#and they started calling me shit like champ and sport and boy and telling me to keep my grades up. and it was high-key hot

[pisshandkerchief]

getting psychosexual in the workplace

[skulljackxiii]

Dramaronpa: Star Struck-Eva

*stern girl looks around and cautiously wanders*

*both meets eye contact"

*shocked* "Yeep!...I mm-mean hellooo. It'ssss a rr-real honor mmeeting you I'm a hhHuge fffaannn!!"

*stern girl was shocked with widen eyes*

(Woah that scared me for a sec. Geez~)

( Looking at her sends shivers down my spine. Just judging by her face you can't really tell if she's pissed or confused.)

(....Still though, it's pretty kickass meeting her in person! I'm sure having a fighter like her around would be a good source of content, stories full of hardship and experience.)

(Man, Just remembering all her fights really pumped me up whenever I had to go back, watch, and use her footage for my videos.)

(So what can I do or say to get a good relationship going? Should I act casually or should I behave like a fan...Mmmm..or maybe it's best to wait and see what'll she'll do. I mean she is a famous celebrity after all, she got to know how to properly treat her fans. And once she opens up, then that's when I'll swoop in and get closer to her to score some info.)

(Alright then~...Let's just wait it out.)

"......."

"..........."

"................"

*awkward silence lasted for quite awhile*

".................."

"..................."

(Well.....This isn't going anywhere.)

(Should I have been the one to break the ice, I'm sure it's not to la-Wait..! What if I upset her if I speak first, would that hurt her honor. I'm sure that ruining my chances for a exclusive interview would be the least of my issues, I really don't wanna end up in a coma....Let's just wait a little longer....)

"........................"

*the awkwardness continued on*

*stern girl suddenly started shaking a little while continuing staring*

(OH SHIT!! I think I made her pissed! DAMNIT I KNEW I SHOULD'VE SAID SOMETHING BEFORE!!!...Okay, just wait and think....Ah come on...I gotta use what I remember about her if I want to continue breathing in the next 5 seconds!!)

(Eva, a MMA fighter like no one had ever seen before in the entirety of the sport's history.  Described to be an absolute dangerous beast who rules the ring as her den—and like any feral animal if anyone else enters her territory then she'll end them by sinking in her fangs. Which is not surprising or an understatement if you look back at her fight history, even before her UFC depute.)

(Let's see if I remember all the intel I have on her past from before....mmmmm....Oh, right! From what I could gather from online and interviews, she comes from a long lineage of successful athletes that made huge leaps in the sport community around the World.)

(Because her mother died  a couple years after she was born, she lived her whole life with a family of only boys—a passionate father, 9 enthusiastic older brothers, and 2 energetic younger brothers.)

(Excluding herself at the time and her father, who was like their trainer, all the of the boys in the family had their own active sport that they excelled—ranging from kickboxing all the way down to ping pong. Each of them earned titles calling them aces and state-wide champions, even her two younger brothers were city-wide champs.)

(I couldn't find out what she did up until then, but apparently at the age of 9 she announced to her family that she wanted to do MMA as her field she wants to excel at. After hearing her statement, her father and everyone of her brothers was so moved and immediately gave all their attention and support for her to be the best fighter out there.)

(Since then, she continued a rigorous training regimen and fought unorthodox sparring matches until she was 14 to make her debut. Thanks to her family's history, she was allowed to enter and become the youngest fighter in UFC history. )

(In every fight she had, they all end in the same horrific way. Even when the matches barely starts, her opponents would enter the ring only to immediately be trampled and getting the shit kicked out of them. Man, her fights were so one-sided that after each match it looked like she was just splashing paint around like a toddler finger-painting at preschool for the first time.)

(Her opponents would be in such a terrible conditions that they would be in a catatonic state where they wouldn't gain consciousness until a few days later. I remember some sport news pieces that reported that some were even placed in dire comas that required them to be put on life-support. Luckily they recovered, but that was only when months had passed.)

(She was someone who would be considered an all-offensive fighter with no plans of defense at hand, making her an absolute force charging and eviscerating anything in its path. I honestly be lying to myself if I didn't feel any sympathy for all those who were unfortunately had to fight her.)

(It's thanks to her brutality and lethal force that she was dubbed and trademarked as the "Deva of Destruction".)

(In a general sense, people in public eye would think that she wouldn't be popular or have any support due to her fighting style...BUUTTT that's definitely not true and for the people who do think that are such total liars~)

(Even though she doesn't speak much, she is totally entertaining to watch thanks to her wild and blood-thirsty ways. Everyone just enjoys violence...Well, onto other people that is...)

(Since the casualty rate was increasing and more and more fighters are being critically hospitalized, the boards of the UFC had to make some drastic measures that made a huge mark in its history. After quickly becoming the champion of all six weight classes, it was announced that she was permanently banned from participating any more matches in the  Women's division.)

(Myself included, this caused a massive uproar in the community, but that was easily blown over when the rest of the announcement was said. Shockingly, rather than simply banning her she was also being transferred over to the Men's division. The news was simply shocking but there wasn't a single person who questioned why or doubted the decision.)

(As it stands, she earned the champion title of five weight classes—Flyweight, Bantaweight, Featherweight, Lightweight, and Welterweight. For some reason she didn't go further and just stayed at Welterweight for some reason. I couldn't find the reason why, but I hope she goes and takes them all one day.)

(That's about everything I know...So, come on SAY SOMETHING!...ANYTHING!!!...OR ELSE YOU'LL SPEND THE REST OF YOUR HIGH SCHOOL DAYS SLEEPING AND EATING THROUGH A TUBE!!!!!)

"AAAaaaa....IIIiiii....OOOooo...uummmm."

"Yyouu Aaare ssuch an ammazingg peop-person!"

*stern girl reacted*

(Oooo, she reacted! Let's go all Ass-Kissing mode! Let's see...what should I complement next?!....)

"Umm...You're so tall and strong...oh and powerful!"

*stern girl reacted more and eyes widen*

(OKAY!..I got this now. Keep talking about her strength and appearance. Alright Cody you got this!~)

"I wish I had big muscles like those. What's you secret?~"

"How can I be as tough as you?~"

"You're so much more cool and stronger than any guy out there~"

"I bet any guy out there would run away scared of you, huh?~"

"I wish I was as mighty as you, you're a lot more manlier than me~"

*complements about her strength and physique continued*

*stern girl started reacting and shaking more and more*

*finally stern girl stopped moving*

(Oh shit, did I mess up in one of the things I said?!...)

*whimpering and scared*..."Yeep"

*stern girl suddenly stomps her feet, turns around, and quickly dashed away like a speeding bullet*

"....."

"Wait...What??????"

(The hell just happen? I thought she was going to kill me...)

(Mmmmm...Maybe she forgot something she had to do and suddenly remembers?)

(Any case, that didn't turn out like I expected, in fact I feel kinda let down that  I didn't really make much progress with here....)

(Well, there's always next time and I still have these three years to do it~)

(........)

(.......Still though, there's still something bothering me right before she ran away...I don't know if it's the sun playing tricks on me, but it looked like she was...)

"Crying?!"

"Pfft...No way. How could someone like the Deva of Destruction cry~"

"Heh, I should wearing sunglasses or something~"

[oreomonsterhunter]

Becoming BFFs — Jaehyun

A/N: I have too many feels so the whole “BFF jaehyun” thing got too long.....so this is just the beginning I suppose (stay tuned for more because besties are my favorite 🥰

You and Jae didn’t become friends overnight

It took a while for him to start opening up to you, and vice versa

Thats probably why you got along so well—you both put a lot of value in trust and honesty in relationships

Getting to know him was like waiting for ice to melt, though. He was just so quiet, and you were too. I mean what the heck were you supposed to say to model freaking jaehyun??!!?

Fortunately you didn’t suffer in silence in the beginning, since you were initially introduced by Johnny (bless him) and he had more than enough personality to break the ice between the two of you

Before long you were making jokes at each other’s expense

“Your hobby is literally bowling, you’re such a grandpa”

“At least it’s a sport, unlike knitting”

“Yah, you punk!”

And not too long after that, you were hanging out, just the two of you

That’s when you discovered how quiet and thoughtful he could be

One of your first friend dates was just walking along the river, not talking much, just being together in the quiet

You ended up sitting and watching people biking on the path, and the words just started pouring out of you

Jaehyun was a really good listener

Turns out, he’d noticed you hadn’t been yourself lately, and asked you to spend some time with him to help clear your head

This boy I swear *aggressively throws hearts*

You spent hours together that day, but it felt like minutes

Jaehyun loved sharing little bits and pieces of himself, but he did it so deliberately. One piece at a time, as if calculating his losses if you left and didn’t come back one day as if you could, you were in too deep

He took you bowling with him because he wanted to share his hobby, and you had to admit he was pretty good (but you still had to tease him)

You’d come over to the dorms and hang out in his room just listening to music for ages, because at the end, jaehyun would play you bits of songs he was trying to write, and he wanted you to hear it first

Lazy afternoons spent exploring—you’d drop by hole in the wall music stores hunting for the next LP to add to his collection, and reward yourselves with coffees at the nearest cafe

You could literally ask jaehyun to do anything with you and he’d say yes in a heartbeat

He tells you he cares by spending quality time with you. That and doing all kinds of cute little things that make you want to hit him for being too perfect

“Jeffrey stop trying to be perfect”

“Who said I was trying? Ow”

Aksldlemsjsaisjjs you love hate him he’s so annoying

Until he does the cute shit like getting you flowers “idk aren’t they your favorite or something” “Jeffrey go get a girlfriend”

Or ordering delivery to your apartment with a note like “you’re not answering my texts so I know you’re trying to kill yourself w work. Eat first then come yell at me :)”

Or cuter still “if you stop procrastinating I’ll get Johnny to flash his abs for you” lmaooo

Tbh you’re no better than him—you’d say yes to doing anything so long as he was there too

That sounds sappy but includes things like doing the dishes when you go over and the sink is completely freaking full because the nct boys are such boys and therefore disgusting sometimes, and so you resolve to tackle it together (aka end up throwing bubbles at each other in the middle)

Or making an absolute Fool of yourself while playing Just Dance with an actual professional dancer

“wtf jaehyun how did you make that move look cool”

“what, like it’s hard?”

Ok but jokes aside, jaehyun is a ride or die bff

Yeah, the two of you are champs at roasting each other, but he’s also the first person you’d call if you really needed help. You know he’d always come, no matter what you needed

He might poke fun at you, and some of it is joking and games, but a little part of it is testing your friendship. That wide eyed look of his isn’t naïveté, it’s trust. But a tiny part of him is always wary of misplacing it

So as long as you keep throwing his jokes back at him, he knows you’re all good. And you get that, you get the fear of losing a friend because you never really had them. And you’d do anything to make that little part of him shut up, but you love him to bits, and you wouldn’t change one thing about him

It’s that little worry of his that lets you know you can trust him, too, after all

The two of you were always looking for a genuine friend, someone you could lean on without any doubts. And you’ll never stop being grateful that you finally found him

Masterlist

[thatslikely]

Fred Weasley’s Day Off (Part 1) - F.W.

Fred Weasley’s Day Off- Fred Weasley x Gender Neutral!Reader [Ferris Bueller’s Day Off AU]

Warnings: only occasional mild language

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this is Part 1 of my new 5 part series, Fred Weasley’s Day Off! You can find the series masterlist here. This part is going pretty similar to the movie, but as the story unfolds, I promise it isn’t a carbon copy of John Hughe’s masterpiece. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name, Y/L/N is Your Last Name, and thoughts are in italics.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @probably-peeves @horrorxweasley @weasleywh0r3s​

if you want to be added to be added to my general (or this series!)’s taglist, send me a dm or ask!

If you haven’t seen Ferris Bueller’s Day off or just need a refresher, HERE all all the scenes included in this part in chronilogical order! I HIGHLY reccomend giving these a watch, for they make the situations a lot easier to understand (and they’re hilarious).

----

It’s a beautiful day today, temperatures in the upper 70’s. You can expect plenty of sun and not a cloud in sight. Right now, it’s 75 at lakefront, 74 at Midway, 73 at the O’hare.

“Arthur!” Molly Weasley screeched, beckoning her husband to Fred and George’s messy bedroom. The walls were plastered with large posters of their favorite bands and sports teams (mainly Fred’s), and an expensive computer sat on the desk in the corner. The door to the room was ajar, a frantic mother feeling a haggard Fred Weasley’s forehead.

“What's the matter?” Arthur asked, briefcase in hand.

“It’s Fred, for Merlin’s sake look at him!”

Fred laid slumped under the hand-knitted quilt like a corpse, his hair tousled and his chin unshaved. She continued, “he doesn’t have a fever, but his stomach hurts and he’s seeing spots!” Fred peeled his pained, umber eyes open, his weak gaze pointed to his suit-clad father.

A sympathetic Arthur reached for Fred’s cold and clammy hands, feeling them with a shudder. He’s got a bad cold, he thought, poor boy needs to stay home and rest.

“I’m fine, I’ll get up. I have a test today.” Fred leaned up slightly, his stuffy nose attempting to breathe. His baggy eyes drifted around the room, glazing the empty bed parallel to his’. “No!” Molly and Arthur Weasley stated firmly in unison, pressing his aching chest into the soft bed.

“I have to take it. I-I wanna go to a good college, so I can have a fruitful life.” Fred kept attempting to get out of bed, only for Molly’s gentle hands to guide him back down.

“Oh fine, what’s this? What’s his problem?” Ron leaned against the untidy bedroom’s door frame, his arms crossed, his face donning an unamused expression tinged with jealousy. He was looking daggers into Fred, who reciprocated nothing but a wink.

“He doesn’t feel well,” Molly stated, not pleased in the slightest with Ron’s distasteful demeanor.

“Yeah, right,” Ron rebutted with a scowl. The tips of Ron’s ears seared with resentment for his brother and anger at his naive and biased parents.

“Ronnie? Is that you?” Fred asked, his blurry vision making the outline of his brother near indistinguishable from the rest of his room. “Ronnie? I can’t see that far.” Fred leaned up in an attempt to see his brother, before falling backward with a dramatic moan.

“Dry that one out, you could fertilize the garden,” the younger ginger spat, tapping his toe furiously.

“Ronald, you get to school!” Molly demanded, vehemently gesturing for him to leave.

“You’re letting him stay home? If I was bleeding out my eyes you’d still make me go to school! This is so unfair.” Jealousy oozed from Ron’s clenched jaw like venom.

“Ron, please don’t be upset with me. You have your health, be thankful,” Fred said coolly. His eyes remained glinted with mischief, causing a furious Ron to storm off in a huff.

The concerned mother and father turned back to a wheezing Fred. Molly tucked him in tighter, cooing, “Now listen, I’ll be showing that new family some houses today, so I’ll be in the area. The office will know just where to find me if you need anything, okay?” A wave of gratefulness swept over Fred’s face.

“It’s nice to know I have such loving, caring parents. You’re both very special people.” Molly caressed Fred’s ashen cheek before planting a compassionate kiss on his warm forehead.

“G’bye champ,” Arthur said to his son before carefully shutting his door and walking to the garage.

They bought it.

Incredible. One of the worst performances of my career, and they never doubted it for a second. Fred peeled back the curtains blocking the beautiful view from his large windows with a smirk. He looked out the panes, admiring the gorgeous weather. How could I be expected to go to school on a day like this?

This is my ninth sick day this semester; it’s getting pretty tough coming up with new illnesses. If I go for ten, I’ll have to barf up a lung, so I’d better make this one count. Fred carefully adjusted his extortionate stereo, his fail-proof plan slowly piecing together.

Fred then stepped over to his desk, reaching for an old, hefty soccer trophy of his and some rope. The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. He started knotting the rope around the shiny golden award methodically. A lot of people’ll tell you to go for the old ‘phony fever’, but if you’ve got a nervous mother, you could wind up in the doctor's office. That’s worse than school.

“It’s a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school.”

He scrupulously placed the trophy contraption behind his door with a satisfied nod, proceeding to the bathroom dressed in his grey and maroon striped bathrobe. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Fred undressed and stepped into the steamy shower, quickly shampoo-ing his ginger mop into a spiky mohawk. He gave some thought about his plans for the leisurely day before removing the showerhead, gripping it like a microphone, serenading an imaginary audience, “I recall Central Park in fall. How you tore your dress, what a mess, I must confess…”

----

“Spinnet?” A greasy Mr. Snape drawled, spectacled eyes darting around the dingy classroom, illuminated with corporate fluorescent lights. “Spinnet?”

“Here!”

“Smith?” Silence. “Smith?”

“Present.”

“Weasley?” Snape asked, scanning the room for any signs of the irresponsible redhead.

“Weasley?” he repeated, uninterested and monotone. “Weasley?”

“Um, he’s sick,” a perky Cho Chang cut through the tense silence with a smile, “my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this guy, who knows this kid who saw Fred pass out at Florean’s last night! I guess it’s pretty serious.”

“Thank you, Cho,” Snape said impassively.

“No problem, whatsoever!”

----

A robotic ring emitted from the phone next to Lee Jordan’s bed, disturbing the perturbed ambiance of the inert bedroom. The hypochondriac occupying the sheets clicked the silver ‘answer’ button with a shallow sigh.

“Hello?” George Weasley asked, his voice deep and groggy.

“Georgie, babe, what’s happening?” Fred’s exuberant voice questioned from the other end of the line, starkly contrasting his twin’s nonbelligerent energy.

“Very little,” he responded in a trance-like state, eyes spacing out at the blank ceiling, his mind nearly detached from his aching body.

“How do you feel?”

“Shredded.” Half-empty pill bottles and antihypertensive drugs lined the bleak nightstand to his left.

“Get dressed and come on back home. I’m taking the day off,” Fred imposed. He sat in a lounge chair, next to the turquoise pool, soaking in the bright morning sun, which starkly contrasted George’s dark atmosphere. He held a Brick to his ear, sipping an iced Hawaiian drink from a swirly straw. The only thing covering his body was a pair of floral swim trunks; plastic sunglasses rested in the ginger nest atop his head.

“I can’t stupid, I’m sick. I think I got food poisoning from Lee’s awful cooking.”

“It’s all in your head, George, come back home,” Fred said more firmly, taking another sip of the fruity drink in the souvenir cup.  

“I feel like complete shit, Fred. I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Now come on over here so I can have a fun day off!” Fred demanded, hanging up the phone promptly. “Sheesh.”

George remained stiffly on the sheets, still as a statue, muttering, “I’m dying.” The phone chimed again with another call. Click.

“You’re not dying, you just can’t think of anything good to do!” Fred’s voice echoed through the dimly-lit room before the tone of an ended call took its place.

“Pardon my French,” said Fred to no one in particular, “but George is so tight, that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks, you’d have a diamond.”

Fred quickly abandoned the pool deck, instead continuing random antics around the vacant house, whether it was (horribly) playing his centuries-old clarinet, or prank calling gullible freshmen claiming he had an impending kidney transplant. This was the life.

“I’m so disappointed in George. Twenty bucks says he’s sitting in his car debating whether or not he should go out.”

Fred had hit the nail on the head. George sat in his four-wheeled hunk of junk for minutes, muttering to himself, “He’ll keep calling me. He’ll keep calling me until I go home. He’ll make me feel guilty. This is ridiculous! Okay, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go.” He turned the key of the run-down car, only for the engine to cough and heave. “Goddamn it!”

----

“Molly Weasley,” Molly introduced herself to the caller from her desk at the local real estate office. She held the landline phone in one hand, the other scratching numerals and figures onto some spreadsheets.

“This is Dolores J. Umbridge, Dean of Students. Are you aware that Fred is not at school today, Miss Weasley?” she asked punctually, her voice laced with irritation.

“Yes, I am. Poor Fred is home sick.”

“Are you also aware that Fred does not have what we consider an exemplary attendance record? He has missed an unacceptable number of school days.” Umbridge looked icy and collected on the outside, but deep down she was fuming with anger. “I have no reservation whatsoever about holding him back another year.”

“This is all news to me,” Molly replied, taken aback by Umbridge’s blunt threats.

“It usually is.” Dolores turned her attention to the hunky computer opposite her, ready with Fred’s academic profile, scanning the pixels signifying his number of absent days. When she finally opened her jaw to announce the number to Mrs. Weasley with a devious grin, she was horrified to see the number of days slowly ticking down to two.

“I asked for a car, I got a computer,” Fred said with an unamused but smug smirk as he typed lines of code into his computer back at the Weasley household, “how’s that for being born under a bad sign?”

“I can appreciate how this time of year, children are prone to taking the day off. However, in Fred’s case, I can assure you, he’s a very sick boy.” And with that, Dolores hung up on a sympathetic Molly, her tight brunette curls gradually frizzing from aggravation.

“I don’t trust this… Fred Weasley,” Umbridge confided to her secretary, Augustus Filch. “What’s so dangerous about a character like Fred is that he gives good students bad ideas. The last thing I need is fifteen-hundred Fred Weasley disciples running around these halls. He jeopardizes my ability to effectively govern this student body.”

“Well, he makes you look like a bitch is what he does, Dolores,” Filch said with a smirk.

“You’re wrong,” Dolores asserted, fiery gaze piercing through Filch’s soul.

“Well, he is very popular. The sportos and motorheads, geeks, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads, they all adore him. They think he’s some righteous dude,” Filch said astutely.

“That is why I’ve got to catch him this time. Show these kids that you can’t just skip school nine times a semester like he has and get away with it!”

----

Mr. Binns, a prehistoric-looking man with novel-thick glasses, stood at the head of the classroom, giving his usual dull lecture. While he etched utter nonsense onto the chalkboard, you couldn’t help but release a bone-cracking yawn.

After years of sitting in your uncomfortable plastic chair, drowning out Mr. Binn’s boring babble, your saving grace arrived in the form of a grave Nurse Pomfrey.

You quickly slipped on your pale, leather jacket and stuffed your blank notebook into your backpack at the sight of the frail woman donning white scrubs like a dove, eager to escape class. Nurse Pomfrey had on a solemn face as she quickly whispered something into Mr. Binns’ ear before announcing to the uninterested class, “Y/N, Y/L/N, may I have a word with you?” You painted a look of surprise on your face before stepping into the hallway with the disturbed grey-haired woman.

“My dear, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings,” she said sorrowfully once out of the earshot of the small lecture hall, “your father called. Your grandmother has just passed.”

Your eyes welled with artificial tears, face drenched with heartbreak.

----

The landline echoed through Umbridge’s dreary, pale pink office.

“Dolores Umbridge,” she said pseudo-cheerfully into the handset held by her thulian claws.

“This is Phil Y/L/N,” a middle-aged man said, his voice slathered with a thick Chicago accent.

“How are you today, sir?” Dolores asked suspiciously.

“Well, today we’ve had a bit of bad luck. It’s been a tough morning,” he croaked, “now if you wouldn’t mind excusing Y/N, we have a lot of family business to attend to.”

“I’d be happy to, just produce a corpse and I’ll release Y/N. I want to see this ‘dead grandmother’ firsthand.” She peeled the phone away from her face, smiling valiantly at a mortified Filch, saying slyly, “It’s okay, it’s Fred Weasley. I’m setting a trap for him.”

“Dolores, I’m sorry, did you say you wanted to see a body?” an ill-tempered Mr. Y/L/N questioned in disbelief through the speaker.

“Yes. Just roll her old bones up here and I’ll gladly retrieve Y/N for you. That’s school policy.” Dolores looked so pleased with herself, a devilish smirk resting on her lips. The telephone in Filch’s office chimed, and he quickly dashed to answer it.

“Hello, Dolores Umbridge, Dean of Students’ office,” his gravelly voice answered.

“Hi. This is Fred Weasley. Can I speak to Miss Umbridge, please?” Filch’s mouth went desert-dry in horror, his aged, grey eyes bulging out of his skull. He dashed to a taunting Umbridge, jumping and waving for her to shut up.

“I’ll tell you what, if you don’t like my policies, you can come down here and kiss my-”

“Fred Weasley’s on line two, Dolores!” Umbridge’s eyes went as wide as saucers; her whole face, even her bright fuchsia lipstick, turned as white as a sheet.

She was quick to switch to line two, listening to Fred Weasley’s voice which filled the otherwise silent room.

“Miss Umbridge, I’m not feeling too well today,” Fred started, a smug and valiant grin on his face. He adjusted his clean and gelled hair, which perfectly complemented the perfectly-tailored suit he donned. “Would it be possible for Ron to bring home any assignments from my classes? Have a nice day.”

The only sound left in the office was the droning disconnect tone.

The ‘line one’ buttoned flashed bright red like a siren. With a shaky, wrinkled pointer finger painted with a coat of magenta nail polish, she hesitantly pressed the button, sucking in a breath.

“Mr. Y/L/N, I-I think I owe you an apology,” she said, mortified.

“I should say you do!” the deep voice on the other line boomed. Umbridge peeled open her lips for an apology, only to be cut off with, “Well I think you should be sorry for Merlin’s sake! A family member dies, and you insult me! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“W-well I really don’t know. I didn’t think I was talking to you, I thought you were someone else,” Umbridge barely managed to spit out. “You know I would never deliberately insult you like that!”

“Find out where she is!” Umbridge hissed to an idle but nervous Filch, her palm covering the phone’s mouthpiece. He promptly scrambled around the surrounding metal filing cabinets, reaching for various binders and manilla folders.

“This isn’t over yet, do you read me?” The infuriated voice’s threat yelled into the frantic principal’s ear.

“Loud and clear, Mr. Y/L/N!” she responded while scouring the various sets of drawers for Y/N’s schedule.

“Call me sir, goddammit!”

“Yes sir!”

----

“That’s better. Mind your P’s and Q’s buster, and remember who you’re dealing with!” an exasperated George Weasley shouted into the kitchen’s phone, his voice at least an octave lower than usual. His look of fury was soon replaced with a smile from ear to ear, quite proud of the convincing-ness of his impression.  

A dashing, suit-clad Fred Weasley soon strutted into the lemon-yellow kitchen, charismatically introducing himself, “Weasley, Fred Weasley.”

George held his palm over the mouthpiece of the phone, asking, “I’m scared. What if she recognizes my voice?”

“Impossible. You’re doing great.”  

The self-conscious redhead brought the phone back to his ear, shouting “Umbridge!” furiously. Groaning echoed from the other end of the line. “Umbridge, calm down!”  

“I don’t have all day to bark at you, so I’ll make this short, and sweet. I want my child outside of the school in ten minutes by themself!”

Fred gave George a harsh tap on his shoulder, hissing, “That’s too suspicious! She’ll think something’s up!”

“You do it then!” the other twin whispered back.

“Talk.”

“You!”

“Talk.”

“Fine!” he fizzled. “Umbridge! Pay Attention!” The magenta-suited principal was scuttering around her office, frantically searching for your schedule and something to repair the escalating situation.

“Umbridge! Changed my mind. I want you out there with them, I’d like to have a few words with you!” Fred swiftly slapped the phone from George’s clutches, causing it to fall on the tile carelessly. The identical gingers both scrambled for the phone, ending up in George’s grasp once again.

He yelled to the mouthpiece rapidly, “On second thought, we don’t have time to talk right now! We’ll get together soon and have lunch!”

Fred kicked George’s rear hard, causing a small yelp to escape George’s lips. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he spat at Fred, who quickly slammed the phone back to the base.

“Where’s your brain?” he harshly asked his irritated brother.

“Why’d you kick me?” George retorted, hurt.

“Where’s your brain?”

“Why’d you kick me?”

“Where’s your brain?”

“I asked you first!”

“How are we gonna pick up Y/N if Umbitch is out there with them?” Fred rhetorically asked, seething.

“I- I said for them to be alone and you freaked,” George stated, reverting back to his timid tendencies.

“Now, I didn’t… I didn’t hit you. I lightly slapped you.”

“You hit me.” Tension sliceable with a butterknife filled the kitchen.

“Look, don’t ask me to participate in your stupid antics if you don’t like the way I do it. You make me get out of bed. You make me come over here. You made me make a phony phone call to Dolores Umbridge? That woman could expel me, expel us, and then, you deliberately hurt my feelings!”

“No… I didn’t deliberately hurt your feelings,” Fred said, his words tinged with guilt. “What’re you doing?” George grabbed his red hockey jersey and keys that previously laid on the island.

“I’m going back to Lee’s, Fred. I need some rest. Have a nice life.”

“No, no, c’mon. Don’t do that, George,” Fred pleaded ruefully, “George, come back. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I’m sorry.”

“You serious?”

Fred gave a slow and sincere nod. George swiveled back around, setting his belongings back on the counter, his face lightened slightly.

“Now, to fix the situation, we’re gonna have to do something you’re not going to like.”

----

Fred and George peeled the sliding glass doors of the luxurious garage apart, revealing the interior, which was mainly lined with thousands of dollars worth of vintage car memorabilia, save for the treasured vehicle in the center.

“The 1961 Ford Anglia 105E Deluxe,” George said, his eyes pointed down at the prized pompadour blue car resting idly in front of the duo. Fred's eyes were also fixed on the vehicle, though his’ were illuminated with awe and mischief.

“Dad spent 3 years restoring this car,” he continued, hands behind his back, not daring to leave fingerprints on its shiny surface, “it is his love, it is his passion…”

“It is his fault he didn’t lock the garage,” Fred smirked, sauntering around the exterior of the automobile, slobbering all over the surface like a dog with fresh meat.

“Fred, what are you talking about?” George asked nervously, already knowing what Fred was plotting, “Dad loves this car even more than he loves you!”

“Fred, no.” Fred swiped his fingers over the perfect coat of paint, occasionally posing with the car as if he was a model on the front cover of a magazine.

“Que Bella!” he said with a chef’s kiss, still drooling over the car’s magnificence.

“Remember how insane he went when I snapped my retainer? And that was a tiny piece of plastic!” Fred paid an anxious George no mind, instead continuing his admiration for Arthur’s most valuable possession.

“George, I’m sorry, but we can’t pick up Y/N in that piece of scrap. He’d never believe Mr. Y/L/N would drive something like that!”

“It’s not a piece of scrap.”

Fred opened the driver’s side door, slowly sitting down in the comfortable cushioned seat, his umber eyes never breaking contact with George’s identical ones.

“He knows the mileage, Fred.”

“Look, this is real simple. Whatever miles we put on, we’ll take off.” Fred said, barely giving George the time of day.

“How?”

“We’ll drive home backwards.”

“No,” George said firmly, almost like a mother. Fred turned the key of the Anglia, its restored engine roaring ten times better than George’s hunk of junk’s.

“How about we rent a nice Cadillac, my treat!” He yelled as Fred slowly drove away, the revving of the vintage engine drowning out his voice. George stood frozen in disbelief, before Fred slowly backed up, beckoning George to join him.

With a heavy heart, George warily climbed into the back seat of the vehicle. And with that, Fred floored the gas, speeding off towards the Shermer High.

----

“I had a grandmother once,” Umbridge awkwardly stated, in an attempt to soothe your heart overcome with (fake) grief. “Two, actually.”

The suburbs outside of the Windy City lived up to their name today; Umbridge’s frizzy brown curls swayed in the strong breeze. The temperature today was the best it had been since last Autumn; it was a given that Fred would skip.

You patiently waited on the concrete steps outside the school, Umbridge continuing her “comforting” words, attempting to stitch the wounds caused by your grandmother’s staged death. You weren’t focused on the thulian tyrant, however, instead, your eyes waited on the road for the sight of a ruby-red-haired boy.

“Between grief and nothing, I’d take grief,” Umbridge said flatly.

“Great,” you replied softly, eager to shut the toadish old lady up. She opened her magenta-tinted lips to add something else, but she decided against it, promptly shutting her mouth without a sound escaping.

The stentorian roaring of the engine residing in cerulean Ford Anglia filled the silent air and idle parking lot, lightening your spirits instantly. While you didn’t doubt that Fred would’ve shown up eventually, his timing was impeccable. It didn’t hurt that he showed up in a killer ride, either.

A tall, lanky man drenched in a long beige trench coat, horn-rimmed sunglasses, and a businessman-looking fedora, which masked his fiery orange hair, emerged from the car, leaning against its body.

“Oh Y/N honey, hurry along now,” the stranger in disguise bellowed, his voice slightly higher pitched than ‘Mr. Y/L/N’s’ from the phone, a thickly-slathered Chicago accent present nonetheless.

“I guess that’s my dad.”

You grabbed the annoying principal’s wrinkly, cold hand, reciting, “Miss Umbridge, Dolores. You’re a beautiful woman, I wanna thank you for your warmth and compassion.”

A furious Ron watched from the scene play out from the large front windows of the school, immediately recognizing Fred and his infuriating antics with a scowl. Why should he get to skip while the rest of us have to stay? I’ve gotta catch him.

Umbridge looked near disturbed at your counterfeit words on thankfulness, before you eagerly stepped down to the car, giving ‘Mister Y/L/N’ a quick hug.

“Do you have a kiss for Daddy?” Fred jokingly asked with a smirk.

“Are you kidding?” you replied, leaning into his soft lips for a passionate kiss, which maybe would have escalated a little further if he didn’t drag you in the passenger seat of the Anglia.

“So that's how it is in their family,” Umbridge uttered as she watched the nearly-French kiss perched from her spot at the top of the stairway. She swiftly pivoted around walking to the front entrance to the school, when Fred floored the Ford again, its loud engine roaring off into the distance.

“Hi Georgie, you comfortable?” you asked, eyes towards the crampted back seat.

Once the three of you were out of Umbridge’s eyeline, a compact George sprung up from the lonely backseat, saying, “Hi, Y/N. No.”

“So, what're we gonna do?” you asked the dashingly handsome driver next to you with a smile.

“The question isn’t: What are we going to do? The question is: What aren’t we going to do?”

“Don’t say we’re not going to take the car home. Please don’t say that we’re not going to take the car home,” George mumbled, hopeful that Fred would comply, though he already knew that Fred would be doing the exact opposite.

If you had access to a car like this, Fred mentally narrated, gesturing to the amenities-rich Anglia, would you take it back right away? Me neither.

And with that, Fred recklessly rounded the bendy road, speeding off towards downtown Chicago.

[sylvie-writes]

Jersey #18

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (ft. Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Wanda) 

request: I know your requests are closed but I had an idea for a Steve Rogers au where he is in high school and his best friends bucky and Sam are trying to set him up with their girlfriends friend? It would be post serum Steve but like he never had the serum (like puberty was just very kind to him, not that he isn’t everything and more without the serum, just wouldn’t make sense for him to be a football star as pre serum Steve ya know?) and reader is a cheerleader but is also shy. Anywho the day of the homecoming game cheerleaders have to wear a football boys jersey and Nat wears Buckys because they’re obvi in love, Wanda wears Sams, and reader wears Steve’s and when they win the game she runs onto the field and hugs Steve and tells him she’s proud of him and they go to the dance together and they end up dancing to the song Rumor by Lee Brice? And end up admitting they have feeling for each other? ❤️❤️😭 if you could make this happen I would be ECSTATIC

a/n: Thank you for being patient with me. It took me longer to write this because I wanted it to be good. I’m trying to get my shit together at the moment lol. Hopefully you enjoy this because I loved the idea! 

*I chose the number eighteen because Steve was born 1918 and I didn’t know of any other numbers that corresponded with him haha!

A weight had been lifted off your shoulders once the bell rang, freeing you and your classmates from your last bell class. All week long you had tried to rush the hours, longingly waiting for Friday to arrive as that was the day of the homecoming game. The minute the school bell rang, you threw your backpack on one shoulder, practically running out with your textbooks in hand.

As you lightly jogged down the hallway, you could spot Natasha’s cerise locks of hair vividly flying around as she animatedly spoke with Wanda, the two of them most likely awaiting your presence.

The walk from your last class to the lockers was like trekking from Timbuktu and back. Eventually, the familiar tone of Wanda sassing Natasha filled your ears and you giggled, hearing her tell the redhead as it is.

“Now now, ladies.”

You slowly twisted your dial lock, putting in the combination and then opening the creaky metal door to set down your textbooks. Nat leaned up against the locked to your right, Wanda to your left.

“For once, we weren’t actually arguing, (y/n/n)! We were talking about the homecoming game.”

Turning from your locker to face the woman, you raised an eyebrow at her, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, we were thinking about wearing the boys’ jerseys for tonight’s game.”

You smiled, happy for them both, not fully understanding their words. Continuing to listen, you faced your locker once more, going to round up the things for this weekend. In your hand, you held your planner, looking over all of the upcoming assignments and strategically picking which ones to accomplish this weekend.

A sound of feet shuffling sounded louder and louder in the hallway, getting closer to you and the girls. You heard the sounds stop, and a voice replaced the noise.

“Hey babydoll, we got the things you asked for.”

Curious, you turned to your right to see Bucky with his arms wrapped around Natasha’s waist as his lips were glued to behind her ear. Your friend tried to function somewhat normally as her boyfriend continued to shower her in affection.

“This is for you.”

Turning once more, you now saw Sam handing Wanda a jersey as she sheepishly smiled, listening to the man drop some cheesy pick up lines. You looked to your left and right, smiling at your friends' happiness. Suddenly you felt a hand caressing your shoulder, causing you to turn towards the one direction you hadn’t. Behind.

The tall and sweet blonde man you had dreamed about since middle school kindly smiled at you, a jersey in his large hands. Your eyes went wide as you realized the girls had managed to rope you into this too.

“Hi to you too, (y/n).”

Steve chuckled and you then registered that he must’ve seen your startled expression. Feeling a bit awkward, you laughed with the man, shaking off the embarrassment.

“Hi Steve, is that for me I assume?”

The tables had now turned and Steve had been staring at you for a few seconds so far, a bright smile on his face, words struggling to leave his mouth. You giggled at his sweet little mistake.

“Oh! Uh yes!”

His face shuffled through three shades of vermilion, his cheeks most likely toasty as his blushed ears said so. Steve’s lips contorted into that million dollar smile, pearly whites twinkling at you. Unfolding the jersey, Steve brought the shoulders of the jersey to your own, letting the shirt drape over your chest. “Looks great, babe!”

You bit your bottom lip at his playfulness, lightly slapping his chest.

“Oh hush, Rogers.”

The two of you were in your own little world, as your friends watched upon your interaction, unbeknownst to you both.

“I hate to break this up, but we have to get to practice, punk. Gotta be in tip top shape, ya know?”

Bucky quickly kissed Nat goodbye, Sam doing the same with Wanda, leaving you and Steve to awkwardly wave at each other. Once the boys had left, your two best friends hounded you like detectives, not allowing you to leave until you answered each and every question. It was no secret that you harbored feelings for Steve, and vice versa, yet both of you were too petrified to make the first move. Honestly, you felt somewhat insecure, as the girls who wanted to date Steve made up a queue line longer than the Great Wall of China. There were so many options, and he chose you? Apparently it made sense to everyone else except for yourself.

‘Lovey-dovey’ feelings aside, Steve was a great guy, who you considered one of your close friends. Since middle school, you had known Nat, Wanda, Bucky, Sam, and Steve. You six had always been close, and sports brought you all even closer. First, Bucky and Nat got together, then Sam and Wanda, now the four have spent the past year trying to set you and Steve up, which you do kind of enjoy, but of course you don’t let them know that.

When you had finally satiated Wanda and Nat’s dying need to know every detail of your five minute interaction with Steve, you three went to go find the rest of the team and work on some cheers. Time ticked on and soon four hours became three...two...one.

With an hour until the game began, Natasha, who was cheer captain, frantically ran around, checking up on the team members as you all added finishing touches to your makeup and hair. You sat in front of the vanity, carefully watching Nat getting chastised by Wanda. Her hands hastily flew as she talked, probably scolding Natasha for worrying about everyone else and not even being ready herself. Time was ticking away, so you and Wanda helped the woman get ready. When finished the three of you looked into the mirror to see your reflections smiling back, large jerseys half-tucked into your cheer skorts.

Needless to say, the first three quarters of the game were intense leaving not only you, but the audience on edge. A few offenses left you grimacing, but the boys picked themselves up and kept going. For a majority of the game, you and the girls stayed on the sidelines, expertly performing cheers that were prepared by Natasha. At halftime, you all came onto the field and executed more advanced tricks and such.

Now here you all were, last quarter of the game. So far, your school only needed one more winning play to win the game and keep the team’s winning streak. You gripped your pom poms tightly as you watched Steve briskly run down the field, football tucked in his arm, making your heart race increase a bit. It was then that you realized that you have really cared for Steve as you were constantly worrying about him out on the field.

Too busy daydreaming, you hadn’t even noticed that the game had ended until the crowd started cheering. Immediately, you saw the guys standing in the field waving at the sea of screaming people who excitedly waved their foam fingers and signs. Football was a huge thing in your town, especially with your high school having been the reigning champs.

You looked to your side to notice Natasha and Wanda missing and now running towards the guys. With confidence, you dropped your pom poms and ran towards them all. Steve caught sight of you and with a bright smile, held out his arms. Catching your figure, he laughed and spun you around.

Steve set you down, but not letting go and still in fact holding you close to him. He continued to smile down on you while you gazed up at him.

“Congratulations, Cap.”

You teasingly called the man by his nickname, gently running your fingers through his sweaty helmet hair as a few strands had fallen forward.

Cheeky grin, the man replied, “Well thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you and your girls.”

You gave the man a tight hug and he chuckled.

“Hey, I was thinking that maybe if you were free, would you like to go with me to homecoming dance tomorrow?”

He looked ready to apologize for what he thought was being forward when you happily smiled at him.

“I’d be honored. See you at seven, Steve Rogers.” Giving the man a quick kiss on the cheek, you ran back across the field with the girls who were leaving.

Exactly seven o’clock on the dot you heard a loud knock on the front door. Running down the stairs, sparkly stiletto heels in hand. Last night when you had told Nat and Wanda that Steve asked you to homecoming, they practically threw you into the car and drove to the mall as if all of the dresses might disappear overnight. The three of you decided on a red high low dress, one of Steve’s favorite colors which you had learned from Bucky. Next, Wanda picked out said stilettos and you were ready for homecoming dance. That night you were so excited that you could barely sleep, and now the time had finally come.

Containing your excited squeals, you threw open the door to see Steve with his jaw dropped as he shamelessly eyed you over.

“(y/n), you look absolutely stunning. Not that you don’t always but-”

Before the man could stumble over his words anymore, you placed a soft finger against his lips, shushing him. Steve hurriedly nodded and mumbled out a “yes ma'am,” then holding out an arm for you to link onto.

Time passed quicker than before as you and Steve talked a mile a minute in the car. Before you knew it, you and Steve had arrived at the venue and you could already see Nat and Bucky along with Wanda and Sam as they all looked absolutely picture perfect.

Once Steve helped you out of the car, he again offered an arm that you gladly took. Snuggling into his side a bit, you felt so comfortable with Steve and it was honestly the best feeling in the world.

The six of you spent some time tasting the fancy horderves and of course used the photo props provided. It was something that would make an amazing memory for the future.

Eventually, the lights started to go dim and some soft notes came through the speakers. Nat and Bucky had already left for the dance floor with Sam and Wanda trailing behind.

Steve jokingly wiggled his raised eyebrow, holding a hand out for you. “Madam?”

Placing your much smaller hand in his, the man pulled you close and onto the dance floor.

There's a rumor going 'round, ha, about me and you Stirring up our little town the last week or two Oh, tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling I feel it and you feel it too

Steve’s hand supported your lower back as you wrapped your arms around his neck, relishing in this first dance with the man. You laid your head on his shoulder, and with a smile and closed eyes, followed his slow swaying.

The song continued to echo in the room and it neared to an end quicker than you had imagined.

There's a rumor going 'round, and 'round, and 'round What d'you say we make it Make it true What d'you say we make it true, yeah?

Just as the song came to the final verse, you lifted your head from Steve’s chest. He placed a delicate kiss on the top of your head prompting you to look up at him. With your eyes, the two of you silently asked for permission from the other. Slowly, you leaned into Steve’s lips as he pushed back gently. Both you and Steve were in your own little blissful world, ignoring your friends’ whistling and clapping. You heard a bit of their commotion and giggled against Steve’s lips. His lips turned into a smile and the two of you kissed once more, this time smiling like lovesick idiots.

10 years later

You were sitting on the arm of the sofa, Steve’s broad arm safely wrapped around your waist. Looking across, you smiled while listening to Sam and Wanda tell their own rendition of homecoming night. As they finished, you looked down to the floor where Nat and Bucky were sitting, then disputing your other friends’ version and telling their own. Steve chuckled and waved a hand, “You guys did not set (y/n) and I up,” your husband rolled his eyes in faux annoyance.

Steve then looked up to you and tenderly squeezed your side, “We did that all on our own. Right, honey?”

You nodded and placed a peck on his lips. Suddenly a high pitched squeal sounded and you looked back down to the floor seeing your daughter pointing to the picture of you and Steve kissing on the dance floor.

Tonight was the anniversary of your homecoming and you and Steve thought it would be fun to have your friends over to remember the night. Over the years, Nat and Bucky, and Wanda and Sam have stayed in touch, and quite frankly, they have become your family. Your daughter was currently flipping through the album from your homecoming night. Peering over her shoulder were two kids, Wanda and Sam’s son, and Bucky and Nat’s daughter. The three of them giggled and babbled amongst themselves. Bucky scooted closer to the kids, telling them about each picture they pointed to. You blissfully sighed, a small smile on your lips as you looked over your family. Steve noticed your loving gaze and ran his thumb along your side.

“We did it, babe.”

Taking his face in your hand, you kissed his forehead.

“We really did.”

a/n: I apologize for any mistakes, I may have been too lazy to proofread heh heh...

taglist: @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94​ @calirindo​ @aubreeskailynn​ @lady-elena-adeline​

If I’ve messed up the taglist somehow, let me know! 

[bubblyani]

Your Laugh

(Philip Altman x Reader)

A Philip Altman One Shot

Fandom: This is Where I Leave You

Rating: Mature

Summary: You have reunited with Philip Altman, your old friend from middle school after what seemed like ages. And he had always remembered you through an unorthodox manner which unexpectedly stole your heart.

Author’s Note: Missed writing for Adam’s characters so much. Philip, his character was hilarious in this movie. But I also loved him too. Wanted to write something for him. Enjoy!

The smell of alcohol, it always lingered in your memory since you were a child. Would anyone whose family owned a bar not relate to that?

Wherever you were, the smell always reminded you of your hometown. It was home for you. But when you finally were back in the very place where it all started, you felt a sense of completion. Coming back home always felt comforting. But this time, it was for good and oddly you were grateful. After much needed soul searching, you knew that this was where you were meant to be.

The bar, your family’s bar, it may be filled with people, but your laughter was loud enough to cut through all noises put together. At least, that was what you thought. You knew it sounded distinct. Thus, you always wondered if it secretly annoyed all those around you. Could it be possible that everyone never mentioned anything about it solely for the purpose of being polite? Funny how a shot of vodka would just send you off to a path of deep pondering.

But tonight was not the time for that, for it was a night of celebration.

“And here’s to SUCCESS!” You cried out jovially, as your refilled shot glass clinked with your friend’s. “Here here!” However, even though your friend cried in response, even though she gulped her drink down, it was evident that she clearly was not paying attention.When her wandering eyes were focused on something else, or someone else completely.

“Is…that guy checking you out?” You asked in an excited tone. Chuckling could not be helped, especially when you friend did not even care you noticed, for she was too occupied making eyes with the handsome gentleman from across the room. With her eyes still on him, she nodded.
“Since, the moment we came in here…” she said, then turning to you with desperation, “Should I-” “-do something about it?” You finished her sentence. Settling her nerves, you smiled, “Please bitch, you must!” You said, getting her to laugh along with you in excitement. With one last glance, she succeeded in getting young gentleman to walk over to her. As they began to make sweet conversation, you turned to the bartender. You were truly glad for your friend. After a bad breakup, she certainly needed to blow off some steam.

“Y/N?”

A deep voice, filled with such character and familiarity. It called out to you. Looking over your shoulder to the left, you glanced at the man before you. Your jaw dropped, for it was certainly someone you did not expect to see.

“Philip?” You began, “Philip Altman?”

The man smiled playfully. And so did you. A happiness you had forgotten returned to you all the sudden.

The last time you saw Philip Altman was at your Middle School Graduation. He may have not been your bestie, but he certainly left quite an impression on you back in the day. A troublemaker he was, but he was different with you. With many mutual interests, you knew he was someone you’d be friends with for life. But sadly, when you had to move out with your family to another city, you reluctantly had to let go of that dream. Finally, after years and years, there he was, standing before you. It was unfathomable that this was actually him. 6 foot 4 in majestic height, he certainly has changed a lot.

“Holy Shit!” You said, as he hugged you. His hugs always made you feel special. You missed them immensely. Apart from being special, you now even felt protected. “Oh my goodness…look at you!” You cried out, “You look gorgeous…”you paused, covering your mouth with embarrassment, “…sorry!” You squeaked nervously, “That was genuine!” You admitted. Philip’s eyes grew big.

“Me??” He said, “Look at yourself” he exclaimed, pointing at you, “You look like a freakin’...Damn!” He may have looked dashing dressed in all black. But the way his eyes washed all over you, blushes attacked you from all corners, and there was no escape. Puberty certainly did both of you some good.

“It’s been so long…” you said breathlessly, both leaning against the bar, “How did you even recognize it was me?” You asked, as Philip signaled a round of drinks.

“Your laugh…” He said. Your eyebrows rose with surprise.Guess your loud laughter was audible for all. But his tone, there was nothing condescending nor offensive. Not at all. “I could never forget it” he said, “You could say it was memorable” he added. In fact, his tone was nothing short of dreamy. You could not help but notice how he could not keep his eyes off you.

“Wow…” you remarked, “That’s the sweetest thing to say…” you continued, “and it came from Philip Altman? What a day! ”. It was true, you never realized someone like him would think so fondly of something as random as your laugh. Glasses were clinked, and the vodka touched your tongues in haste. The alcohol tasted different now that Philip was there.

“So…what are you doing back here?” He asked. Smacking your lips, you looked at him. “Thought I move back for good” you answered, “Plus it’s my off night tonight” you said, motioning to the bar. Since it was the family business, you would lend a hand in bar-tending. “And yet, you still come here” “Guess it’s my calling. I’m kidding..” You chuckled, “I’m actually here with my…” you turned to your right, “…friend” you paused, “Oh there she is…” you began, “…sticking her tongue down a… man’s… throat.”you said unexpectedly casual, watching your friend going wild with her new found conquest, “Anyways…” you turned back to Philip with a smile, “…we’re celebrating” “Celebrating that you’re not virgins anymore?” Philip snickered. You smacked him playfully. Boy, he had nice arms. “Savage…” you chuckled, “No…this is different” you added in a tone that was quite matter-of-fact. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah…we opened our own business here” you said proudly, straightening your back. You hoped you looked presentable in your tight short silver dress. “I really hope it’s not a sporting goods store” Philip said, secretly looking you up and down once again. You shook your head frantically. “Oh god no….” You replied, “…nothing beats Your dad's store” “Well I’m running it now with Paul” He said, with a smile. Genuinely surprised, you covered your mouth. “Oh my-no way! ” you exclaimed with delight “…that’s just awesome” you cried. Philip smiled brighter by your response, “So you’ve moved back here too?” You asked. “Yeah…” “That’s really, really awesome…” You surprised your own self when those words exited your lips so dreamily. As if you were waiting to hear those words for a long, long time. Accidentally, finding yourself staring into his eyes lot longer than you should, his eyes told you he was too.

“You seriously look great, by the way” he said softly. You would be lying if that did not make you smile. “Well…Right back at ya, champ” you said.

That was it. You were very, very attracted to Philip Altman. And the way his eyes twinkled, you were confident he felt the same way.

A song. An old nostalgic song, started to play in the background. A song that roused you with excitement.

“Oooh…I haven’t heard this baby in ages…” you squealed, “Come on, Altman…Dance with me!” You said to him, moving over to the wooden dance floor in the midst of the gathering crowd. “I will but…What If your dancing hasn’t changed since middle school?” Teasing, Philip asked. You rhythmically waved your hand in refusal. 
“Just trust me, will ya?” You said in a sultry tone, beckoning him with your index finger as you began to dance.

You may have been in a dress, but you certainly knew how to groove in it. The music flowed through your body like water. Eyes closed tight, you swayed your hips provocatively, as if no one was watching. Except one particular person. And it made you joyous when that one person grabbed you by the hand, pulling you over to him. With your back firmly pressed against his heaving chest, the two bodies moved together in sync. You felt chills running down your spine, just to have Philip’s body against your own this way. The way you kept grinding against him, the way your buttocks subtly brushed against his clothed manhood, you grew quite hot. Grabbing you by the shoulders, Philip turned you to face him.

“Whoa…Where did you learn to dance like that?” He asked. You smiled mischievously. “I’ve been busy” you purred. “Well…Kudos to being busy then…” Eyes not leaving yours, Philip said with quite an appetite. His facial hair appeared so soft, you longed to run your fingers over them. Faces just mere centimeters away from one another, the two pairs of lips were clearly aching to make contact. And the way his face grew closer to yours with each second, you were certain there was no need ache for it any longer.

“I TOLD YOU… IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!” A loud voice bellowed, catching the attention of almost everyone in the bar, including the two of you.

“Ah shit…” Philip muttered. “What the-?”you began. Looking around, you spotted where the voice was coming from. “Oh no!” You exclaimed.

Paul Altman, Philip’s elder brother seemed to be in the midst of a brawl with Judd, his other brother. Glasses were shattered as one was flung over the table. Grabbing each other, they certainly made a scene as they began to wrestle each other like two children. And their sister, Wendy was desperately in need of help. 
“Philip!” She cried, looking over at the both of you. You could tell Philip seemed helpless. And you knew what needed to be done. You gave him an obvious glance.

“Go…go! it’s okay…I’ll take care of the bill” you said, pushing him lightly so that he could quickly head over there. Breaking up the fight did not seem to be easy as expected. With Wendy’s commanding voice and Philip’s strong grip, the Altmans fled outside to settle this row.

“Whoa! What the hell just happened?” You jumped when your friend called out from behind. Though her lips had finally left the young man alone, you were certainly not in the mood to tease her about that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Walking home later that night, your heart felt heavy. It was so close. You both were so close to make something happen. So close to a possibility. The chemistry felt so real. Seeing Philip again after ages made you long for something you hadn’t longed for before. But then suddenly it was slipped right off your fingers. Maybe this was all in your head, you thought. Maybe you should not hope for too much.  Shrugging to yourself, you finally made it home.

“HEY!”

You turned back, to gasp loudly. Philip stood a few feet before you, panting, trying to catch his breath. Did he just run all the way to your place?

“Hey…” you said, standing by the door as he walked over to you, “Was everything okay ?” You asked with concern. Philip nodded. “Oh yeah yeah…you know…family drama” he said, with his hands on his hips, “…and here I thought I would be the troublemaker” he added, flashing his beautiful smile. “I think you still are...” You replied teasingly. “Guilty…” he said, making you smile. That smile you wore, it was filled with relief. Relieved that he actually ran for you. Relieved that he even bothered to meet you again. Lost in his eyes, you kept smiling, overjoyed to reunite with him again after ages only to have your heart race wildly.

And before you knew it, you welcomed his eager lips with your very own, in a hearty kiss.

With arms wrapped around each other, you felt him pull you closer to him. Holding you so tightly, you were floating on air. All the while the kisses were birthed and took their own unique shape in the form of  each other.

Pulling away, Philip’s nose brushed against yours. “So…”he breathed, “Anyone home?” You shook your head frantically, “Nuh uh…the folks went on a cruise” Looking up at the sky, Philip looked ecstatic. “Thank fuckin god” he cried out, which made you break in to laughter. This much of joy and genuine excitement was what you missed from your life in your hometown. And now you got it back. But your laughter died down sooner than expected, when you realized he was staring at you with amusement. “What?” You asked. Philip smiled warmly. 
“There it is…”he began “Your laugh” he said in an affectionate tone.

Kissing him shamelessly once again, it was definitely clear this was where you definitely were meant to be, and needed to be.

——————————————————

Check My MASTERLIST for More :)

[platonicteenwolf]

Wolf Moon (S1E1) Part II

Teen Wolf x Reader Series Rewrite

A/N: Let me know if any of the links are wacky or if I mess up on any of the pronouns cause posting three versions is sometimes a bit confusing so I can fix it if needed. Also lmk if there’s a misspelling or grammar issue too :)

They/Them Pronouns Version

He/Him Pronouns Version

Next Part / Masterlist

Warnings: dead body, swearing

Lacrosse stick strapped to his backpack, Scott pedals into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School among the swarm of students. Skateboarders jump steps, potheads take barely concealed tokes, girls and guys hold hands, guys and guys hold hands, (yes it’s California.)

As Scott pulls his bike to one of the racks to lock it up, a pristine BMW with a license plate that reads: JCKSN37, blazes into the lot and stops in the space next to the racks. Scott, still kneeling, gets bumped in the back when the driver’s side door opens.

Jackson Whittemore, exceptionally good-looking and usually oblivious to anyone not within his social or financial circle, steps out to notice that Scott hit his car by being near it.

“Dude. Watch the paint job.”

He’s completely unaware of hitting Scott as he grabs his own lacrosse equipment.

“Yo Jackson!”

Hearing his favorite word, Jackson looks up and heads over to meet his friends. All good looking jocks with big smiles and expensive cars, pretty girls coming up to say hello.

—————

A school bell rings outside a brick building swarming with students.

“Alright let’s see this thing,” Stiles says, a little too eagerly. Now standing in front of the school, Scott takes off his backpack and pulls his shirt up a few inches to show Stiles and I the bandage on his lower back.

“Oh damn that looks bad!” I reach out to touch it and Scott flinches back. “Oops, sorry”

“It was too dark to see much but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf.”

Scoffing, Stiles countered “A wolf bit you? No, not a chance.”

“I heard a wolf howling.”

”No, you didn’t.”

“What do you mean ‘No, I didn’t?’ How do you know what I heard?”

Jumping in, I explained, “California doesn’t have wolves. Not for the last sixty years. The animals were almost hunted to extinction in the 1920s California Gold Rush.” Both boys looked at me in surprise. “What,” I questioned, “I like history.”

Seemingly accepting that answer Scott continued on. “Well, if you don’t believe me about the wolf, then you’re definitely not going to believe me when I tell you I saw the body.”

“Holy shit!” This was amazing!

“You what? Are you kidding me!?” He almost looked like a kid who just found the hidden candy cabinet.

“I wish. I’m going to have nightmares about it for a month.”

There was still one thing I’ve been wondering about though, “Which half of the body was it?”

“Oh- it was the top half. I saw her dead eyes staring back at me. It was scary.” Scott shuddered, thinking about her lifeless body laying in the forrest.

“Well I think that’s freaking awesome,” Stiles concluded. “This is seriously the best thing that’s happened to this town since...”

Stiles suddenly got very distracted by something behind Scott. I turned around to see what it is and you’ll never guess.

“...since the birth of Lydia Martin who’s walking toward us right now.”

A drop-dead gorgeous junior named Lydia Martin was walking towards the school doors like it was a fashion show runway in Milan. Stiles has had the biggest crush on Lydia ever since we were kids.

“Hey Lydia, how are you? You look--” She walks right past him not even giving him a second glance. “...like you’re going to ignore me.”

Scott chuckled at his failed attempt in flirting with the girl as I pat him on his shoulder.

“You’ll get her next time champ.” Stiles shot me an unappreciative glare as I held my hands up in defense and he started grumbling about how unfair everything was.

“You guys are the cause of this, you know. Dragging me down to your nerd depths. I’m a nerd by association. I’ve been Scarlet-nerded by you.”

As we reach the steps of the school I get ready to part with the dynamic duo to get to my class. “Alright boys, I’ve got first with Harris so I’ll see y’all later.” Mentions of good luck were lost behind me as I entered the thick crowd ready to start the day.

—————

First period English. Scott takes the desk next to Stiles as the teacher, Mr. Curtis starts writing instructions on the chalkboard.

“As you all know by now, there was indeed a body found in the woods last night. I’m sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened but I’ve been told that the police have a suspect in custody.”

Scott looks to Stiles who shrugs, news to him as well.

“Which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus on your desk outlining the semester. Read it now. And by read I don’t mean skim.”

As the students begin reading a cell phone starts ringing out of nowhere. Scott glances up and looks around. The other students quietly read the syllabus, seemingly not hearing the noise. Gazing about, he can’t seem to find the source until his eyes fall on the windows of the classroom...

Outside - across the quad, Scott sees a girl sitting on a bench who he will come to know as Allison Argent. Sixteen and radiating with an innocent beauty. When she puts the cell phone to her ear, it becomes obvious that, despite the closed windows and the distance, this is the ringing Scott is somehow able to hear.

More astonishingly, Scott can hear both Allison and her caller.

“Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it,” Allison teased.

“Just making sure you’re there okay and you’ve got everything you need.” But Allison digs through her bag, becoming alarmed.

“Everything except a pen. Oh my God, I didn’t actually forget a pen.”

“Don’t panic. I’m sure you can borrow one from another student.”

“Okay, okay, I gotta’ go. Love ya.”

Unable to take his eyes off the extraordinary girl, Scott watches the school’s principal join her on the steps.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The Principal guides her across the quad, their conversation becoming clearer to Scott with every step.

“So you were saying San Francisco isn’t where you grew up?”

“No, but we stayed for more than a year which is unusual in my family.”

Even when Allison and the Principal disappear from view, Scott hears the clatter of the building door opening, the clicking of their heels on the tile floor of the hall.

“Well, hopefully, Beacon Hills is your last stop for a while.” The door to the classroom opened, causing the rest of the class to look up.

The principle turns to address the room. “Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome.”

Scott barely breathes as Allison heads for the one empty desk left in the room. Right behind him. She puts her notebook down, then glances up to see Scott turned toward her. Holding out a pen. With a relieved but curious smile, she takes it from him.

“Thanks.”

Scott gives her a nod, turning around with a proud expression. Looking up at the front of the room, Mr. Curtis stands up to start the lesson.

“We’ll begin with Kafka’s metamorphosis on page 133...”

—————

The school bell rings throughout the halls indicating its time to move to your next class. As I walked out of my classroom I spotted Stiles coming out of his. Jogging towards him to catch up, I shout his name to grab his attention. Whipping his head around he greets me with the classic, dopey, Stilinski smile. “Hey bub, what’s up?” I ask.

Rolling his eyes at the nickname, he grumbles all about how boring his English class was. “...oh! And there’s a new girl at school today!”

Interesting, I thought. Spotting Scott in the distance we both quicken our pace to meet with him at his locker.

—————

As he grabs his lock to open the door, Scott hears Allison just down the corridor. Looking towards where she stands they connect eyes. She starts to smile, recognizing the cute guy who gave her the pen. But then Lydia Martin swoops in front of her.

“That jacket is absolutely killer. Where did you get it?”

“My Mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco,” Allison explains.

Suddenly Jackson, Lydia’s boyfriend, walks up to the pair and puts his arm around Lydia and she greets him with a kiss.

Turning back towards his locker, Scott spotted Y/N and Stiles walking up to him.

—————

Looking at the Alpha Male and his arm candy across the hall, I turn towards the boys with a confused look on my face.

“Can someone tell me how the new girl is here all of five minutes and she’s already hanging with Lydia’s clique?”

“Because she’s hot. Beautiful people herd together,” Stiles answers. He’s got a point. He steps up to open his own locker next to Scott’s.

“Is that why Lydia isn’t herding with you?”

“Lydia’s a long term project, okay? And trust me, I’ve got all the patience in the world for a high yield investment like her.”

You’ve got to give him credit. He’s committed.

—————

Head cocked slightly, Scott tunes into the conversation from the other end of the corridor, voices coming into focus.

“So,” Lydia exclaims, “this weekend there’s a party.”

“A party?”

Jackson leaned on the lockers next to him, arm now wrapped around Lydias torso. “Yeah, Friday night. You should come.”

“I can’t. It’s Family Night this Friday. But thanks for asking.”

“You sure? Everyone’s going after the scrimmage”

“You mean like football?”

“Football is a joke at Beacon. The sport here is Lacrosse. We won the state championship the last three years--“

Cutting in Lydia praises, “Because of a certain team captain.”

“We have practice in a few minutes,” Jackson explains. “You don’t have to be anywhere, do you?”

“Well, no, I was just going--“

Lydia claps her hands in excitement, “Perfect! You’re coming.”

—————

A whistle blowing echoes across the field. The Lacrosse Team’s Coach gathers the team on the field, Stiles and Scott lagging behind.

“But if you play I’ll have no one to talk to on the bench! You really gonna’ do that to your best friend?”

“Hey! No fair.” I look toward Stiles pouting when he gives me an obnoxious look.

“You don’t count.” I shoved him sticking my tongue out and watched as Stiles accidentally collided with Scott.

“Oops sorry Scott,” I apologize.

With an amused smile after watching our banter Scott continued his argument. “I can’t sit out again. My whole life is sitting on the sidelines. This season, I make first line.” He heads for the field, pausing to see Lydia climbing the bleachers. And stepping right behind her... Allison.

I look towards the boy and follow his gaze behind me where I see the girls sitting. “Hey,” I nudged Stiles who was busy putting all his gear down around him in a destructive manner. “I think Scott’s got a crush on the new girl.”

“What? What makes you say that?”

“Look!” I point towards where Scott stands, still starring dreamily at Allison, but he’s suddenly interrupted when a lacrosse stick hits him in the chest.

“McCall! You’re in the goal.”

Scott turns to Coach Bobby Finstock, a man with little comprehension of the difficulties of teenage life. He tosses Scott the bundle of goalie equipment.

“But I’ve never played goal.”

“I know. Scoring some shots will give the boys a confidence boost. It’s a first day back thing. Get them energized, fired up!”

“What about me?”

“Try not to take any in the face.”

This is not gonna end well, I think to myself.

—————

Stepping into the net, Scott glances to the bleachers where Allison watches with Lydia, eyes focusing on them.

“Who is that,” Allison questions.

Him? I’m not sure who he is. Why?”

“He’s in my English class.”

Scott looks up, shocked to hear Allison asking about him. But with his hearing momentarily turned up, he flinches at the whistle blow, sound ringing through his skull.

One of the bigger players charges forward as the Assistant Coach passes the ball to him. Catching it, he whips his stick forward, hurling the ball toward the goal.

Still reeling from the whistle, Scott looks up too late to see the ball soaring toward him. It bounces right off his helmet and into the net. The team laughs wickedly. Even Coach snickers.

Cheeks burning under his mask, Scott readies himself for the next player. When the whistle blows again, he’s ready. The Assistant Coach passes the ball to the next player who catches it and fires it right at the goal.

Scott moves startlingly fast, almost an instantaneous reaction. Then he notices the player staring at him with a mixture of disappointment and surprise. Scott has the ball.

“Yeah!” Stiles shouts from the sideline, impressed with his friends newfound luck. “See I told you he was practicing,” I brag to Stiles.

When the next player takes the shot, Scott catches the ball again. And then again. And again. Nothing can get past him.

In the bleachers, Allison and Lydia sit forward.

“He seems like he’s pretty good,” Allison continues to stare at Scott practicing on the field

“Very good.” Intrigued, Lydia keeps her gaze locked on Scott who now stands with a far more confident posture. Until he sees that Jackson is next in line. Glaring at Scott, he practically strangles the lacrosse stick with his gloves.

“Oh God...” Scott croaks with fear.

The Assistant Coach tosses the ball up. Jackson launches forward, catching the ball and spinning around to fire it at the goal. But Scott moves with supernatural precision. The ball lands right in the pocket of the goalie stick.

Stiles and I let out hollers of excitement, jumping up from the bench. In the bleachers, Lydia stands and cheers as well causing Jackson to throw a look at her. She returns his glare with a sly smile, a warning to step up his game.

Grinning, Scott gives the goalie stick a whirl, spinning it with a flick of his wrist and sending the ball soaring right into the pocket of the stunned Assistant Coach’s stick.

—————

In the woods, Scott retraces his steps from last night with Stiles and I following behind him.

“I don’t know what it was. It was like, I had all the time in the world to catch the ball.”

Walking towards a bank we came to a river we had to cross. I hope Scott knows where he’s going. After seeing nowhere to cross we trudged through the river soaking our feet in the water. If my shoes smell after this I’m gonna kill him.

Reaching the other side, Scott continued with his worries. “And that’s not the only weird thing. I mean I can hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear. And I can smell things.”

“Smell things? Like what,” Stiles questions.

“Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket.”

“I don’t have any...” Stiles pulls out a lint-covered piece of wrapped gum.

Looking up at Scott in shock, he just shrugged, continuing his walk into the woods. Double checking, I ask him, “so all this started with the bite?”

“What if it’s an infection? What if my body is flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?”

“I’ve actually heard of this,” Stiles starts, “It’s a specific kind of infection.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I think it’s called... Lycanthropy.”

“Oh my god.” I roll my eyes at his accusation. He can’t be serious.

“No I’m serious! This is important!”

“What’s that? Is it bad? It sounds bad.”

“It is. But only once a month.”

“Once a month?”

“On the night of a full moon. Awroooo”

Scott looks at him. And then it clicks. Giving him a push, we continued walking.

“Stiles you’re such a dumbass sometimes,” I chide.

“Hey, he’s the one who heard a wolf howling.”

“There could be something seriously wrong with me!” Scott looks back at Stiles with a look of fear.

“I know! You’re a werewolf! Grrr!” He slashes his hands through the air in a claw motion and I take this opportunity to stick my leg out in front of him and watch as he trips.

As Stiles falls to the forrest floor Scott and I laugh at his stupidity. “Okay, obviously, I’m kidding. But if you see me in shop class melting down all the silver I can find it’s because Friday’s a full moon.”

We seemed to reach the destination because Scott started to look around the area.

“I swear this was it. I saw the body, the deer came running, I dropped my inhaler...”

“Maybe the killer moved the body.”

“If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like eighty bucks.”

As the boys thought of different theories I looked towards the woods and saw someone walking towards us. Is that.. Derek Hale?

“Hello,” I greet, waving to the man.

Stiles looks up at me and then to the man and taps Scott on the arm, pulling him to his feet. Derek Hale. Nineteen and unquestionably handsome, he has a rougher look than the cleanly shaven Beacon Hills boys.

“What are you doing here?”

Both Scott and Stiles are too stunned to speak at first “This is private property.”

“Sorry, we didn’t know,” Stiles assures.

Derek stares at Scott, barely noticing Stiles or I.

Scott opens his mouth to speak to the man but then closes it, at a loss for words.

I take this as an opportunity explain. “We were just looking for something but we’ll leave. Sorry to bother you.”

As we’re turning to go, Derek tosses an object to Scott. His inhaler. When he looks up, Derek is already walking away.

Now finding his voice, Scott mutters, “Aight, come on. I’ve gotta get to work.”

“Dude, that was Derek Hale, “Stiles exclaims. “You remember, right? He’s only a few years older than us.”

“Remember what?”

“His family. They all burned to death in a fire like ten years ago.”

We used to have a class together in school. “I remember the cops pulling him out of class to tell him,” I tell the boys. “I wonder what he’s doing back.”

Scott eyes the inhaler in his hand, closing his fist over it. “Come on,” he says again.

—————

Tag List: @linkpk88

[oddlybitter]

Another excerpt from upcoming Sporting Life chapter - Nothing Can Possibly Go Wrong

CW: Swearing, Abuse mention, Internalized Homophobia, Injury, Drinking, Child Abuse mention, Drinking mention.

please note that this does talk about trauma that both Akechi and Futaba have, so please keep that in mind as you read! it’s a little heavy. (if there is anything else you want me to tag, please let me know)

If one had to spare the details, Goro spent the next hour getting hammered on shitty vodka that tasted like candy. However, if one had a wealth of time on their hands, then the full story would reveal how he got drunk and a few more catalysts that would eventually add up to make the Worst Hangover Goro Akechi Would Get, Ever. 

It really started as he pushed off the wall, leaving Haru behind in a sea of people that he didn't really like, marching into any other room he could find. Somehow, Makoto's restraining wasn't enough to keep Ann from the party, and she waved at him as she expertly carried out the maneuver for a physically perfect kegstand. Her girlfriend watched on in disgust, admiration, and quite possibly (but inexplicably) attraction. 

"I'm very impressed. Mildly scared, but impressed." He said, watching Ann remove an arm and wave to someone in her gathering audience. 

Makoto took a long gulp of her beer, and nodded dismally. "Tell me about it. I have to deal with this when the party's over." 

The cheers reach a crescendo, and Ann, somehow coherent, did a little cartwheel onto her feet. "Yeah! Beat that, Iida-from-AP-chemistry!" 

Iida-from-AP-chemistry did not, in fact, beat that. 

Traipsing over to Makoto and Goro, Ann flicked her pigtails over her shoulder and scanned the linebacker's face with an eerie stare. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing is," He cleared his throat, encapsulating his next words with air  quotes, "'eating me.'" 

Shrugging, Ann made a noise of half-hearted agreement. "Fair enough, keep your cards close to your chest. Though some card games are played better with two, am I right?" 

Makoto rolled her eyes as Ann's face shifted into a mischievous smirk. "Ann..."

"What, babe? I'm just trying to help things along for our dear Joker." She said, nuzzling her face into the crook of Makoto's neck like a tired cat.  

Tired of her antics, Goro stormed through to the next room, the lights a different color than the others. It felt a little like walking through the layers of Hell. Still, he proceeded through all of them, looking for an empty one, taking a small bottle of alcohol as he went. 

Finding another wall to slump against and brood, Goro watched the glistening pool in the Takamaki's back yard, taking off the bottle cap with his teeth. The look on Haru's face as he left, the sound of the quiet whimper of fear from Futaba as she sat outside his door when he was upset, the way he felt when Akira fucking Kurusu looked at him through his eyelashes, all of them felt like consecutive punches to the gut. Goro's head hit the back of the wall with a dull thud, and through the darkness of the room, he could see the reflection of the water on the ceiling. 

After finishing off the bottle, Goro knew he should probably have given Futaba a message about how much fun he was not having. Futaba's chat icon stared up at him, a tiny cat in a frog hat, and the worst thing he could possibly think of doing was letting her hear his voice. He knew Shido didn't have an issue with alcohol, and he was more or less still coherent enough to pass as only slightly tipsy. It didn't help that on the night of his anniversaries with Wakaba and Goro's mother, Shido broke out the heavy bottles, and they sparkled like dangerous jewels behind the glass cabinet he kept locked. Slurring words and biting tones were all Futaba needed to hear to start shaking, twisting her shirt in her hands, and cowering away from any sharp movements. Goro had too many memories of applying bruise salve to her face, and on quite possibly the worst night of their lives, the dark, hand-shaped bruise that clasped around her neck. 

So instead of calling his sister, Goro spared the pain and texted her. 

"There you are." A voice called out, a tall silhouette standing in the doorway. "Was wondering where the introverts' room was." 

Goro snorted, knocking back another bottle and leaving it by the other one. Checking again, he found that yes, there were two bottles there. How he got his hands on that other one was beyond him, but the fact he was actually inebriated really sunk in then.

Walking into the cold light reflected from the pool, Akira walked over to him, a can of beer in one hand and the other tucked into his pocket. "Can I join you?" 

Waving his hand in indifference, Goro made a noncommittal noise. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Akira crouched down next to him, poking his cheek.

"Yikes, you look like you could use some fresh air." He slid his shoulder underneath Goro's arm, pulling him to his feet. "There we go, up and at 'em, champ."

"Don't call me champ. It makes you sound old." Goro frowned, believing he could walk just fine without Akira's assistance, leaning away from him and opening the door to Ann's balcony. 

Placing a hand between his shoulder blades, Akira hissed sharply. "Shit, be careful. We don't need any casualties at a Takamaki party."

Rolling Akira's hand off his back, the linebacker gave him a sour look. "I'm perfectly capable of moving without your assistance."

"Looks like you sobered up enough to be smart-mouthed." The dark-haired boy snorted. 

Goro sighed, watching the rippling lines trace the underside of Akira's face, playing across his skin like liquid moonlight. His chest tightened painfully, and he looked away, instead choosing to run a hand through his hair. At one point, he was sure it was tied back, pulled out of his face, but it hung loose, just brushing his shoulders. Akira hummed a noise that Goro couldn't decipher the tone of. 

"Your hair," He stated, "it's long." 

Giving him a slow clap, Goro nodded. "Ever considered a job in, say, the detective business? They could use a sharp brain like yours." 

Akira laughed, somehow taking Goro's scathing insults like water to a duck's plumage. "I meant it in, like, a nice way. Long hair suits you. Makes you look pretty." 

The wry smile immediately fell from Goro's face, and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands. The way his chest was fluttering was simply, irrevocably wrong. There were rules he had to play by, and letting himself get swept up into Akira's charming whirlpool of "nice" was breaking every single one of them. 

"I probably need to cut it, then. Gets in the way, you know." He mused, ruffling the back of his head.

Suddenly realizing that Akira was close enough for Goro to smell the scent of his fruit-flavored beer, his fingers twisting through the longer strands of his hair, a hot flush crept up the back of his neck. Almost as if he was transfixed, Akira's hand stayed at the base of Goro's neck, the heel of his palm barely touching his jaw. Distractedly, Akira's grip tightened, and Goro sucked in a breath, leaning into the touch. 

As if struck by lightning, they sprung away from each other, attempting to regain their composure by leaning against the balcony railing. 

"Sorry," Akira muttered, taking a sip of his beer. 

Goro made a face. "What even is that? Smells like melted candy." 

A short laugh left Akira's lips. "Says the guy who inhaled two bottles of Ann's disgusting lime vodka." 

"Well, that's entirely the point," Goro explained, "it's disgusting, so obviously, I want more." 

Throwing his head back with laughter, the quarterback leaned his head on his hand. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

A beat of silence fell between them, the summer night's breeze running across Goro's skin like water. Guiltily, Akira turned around, leaning his  elbows on the railing, and giving Goro a look that read "sad puppy." 

"So, hate to bring this up again, but you and Haru, huh? You're really broken up?" He asked, training his eyes on the doors. 

Scowling, Goro gave him the iciest look he could muster. "Oh, of course. That's why you're here. Trying to make a good impression on your new conquest's ex? She's not a fucking vase, Kurusu. She doesn't need my  permission to do anything, much less my approval." 

Sighing, Akira ran a hand through his hair, a pained expression on his face.  "No, that's not why I'm here. It's not even why I brought you here. I wanted -" 

Anger flared like a snare drum in Goro's bones, and he snapped his head around to properly look at the dark-haired boy, clenching the railing of the balcony tightly. "That's all you do, isn't it? Want everything, ignore everything you already have, pretend that what you're asking for is trivial."

"That's not -" 

"You will never, ever understand," He finished, "that you already have everything." 

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the only sound between them was the quiet whirring of the pool's chlorinator and the hollow sound of bass-boosted music. 

Breaking the silence with an equally fragile voice, Akira didn't even look at him. "I wanted to tell you that it was never about Haru. I'm sorry if that got mixed up, but honestly, I could never see her that way. I guess it backfired." 

"You fucking asshole." Goro hissed. "You really dislike me that much that you literally tear me away from -"

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, the quarterback turned on his heel, standing up straight. "If you would just let me finish speaking, you'd hear that I don't hate you! Not in the slightest." 

Helplessly lost, Goro pushed off the railing to stand in front of Akira, glaring furiously at his face. A mere inch separated them, and he could smell the sweet scent of that stupid beer on his breath. "Then what the hell do you think you're doing?" 

"For someone so smart, you're so fucking stupid." Akira breathed. 

Then, sliding his hands into Goro's hair, he cupped his face and leaned in, kissing him. 

[nodesiretogrowup]

LET’S GET READY TO RE-CAAAAAAAAP

“I have numerous science-based questions” I mean, same. It also sets up that Huey is gonna be out of his element this episode

SCROOGE HAS NO TIME FOR SCIENCE

“I AM THAT CHAMPION.” A bit full of yourself there. I couldn’t hear this line without saying “I’M. THAT. HERO.” Oh VeggieTales, you’ll always be with me

THEY ALL LOOK SO ADORABLE!!

I like that Louie does a finger gun when Scrooge gets to him

Like I said earlier, I DO NOT care Scrooge already putting pressure on these kids

Poor Dewey seems like he’s the unfavorite, which is probably how Donald felt as well

Huey makes a good point and I do NOT like how dismissive Scrooge is of the twins

That being said...they totally killed someone in battle

SOMEDAY WE’LL FIND IT, THE RAINBOW CONNECTION!

Why didn’t Launchpad crash? I know he can land w/o crashing but it’s usually when he lands in water. THIS FEELS IMPORTANT SOMEHOW though it probably isn’t

“THEY FOUND A WAY TO MAKE RAINBOWS BETTER!” God, I love Webby

“This is the best day.” WEBBY, YOU ARE REACHING CRITICAL LEVELS OF ADORABLE

Birds with beards look odd

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Poor Huey, magic and mythology aren’t his strong point

I love that it says Odin’s Closet over the shirts. It’s the little details

“Guess Louie knows what Louie’s doing today.” And then he disappears into the shirts. I can appreciate someone who knows what they’re about

I want ALL the shirts from this episode!

“WHOA, IT’S WRESTLING!” He looks so dang happy, it’s ADORABLE

“THIS IS AWESOME!” Chanting is fun

“So these guys just copied professional wrestling?” Huey, you’re form of logic is not welcome here

Does that mean Scrooge told someone about his battles and inspired them to create pro wrestling? I’m gonna go with that

“And they will love me for it!” Dewey, sweetie, that’s only how it works half the time

I loved all the man-snake stuff. Made me giggle

Man snake be THICC. HOT DAMN

I love the little pig ref. HE’S SO CUTE

Jormungandr knows how to pump up a crowd

So, like, is everyone in the audience technically DEAD?! That makes this episode slightly darker. I dig it

 I wonder if Jormungandr sees Earth’s destruction as a good thing for Earth. Like if he genuinely thinks they’d be better off in Valhalla. Or if he’s just a bastard who wants to watch the world burn

Scrooge is a bit too into playing the heel

The way Scrooge moves and the faces he makes as the Millionaire Miser remind me of Glomgold

“I watch a lot of wrestling while I fly.” “Wait, while?” This exchange always cracks me up

“Uncle Scrooge is the greatest hero of all time.” “Huh, I guess not everyone thinks so.” I feel like this is foreshadowing later events

RIP Announcer Puffin

“DIBS ON ANNOUNCING!” A dude just got KO’d bro! Have a bit of respect

And the return of the dynamic sports announcer duo. Glad Huey got his badge

I NEED MORE WRESTLING ANNOUNCER LP

Strongbeard is DOPE

“How did you know that?” “Just calling it like I see it. WRESTLING!” The real reason Launchpad knows is because he’s actually Thor but doesn’t remember. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

FEAR THE BEARD

“What matters is I’m doing the right thing.” I don’t know, you really seem to enjoy being a heel

This whole match is great

Dewey, there ARE NO RULES IN WRESTLING. Plus you aren’t the ref, so you can’t make that call

I have very inappropriate jokes go through my head when only one arm absorbs the beard energy

“I am so confused.” CONSTANT MOOD

DID SCROOGE NARUTO RUN AT STRONGBEARD?!

I like that Scrooge dives onto him the same way he dives into his bin

LP is so excited he pushes Huey out of the way for NO REASON

HOLY FUCK THAT DUDE THREW A CHAIR AT A CHILD!

All the bone cracking in this episode made me uncomfortable, as in my bones hurt during it

“He is such a good guy.” I’d say he’s a fair guy, not necessarily a good guy

“Which two of you will fight for me?” Webby has been waiting for this moment her WHOLE LIFE

Louie, always taking time to make that money

Who gave him a shirt cannon?!

I love that the dude comes up wearing the shirt

Dewey just slaps Scrooge in the face

Champ POPular! Too cute! I love his hair and outfit. Though I don’t think Champ POPular’s “too popular to hate.” If anything he might annoy people due to his popularity

I thought he was gonna pull out yo-yos as his “finishing touch” and I was sad when it was lollipops even though that makes more sense. BRING BACK THE YO-YOS!

“Do all the fighting and make sure he doesn’t die.” That is a valid concern

WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU! I’D KNOW IT ANYWHERE

Huey taking notes is adorable

“Just in time for the tag-team round.” “Wait, they’re playing tag now?! MAN!” I love how Danny says MAN

How does Huey not know what a tag-team is? It’s a pretty common term

I love Launchpad’s reading face

Dewey has red, blue, and green lollipops. Cute

“HE’S THROWING LOLLIPOPS BECAUSE HE THINKS WE’RE SUCKERS!” That took me off guard and I laughed so hard

“I’ve known you my whole life, I kinda knew how this would play out.” Louie is genre savvy. Perhaps too savvy. He’s gonna figure out he’s in a tv show

“More like Champ POP..ulation zero because he has no friends...in Friendtown.” I fail to see how that was any worse than LP’s “more like Champ UN-POPular.”

“WE HATE YOU NOW!” Tough crowd

Huey’s face after that. I just want to pinch his lil cheeks

WEBBY DON’T NEED NO WRESTLER NAME

It TOTALLY went over my head that they censored Hela with Hecka (at least they used her better than the MCU did. WE COULD HAVE HAD SO MUCH BETTER)

I would let her pin me to the mat and crush my skull in

“Oh, COME ON, THIS is what you like?! A creepy goth and her pet dog!” SHUT UP, DEWEY, THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANT! I’m surprised Webby didn’t slap him for the “creepy goth” comment seeing as Lena is goth and misunderstood

“HECKA YEAH! HECKA YEAH!” SHE’S SO COOL AND SEXY AND SHE HAS A DOG

Poor Huey, he’s doing his best. Hope he takes a shower later because he got pretty sweaty

HECKA COULD STEP ON ME AND I’D SAY THANK YOU

Why did Huey have all those corn puns?

“YOU’RE THE WORST! YOU’RE THE WORST!” It’s just not Huey’s day

“You don’t have to try to make it sound great, it already is.” Did this remind anyone else of Dewey’s “don’t overthink it” advice to Launchpad from Double-O Duck? He’s doing his best to help Huey

I WANT HECKA TO DESTROY ME

“EMBRACE THE BOOZE BOOS.”

Poor Dewey

WEBBY IS A BEAST! SHE WAS BORN FOR THIS!

“EMBRACE YOUR INNER HEEL!” Cuz being a heel is fun!

DUDE, WEBBY TOOK DOWN THE GODDESS OF DEATH WITH NOTHING BUT HER LEGS AND THIGHS! WE STAN!

I like that Fenny has knee pads on

“AW, YOU’RE SO DANGEROUS AND CUTE! I JUST WANT TO PET YOUR LITTLE BELLY!” WEBBY IS ME

“A classic ‘who’s a good boy?’ gambit!” AND I’D FALL FOR IT TOO! SUCH A GOOD BOI

“Wait, am I the Launchpad here?” Bitch, you WISH

“YOU CAN’T GIVE CANDY TO A DOG!” This is why you don’t have a pet, Dewey

“WHOA, back from THE DEAD for the QUEEN of the DEAD!”

Kind of a dick move, Louie

AIR GUITAR!

Jormungandr looks like a Masters of the Universe knock-off toy

WHO’S A GOOD BOI? YOU ARE!

“With a toxic personality” I think you’re projecting a bit, Jormungandr 

How does Huey not know what a battle royale is? That is a very common term! Hell, there is a well known book and movie with that title!

“I’m just a humble, noble snake man of the people.” Why does the term snake man make me laugh so much?  

WOY REFERENCE FTW

Dewey needs a hug! And some therapy would probably be a good idea

Scrooge’s speech started on a good note then went downhill FAST

“And lastly, I’ll use the dust of your bones as sweetener in my tea.” DAMN

“TOO FAR!” I DON’T THINK IT’S FAR ENOUGH! TELL HIM HOW YOU WILL BATHE IN HIS BLOOD

FUCK YEAH BEAKLEY!

SHE GAVE HIM THE CHAIR! I think this CONFIRMS Beakley as a wrestling fan

“I know we’re supposed to take over for Scrooge one day, but do you ever wonder if maybe we’re not cut out for it?” YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO WONDER THOSE THINGS AT ALL! 

Louie’s like WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT!

“Be LP” My new mantra

Aw, Louie sees Dewey as a hero. Like how LP saw Drake as a hero. I think @drakepad is onto something, this scene and the fight scene seem WAAAAY too much like Drake’s intro to be just a coincidence

I keep saying this, but Louie should consider a career in motivational speaking. He knows what people need to hear

“Let’s do this!” “I don’t know.” “Let’s Dewey this?” “I’m in.”

“I’LL SHED YOUR SKIN FOR YOU!” If he hadn’t of had an old man back moment that would have been a BRUTAL CUT

OMG WAS LAUNCHPAD WEARING THAT THE WHOLE TIME? You see his clothes fly off when he jumps in the ring

“Whoa. In a COMPLETELY UNEXPECTED TWIST, the announcer was Captain Crash THIS WHOLE TIME!” LP does underground wrestling matches in his spare time, TELL ME I’M WRONG

“YOUR CATCHPHRASES ARE FORCED!” I agree, Dewey could have done WAY BETTER

I like Louie just GLARING at the dude who insulted Dewey’s catchphrase

LP looks so proud of Huey

“I don’t care at all, why should I?” Methinks the snake man doth protest too much

I like how Jormungandr’s pupils are thinner during the climax. It shows off his true nature

Dewey should have been the one to do a spin attack, ya know, cuz he’s Sonic? I’ll go now

“The Pop never Stops.” That was better

WHERE ARE ALL THESE CHAIRS COMING FROM?!

I LEGIT thought Strongbeard was gonna throw Dewey his axe and I was like Dewey wouldn’t be able to lift that

SUPER SAIYAN DEWEY! Also was that a TIGER SNARL?

I like the ice pack on Launchpad’s head. Just because he can take a lot of damage doesn’t mean that LP is immune to pain

I like that the crowd CHANGED THEIR BANNERS! Nice

LOUIE AND WEBBY LOOKED SO CUTE!

LP tearing up

“A true people’s hero” I feel like that phrase will come back in relation to other characters (cough DW cough)

Scrooge is such a little shit, it’s kind of adorable

THAT END SHOT! THAT SONG!

This was a SUPER FUN EPISODE! I couldn’t really tell where they were going and I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT! I wish we had gotten Huey in some wrestling gear but maybe next time. I like the message that doing the right thing isn’t always popular but I kind of feel like Dewey getting the crowd on his side muddled the message somewhat. Poor Dewey needs therapy or something so he doesn’t feel like he needs CONSTANT approval. Again, he’s 11 YEARS OLD and shouldn’t be put into such a serious position. LP was VIP this episode. I’m bummed we’re on hiatus again, but WHAT an episode to end on!

[monicalorandavis]

The Crown is back: Colman’s rule.

Olivia Colman is so good we’re all like, “Claire who?“

And slow your roll. I stan The Crown. I gobble up all things British royal family. My favorite house in Game of Thrones is House Windsor. And y’all don’t even know about it because in spite of it being the most vicious, it is also the most secretive. The Windsors are horrible and seductive and, above all else, secretive, and now you’re beginning to understand, that I truly ride for The Crown and those shady goofballs of Buckingham Palace (though Prince Andrew can kick rocks TODAY).

So I know The Crown. I know how good Claire Foy was. I left season 2 in shambles. How dare she leave us? We’d just come around to Elizabeth! Her life, with all her dull, unfashionable, yet dependable ways were imbued with a tenderness that Claire Foy brought. The young Queen that so many of us know is a portrait that Claire Foy created during her two astounding seasons. Peter Morgan struck gold with the first cast. And, as everyone will tell you, as good as Claire Foy was, we shall not forget to give Matt Smith his props. Oh baby, can he act.

Prince Philip, by all estimations, should be an insufferable, entitled man-child. And while he is all of that, he is so, so much more. Meticulously researched, The Crown delved into Philip’s childhood of abandonment and isolation. His air of indignation was as much with the world who’d let him down in his early years as it was indignation with himself.

And from there - from the personal insecurities that tie us all together in this fabric of humanity, did we find the heart and soul of Elizabeth and Philip. We fell in love with Matt Smith and Claire Foy as they seemingly fell in love with each other and embarked on their path as husband and wife. Something about them, actors and royals, just works. A natural chemistry emerged. Even when Philip is horrible (and he’s horrible sort of a lot), I rooted for him. I even rooted for Philip when he screwed around. But how he begged Elizabeth to take him back still remains one of my favorite moments of the entire series. Not very “I am woman, hear me roar” of me, but nonetheless, I rooted.

And while the first two seasons took place nearly 60 years ago, you’d think I’d be bored to death by the predictability of every story line. Yet, I know nothing. (We’re still decades from Princess Di and the crash that turned everyone’s attention onto Buckingham Palace.) The public eye should make the show predictable. And yet, we only know their public personas. (What would someone know of you if they’d only seen photographs?)

They live behind a window of double paned secrecy. We think we’re looking in, or rather, being let in, but we’ve never been privy to their private conversation. We’ve never heard who they really are.

Enter season 3. The middle age years.

Not the sexiest time frame, admittedly, but it does provide a new element into the royal marriage to which we can all relate - informality. These are people who have been through some shit. They’ve let go of pretending in their marriage and, too, to some degree, in their public personas. Long gone are the days of wearing makeup to bed and only eating salads. These are two grown people who have settled into marriage for the long haul. Yes, they nearly called it quits, but they fought through it, had some kids, and now they’re suffering through the normal bumps of having children - Are they normal? Will they fit in? Are we screwing them up? (For those keeping track at home: no, no, and yes.) But the gift of middle age could also be a curse for the actor portraying the royals during their “regular” years.

However, a curse it is not. 

Left in the hands of Olivia Colman and Tobias Menzies, the characters of Elizabeth and Philip have never sizzled with such lived-in chemistry and humor. And I am using “humor” here very, very loosely. These are not people who take to spontaneous fits of giggles. Instead, the tight-lipped chuckles Colman’s Elizabeth elicits from Menzies’ Philip ring loud, brightening the face of a man who, at any moment, looks like he’d rather be anywhere but where he has the misfortune of finding himself.

For whatever reason Prince Philip only becomes more charming the more bristled he becomes. Whether this forever annoyance is a natural trait of Tobias Menzies or not is of no importance because, boy, he does it well.

The ungodly rich perform disinterest like it’s an Olympic sport and Menzies’ Philip is an all-time gold-medal winning champ. His face holds entire chapters of stories he refuses to tell. But just under the surface, Menzies shows us the tiniest flickering of light behind the eyes. You see, to be enthused is to admit interest, which is basically announcing that you care, and to care is just so, so dreadfully middle-class. No, no. These are people who wouldn’t care if their house was on fire. They’d buy a new one...a bigger one!

We should hate them. But, we don’t, and, we won’t, I fear.

I fear it because I hold onto the idea of democracy. Fair elections. Proper representation. All of that. We’re Americans. We fought the British. We should rule ourselves.

But then again, should we?

Trump got elected in a democratic America (if you count all that voter suppression and constant meddling from Russian moles it starts looking less so). And I think even the knuckleheads who elected him regret their decision.  We’ve shown the world that democracy is a weapon in the hands of fools.

But tabling the larger political conversation for now, I push on. This, so far, has been a seamless transition from cast 1 to cast 2. And I would be remiss if I did not sprinkle a few words of praise onto Helena Bonham Carter’s portrayal of Princess Margaret. Talk about a revelation. (To be fair, I find Carter to be one of the most underused actresses of today so for her to have found her way onto one of my favorite shows, I could not be happier.) She is an actress that enlivens every role with a unique strangeness that never feels fraudulent.

Princess Margaret, ever the counter to her sister, grows even further from Elizabeth in middle age. Desperate for her place in the royal family, and her marriage, she flounders in excessive drinking. Her husband is distant, running off to corners of the world without any notice, leaving her to her own devices where she finds herself regretfully unfulfilled.

In a lesser actress’ hands, a rich, bored, drunk lady would come across a whole lot more Real Housewives of Orange County, but this is a woman that Carter has sunk her teeth into. Margaret is the role of a lifetime. The tragically younger, thus, forgotten sister to Elizabeth. Margaret always craved the spotlight and reveled in it. As queen, she would’ve made waves. She would’ve reinvented the entire monarchy. It’s the exact reason she was pushed to the margins. And Helena Bonham Carter does not exist in the margins. Ever the rebel, like Margaret, these are women who were born to perform. The parallels don’t stop there.

Carter herself is a woman that’s perhaps never been taken seriously enough in Hollywood. Yes she’s won BAFTA’s but stateside she’s never garnered the praise I thought she should. Has she, like Margaret, grown tired of living in the shadows? Could it be that through the role of Princess Margaret, Helena Bonham Carter has found the perfect disguise to finally get the proper recognition from Hollywood? I think yes. I think we’re watching the start of a second act for her.

The royals, though they possess a treasured space in pop culture in the States, also represent an old-timey class system that is deeply un-American. The Brits have their complicated feelings towards the royals, too. But we can look on at the royal family as these glamorous, bored robots. They affect none of our political decisions. They don’t even seem completely human. They aren’t on our currency, our stamps. So we can remain distant and removed. We can watch the stories about them, true or fictional, and restrain judgment. And that feels very...British.

[constantconfusion111]

Etched into your skin - Chapter 3

Here’s the 3rd chapter! Thanks everyone for the comments/likes/Kudos, you’re the best!!!

Link to AO3

Link to Ch1 ; Link to Ch2

---------------

Type was an expert at denial. He wore it like a second skin.

As he moved his boxes in the condo he’ll share with Techno, no one could have imagined his brain was torturing him. He almost met Tharn.

The first thing he’ll do as soon as class started was to find out in which university his soulmate was exactly as to stay the fuck away from it forever. Maybe he should consider changing university. His parents would definitely not be on board with that. It took him almost 3 weeks to convince his father to let him ditch the dorms.

Frankly, his dad didn’t want him in a condo for his first year, but Type had little choice in the matter. He simply couldn’t be in the same room with Tharn. The man would find out. Maybe not the first week, maybe not even the first month if he lied about his name. But he would eventually. And Type refused to deal with the potential fallout. So he had to use an argument he wasn’t proud of.

‘Dad, I’m not feeling safe in a room with another random guy.’

He had felt guilty and uncomfortable using that against his dad. But the result was instant, and the following week he was already signing the lease of his new condo.

“Type! Here’s your last one,” called Techno, sliding a cardboard box on the floor.

All was fine, he could handle this.

----------

Maybe Tharn had been overeager.

When he had red the letter, he’d stared at it unblinkingly for what felt like an eternity. His mother, worried, had read over his shoulder. Before he knew it, his face got crushed in a suffocating hug as she was part laughing part crying for him.

His dad had soon barged into the kitchen, concerned about the noise.

The rest of the evening had been very loud as his parents swinged between congratulations and hugs. And then he had to explain everything for a third time when Thorn came back home later in the evening.

Saying he was excited was the understatement of his life. So as soon as the first day of moving into the dorm rolled around, Tharn brought all his boxes and started to put his things away.

He wanted to be there to welcome Type in what would be their first home together. Tharn wanted to smile at him, see in his eyes a reflexion of his thoughts. Would he be nervous? Giddy? Composed?

Type would already know who he was.

Were they supposed to hug? Was that too forward? But at the same time, he couldn’t just… not. That would be too strange. Maybe they could go out and eat together to chat, starting to get to know each other. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to bring themselves to leave the room.

Tharn had so many questions for him. But probably the first one would be why hadn’t Type registered himself? If his soulmate was in Uni, he had to at least be his own age. Was Type one of these people that wanted the meeting to be organic? Was Type a romantic?

His heart was beating too fast, he was feeling light headed.

Tharn was going to be fine, he just had to handle himself until Type arrived. That’s what he had to keep repeating at least.

Tharn looked up at the dorm’s door with each item he was putting away.

After emptying his first box, he only raised his head whenever he heard movement in the hall.

After the third box, he stopped altogether, massaging his neck slowly.

As the night rolled around, he had to accept today wasn’t the day. Maybe he really had been too eager. They still had quite some time until the start of the semester.

However, on the first day of class, as he woke up yet again facing an empty bed, Tharn’s enthusiasm vanished like smoke in the wind.

Type must have known, he must have received the same letter as him, clearly stating who his roommate would be. Suddenly, Type not being registered sounded less like romance and more like avoidance.

But why? Why would Type not want to meet? Even if he didn’t want a romantic relationship, which did happen sometimes, why not meet with him and tell him?

What if something bad had happened?

As soon as his first day of classes ended, Tharn excused himself from the group of freshmen that wanted to go out for celebratory drinks, claiming he had some administrative issues. Lhong had thrown him a look, but didn’t stop him.

Technically, Tharn wasn’t lying. It just wasn’t his own administrative problem. He approached a woman reading behind her desk.

“Hello, I’m sorry to bother, but I think there’s a problem with my roommate.”

She looked at him with the sort of weariness born out of dealing with stupid requests from days on end.

“Unless the issue is actually very serious, there’s nothing I can do to help. All the rooms are jam packed, so we can’t transfer the freshmen left and right.”

“Ah, no that’s not why I’m here. I’m worried for my roommate, he never moved him. Since classes started already, I was wondering if everything was alright. His name is Type Thiwat Phawattakun.”

She hummed, turning toward her computer and checking some files. It took a couple of minutes of silent scrolling before she turned toward him again.

“He cancelled his spot in the dorms. Very last minute actually. Freshmen are more and more irresponsible each year…”

Tharn felt a pang in his heart at the news. Type has cancelled. He’d backed out of their meeting.

“Where is he now? Did he drop out of University?”

“I don’t think so, it does happen that freshmen give up the dorm for their own private accommodations. It’s more expensive, but also more comfortable.”

So Type was definitely avoiding him.

“Could you tell me which University he’s enrolled in please?”

At that, the woman looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“These are private information that I cannot share with just anyone, sorry Nong. You should just enjoy your big room for yourself, you’re the only one lucky enough for that.”

Tharn felt anything but lucky.

-------------

Turns out, finding one guy within an entire University complex could be quite the challenge. The first thing people said when he asked if they knew Tharn was:

“Tharn? From which Uni?”

So far, he’d only managed to confirm Tharn wasn’t enrolled into the faculty of sports. Only a million more people to ask.

Despite the stress of having to look over his shoulder all the time and making a point of asking people their names before they could even think of asking his first -which had already put him in hot waters with some seniors- University life wasn’t half bad.

Living with Techno was fun. In the evenings they played games together and chilled. Sometimes Techno invited some of their classmates to hang out and drink. They had met some very cool people, particularly a guy called Champ who seemed to know all the best restaurants around. Friday or Saturday nights, they even managed to motivate each other enough to actually go to a proper bar.

Classes are as easy as they ever were and as long as Type listened to the lecture, he barely had any efforts to put into his homeworks. Still drove Techno up the wall in frustration. The coach liked him, even though he always said that Type had to keep his temper in check or he’ll be benched. Type knows he’s good enough to not have to worry too much about the threat. Again, that drove Techno completely crazy since he’d already started his recruitment campaign to convince everyone to elect him as team captain. For his senior year. What was wrong with that boy, Type wasn’t too sure sometimes. In any case, sucking up to the coaches was part of his strategy. Techno did try to deny that last point, but there was an overwhelming amount of evidence against him. For instance, the way he almost tripped on his own feet to play delivery boy.

“Bring this to the music faculty office, it’s the selection of songs we want them to play during the matches.”

“No problem coach! I’ll go right away.”

His bunch of papers under the arm, Techno came back to his group of friends.

“Guys! Come with me, we need to deliver some papers.”

“This is in no way a ‘we’ situation No,” said Champ, stretching out his legs.

“Sorry, we’re kind of in the middle of our stretches,” tried Team, offering a small smile to the other boy.

“Type is on his phone! He’s not even pretending to stretch!”

They all turned to the accused who was indeed lounging on his side, scrolling lazily.

“Type does whatever he wants…”

That was true and it made him very happy to know they already realised it after only a couple of short weeks.

“Tyyyyyype.”

“I would rather die than come with you No,” came the deadpan answer.

“You could at least look up from your phone!”

His plea went unanswered. Knowing better than to annoy the young man to the point of aggression, Techno cursed them all and started his solo adventure.

Techno had to actually ask his way a couple of times as the music and sports department weren’t close at all. He even had to take a Uni shuttle, receiving plenty of curious looks since he hadn’t taken the time to change out of his sports outfit.

Despite being quite a trek away from their faculty, the music building looked pretty similar to their own. Maybe there were more windows. Was light important for musicians? Did they share with the art department?

His adventure wasn’t over quite yet though, the entrance office wouldn’t take the papers, complaining about messing the systems up and Techno got redirected once again.

“So… third floor, and then at the back of the building…”

Every single room, every corridor looked the same and nothing appeared as being the back of anything.

“Shit!”

“Hey, are you alright?”

Techno turned around, coming face to face with-

“Handsome boy!”

The man raised both eyebrows in surprise, readjusting the straps of his bag on his shoulders.

“What?”

“You’re so pretty, are you an angel sent from the sky to help me?”

The man was adorable with a very cute face and pouty lips, a single long earring catching the light on the side of his face and despite his clear confusion, he still offered Techno a large smile.

“I can definitely try.”

“I need to find the faculty office of the music department. It’s about music for our matches,” he explained, flapping around the brown envelope he’d brought all the way there.

“Ah I see, I’ll walk you there. You’re very close, but it can be tricky to find the room.”

“Lhong, is everything fine?”

Techno turned toward the man that seemed to have called his saviour.

“Damn! Is it a requirement to be handsome to get into the faculty of music?”

If Lhong was cute, the newcomer was definitely handsome, and that despite the dark circles under his eyes.

“All good, I’ll just show this guy the way to the office. Save me a spot in the canteen?”

The man nodded and left without further ado.

“Let’s go!”

“Thanks man, I’m Techno by the way. I’m in the faculty of sports.”

Lhong laughed, checking him out from head to toe.

“Yeah I could have guessed that. I’m Lhong. Isn’t the faculty of sports super far away from here?”

Techno groaned loudly.

“So far away! I had to take the Uni shuttle to come!”

“Sounds like a pain, you should stay to eat with us so you wouldn’t have travelled all the way for nothing.”

After one last corridor turn, they finally arrived in front of the teachers’ office. Techno would never have found it, even the door tag was scratched out and faded.

“I wish, I lost too much time already, I’ll have to hurry back and pray my friends didn’t ditch me. But give me your Line ID! I’ll send you a message and we can go grab a drink, I’ll treat you as a thank you.”

“Ah, that’s not necessary, it was nothing.”

Techno shushed him, already fishing out his phone and pushing it in Lhong’s hands.

“Nonsense! It’s gonna be fun. I’ll bring my friends, bring the hot one you were with before. I’m sure music students know the best bars.”

Lhong shared his number and after a last goodbye, they parted in front of the office.

Maybe his adventure hadn’t all been in vain.

[fmdyaebin]

Whoa, is that KANG YAEBIN? I love her! You might know her as BINNIE. She’s the LEAD VOCAL AND RAPPER of FUSE, and she’s a ‘96 LINER! She’s one of my favorites under GOLD STAR MEDIA. Don’t you think she looks a little like LEE SAEROM?

AH, when I tell you guys I’m so frickin’ excited to be here, I’m not lying!! Hello, I’m Alex (they/them)! This is Yaebin, also known as Binnie when she’s promoting with Fuse. She’s my baby and I’ve been brewing her up in my mind for weeks now, and I’m finally able to bring her in! You can check out her profile and stuff over here. I don’t have a plots page, but I will be putting a few connection ideas at the bottom of this intro, so stick around to the end! If plotting with me tickles your fancy, tickle that like button and I’ll DM you! Or you can add me on my discord - jeongyeon's maid#0828

Yaebin was named after her mother who passed away during childbirth with her due to complications. Her parents were both a little bit older than parents tend to be when having a child, her mother being two months from forty and her father being forty four. Her mother already had two sons that she had when she was twenty-two and twenty-five respectively. She desperately wanted to have a daughter, despite how much she loved her two sons. Her husband, however, wanted another son. 

He didn’t love Yaebin any less or treat her badly (at least not intentionally), but he raised her exactly like he raised his sons. He put her into sports at an early age, cut her hair really short so he wouldn’t have to style it, and gave her her brothers’ old toys and sports equipment. He even had her dress more boyish, not allowing her to wear dresses or skirts unless they were going to church or an event. AND he’d call her really boyish nicknames? Like champ and sport, e.t.c. 

Her father was an ex professional athlete lol I forgot to toss that in there. That’s a reason why he pushed her so hard into sports. 

So she became known as the Tomboy™. She had a good mix of friends, both boys and girls, but she quickly grew to realize that boys wouldn’t look at her the way that they looked at other girls. They only saw her as “one of the guys” and that much was made clear when she approached her crush on Valentine’s Day when she was fifteen and tried to confess to him and gift him chocolates and a teddy bear. He ended up turning her down and telling her that he couldn’t be with “one of his bros”. 

When she was fourteen, she wanted to try out cheerleading instead of sticking with soccer. Her father shot her down, and made her feel belittled for even asking. He said cheerleading wasn’t a real sport and that they’re just scantily glad eye candy for the men and athletes at games. She just wanted to do it because it looked like a lot of fun.. And because she was starting to realize that she was starting to find girls a lot more prettier than she should lol what better way to hang out with a bunch of girls than to be a cheerleader, right? 

She’s sixteen (in 2012) when she becomes a trainee at Gold Star, thanks to her cousin who forced her to audition with them. 

She thought that since she would be debuting in a girl group, she would finally be able to try something new with her look, but Gold Star made her stick with the tomboy image for a long while. She had her hair cut short (think Jeongyeon during Twice’s earlier years or Hyebin from Momoland during Bboom Bboom era. Saerom obviously hasn’t had her hair cut that short though, so I’m invoking my creative license and all of our imaginations lol) for years, her hair slowly but surely growing out over the eras. 

Because of her upbringing around men, she does tend to have what people would refer to as “boyish” habits. She “manspreads”, she’s lowkey obnoxious when she laughs, she’s the “greasy” one in Fuse (meaning she flirts with the members as fan service, think of Sana flirting with Twice but more boyish). Fans even go so far as to call her “oppa” (a la Moonbyul, Seulgi, Jeongyeon, e.t.c.) 

During their Red Flavor era when they gained even more success and momentum, Yaebin gained her very own saesang! How exciting, right? 

This dude won’t leave her alone for shit. He’s been on her ass since 2017 and he’s showing no signs of backing off. It started with him showing up at every Fuse event, then popping up at the airport when they were boarding their flights, then he started sending her shit to HER APARTMENT when she moved out of the dorms. She’s terrified now that he knows where she lives, and sometimes she can’t stand being in her apartment alone when she gets too paranoid and scared, so she calls a friend to come over or she asks if she can come to their place. 

Like Joy, she’s the giant of Fuse (I tweaked Saerom’s height a bit to make her 5′8″, which wouldn’t be unrealistic because she looks tall lol), but she likes her height and she’s extremely comfortable with it. 

She’s pan but she’s gay as hell. Guys are great and all, so are penises, but girls? Say less. 

Connection Time~~~~~

Exes! Good terms, bad terms, mutual, one initiated it, anything. (OPEN)

People she calls when she wants to come over or wants them to come over when she’s feeling unsafe in her apartment. (OPEN)

The person who teaches her all about makeup and fashion. She didn’t really start dabbling in it herself until recently because she just allowed Fuse’s stylists to do all the work, but she wants to start learning! (OPEN)

A best friend! The peanut butter to her jelly, the Lee Dongwook to her Gong Yoo, the IU to her Yoo Inna. (OPEN)

People that helped her through her time as a trainee cir. 2012 - 2014 (OPEN) 

People that she’s shipped with, both men and women! (OPEN) 

Flings, on/off again, will they/won’t they, crush type plots? Throw ‘em at me! (OPEN) 

Yaebin listed them as her ideal type (OPEN)

They listed Yaebin as their ideal type (OPEN)

A woman older than her that’s sort of like a guiding light for her? She never really had an older woman figure in her life, so she really needs that. A big sister type of relationship. Older than a ‘96 liner. (OPEN)

Yaebin and this guy (or masculine presenting person) used to be really close friends. Then netizens started speculating that they were in a relationship and their company (or companies if they’re under different labels) told them to stop seeing each other because it’ll mess up their images. They still text and talk over the phone, and very rarely see each other in person. It sucks, but they do it because they don’t want to give up their friendship. (OPEN) 

Friends with benefits, enemies with benefits, exes with benefits, acquaintances with benefits, throw ‘em all at me~ (OPEN) 

Yaebin’s bro gang. A few people that she can hang out with where she can embrace her “boyish” qualities. People that’ll say “niiiiiiiiice” when she burps for ten seconds straight. (OPEN) 

Opposites attract - friends edition (OPEN)

[buckysforeverprincess]

Thanks For The Memories - Pt. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson

Words: 3658

Warning: Language, break up, angst, minor character death

A/N: This is a 3 part thing I wrote where Steve breaks the readers heart, and the they see each other years later. Secrets come out and the truth revealed, but will it be enough for them to find a way back to each other? Enjoy.

“What part of ‘I don't love you’ do you not understand, Y/N?!” The tall muscular blond standing in front of you asks. “I don't think I ever did!”  

You're sitting on the bed of your shared apartment, tears running down your face, flowing like a wild river. “Why, Steve? What did I do? You can't be serious, throwing away everything we ha-“

“What we had was a lie!” Steve angrily interrupts. “I've spent the better part of our relationship living a lie! Do you know how many times I faked a look, or a kiss? When we were out with friends I had to pretend I was having a good time, but really, I wasn't! If only you would have stayed away, I could've had fun, but no…you had to always come along and never gave me space. Seriously, everything about you is suffocating!” Steve begins fiercely throwing some clothes in a bag, never once looking your way.  

There's nothing you can do but cry. His words cut you like a knife. Everything he said must be the truth because no one would ever talk to someone they loved like that. Steve was not in love with you...never had been and at this point, never will be.  

“I'm going to Sam's.” Steve’s bag is packed with his necessary items.

Your ex isn't making eye contact with you, hell, he's not even looking at you. “I'll be back in a week, this is my apartment. I hope you'll be gone by then!”

That's the last thing Steve ever said to you before he grabbed his bag and walked out the door, finalizing the last five years of your life.  

Six years later…

You wiped the tears of that memory from your cheeks as you drive through the streets of Brooklyn. Home, but not your home. You haven't been back here since you left six years ago, and if it weren't for the phone call from Nat, you wouldn't be heading back there either.  

The drive from Atlanta had been long, and you were tired and worn out. All kinds of memories and emotions had come flooding back in and it had taken over the silence in the car. Your driving buddy was not a wealth of information or entertainment, choosing to either sleep or play on his tablet to avoid the boredom of the drive.  

“Almost there! You ready to see auntie Nat?” You we're looking at your son through the rear-view mirror.

“Does she have waffles?” His mind going directly to food, the kid eats like a tank.

“I'm pretty sure she does. She knows just how much you love them!” You smile, and he accepts this answer, attention going right back to the tablet in front of him. He really is no help at all.

Pulling up to the brownstone, you find a parking spot and put the car in park. “James, were here!”

The boy looks up and takes in the scenery outside the car. “This is Brooklyn?” You can see the disappointment on his face. “It ain't Atlanta. What a shitty place to grow up!”

Your mouth drops, and you gasp at the words the five-year-old blurted out. “James Samuel! What the fuck?!” Your own scolding just as profane as his.

“Sorry, mom…,” he lowers his head, “but aunt Nat said this was a shitty town and she's happy, but unhappy you left!”

You laughed this time as he used the same ‘shitty’ word again obviously repeating what he had heard. Nat had a way with words and your son was picking up on the redhead’s bad habits. It’s a good thing you loved her…anyone else and you probably would have chastised them something fierce for teach your son foul shit.

“Ok…no more bad language words!” 

Your son nods his head in defeat. “Yes, mom…I'm sorry.” James genuinely looks apologetic, and you accept his plea.

Looking around you decide it's time to face the reality and get to the reason for this visit. “Alright, champ…let's get out and go see aunt Nat!”

James’ face turns to sheer excitement, and you both exit the car and meet each other on the sidewalk. You grab his hand and walk up the steps, knocking on the door and standing nervously as you waited for your friend to greet you from the other side.

Your little boy can hardly contain himself waiting for Nat to answer the door. He could hear the dog bark when you knocked and remembered the promise from Clint about being introduced to Lucky.

“What's taking so long?” James says after only a few seconds.

“Patience, young Jedi. Don't let yourself be tempted by the ways of the dark side. Trust in the force, and all will be revealed.” James loved it when turned everything into a Star Wars reference. Your son was such a sci-fi nerd.

“He is not ready!” Nat spoke as she opened the door. James didn't know if he should smile or frown at her words. “I sense a terrible weight within you. The force is strong, but yet...the darkness calls.” She bends down and starts tickling your son and the boy erupts in laughter.

“Stop, stop!” He cries out, but she continues, showing him no mercy.  

It's heartwarming, watching the two of them. When you left years ago, you thought your best friend would hate you. Time has proven differently, and she's been with you through everything possible, no matter the distance between you.

Nat finally lets him go and stands up to give you a hug. “It's good to have you home!”

“It's only a short stay, we talked about this.” You break the hug and Nat shakes her head.

“This will always be your home.” She moves to the side letting you and James enter the house and out of the Brooklyn air.

“Y/N! James!” The male voice comes running in from parts unknown, followed by a very excited Labrador.

“Uncle Clint!” James runs to him, Clint bending down to scoop up the child, arms wrapping around each other.

“I missed you buddy!”

“Did you buy me a dog?” All the adults laugh in unison at the innocence of the child.

“Sure, buddy, but he has to stay here with me and aunt Nat. So that means you'll have to come visit, or he won't remember you.”

You scrunch your face at the man, and he gives you his best shit eating grin. “Well played ass hat…well played.” Neither Nat or Clint ever give up trying to get you to move back home.

“Come on! Let's go play with Lucky and give the ladies a chance to talk.” Clint grabs James’ hand and walks with him and Lucky through the house, most likely heading to the back yard.

“Shall we go to the living room?” Natasha quips.

“Yes, lets!” You respond, never missing a beat. The two of you have been best friends since elementary school. You were practically in each other's heads.

Sitting down in her living room you had a clear view to the outside from the patio doors. James was in good hands, so you weren't worried about him at all, but it doesn’t mean you wanted to lose sight of your son. Clint and Natasha wouldn't ever let any harm come to that little boy, which made it hard for either of them to leave when they would come and visit you in Atlanta. They were the constant in your life, and now the only family you had.  

“How are you holding up?”

Nat sits down next to you holding out a cup of coffee. You didn't ask her for it, but she figured you probably needed it after the long drive home.

You shrug your shoulders and let out a breath, “I really have no one left. No one except James, and I plan on wrapping him up in a blanket and living as a nomad for the rest of our lives, in a cabin somewhere desolate and secluded.”

Nat laughs at your over dramatic description. “So, over the top!”

You scoff at her and roll your eyes. You always miss the back and forth banter you have with her. “I'm doing ok...I just can't believe this happened. She told me the surgery was just a regular procedure, I didn't have to come home, and she'd call me after. Never expected she'd code and flatline.” Tears had started to develop and began to fall from your eyes.

“No one did, but I'm glad I was there before hand, despite her stubbornness. She kept telling me to go home, but I told her you'd divorce me as best friend and I just could throw away so many years of fuckery because she was being a shit, so she agreed I could stay.” Nat smiles at the recent memory and it warms your heart.  

“Well thank you for that, and for taking care of the arrangements. The funeral is on Friday?” You ask, taking a sip of the still warm coffee.

Nat gives you a nod. “Yes, I've taken care of everything I can. You just have to sign papers to release her. That's something only a blood relative can do. Once that's done the funeral home will take care of the rest. The only thing we have to do is show up. Oh, there's a viewing before…. just an hour early. I didn't think you'd want too much more time before, is that ok?” Nat is sporting a questioning look, but in reality, she knows you better than anyone.

“Of course, it is. I really appreciate it…thank you.” You set the cup on the table and lean in to give her a tear-filled hug.  

“She was pretty much my mother too.” You could hear Natasha say through her own tears that have finally made their way to the surface. “She was the only one I had...there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her...or you.”  

The two of you sat in a silent hug, gripping each other for a moment in time that could go on forever, but was interrupted by a ball hitting the patio door; startling you both, and an eager five-year-old running to grab it.

“Sorry!” James yells, picking up the ball and runs back to Clint and Lucky. You both let out a laugh, as the moment is done and are now back to the here and now of the day.  

“So, you do know everyone will be there, right?”

That thought had not escaped your mind and you gave her a nod. “Yes.”

Nat looks at you, her stare gaining a little in intensity. “Everyone.”

Your best friend baiting you, it won't work. “Figured.” You kept your answer short.

“Including Steve.”

Ah, there it is. She never disappoints. You shrug your shoulders and she rolls her eyes at you.

“How do you suppose you'll handle that?”

You give her a sarcastic scoff. “The same way he handled me.”  

By the immediate change in her now scrunched up face, you can tell she is not impressed with you at all. “He's bound to find out. What do you plan to do when that happens?”

That was the question that had been running through your mind for six years. The truth is, you really had no idea what you were going to do. Steve left you so heartbroken and dead inside, you didn't know how to tell him he was a father. Why would he want anything to do with his son since he never loved you in the first place?

“Well, I guess we'll find out. I'm not seeking him out, nor will I cause a scene, but I can't be worried about Steve's feelings when I'm here burying my mother. If he gets his ass chapped about it, oh well. He broke my heart, and I've had to live with that every day since I found out I was pregnant. You know it hasn't been easy, especially knowing James wasn't conceived because Steve was in love with me. Clearly, he was only fucking me out of a sense of obligation. So again, his feelings no longer matter.” Nat just stares at you, shaking her head.  

“Ok!” Nat finally break the silence. “Enough of this talk, let's order some pizza and then we'll head to the hospital. James can stay here with Clint. I think Bucky's coming over tonight? Said he couldn't wait to meet his namesake!”

You grab the now empty cups and head to the kitchen, “I'm surprised he hasn't told Steve about him!” You shouted to her from the sink.

“Yeah well, I may have threatened his balls, and he says he pretty attached to them, so he promised to keep it a secret!” Leave it to Nat to find a person's weakness and exploit it.

Walking into the funeral home hadn't been easy for you. The last time you had to do this was in Atlanta six years ago, doing this same exact thing for your father. You weren't on good terms with him when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer or when he passed; he'd left you and your mother in Brooklyn when you were twelve and barely gave you the time of day, so leaving to go be with him before he died was an internal struggle you held to this day. That decision was made easier when your then boyfriend said those words that still played on repeat in your head daily. You would never forget them no matter how many years had gone by.

As Natasha had said, the viewing began an hour before the service and people started to file in, paying their last respects to the woman who had meant so much, to so many. Clint handed you a travel pack of tissues, knowing you'd need it for the water works that were bound to eventually flow from your eyes and you couldn’t be happier at how astute he really was.

“Y/N! It's so good to see you!” Sam exclaimed, leaning in and giving you a tight hug. “I've missed you beautiful.” He says in your ear, low enough for only you to hear and you were thankful for that.

“I've missed you too…it's been way too long.”

The man nods in agreement and gives you a halfcocked grin. “Yes, it has. Talking on the phone just isn't enough anymore. I hope this means you'll be taking up residence here again...you know this is home, and we're your family. We can't just let you leave to deal with this on your own.” He's giving you a stern look, like a teacher scolding a student.  

“Sam…”

“Don't Sam, me!” He interrupted, but his voice remaining very calm. “You know he's here…and once he sees you and James, he'll fight for you to stay.” You roll your eyes at your friend, unimpressed by his talk of Steve. “I'm also not saying forgive him…but, maybe you should hear his side. Don't make a hasty decision until you have all the variables.”

God, you wish you could hate this man, but you can't. Sam's always been the more sensible one of your friends, giving you solace when Nat’s words weren't enough. “You're a good egg, Sam.”

He laughs at your attempt to lighten the mood. “Hard boiled, or scrambled?” Asking through his continued laugh.

“Both!” You leaned in and hugged him again, before parting ways so you could welcome more guests.

It wasn't long before the one person you wanted to avoid came into view, and you instantly stiffened up in panic. Steve was still very much the same tall, blond, handsome guy he had been when you left. Even through his white shirt button up shirt and black suit jacket, you could see the definition of his muscles. The only thing that had visibly changed in the past six years was his face. It was thinner, more defined. Steve had aged well and taken care of himself since you left. Of course, he did. He was probably out there screwing all of Brooklyn, he needed to be in tip top shape.

“Careful, doll…,” you hear the voice in your ear, “don't let him catch you staring. He might see that as an invitation.” Bucky's smirking next to you.

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “An invitation it's not, but you...on the other hand...I've had my eye on you for days now…,” you turned to face him, “why am I not in your bed?”

Bucky laughed at your question. “Because of that man right there!” He's pointing at Steve who's now making his way over to the casket. “I don't care what happened or what he said to you. He lied, and he's never gotten over you. So, no…I won't be bedding you, even though I most certainly want to.” The brunette kisses you softly on your forehead.

There had always been an attraction between the two of you, but James Barnes was known for breaking hearts and yours was one he never wanted to hurt, so you kept everything at a platonic level; with an extra heavy dose of flirting and pushing each other's limits as much as possible. Steve was never bothered by it when you two were together, knowing there were some lines that would never be crossed. This banter was something you had been missing from your life since you'd been gone.

“Don't look now…,” Bucky brings you from your thoughts, “looks like we have trouble on the horizon.”

You look over at the casket and Steve is bent down talking to a child...your child. “Shit! I was not ready for this!” You take in a deep breath.

“Relax…,” Bucky places a hand on your back hoping to calm your nerves, “go...and stay calm.”

Nodding your head, you knew this was going to happen, you just didn't expect it to come to a head this soon.  

As you walked over to them, time seemed to stand still. Even though it was only seconds, it felt like an eternity; watching the rather innocent interaction between father and son. Both blonde’s facing each other, lost in conversation, facial expressions matching with ease. It's how you would have wanted things to be if life had been different, but life has never been kind to you. It certainly won't be now.  

“James…,” you say on approach and both of their attentions are now on you, “is everything ok?”

Steve has now stood up and is facing you, his expression very unreadable.

“Mom, this is Steve…he's my dad!” The five-year-old says matter of factly like it was just another day.

You smile and nod at his direct approach knowing there was no way out of this moment and you would have to face the music. “So, it would seem. Are you sure?”

Steve inhales a breath but still doesn't speak.  

“I know he's my dad, you showed me pictures...and you said he lives here!” James’ five-year-old brain is working overtime processing everything you've ever told him about Steve. You've always been honest with him about his father's existence, just not why he's never met him.  

“So now that we've met, I can keep him, right? You said he'd want me if we ever ran into him, so now we have!”

Damn his astute little brain. This was not how this was supposed to go. The kid was a genius, turning things to his advantage and was too smart for his own good. Looks like you'll have to bite the bullet on this one, taking the full force of the hit. No turning back now.

“Perhaps the adults should talk now, sweetheart. I think uncle Bucky needs a James sized hug. Can you do that for me?”

You look over and Bucky is motioning for his namesake to join him. James lets out a sigh and gives you a pout, turning away without so much as a word and running into Bucky's outstretched arms.

Steve stands there watching the entire thing stoically, processing everything that has happened in the few short moments since his arrival. You know he has questions, but this was not the time for them. The last thing you need is a scene at the funeral home in front of anyone that's ever known you or your mother.  

“I have a-”

“Let me stop you right there!” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. “Not here, not now. You have questions, I got answers, but they wait until after this is finished...understand?” You look at him sternly and you can see him swallow and exhale a breath you're pretty sure he didn't know he was holding.

Steve nods in agreement but doesn't look happy that you're not discussing the issue right now.  

“Good! I have to go, but…,” you look over towards your son still hanging out with Bucky, sitting on his lap playing some unknown game on his phone, “James, I'm sure he told you his name is James. He's five. His favorite color is blue, and he has a turtle named ‘Snape’. He loves pepperoni pizza, waffles and fish tacos and hates all green vegetables. Those are the basics, and all I can give you at this time. And, you should probably sit close by. Now that he's seen you, he'll want to sit by you. He's a people person and since you are his people…”  

You turned away from Steve and made your way back to greeting the many people that came to pay their respects to your mom.

This is what you didn’t want, but knew you’d have to face. Everything needed to come out at this point, and nothing could be left unsaid. It wasn’t just about you and Steve and more. James had finally met the man who was his father, and that would be the hardest thing to separate. Brooklyn was no longer your home anymore. Steve would be hard-pressed to ever change that.  

Part 2

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

okay, y’all, i’ve gotta back on my tl;dr bullshit soapbox about something:

so, the other day, i was just mindlessly scrolling through my corporate & capitalist hellscape facebook™️ (i.e. LinkedIn) and came across this totally trite mostly bullshit meme that was shared by some corporate executive search man (whose name i decided to crop out bc eh):

so i obviously agree with the last three points on this list, bc god yes my life would’ve been a bit better if I didn’t get all my dialogue about mental health only from teen mags and horrible portrayals in teen tv shows (and also this hellsite). and hell yeah everyone, and I mean EVERYONE needs to learn that failure is okay many situations (like failing a class in uni or school) bc everyone fails at something sometimes. and dealing with failure is HARD. and time management is something that I’m pretty sure everyone lies to fuckin hell about on their resume, bc lots of people really suck at it, myself included. so yeah. that needs to be taught. and i also agree with the “how to manage your health” point. bc thats becoming ever more prevalent and important with career burn out etc.

but entrepreneurship? people management? conflict resolution? creativity? how to manage money? public speaking? like y’all. three of those ARE taught/learned in school, who the fuck wrote this meme? 

for anyone who actually paid attention in maths class, (which is probably very few people outside of the top performing classes), there WAS A WHOLE FUCKING UNIT that focuses on financial maths (in australia anyway). I ignored this unit as well as maths in general at school, bc I generally hated maths and was convinced that I was somehow never going to get a job. but i remember the gist of the overall topic and its subtopics. one subtopic teaches you how to calculate your wages in various contexts (overtime, double-time and a half, holiday payments, im pretty sure maternity leave pay was jammed in somewhere? idk if other countries would have double time & a 1/2 like australia though). another subtopic teaches you how to calculate interest on bank loans and credit rates on credit cards. a third subtopic teaches you how to calculate savings (obvs in terms of discounts in shops)....im sure there was a bit about budgeting in there somewhere? im pretty sure there were some questions were about tax payments somewhere as a subtopic enrichment exercise? but you get my gist. are these not money management skills? in some sense? like if i could find one of my old maths textbooks or old maths books i’d give an example of a question, to make my point stronger. but the problem, like i said before, is that a load of people (myself included) just zone out in maths in high school and stop trying with it. they forget what they’ve learnt, and just remember how much they hated algebra and how they’ll never use it again. maths was one hell of a fucking strong bitch, guys. but maybe i’m wrong.

creativity? excuse me? have people forgotten about art classes? drama classes? english classes? music classes? need i go on? okay don’t get me wrong, most of these classes did focus a lot on memorising quotes or facts about people (artists/writers/poets/composers/dramatists etc) or specific  periods/movements in art or theatre or literature for example.... but the amazing sculptures/paintings etc people created in art for their final projects in year 12, or even in year 10 were works of their imagination. the scripts people write in drama or maybe english (if you had a fun teacher who did a screenwriting unit, for example) are creative asf. especially in year 12 when they do their major projects, where they may produce a monologue or a short movie, and then there’s a group piece. drama students might even make their own costumes for these performances. LIKE AIN’T THAT A LOT OF CREATIVITY RIGHT THERE Y’ALL????? and english. lowly old english. THEY HAVE A WHOLE FUCKING TOPIC ON CREATIVE WRITING FOR FUCKS SAKE. the original music people might create for their final projects too in year 12? does that not count as creativity? like yes, i know a lot of these things do still have to meet bs assessment criteria (especially in catholic schools, where the main things are you don’t offend the catholic education office and jesus/god lmao) to be considered worthy of a mark for your year 12 exams. but FUCK. HOW THE FUCK AREN’T ANY OF THESE SUBJECTS COUNTED TOWARDS BEING CREATIVE???????? like fuck your corporate creative ideation or w/e bullshit, Callum. drama and english even lend themselves to improvisation in some instances, like public speaking, which is examined further, below.

next, we move on to public speaking. this shit is basically taught from the first goddamn day of “show & tell” in kindy/kindergarten, and this fucker has the gall to say that it’s not fucking taught in schools? someone call in miley cyrus/hannah montana to throw the fuck down in this motherfucking hoedown BC THIS STUPID-ASS MEME-FUCKER HAS NERVE. i hated public speaking. absolutely hated it. even though it was ironically one of the places i ended up excelling in in english classes. even when i fucked up in my english speeches with like “oh, fuck.... said nelson mandela,  i’ve seem to’ve lost my palm card. wait, shit! there it is... excuse me while i pull it out of my ass. whoops, sorry miss” *bats eyes and finger guns at my year 9 english teacher who has her head in her hands and is done with my shit, while the class laughs at my gaffe* i’d still end up with like 73% or like 26/30. it was baffling. but for people who weren’t the class clown/smart alec like i was from years 7-10 (and like i actually wasn’t once i moved schools).... public speaking is like the leading cause of anxiety, right? like by the time i got to doing speeches/presentations at uni i was having panic attacks... the thought of presenting to my classes made me fucking sick with fear and anxiety. nearly every subject i did at uni (even when i tried to avoid subs with public speaking assessments) and throughout school had some type of presentation/speech whatever you want to call it project/activity in it. even fucking SPORT/PDHPE at school and even philosophy at uni. and these fuckers are saying its not taught in schools. FUCK  OFF. like yeah, i get that they actually mean it in the professional sense.... where people can give the sappy bs motivational speeches or an insightful ted-talk worthy 20-minute presentation... or a great sales pitch. but like??? save that for mike “my dad phoned in to EY and i have a job waiting for me after uni” mcfuck in a business major or law degree? or for clubs like toastmasters? fuck. ok enough of the skills we learn in school. let’s move onto the businesslike-sounding ones of “people management”, “conflict management” and fucking “entrepreneurship”. like. what the fuck? okay in some sense people management and conflict management could potentially be used in managing friendships and relationships in your personal life. but like. i can feel the business underpinnings and i dont like it lmao. like why do you want fully functioning adults straight out of school, franklin? and there’s extra credit conflict management subjects at uni??? or at least my home uni had it... and i never did them bc they were intensive courses during summer break lol. but the one that pissed me off the most was entrepreneurship. LIKE ARE KIDS NOT FUCKING ALLOWED TO BE KIDS NOW????? well  apparently: “NO! YOU MUST ALWAYS THINK OF MONEY MAKING WAYS TO BE RICH! YOU MUST BE ENTREPRENEURIAL!!!!!! YOU MUST GENERATE BUSINESS IDEAS FROM THE TIME YOU CAN FUCKIN’ WALK!!!!! AND SPEAK!!! CHILDHOOD AND BEING A TEENAGER DON’T EXIST WORKER BEE!!!! CAPITALISM FOR ALL!!!! WORKER BEES!!! CAPITALISM IS YOUR FRIEND!!! OWN A BUSINESS BY THE TIME YOU’RE 8 YEARS OLD!” like it’s insidious asf. and it doesn’t acknowledge that most entrepreneurs are already privileged people anyway, who usually have some type of money to start off their venture (or that’s what it feels like anyway). and yeah throw all the “THIS BOY IS AN ENTREPRENEUR AT 18!!! 18!!!???? BY STARTING HIS OWN BUSINESS AT 12!!!! WHAT A CHAMP! 😁🙃” clickbait news stories at me, but i don’t fucking care. the concept and perceived over-importance and almost preaching mindset of entrepreneurship is slowly becoming insidious and toxic asf. call me paranoid. but that’s what it feels like.

but with those last three topics, i want to make a point that school curriculum’s (in australia at least, and probably worldwide) are so jam-packed already with sport (which is pointless and shitty), geography (ok how to read maps is important, but i never bothered to learned to do it properly), history, science, english etc etc etc..... that like.... where the actual fuck are the gonna jam the above bs (people management”, “conflict management” and entrepreneurship) into the curriculum???? and also teachers are already over-worked enough as it is, they don’t need another load of shitty subjects pushed onto them. and they sure asf don’t earn enough (especially in the states) to have this bs pushed into their subject schedules either. keep them at uni, where they should be. or just in the workplace/in the general public where they belong. and if people suggest that you could probably push these subjects into the year 11/12 business studies programs or elective commerce courses in years 9/10, save your goddamn breath. like i remember looking at business studies hsc papers in years 11/12 to see what they did.... and it was pretty chock-a-block anyway. and my experience of my year 9 commerce was horrible, to say the least. let kids be kids, for fucks sake. they shouldn’t have to be fully functioning adults in the workplace, by the end of high school, for fucks sake. AND ENTREPRENEURSHIP IS NOT AN ESSENTIAL SKILL????!!!! FUCK OFF WITH THAT SHIT, WILHELM. anyway. that’s my rant over about how i hate how corporate people are trying to be #relatablewiththeyouth🙃 with their shitty versions of “10 things i wish we learned in school” memes.... and failing.... without realising that this is why millennials are suspicious and cynical about meme usage by corporate people/corporations.

[putabourqueinit]

Fear of failure or failure because of fear.

It has taken me a really long time to get my blog up and running. There are so many things I have to say, but really who cares what I have to say?  Are blogs the old yesterday and podcast the new today?  I somehow found myself getting a podcast before starting my blog and that was by pure happenstance.  I started writing on Facebook.  It isn’t the best platform to delve deep into your soul and share stories, although I do.  It is great for immediate gratification or for immediate criticism, therefore it taught me a lot about self awareness of what I wanted my words to represent.  If I was going to have a “following” per se what is it I want them to know or feel?  How far will I go with sharing-- just a little, everything, somewhere in the middle?  Or do I just share the good stuff and leave the rest to others imagination?  I decided to be an open book at least when it comes to me and my life.

I am for now putting fear in a corner and taking a chance my words will be worth reading.

I realized recently for the most part I haven’t truly lived in fear.  I would say most things came easy to me naturally.  That is until fear found me. I remember when I was in preschool, my teacher published a book on phonics.  She chose me to go with her on her tour and she would demonstrate with me.  I felt like the special one, but I was 6 or so and I had no idea what this meant on an academic level.  I ended up being an under achiever in academics from then on.  I did what I needed to do to pass, but honestly I was not pushed in this area and therefore apathy set in.  I’m not saying it was my moms fault- she was a single mom and did the best she could, but somewhere in me I feel if I would have met the right teacher or found the perfect class to inspire me I could have been a much better student and loved learning as I do now.  

Flip-flop

I found gymnastics early on.  I was in dancing with all the other 4, 5, 6 year olds for about 3 years,  Eventually it became clear I excelled in tumbling.  My mom enrolled me in a gymnastics class.  I moved up the ranks pretty quickly.  I qualified for meets locally and state wide.  My first memory of my first meet was when I was about 6.  My father adored me, but he adored drinking and gambling just a tad more.  I have a vivid image of me being in my gymnastics uniform with piggy tails and him crouching down on one knee and telling me the reason he would not be attending my first meet.  He had a golf tournament and because it was my first meet he knew I wouldn’t place.  Well of course I placed first and my dad was not sitting in the bleachers to cheer me on.  It took me a long time to process this and probably didn’t until my 30′s how disappointed I really was.  

I went on to become the youngest of our team to qualify for State.  Beam was my favorite- I was fearless on the beam.  At 7 years old gymnastics consumed my life.  It was my every afternoon while others were running around the neighborhood splashing through muddy ditches.  It was my “aw man, I just want to stay home and watch The Brady Bunch” instead of going to practice.  Of course I loved it when I got there and it became my identity.  My family and friends would always make me do tricks.  “Leslie do this....Leslie do that.”   I was continuously on my hands...flip flopping my way through life.  

Stepping into the Unkown

Going into 7th grade I found....BOYS!    I was asked to try out for cheerleader.  I knew this was impossible because the #1 rule was if you were on the team you were forbidden to do another sport.  I also practiced everyday and meets were on weekends.  I would hear my friends talk about the parties they were going to and I was jealous.  I decided to try out for cheerleader knowing this was taboo.  I was conflicted as what to do if I made it, but thought I would never know if I didn’t try. I was so nervous my coach would find out and not understand that I wasn’t for sure on being a cheerleader.   I made it.  He found out. He called me into his office and we had a heart to heart.  I said I didn’t know what to do.  He said “well you have to choose.”  I cried my eyes out and said “I’m going to go be a kid.”  I still wonder where that road would have taken me if I stayed, but I never regretted that decision.  Ever.  

So now I was a cheerleader and found all that comes with it- friends, popularity etc.  I was petite and had all the athletic qualities it entailed.  My senior year I was chosen at cheerleading camp as an “All Star” and was eligible to march in the London New Years Day Parade.  My mom and I went to London and joined hundreds of other cheerleaders from America.  It was pretty great to represent my country on this platform.   I figured that was the end of my cheerleading days.  I didn’t have aspiration or influence to try out for college.   I went to USL (my hometown University) and did not try out for cheerleader.  I still don’t know why.  I think fear crept in a bit and also I found a new love- Delta Delta Delta.  I was emerged into the social aspect of college life and thrived.  I got a call summer before my freshmen year from the USL cheerleading coach that they wanted me to be a part of the squad.  I had to follow protocol and try out.  I made it.  I was now a college cheerleader.  I cheered for the Ragin Cajuns and it was one of the best experiences of my life.  

To Be or Not To Be

I checked off that chapter of my life and moved to Hollywood on a whim after I graduated.  My mom asked a question over adult beverages on a cruise to my brother and myself:  

‘If you could be anything in the world what would you want to be?”  My brother had it figured out, because he was a wake boarding champ and wanted to go to Colorado to discover snowboarding.  My mom drove him there.  I said I wanted to be and actress...softly under my breath.  I had been watching movies of Audrey Hepburn and Natalie Wood and I had some desire to do what they did.  My mom took me to Hollywood and 2 weeks after our trip I drove my self to my new home in Los Angeles.  

My first job was a production assistant on the Sony Lot.  The Sony Lot is a place where old movies were made and when you walked onto it you could feel movie magic.  I was essentially a gopher and would deliver papers around.  At one point while making my rounds a higher upper asked me to sit down and give him the 3 minute rundown of who I was.  I was shocked that he had taken notice and more befuddled as to what to say.  I was just weeks into my ‘Hollywood” experience.  I said “ I am from Louisiana.   I just moved here and I think I want to be an actress.”  He said “Take some classes and come back to see me.”   I never went back to see him unfortunately.  I did take many classes. I studies this craft like it was my bible.  I worked at restaurants and wore awful palm tree ties to make sure I could afford headshots and all the expensive things required to pursue, pursue, pursue.  I auditioned my butt off and booked some jobs which kept my juices flowing.  I ran around Los Angeles for years chasing the dream,  Then it hit me...at an audition with the camera pointed at me and the red light lit--I couldn’t do it.  I didn’t have that component of me to get the job.  The camera scared me.  I was filled with fear.  I quit immediately and there went my dream on a dime.  My dime.  So many of my dimes down the drain.  My first round with failure.

Taking Failure by the Horns

It wasn’t a good feeling to realize this.  I became a fitness trainer in Los Angeles and although it wasn’t my career of choice it was easy and again came to me effortless.  I had high profile clients and made a shit load of money.  I loved my job and my clients became my best friends who were paying me.  I did this for 13 years.    

I dabbled in writing.  I observed a lot and wrote about what I saw.  People tuned in and cheered me on to write more.  I decided to attempt to hone this skill and take a writing class.  I was awful and I wanted to literally throw up every time I had to write something.  I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t find the words.  Where were they?  I just froze full of fear and cried literally in class.  I couldn’t find the way to be me.  The me I wanted to be.  So I quit.  Round two with failure.  

Mommying is Fun, but what else....

I fell in love and this love founded the birth of my two kids Amélie and Hud.  I am not a perfect mother nor do I want to be.  We have a really fun life the 4 of us--full of adventures and endless discoveries.  I decided to write about us on Facebook.  Just sorta put it all out there and not care what people thought.  It was liberating to be real and be true to myself.  I became involved in politics in the most bizarre way and I tend to voice my opinions often.  I get a lot of slack and I am actually ok with it.  I can’t imagine censoring my thoughts for praise and I just want to be as genuine as I can be.  

For the Love of God-- Fearless

Now I am here-right here in this moment.  And guess what.... I feel fearless.  

I was asked a question once in an interview--”What do you say to yourself when you doubt yourself?”  My answer was “I don’t say anything.  I open my computer and let the words talk for me.”  

What do you do when you are full of fear or in doubt?

[platonicteenwolf]

Wolf Moon (S1E1) Part II

Teen Wolf x Reader Series Rewrite

A/N: Let me know if any of the links are wacky or if I mess up on any of the pronouns cause posting three versions is sometimes a bit confusing so I can fix it if needed. Also lmk if there’s a misspelling or grammar issue too :)

She/Her Pronouns Version

He/Him Pronouns Version

Next Part / Masterlist

Warnings: dead body, swearing

Lacrosse stick strapped to his backpack, Scott pedals into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School among the swarm of students. Skateboarders jump steps, potheads take barely concealed tokes, girls and guys hold hands, guys and guys hold hands, (yes it’s California.)

As Scott pulls his bike to one of the racks to lock it up, a pristine BMW with a license plate that reads: JCKSN37, blazes into the lot and stops in the space next to the racks. Scott, still kneeling, gets bumped in the back when the driver’s side door opens.

Jackson Whittemore, exceptionally good-looking and usually oblivious to anyone not within his social or financial circle, steps out to notice that Scott hit his car by being near it.

“Dude. Watch the paint job.”

He’s completely unaware of hitting Scott as he grabs his own lacrosse equipment.

“Yo Jackson!”

Hearing his favorite word, Jackson looks up and heads over to meet his friends. All good looking jocks with big smiles and expensive cars, pretty girls coming up to say hello.

—————

A school bell rings outside a brick building swarming with students.

“Alright let’s see this thing,” Stiles says, a little too eagerly. Now standing in front of the school, Scott takes off his backpack and pulls his shirt up a few inches to show Stiles and I the bandage on his lower back.

“Oh damn that looks bad!” I reach out to touch it and Scott flinches back. “Oops, sorry”

“It was too dark to see much but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf.”

Scoffing, Stiles countered. “A wolf bit you? No, not a chance.”

“I heard a wolf howling.”

”No, you didn’t.”

“What do you mean ‘No, I didn’t?’ How do you know what I heard?”

Jumping in, I explained, “California doesn’t have wolves. Not for the last sixty years. The animals were almost hunted to extinction in the 1920s California Gold Rush.” Both boys looked at me in surprise. “What,” I questioned, “I like history.”

Seemingly accepting that answer Scott continued on. “Well, if you don’t believe me about the wolf, then you’re definitely not going to believe me when I tell you I saw the body.”

“Holy shit!” This was amazing!

“You what? Are you kidding me!?” Stiles almost looked like a kid who just found the hidden candy cabinet.

“I wish. I’m going to have nightmares about it for a month.”

There was still one thing I’ve been wondering about though, “Which half of the body was it?”

“Oh- it was the top half. I saw her dead eyes staring back at me. It was scary.” Scott shuddered, thinking about her lifeless body laying in the forrest.

“Well I think that’s freaking awesome,” Stiles concluded. “This is seriously the best thing that’s happened to this town since...”

Stiles suddenly got very distracted by something behind Scott. I turned around to see what it is and you’ll never guess.

“...since the birth of Lydia Martin who’s walking toward us right now.”

A drop-dead gorgeous junior named Lydia Martin was walking towards the school doors like it was a fashion show runway in Milan. Stiles has had the biggest crush on Lydia ever since we were kids.

“Hey Lydia, how are you? You look--” She walks right past him not even giving him a second glance. “...like you’re going to ignore me.”

Scott chuckled at his failed attempt in flirting with the girl as I pat him on his shoulder.

“You’ll get her next time champ.” Stiles shot me an unappreciative glare as I held my hands up in defense and he started grumbling about how unfair everything was.

“You guys are the cause of this, you know. Dragging me down to your nerd depths. I’m a nerd by association. I’ve been Scarlet-nerded by you two.”

As we reach the steps of the school I get ready to part with the dynamic duo to get to my class. “Alright boys, I’ve got first with Harris so I’ll see y’all later.” Mentions of good luck were lost behind me as I entered the thick crowd ready to start the day.

—————

First period English. Scott takes the desk next to Stiles as the teacher, Mr. Curtis starts writing instructions on the chalkboard.

“As you all know by now, there was indeed a body found in the woods last night. I’m sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened but I’ve been told that the police have a suspect in custody.”

Scott looks to Stiles who shrugs, news to him as well.

“Which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus on your desk outlining the semester. Read it now. And by read I don’t mean skim.”

As the students begin reading a cell phone starts ringing out of nowhere. Scott glances up and looks around. The other students quietly read the syllabus, seemingly not hearing the noise. Gazing about, he can’t seem to find the source until his eyes fall on the windows of the classroom...

Outside - across the quad, Scott sees a girl sitting on a bench who he will come to know as Allison Argent. Sixteen and radiating with an innocent beauty. When she puts the cell phone to her ear, it becomes obvious that, despite the closed windows and the distance, this is the ringing Scott is somehow able to hear.

More astonishingly, Scott can hear both Allison and her caller.

“Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it,” Allison teased.

“Just making sure you’re there okay and you’ve got everything you need.” But Allison digs through her bag, becoming alarmed.

“Everything except a pen. Oh my God, I didn’t actually forget a pen.”

“Don’t panic. I’m sure you can borrow one from another student.”

“Okay, okay, I gotta’ go. Love ya.”

Unable to take his eyes off the extraordinary girl, Scott watches the school’s principal join her on the steps.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The Principal guides her across the quad, their conversation becoming clearer to Scott with every step.

“So you were saying San Francisco isn’t where you grew up?”

“No, but we stayed for more than a year which is unusual in my family.”

Even when Allison and the Principal disappear from view, Scott hears the clatter of the building door opening, the clicking of their heels on the tile floor of the hall.

“Well, hopefully, Beacon Hills is your last stop for a while.” The door to the classroom opened, causing the rest of the class to look up. The principle turns to address the room. “Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome.”

Scott barely breathes as Allison heads for the one empty desk left in the room. Right behind him. She puts her notebook down, then glances up to see Scott turned toward her. Holding out a pen. With a relieved but curious smile, she takes it from him.

“Thanks.”

Scott gives her a nod, turning around with a proud expression. Looking up at the front of the room, Mr. Curtis stands up to start the lesson.

“We’ll begin with Kafka’s metamorphosis on page 133...”

—————

The school bell rings throughout the halls indicating its time to move to your next class. As I walked out of my classroom I spotted Stiles coming out of his. Jogging towards him to catch up, I shout his name to grab his attention. Whipping his head around he greets me with the classic, dopey, Stilinski smile. “Hey bub, what’s up?” I ask.

Rolling his eyes at the nickname he grumbles all about how boring his English class was. “...oh! And there’s a new girl at school today!”

Interesting.. I thought. Spotting Scott in the distance we both quicken our pace to meet with him at his locker.

—————

As he grabs his lock to open the door, Scott hears Allison just down the corridor. Looking towards where she stands they connect eyes. She starts to smile, recognizing the cute guy who gave her the pen. But then Lydia Martin swoops in front of her.

“That jacket is absolutely killer. Where did you get it?”

“My Mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco,” Allison explains.

Suddenly Jackson, Lydia’s boyfriend, walks up to the pair and puts his arm around Lydia and she greets him with a kiss.

Turning back towards his locker, Scott spotted Y/N and Stiles walking up to him.

—————

Looking at the Alpha Male and his arm candy across the hall, I turn towards the boys with a confused look on my face.

“Can someone tell me how the new girl is here all of five minutes and she’s already hanging with Lydia’s clique?”

“Because she’s hot. Beautiful people herd together,” Stiles answers. He’s got a point. He steps up to open his own locker next to Scott’s.

“Is that why Lydia isn’t herding with you?” I tease.

“Lydia’s a long term project, okay? And trust me, I’ve got all the patience in the world for a high yield investment like her.”

You’ve got to give him credit. He’s committed.

—————

Head cocked slightly, Scott tunes into the conversation from the other end of the corridor, voices coming into focus.

“So,” Lydia exclaims, “this weekend there’s a party.”

“A party?”

Jackson leaned on the lockers next to him, arm now wrapped around Lydias torso. “Yeah, Friday night. You should come.”

“I can’t. It’s Family Night this Friday. But thanks for asking.”

“You sure? Everyone’s going after the scrimmage”

“You mean like football?”

“Football is a joke at Beacon. The sport here is Lacrosse. We won the state championship the last three years--“

Cutting in Lydia praises, “Because of a certain team captain.”

“We have practice in a few minutes,” Jackson explains. “You don’t have to be anywhere, do you?”

“Well, no, I was just going--“

Lydia claps her hands in excitement, “Perfect! You’re coming.”

—————

A whistle blowing echoes across the field. The Lacrosse Team’s Coach gathers the team on the field, Stiles and Scott and I lagging behind, Stiles complaining about Scott’s desire to make front line.

“But if you play I’ll have no one to talk to on the bench! You really gonna do that to your best friend?”

“Hey! No fair.” I look toward Stiles pouting when gives me an obnoxious look.

“You don’t count.” I shove him sticking my tongue out and watched as Stiles accidentally collided with Scott.

“Oops sorry Scott,” I apologize.

With an amused smile after watching our banter Scott continued his argument. “I can’t sit out again. My whole life is sitting on the sidelines. This season, I make first line.” He heads for the field, pausing to see Lydia climbing the bleachers. And stepping right behind her... Allison.

I look towards the boy and follow his gaze behind me where I see the girls sitting. “Hey,” I nudged Stiles who was busy putting all his gear down around him in a destructive manner. “I think Scott’s got a crush on the new girl.”

“What? What makes you say that?”

“Look!” I point towards where Scott stands, still starring dreamily at Allison, but he’s suddenly interrupted when a lacrosse stick hits him in the chest.

“McCall! You’re in the goal.”

Scott turns to Coach Bobby Finstock, a man with little comprehension of the difficulties of teenage life. He tosses Scott the bundle of goalie equipment.

“But I’ve never played goal.”

“I know. Scoring some shots will give the boys a confidence boost. It’s a first day back thing. Get them energized, fired up!”

“What about me?”

“Try not to take any in the face.”

This is not gonna end well, I think to myself.

—————

Stepping into the net, Scott glances to the bleachers where Allison watches with Lydia, eyes focusing on them.

“Who is that,” Allison questions.

“Him? I’m not sure who he is. Why?”

“He’s in my English class.”

Scott looks up, shocked to hear Allison asking about him. But with his hearing momentarily turned up, he flinches at the whistle blow, sound ringing through his skull.

One of the bigger players charges forward as the Assistant Coach passes the ball to him. Catching it, he whips his stick forward, hurling the ball toward the goal.

Still reeling from the whistle, Scott looks up too late to see the ball soaring toward him. It bounces right off his helmet and into the net. The team laughs wickedly. Even Coach snickers.

Cheeks burning under his mask, Scott readies himself for the next player. When the whistle blows again, he’s ready. The Assistant Coach passes the ball to the next player who catches it and fires it right at the goal.

Scott moves startlingly fast, almost an instantaneous reaction. Then he notices the player staring at him with a mixture of disappointment and surprise. Scott has the ball.

“Yeah!” Stiles shouts from the sideline, impressed with his friends newfound luck. “See I told you he was practicing,” I brag to Stiles.

When the next player takes the shot, Scott catches the ball again. And then again. And again. Nothing can get past him.

In the bleachers, Allison and Lydia sit forward.

“He seems like he’s pretty good,” Allison continues to stare at Scott practicing on the field

“Very good.” Intrigued, Lydia keeps her gaze locked on Scott who now stands with a far more confident posture. Until he sees that Jackson is next in line. Glaring at Scott, he practically strangles the lacrosse stick with his gloves.

“Oh God...” Scott croaks with fear.

The Assistant Coach tosses the ball up. Jackson launches forward, catching the ball and spinning around to fire it at the goal. But Scott moves with supernatural precision. The ball lands right in the pocket of the goalie stick.

Stiles and I let out hollers of excitement, jumping up from the bench. In the bleachers, Lydia stands and cheers as well causing Jackson to throw a look at her. She returns his glare with a sly smile, a warning to step up his game.

Grinning, Scott gives the goalie stick a whirl, spinning it with a flick of his wrist and sending the ball soaring right into the pocket of the stunned Assistant Coach’s stick.

—————

After practice the three of us find ourselves in the woods while Scott retraces his steps from last night with Stiles and I following behind him.

“I don’t know what it was. It was like, I had all the time in the world to catch the ball.”

Walking towards a bank we came to a river we had to cross. I hope Scott knows where he’s going. After seeing nowhere to cross we trudged through the river soaking our feet in the water. If my shoes smell after this I’m gonna kill him.

Reaching the other side, Scott continued with his worries. “And that’s not the only weird thing. I mean I can hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear. And I can smell things.”

“Smell things? Like what,” Stiles questions.

“Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket.”

“I don’t have any...” Stiles pulls out a lint-covered piece of wrapped gum.

Looking up at Scott in shock, he just shrugged, continuing his walk into the woods. Double checking, I ask him, “so all this started with the bite?”

“What if it’s an infection? What if my body is flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?”

“I’ve actually heard of this,” Stiles starts, “It’s a specific kind of infection.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I think it’s called... Lycanthropy.”

“Oh my god.” I roll my eyes at his accusation. He can’t be serious.

“No I’m serious! This is important!”

“What’s that? Is it bad? It sounds bad.”

“It is. But only once a month.”

“Once a month?”

“On the night of a full moon. Awroooo”

Scott looks at him. And then it clicks. Giving him a push, we continued walking.

“Stiles you’re such a dumbass sometimes,” I chide.

“Hey, he’s the one who heard a wolf howling.”

“There could be something seriously wrong with me!” Scott looks back at Stiles with a look of fear.

“I know! You’re a werewolf! Grrr!” He slashes his hands through the air in a claw motion and I take this opportunity to stick my leg out in front of him and watch as he trips.

As Stiles falls to the forrest floor Scott and I laugh at his stupidity. “Okay, obviously, I’m kidding. But if you see me in shop class melting down all the silver I can find it’s because Friday’s a full moon.”

We seemed to reach the destination because Scott started to look around the area.

“I swear this was it. I saw the body, the deer came running, I dropped my inhaler...”

“Maybe the killer moved the body.”

“If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like eighty bucks.”

As the boys thought of different theories I looked towards the woods and saw someone walking towards us. Is that.. Derek Hale?

“Hello,” I greet, waving to the man.

Stiles looks up at me and then to the man and taps Scott on the arm, pulling him to his feet. Derek Hale. Nineteen and unquestionably handsome, he has a rougher look than the cleanly shaven Beacon Hills boys.

“What are you doing here?”

Both Scott and Stiles are too stunned to speak at first “This is private property.”

“Sorry, we didn’t know,” Stiles assures.

Derek stares at Scott, barely noticing Stiles or I.

Scott opens his mouth to speak to the man but then closes it, at a loss for words.

I take this as an opportunity to explain. “We were just looking for something but we’ll leave. Sorry to bother you.”

As we’re turning to go, Derek tosses an object to Scott. His inhaler. When he looks up, Derek is already walking away.

Now finding his voice, Scott mutters, “Aight, come on. I’ve gotta get to work.”

“Dude, that was Derek Hale, “Stiles exclaims. “You remember, right? He’s only a few years older than us.”

“Remember what?”

“His family. They all burned to death in a fire like ten years ago.”

We used to have a class together in school. “I remember the cops pulling him out of class to tell him,” I tell the boys. “I wonder what he’s doing back.”

Scott eyes the inhaler in his hand, closing his fist over it. “Come on,” he says again.