currently opening her laptop with a sweet smile on her face as she intently listened to her friend beside her. Harry watched as her eyes lit up and her face scrunched with laughter at something her friend must’ve said, something he couldn’t make out.

The scattered sounds across the lecture hall ceased to exist as their old, wrinkly, yet strict, professor made his way to the front, placing his briefcase on the table and clearing his throat as he held out a stack of papers, presumably the lesson plan.

Harry forcibly moved his eyes from the girl ahead of him and resumed his bored state as he listened to the professor drone on about Shakespeare, staring at the rings that adorned his fingers, which became increasingly more interesting as the minute hand on his watch migrated clockwise.

The current conversation at hand didn’t strike Harry as anything relatively unique or intriguing, and with already finishing Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Harry just couldn’t bring himself to listen to elementary commentary on such a masterpiece.

Or at least, until she opened her mouth. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard such a smooth, melodic voice in his life, let alone in a dreary eight AM lecture.

“Lady Macbeth was human, she was hurting, and she’s probably the most powerful woman in all of literature. Definitely the smartest. ” She spoke softly, yet confidently, and you couldn’t help but melt in the direction of her voice, hanging onto every last word.

“She was a psychopath.”

All eyes followed the source of the voice, surprisingly landing on Harry, the man of few words. In all honesty, Harry was surprised the words left his mouth, too. He never spoke in discussions, and he didn’t know what made him challenge the beautiful girl across the room of spectators.

Amused, she quirked an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that?”

Harry disentangled his fingers from the pen he was still absentmindedly playing with and gently laid it in front of him, leaning forward onto his elbows to meet her eyes with his own.

“I do, actually. She was a madwoman. She convinced her husband to commit a murder, and constantly belittled him for feeling remorse.”

She leaned forward to challenge Harry’s stance. “Do you take into account anything that proved her emotions? Her own paranoia? Her own inner demons? They weren’t limited to the ‘hero’ of our story, you know.”

He smirked. “You mean when she lost her marbles? Couldn’t face what she’d been an accomplice to, the mastermind behind the scenes?”

She threw back a smirk of her own, tossing her own pen onto the keyboard of her laptop as she leaned back in her chair. “Exactly. She was a mastermind. She was too smart for her own good, and it got the better of her.”

Harry shook his head slightly, stray curls flopping side to side. “I’m gonna have to disagree with you, love.”

Even with the distance of rows between them, Harry could see the light rose color that dusted her cheeks, and was surprised at his immediate desire to make her blush again.

The professor cleared his throat, catching everyone’s attention after being practically hypnotized as the lecture’s two quietest students went in a heated match over literature.

“Very insightful, you two, thank you. Would anyone else like to comment?”

After that, Harry went back to his normal routine of twirling his pen and inspecting his rings until the hour was up.

He took his time standing up and getting his materials gathered, leisurely making his way to the door. In part because he was lazy, and in part because a certain blonde was taking her time as well.

They made it to the large wooden doors that served as their exit at the same time, until the strap of his still nameless girl’s bag slipped down her shoulder, spilling out a couple of pens and such out of her bag with a gasp.

She knelt down to collect her belongings, and Harry didn’t know what about her intrigued him so, but he knelt down alongside her and collected some pens and what looked like her wallet.

“Thank you,” she said with a gracious smile.

“My pleasure...” Harry trailed off, waiting to finally catch her name.

“Peyton,” she supplied quickly, tucking a blonde lock behind her ear so she could better admire the very attractive boy who was giving her more attention than she could ever dream of.

Harry wasn’t the type to say much. He had a poker face that would give any poker champion a run for his money, and dark, long eyelashes that protected his emotive eyes from any onlookers.

But in this moment, Harry smiled genuinely at the shy, yet fiery, girl in front of him.

“Well, Peyton,” he rolled the name around on his tongue experimentally, deciding he loved the way it sounded, and Peyton would never admit it, but her name never sounded more delicious than it did when it fell from this mysterious boy’s lips. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Handing her the last of her belongings, Harry made his way out the door, until a soft voice caused him to look back one more time.

“Wait!” Peyton called. “I never got your name.”

He tilted his head at her with a teasing smile. “I’m Harry.”

***

well there it is folks

[asterythm]

Sanders Sides telepathy AU

Anyone remember this thing from before my accidental blog deletion? Yeah, I’m still proud of this, so I’m bringing it back. (I just kinda banged this all out in one sitting, though, so please excuse any typos :P)

In a nutshell, in this AU the Sides are four completely normal people in a completely normal world... except for one thing. For reasons unknown, the four of them are able to telepathically communicate with one another. This isn’t limited to holding a mental conversation; the thoughts they send each other are a little more abstract and are more senses than sentences. 

Warnings: mentions of panic attacks, bullying, and (imaginary) pets dying

Roman and Patton

Roman and Patton were best friends as kids and so they’ve always known about their power

They met in kindergarten and immediately felt a connection with each other that they’d never felt with anyone else

It was just like meeting their other half; they clicked immediately

Communicating through thoughts felt as natural as breathing, although at first they weren’t able to consciously think sentences at each other

It was more of a thing where when Patton felt sad, Roman realized that inexplicably he felt sad too??

One day Roman’s out on his bike and he falls off and scrapes his left leg. Patton is sitting on his couch at home watching Sesame Street when it happens and he suddenly starts bawling his eyes out. When his parents ask him what happened, he says, “my leg hurts!!”

This happens a couple more times that year, because Roman is very adventurous even as a kid and Patton has a low pain tolerance.

(Eventually, this behaviour earns Patton a couple disapproving words from his teacher, because Patton starts crying about how he’s in pain every time Roman gets hurt and his teacher thinks that he’s just being a selfish attention-seeking brat. The conversation is something that his teacher forgot about pretty much the day after, but it sticks with Patton, who can’t stand the thought that he’s disappointed his teacher. It eventually leads to Patton growing up to be someone who hides all his negative emotions… but that’s angst for another day.)

Anyway, the point is — the two of them projected their thoughts to each other since their first meeting. Since they didn’t have any control over their telepathy, they ended up sharing ideas and emotions 24/7, but never any actual words

It took them a long time to realise that so acutely feeling other people’s feelings wasn’t normal, and then after they figured out that they had superpowers they had to spend years developing their ability to be able to send each other concrete words

One time, Patton got caught seemingly talking to himself (it was easier to send each other sentences when they were being said out loud) by his parents. They asked him what he was doing. He panicked and responded that he was talking to his stuffed bear, whose name was Thomas

It became a running joke and from then on, they always referred to their telepathic connection as “Thomas”

By the time they were in high school, they could hold entire conversations in their heads, and they didn’t need to be as physically close to each other to communicate

There came a day when Patton was at a party where he felt incredibly uncomfortable. He sent an SOS signal to Roman, who called his cell phone only moments later and did an incredibly impressive imitation of Patton’s father crying and saying that their pet hamster had died and that Patton needed to come home right this instant —

Patton had never owned a pet hamster, but he was grateful for the excuse to leave

The next day, concerned kids came up to him all day to comfort him on the loss of Sir Squiggles The Brave (a name that Roman had made up on the fly). Patton wasn’t a good actor, nor was he good at improvising. Luckily, Roman was. Roman coached him through the whole day and sent ideas of puppies being kicked to Patton

(He apologized afterwards)

Another story: When Roman came out about a year later, he was constantly bullied. One person in particular wouldn’t leave him alone. The bullying may have gone on for much longer than it did if it weren’t for Patton

Patton noticed that it had been a long time since he’d received anything from Roman. He tried to contact Roman and ask what was wrong and found that he couldn’t get the thought through — Roman was completely closed off

Eventually Patton was able to confront Roman face-to-face and that was enough to break down Roman’s walls; Roman told him everything and Patton knew exactly what he needed to do to help

The next time someone came to bully Roman, Patton took control. He listened to the words that the bully was saying from afar and fed Roman a script of what he should say

The bully ended up on the ground in tears as Roman crouched awkwardly next to him, comforting him using Patton’s words

“I just carry so much pain inside of me all the time, and I take it out on you because I have low self-esteem and making other people feel bad makes me feel powerful! I’m sorry!”

Patton did this as many times as necessary; the school was a noticeably kinder place by the end of the month and Roman developed a bit of a reputation as a great problem-solver

They’ve long since graduated high school, but they remain impossibly close, because they know each other’s inner workings in an intimate way that would never be possible with anyone else…

Or so they thought.

Logan

Logan never knew anything about his ability until he moved into the town where Roman and Patton lived

To better acquaint himself with his new home, he went to see the local theatre company performing Romeo and Juliet

He loves Shakespeare, but he’s not usually very moved by theatre and was expecting the production to be mediocre at best

Boy! Was! He! Wrong!

He’s been feeling very strange the entire production; it’s not a particularly nice feeling, but he’s glued to his seat. He is fixated on the story with an odd passion that he’s never felt before

He finds himself focusing on one of the actors in particular; the attractive young auburn man playing Romeo

He acutely feels the thoughts and emotions of Romeo as the play goes on. Genuine anguish wells up inside of him when Romeo discovers Juliet’s corpse, and for the first time ever, he cries at the end

But then, during the bows, the pain disappears and he finds himself laughing, filled with adrenaline and euphoria? What is going on???

It turns out, the reason he was so fixated on the actor playing Romeo is because he’s unconsciously receiving Roman’s emotions

The fact that Roman is so handsome certainly doesn’t hurt either I mean what

He keeps coming to Roman’s shows and always sits in the front row. Roman comes to recognize the dashing young fellow who always comes to see his shows, and one day after a production he gathers his courage and goes up to Logan in the lobby to strike up a conversation

Roman finds himself fascinated with all the insights into Shakespeare’s work that Logan has and their conversation is going incredibly well until suddenly

It HappensTM

Roman absently exchanges thoughts with Patton. Logan can’t hear Patton, but he’s close enough to Roman to be able to clearly receive Roman’s reply — it’s like a loudspeaker booming in his mind

“HE’S EVEN CUTER UP CLOSE, PATTON! AND SO SMART, TOO!” echoes in Logan’s mind and almost sends him stumbling

????????????? what was that???????????????

It’s quite clear that the thought was not his of own volition — he doesn’t know anyone named Patton, after all

So, if the loud words he heard weren’t his own thoughts…

Whose were they?

Virgil

In a strange coincidence (or is it more than that? :o nah, jk, it’s a coincidence) Virgil moves to the city around the same time as Logan and gets a job at the same coffee shop as Patton works at

His story is quite like Logan’s; he never knew about his telepathy before he moved

Patton takes an immediate liking to his new anxious colleague and accidentally ends up overwhelming Virgil the first week that they’re coworkers by throwing him a surprise welcome party

Virgil does not take the sudden attention very well and runs off. Patton feels awful

It’s a little odd how quickly he’s able to find Virgil when he goes to apologize, but Patton brushes it off as just lucky guesses

Anyway, he comforts Virgil. He notes that he was more panicked than he usually is when he’s trying to comfort people, but he decides that it’s probably just because this time he was the reason someone needed comfort

After the initial scare, they become fast friends. Virgil feels more comfortable around Patton than anyone else he’s ever met, which is odd because their personalities are so different.

He figures that that’s probably pretty normal for Patton, though — his kind nature makes him a very easy person to talk to

One day he’s kicking back and taking a quick break when he suddenly feels incredibly agitated. He goes out to see that Patton is trying desperately to reason with an angry customer. Virgil quickly deals with the customer, but he can’t figure out what it was that alerted him to Patton’s dilemma

Another time, Virgil is closing up shop and Patton is on his way home when he’s gripped with a sudden certainty that something is wrong. His legs lead him back to the coffee shop, where Virgil sits on the floor. There’s a shattered coffee mug in front of him. He’s in the middle of a panic attack.

Patton is suddenly struggling to breathe and he falls to his knees, too

Virgil recovers first — he’s dealt with these before — and goes to comfort Patton, but suddenly Patton is okay? Also, he’s never known Patton to be an anxious person. How did Patton know something was wrong? How come the two of them were both struck by the same thing at the same time?

His discovery of his powers isn’t a sudden thing like Logan; it’s just a bunch of little instances like these spread out over the first two months that he’s holding his job. He spends a couple nights just lying awake puzzling over the strange things that have been happening before suddenly it just clicks.

Anyone wanna add to this? I’d be delighted to hear your ideas!