#at sixteen years old he was writing this… while the same boys his age then and now don’t even bother to think about

[strryhaze]

an essay titled “justice” written by jack kennedy (at age 16) speaks of the importance of family and upbringing which dictates a person’s success and triumph in life. his eloquent understanding and compassion for those less fortunate is evident:

“We read in the newspaper, periodicals and in most of the other products of the printing press, we hear from the pulpits, soap-boxes, and the other numerous locations that orators choose; about the word justice. Justice is pictured as a lady holding scales in her hand on which is weighed right and wrong. Always is the word linked with God until it has come to have an almost synonymous meaning. But should this be so? To quote Webster, Justice means ‘The rendering to everyone his just due.’ But does God render to everyone his just due?

A boy is born in a rich family, brought up in a clean environment with an excellent education and good companions, inherits a fool-proof business from his father, is married and then eventually dies a just and honest man. Take the other extreme. A boy is born in the slums, of a poor family, has evil companions, no education; becomes a loafer, as that is all there is to do, turns into a drunken bum, and dies, worthless. Was it because of the rich boys ability that he landed in the lap of luxury, or was it that poor boys fault that he was born in squalor? The answer will often come back ‘the poor boy will get his reward in the life hereafter if he is good.’ While that is a dubious prospect to many of us, yet there’s something in it. But how much better chance has [the] boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth of being good than the boy who from birth is surrounded by rottenness and filth. This even to the most religious of us can hardly seem a ‘square deal.’ Thus we see that justice is not always received from ‘The Most Just’ so how can we poor mortals ever hope to attain it.”

[drcranessweetestdoe]

heyyyyy

could you do a Tommy shelby fic?

in which he fucks Ada's bestfriend when she is 18!

hii, love this idea xx I have been writing this all day, time to celebrate with a jam sandwich:) xx

Finally mine

warning: agegap!, Thomas lusts after her while she is underage, grooming, virginity loss, virginity kink, innocence kink, unprotected sex, Tommy being a softie, possessiveness

pairing: Thomas Shelby x Innocent!Reader

summary: ever since he came back from the war, Tommy found himself wanting his sister’s lovely and sweet best friend, too bad he has to wait until she is 18

(Y/N) was the sweetest girl in the whole of Birmingham, always polite and kind. Thomas was smitten with her from day one. She and Ada met in school, she felt sorry that Ada was always alone, because everyone told their kids to stay away from the filthy Shelby’s. So, one day she gathered the courage and sat beside the sad girl, who was very excited to finally have a friend.

It was the age of war, so everyone was always on the edge of a meltdown. And money wasn’t exactly falling from the sky. While (Y/N)’s family weren’t considered aristocrats by any chance, she never had to worry about not getting fed, or not having a warm bed to sleep in. That was something that the Shelby’s couldn’t exactly relate to, there was little money and quite a few mouths to feed. Aunt Polly tried her best to feed the hungry children at the table, but she was failing more and succeeding less. Her sister-in-law’s three big boys were away at war, but they were always talked about.

One day, the thirteen year old (Y/N) plopped down beside her best friend Ada with a full lunch box in hand. She always had lunch packed with her, but Ada never did. For a long time, she just assumed that the malnourished girl was not hungry in school. While she was munching on her apple, she heard the growl of a hungry belly and Ada turned her head down in shame. While a girl is naive at 13, (Y/N) immediately knew that her friend was hungry, and that she probably didn’t get as much food at home as she did. When Ada looked back at her, she reacted with a wide smile to the outstretched hand towards her, holding a big red apple.

For the rest of the break, they just sat under their tree, silently chewing on their apples, with a smile on both faces.

That is how Ada knew that (Y/N) was going to be her lifelong best friend. She opened up to her when they were sharing a cigarette on the edge of the forest.

“We had more money before the war, if Tommy was here he would make sure that we have food.” Ada explained.

(Y/N) just blinked at her friend. “Who’s Tommy?”

———-

Three years later, the girls were now sixteen and the war was finally over. Because (Y/N) herself didn’t have any brothers, or sisters, she didn’t know how many families waited for this day to come.

It was a pretty summer day, and she made her way to the Shelby household, where she was always welcomed by Aunt Polly. Except, when she walked into the house, there was only one man sitting at the table. Her breath got stuck in her throat and she blushed heavily, he was very handsome. For a moment she believed that she walked into the wrong house, but the photographs on the walls proved otherwise. He was smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall blankly, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even hear her come in.

Thomas just wanted a moment to himself in his childhood house before going back to the Garrison, he was not the same man anymore. Suddenly, he saw a figure in the corner of his eye. A second later, the two pairs of eyes met. His previously sad eyes lit up at the sight of her, but he tried to conceal it. She was so beautiful… Slender and weakish frame, something that made him eager to protect her. Her long and soft looking hair. And that face, oh god, that pretty face.

“H-Hi… I’m (Y/N).” She walked closer to him and stuck her hand out for him, she recognized him from the pictures, he was one of Ada’s brothers.

He heard about her, Aunt Pol always told him what was happening on Watery Lane in the letters she sent to Tommy. She had mentioned Ada’s lovely friend, multiple times. She told him that the girl was pretty, very kind, and that she went with her to church on Sundays when no one else wanted to, just so Polly didn’t have to go alone.

Tommy smiled at her, and she felt herself get lost in those bright blue gems of eyes. Instead of shaking her hand, he brought it to his lips and planted a little kiss on it. Her hand was soft and warm, it was a while since he felt the touch of a gentle female. He smiled when she blushed more at his kiss. “Thomas Shelby.”

—----

From that day on, Miss (Y/L/N) was under the protection of the Peaky Blinders. Thomas always had one of his men following her and Ada to school, and then back home. It killed him knowing that he couldn’t touch her, make her his, not yet anyway. That would have been immoral and awful, and he knew that aunt Pol would have broken his hand in two and cut off his cock. That didn’t mean he hadn’t spent too many night fucking his fist to the thought of her. Everyone in the Shelby clan could see how soft he was towards her, always making sure that she stays out of the bad things, and whenever she came over and he was working, his eyes basically formed into hearts and followed her everywhere. The family loved her, she enjoyed baking and she always made sure that at least once a week she turned up to the office with home-baked treats. Those kinds of sweet treats calmed everyone down, business was blooming after all.

Ever since Tommy came back from the war, he only let himself be pleasured by whores, the one girl he wanted was the one he had to wait for. He always hired prostitutes that resembled her even the slightest bit. He imagined that he was burying himself inside her wet and warm walls, he overheard her and Ada and he was very well aware that she was untouched, a sweet little virgin. In Small Heath, the girls started sleeping around in their teens, but she, at 17, didn’t care about the boys her age. She wanted a certain gangster, who was nearing his thirties.

He didn’t even claim her yet, but wherever she walked, everyone knew she was Tommy Shelby’s girl. He sent her gifts, and always a handwritten note. Her heart never failed to warm up when she saw the little T.S on the bottom of the cards. Flowers, chocolates, exotic spices that she could put in her sweet treats, jewellery, dresses, everything a 17 year old girl loves. She was spoiled by him. When she wore one of the dresses that he got for her, she always sent him a shy smile and a little nod.

—-----

Tomorrow was going to be the day when she would finally become 18 years old, a young lady. She felt so antsy getting to bed, knowing that she would wake up as an adult. She also deeply hoped that Tommy would do something, after 2 years of gifts, protection and lustful gazes from distance. It was safe to say that her standards were very much heightened.

When she woke up, she noticed a big box on the chair of her vanity, tied up in one of those big ribbons. Her mother must have brought it up for her, as she always did when her daughter’s name was on the box, written by the familiar handwriting.

She was smiling widely when she opened the box up, it had a beautiful silky dress and a gold locket necklace. She marvelled at the divine fabric, but quickly blushed when she looked into the box again. There was a set of white lingerie and a note.

Tonight, I’ll send a car to pick you up at 7pm, be ready.

~T.S

She melted at that, and she felt her lower tummy warm up. This evening, she will finally be claimed.

——-

By the time 7pm rolled around, she did everything she could to make herself look pretty for him. She took a long hot bath, made sure she smelled good everywhere. She washed her hair and tied up half of it with a bow. She put lotion all over herself, sprayed herself with perfume and put the lovely dress on. Sitting in her vanity, she put on some makeup. She felt beautiful.

She got her light coat on, along with kitten heels and she was waiting for his car to come. When it did, she sat in the backseat and greeted the driver.

She got driven to Arrow house, which she only heard about before. It was so huge, and overwhelming, but very nice.

A maid took her coat and escorted her to the dining roomom. Just like the rest of the house, it was quite big, both the room itself and the table. It was decorated elegantly, the candlelight flooded the room. Just as she stepped in, Thomas walked in the room on the other door. He looked so handsome as always, with his muscular frame and his tailored suit.

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest, she looked like an angel, and she was standing in his house, wearing his gift. The maid left, now there were only two of them in the room, he walked up to her. With a gentle hand on her waist, he pulled her closer so he could plant a kiss on her cheek and whisper in her ear. “You look absolutely gorgeous.” He got even closer, her head was spinning with him so close, his masculine scent sent her hormones into overdrive. “I hope the dress isn’t the only gift of mine on you.”

He felt his dick twitch when she looked up at him like that, a gentle glint in her eyes. She shaked her head, too lost in his eyes to answer with words. To shake her out of her trance, he guided her to her seat, with his hand still on her slender waist.

He sat next to her, the maids kept on serving the finest of foods. Thomas also brought out a bottle of red wine. Both of them were surprised how easy it was for them to talk. They talked and ate, and Tommy even found himself laughing. He also found out how innocent she was, she wasn’t stupid, just inexperienced, and he was more than happy to give her experience. She also had a big heart, and a gentle soul, she was everything he needed.

While everyone in Small Heath tried to warn her about Thomas Shelby, she never understood why. He was just trying to protect his family and give them a chance at a better life, he was also an absolute softie for her. She could see that he had a lot of love to give, he enjoyed being the leader and defeating other gang leaders, but he must have been craving someone who could take care of him for once, she knew that she wanted to be that person.

When they finished dessert, he pulled her chair closer to his and cradled one of her blushing cheek into his palm.

“Are you aware of my intentions towards you?” He asked in a serious tone, she knew that he wasn’t fooling around. Now or never. She nodded as much as she could with the gentle hold on her face, but he wasn’t having it. “Answer me with words, I want to see if you really want this.” She felt dizzy by hearing his dominating tone.

“Yes, I know your intentions with me.” She replied shyly.

“What are they?” His fingers started to move her hair out of her face, caressing her in the process.

“Y-You want to make me yours.” She spoke lowly, it was hard to speak when he was looking at her as if he was seconds away from ravaging her.

“Yes, and do you want that, (Y/N)? Do you want me to make you mine?” He was even closer now, he whispered seductively in her ear, his full lips were nearly touching the shell of her ear. “Just say the word, sweetheart, and I will give you everything you crave. Please, let me give you the world.” Thomas Shelby barely used the word ‘please’, but he was nearly begging for her. She almost giggled, as if she really needed much convincing.

“I want it, I want it so bad, Tommy…” She was getting impatient, and he saw it on her.

“Shh, sweetheart… Don’t let your pretty head worry, I’m going to take care of you so nicely.” He stood up and stuck his hand out for her to take. “Come.”

He walked with her to his bedroom, she was walking behind him so she couldn’t see the wicked grin on his lips. When they stepped in the door, he just kept on walking, which caused her to walk backwards, until her knees hit the bed and she had fallen down on it.

He didn’t waste a second and crawled on top of her, his lips slowly finding hers. Their kiss started out slow, he guided her lips with his own. After a few minutes, noticing that she was starting to become more and more confident, he slipped his tongue into her open mouth. His hand wandered to her back, where the zipper was, his head pulled away so he could ask for silent permission. Once he got it, he helped her sit up and he removed the dress. Sitting back on his heels, he admired the sight in front of him, her young body was just begging to be ruined. She was wearing the lace, she looked exactly like an angel. His lips glued themselves to her neck and they sucked and bit, her noises were proof that she was enjoying his touch. He made sure to really mark her up, she wasn’t going to leave his mansion for a while, he needed his time with his new prize. She bit down on her lips to hide her moans, something he growled at.

“Don’t you dare. I want to hear you, don’t hold back, sweetheart.”

He went down to her breasts, he also reached under her arched back and unclasped her bra. She tried to cover herself, but he was having none of it. He slowly unpeeled her arms from her chest and kissed all around her breasts. “How beautiful! Such a nice pair of tits you have, the best I’ve seen.” He sucked a nipple into his mouth and she mewled loudly, she didn’t expect to feel so aroused while getting her nipples sucked at. He made sure that he gave both of her tits the same treatment before going lower.

Before he could do more, he stood up to remove his shirt and pants, her presence was making him hotter by the minute. He hooked his fingers into her panties and his cock nearly tore his underwear when he saw how the crotch was stuck to her entrance. She was already so ready for him. He yanked harder and they finally parted, he brought her panties up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Mhm, so sweet… But, I think I need to feel this from the source.” Tommy dropped to his knees in front of her spread legs, her mind was making her doubt herself. What if she looked ugly down there? What if it smelled or tasted b—

“OH— Tommy!” She moaned loudly when his tongue licked a long stripe up her slit. He just chuckled into her pussy darkly, then he moved on to her pleasure. His mouth was sucking her throbbing clit, his fingers slowly circled her entrance, teasing her.

“Fuck… Your cunt tastes divine, and it’s only for my mouth to taste.” It wasn’t even a question. She was unable to form a coherent sentence, she could only moan and thrash on his tongue. He took one finger and he slowly eased it into her, she was so wet that it slipped right into her, he didn’t hesitate to add another one. “You’re going so good, I cannot wait to feel this tight virgin pussy on my cock.” He curled his fingers and rubbed them right into her spongy spot, her fingers grabbed his hair and tried to push his face more into her heat. He felt her clenching more and more, so he sped up his movements and grinned proudly when she came undone with a whiny moan and a desperate call of his name.

He kissed his way back up to her heaving chest and looked up at her flushed face. He talked her through it, until her breathing evened out again. He slowly slipped his underwear off, his back straightened out for her to see his big cock. It was veiny and thick and it made her nervous. He kept her legs spread, while he kneeled between them, one of his hand smoothing her face and the other one gripped himself at his base. “Want to give a little touch? Don’t be scared, I’m going to make this very pleasurable for you, my sweet girl.” He hissed when her fingertips made contact with his dripping tip, he was so pent up and her soft touch nearly made him blow his load all over her juicy tits, but he had to stay patient. “Are you ready? Ready to become mine?”

“Yes, Tommy, please, I want to feel you. I-I waited for you.” This caused him to grin and give her a deep kiss.

“I know you did, little one.” He positioned himself at her entrance and he slowly began pushing in, he felt a bit of resistance, but with a sharp thrust, he managed to break through it. He wrapped her up in his arms and whispered sweet nothings into her ear soothingly. “I know, I know. It will feel better in a minute, your pussy just has to adjust to my cock. Relax.” It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would, but it still did, the girls in her class made it sound worse, or maybe their boyfriends didn’t take the time to prep them properly. That made her so proud, her Tommy made sure she was ready. She tried her best to relax her muscles and she felt the pain lessen. She planted a shy kiss on Tommy’s neck at which he chuckled at. “Good girl. You’re mine now, only mine.” He slowly began moving in and out of her.

Her walls gripped on him like a vice, he didn’t need any whores anymore, he had her now. His hands lifted her hips up a bit, so his cock was hitting her spot at every thrust. He went more and more faster, his fingers also began rubbing on her swollen clitoris.

“AH— Tommy, I’m going to—do that thing again.” His innocent little girl, so good for him.

“Good… I can feel you squeeze me, come on, sweet girl, come for me. Come on my cock. Let me fill you up. Let me make you mine.” With a shout of his name and a cry, she came around him. When he felt her walls pulsing around him, he let go too. His warm cum painted her walls, and it was such a delicious sensation. He stayed inside her for a few minutes, both of them trying to catch their breaths.

When he pulled out, he sat back so he could watch his cum leak out of her spent hole. He looked down proudly at his softening cock, which had some of her blood on it. Shit, he really filled her up with his load, there was so much of it. And the whiteness of him and the dark crimson of her virginity made such a lovely contrast together.

He took a rag from his bedside table and cleaned her up, making sure that he was gentle with her, the girl just got fucked and she was sensitive both physically and mentally, he had to be gentle.

After he made sure they were both clean, he once again brought her into his embrace. He smiled at her lovingly, which caused her to do the same. Her hair was all puffy from his touch, but he loved it.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He cradled her cheek, and caressed her under eye area with his fingertip.

“I’m good, I feel a bit sore, but it’s okay.” She nuzzled into his neck and left little kisses. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

He smiled in a way he didn’t for a long time, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. He wanted to give the world to the girl in his arms, and he felt the primal urge to protect her and keep her away from all the bad. “Me too. I’m happy to know that you’re finally mine.”

taglist: @your-nanas-house

[loveliestlovelygirl]

tangle of strings

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker has been your piano instructor since you were fourteen years old. from the moment you met, you knew he was the one. he never expressed his feelings for you vocally, despite all the time you spent together. but after you turn eighteen and prepare to leave for college, he changes his tune.

w.c: 6.9k

warnings!! {minors dni}, dark content, grooming heavily featured, sexual content occurs after the reader is 18, p in v, fingering, oral, fem!reader, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, "loss" of virginity, jealousy, religious themes

the content you consume is your responsibility ♡

The piano is the only thing Mr. Skywalker told you that he loved.

He was never spotted with a girl or anyone for that matter in a romantic sense. He was always single, which never made sense to anyone in your small town because he is handsome. He’s always been handsome. His yearbook pictures from high school proved it.

When you would go over to his house for piano lessons, he would show you many things from his life, like his award cabinet, filled with every trophy and certificate he’s won from piano competitions or his yearbook photos. Those photos were one of the first things he showed you. It was one of your first memories of just you and him.

Mr. Skywalker takes a big stack of books off the shelf in his library all at once. Using his strength to balance the dusty books on his arms, he brings them to the reading table where you sit. He takes off the top one and opens it up before you.

Eventually, you find his picture. You cover your mouth as you giggle. He had thick glasses making him look like a nerd. But he was cute. So, undeniably cute to you. You wish he could be the same age. You would want to be his friend. You would want to kiss him.

If you were the same age, he could be yours.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he muses, his large body looming behind you as he looks over your head to gaze at the picture. “I used to be the kid everyone picked on. When I’d get home, I would write a song about how I was feeling. Some of those songs inspired the ones I play at my shows.”

When he talks, you gush. His warm voice is safe. He’s the kind of person you could tell all your secrets to.

And you did tell him everything you couldn’t tell your parents. You’d tell him your deepest secrets. Like the boys you crushed on. Or your new feelings of lust towards them that caught you off-guard as a teen. He understood you like no one else in the whole world. He was the first to know about your first kiss when you were sixteen. And he seemed… jealous when you told him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you say. “One moment, we were talking and laughing. And the next thing I know, Drew is pushing me down on the bed to kiss me!” you squeal. “But don’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m a whore.”

Mr. Skywalker pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I always keep your secrets. Drew is the boy in your history class, correct?”

You nod, amazed that he would remember. The last time you spoke of Drew had been several months ago. But he always pays attention to even the smallest details. That’s how you know he cares.

“I don’t know if he’s good for you,” he mutters, noticeably bitter about something. “Does he really know you? I think… he doesn’t. He’s probably just trying to use you.”

Mr. Skywalker is much older than you. And wiser. So you take his advice to heart. Maybe you shouldn’t see Drew tonight after all.

“How many times have you been kissed?” you ask him, your voice all innocent. Although your motives were anything but pure. While you might have just shared a kiss with Drew, there is one man who is truly the object of your greatest desires. You just haven’t found a way to tell him.

He shakes his head. “You know I’d rather talk about you.” That’s what he says when you pry too deeply into his private life, which only adds to your secret obsession

Anakin has always been the one thing that rivals your obsession with your instrument of choice. And it’s the only secret you kept from him all through high school because you knew he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about you.

Even if the small touches, the secret looks, and long hugs seemed to indicate otherwise. You were too afraid to ask him what it all meant. He never gave that kind of attention to anyone else.

And as an awkward teen, you were furious that you couldn’t express your love to him directly. You kept telling yourself that you would when you’re older. When you turned eighteen, you would confess to him.

Since you couldn’t tell anyone, even him, about this secret, you’d use the piano to share your soul, to put your feelings out into the atmosphere. When you play, no matter where you are, you feel him sitting on the bench beside you, watching over you. 

He taught you everything you know now. He’s the reason you chose to major in Piano Performance in college to the great horror of your parents. But what did they expect? They watched you sacrifice your youth for excellence in your craft. The nights were filled with pools of tears, cries, and screams as you played until you got the part, section, or note just right.

When your fingers rest on the ivory keys, you feel him and nothing else. He’s your muse in every song you write. 

The piece that won you a full scholarship to your dream university, you wrote it while thinking of Anakin. Your beloved piano teacher. Your closest friend. Your secret love.

He’d been in your life for so long, giving you lessons when you first showed an interest in music. How could you not love him?

He went to the same church that your family attended every Sunday. He played piano sometimes during worship service if the music minister was out on vacation or fell ill. Church was how your father met him, and they became good friends. He often came to your Sunday lunches.

Your mom always cooked fried catfish or fried chicken because that’s what your dad wanted. Mr. Skywalker, as you called him back in your high school years, would eat two plates of food. He’d say things like “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in years,” even if he was at your house just last week. You would laugh the loudest at his jokes. As you think about them now, you realize they weren’t funny, but you’re in love with him so it doesn’t matter.

After lunch, your parents would take care of the food and dishes, giving alone time with him. Like a young pup, you’d follow him outside on the back porch where you’d sit side by side on the creaky old swing.

“Do you cook or bake?” he asks you.

You haven’t the slightest idea of why he’d ask such a thing. You still lived with your parents. Your mom does most of the cooking. Your dad grills sometimes. “No. I get scared that I’ll burn myself.”

Suddenly, he reaches over for your left hand, the closest one to him, from your lap and holds it between his great palms. “Cold,” he whispers. He massages your fingers to revive them. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your hands. They’re so perfect… for playing.”

Anakin looks down at what he’s doing to you and his expression sours. At the time, you don’t know why. You wonder if you said or did something he doesn’t like because the mood changes instantly. He drops your hand and pats your thigh.

“You have piano hands, remember?” he reminds you. He smiles at you, and you feel secure again.

That’s exactly the thing that you always tell him. His hands spread out further than a whole octave, while you struggle to hit the two octave notes simultaneously without pulling a muscle. His fingers are long, and his palms are wide. You can’t compete with that.

You wonder what other things he’s good at with hands like those.

For the entirety of your high school existence, you pined and pined after him. He was always on your thoughts every minute of every day. You never grew sick of daydreaming about him. And on occasion that was reflected in your grades though you maintained a high GPA regardless. Every week was just your going through the motions of life mindlessly, only waiting for two short hours out of the week on Friday which was when you took lessons with him.

You lived solely for those two hours in which he gave you piano lessons free of charge. He said it was because you had such potential, but still to this day, you like to think he reciprocated some of your feelings even before he actually made a move on you.

For those two hours, you would sit right up against him on the leather cushion of the piano bench and play for him whatever pieces you were working on or things he assigned you from the previous week. He was never harsh with you even when you weren’t getting something.

You throw your hands on the keys, striking a dissonant chord that makes you both wince. Mr. Skywalker instantly pulls your hands away.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said with concern. “I promise you’ll get this. It just takes time. I know you practice too much as it is.”

“I want to be good! I want to be a star!” With that, you break down instantly and cry. He never minds when you cry in front of him.

“One day, you will be. I believe in you,” he soothes you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as if you belong to him. He hugs you. “We can try again when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, leaning against him to hear the echo of his heart. His heartbeat is sensual to you, even at sixteen. You can’t explain it. These stupid hormonal feelings you have for him are so wrong. But when you look up into his passionate eyes, you see the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You have to marry him. You have to.

From the time you were five, you were afraid of thunder and lightning. Terrified by it actually. The fear is still with you today. But it was so much worse in middle school and high school. You started taking lessons from Anakin when you were fourteen years old. And you were still such a child then. You remembered the time it stormed so hard during your lesson that you had to spend the night at his house because it was too dangerous for your mother to come pick you up. But that also meant you couldn’t hide your abnormal fear of a thunderstorm from Anakin.

He had this giant plush rug under the piano. When you asked him about it, he said that it caught the sound. At the tail end of your lesson, the night you had to stay over, lightning struck close to his house and spooked you so much that you shrieked and slipped under the piano, curling up on that soft rug like a scared puppy.

Anakin was such a sweetheart because he followed you there.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You cry into your arms, hiding your face. “I know! I know it’s stupid of me. I just—”

“It’s not stupid. We all have different fears.” After he says that, he lies on his back beside you. “But I won’t let the storm hurt you, okay. We can stay here all night.”

And that you did. You cowered under the grand piano in his parlor all night long. That was the first time you ever cuddled with a boy, only he was a man almost twice your age. But that didn’t bother you. And it seemed not to bother him. He let you hold onto him through the night and squeeze him a little harder when you heard thunder. It has been one of your most precious memories of your piano teacher.

You had always known Anakin could be a little jealous. Any time you would mention your school friends the air would get tense, as if he didn’t want you to have anyone else in your life but him. He never said that, but he didn’t have to. There was always rage somewhere beneath the still blueness of his eyes, but his rage was never directed towards you until you told him that Drew wanted you to be his girlfriend.

You were seventeen. And you were so excited to have your first boyfriend even if you weren’t in love with him. At least people might not tease you for still being a virgin because it wouldn’t be so obvious. Anakin never did make fun of you for your innocence. He always said that it’s okay to wait until you’re ready or for the right person.

Immediately after you share the news of your official relationship with Drew, he freezes and closes the lid to the piano keys.

His jaw is tight. His voice is tense. “Maybe... we should be done for today.” He doesn’t even acknowledge what you said, as if he’s afraid to.

But you have no one else to celebrate with. Drew is a secret you keep from them because he’s not involved in church. “Did you hear me?” you press.

He grinds his teeth hard, and you hear bone against bone. Anakin nods. “I did.”

You nudge his arm. “Well?”

“Well what?” he snaps bitterly. He turns slightly to glare at you. “You know how I feel ab—about him.”

You roll your eyes. Anakin is a dramatic guy sometimes. “Drew isn’t that bad. He can be sweet. And he’s going to take me to prom!”

Anakin rises off the piano bench and pats down his black slacks. “So, you don’t care what I think then?” He’s staring down upon you with overwhelming disapproval. The muscles of his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest.

Palms against the leather cushion, you hold yourself up. You notice yourself trembling when you realize that he’s not teasing you. He’s very upset... with you. Why would he be—does this mean—does he feel something after all?

“Of course, I do, Mr. Skywalker.”

“I told you not to get close with him!” he shouts. You’ve never heard him raise his voice at  you. “He has bad intentions. He’s just a dumb kid. What does he know about loving you?”

You start to sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be... happy for me?”

He scoffs. And it sounds like you disgust him right now. “I don’t want to hear about him ever again. I don’t want to know anything about your little boyfriend. Do. You. Understand?”

Having him speak to you that way made you feel like a little girl. And you hated that feeling more than anything else. You knew that you were innocent, and you hated yourself for it because it made you feel inadequate to love the man you really wanted.

But now you’d do anything to have that innocence again. You didn’t realize at the time how free you once were. Growing up was harder than you thought it would be. It almost broke you.

You were lucky to have someone like Anakin to build you back up again, even if he was the one that tore you down that time.

After he yelled at you, you rushed out of his home as quickly as you could. The silence lasted a day. And then he drove to your house and knocked on your door. He held in his hands a bouquet of white roses and on his lips was the apology you were waiting for. 

Nothing changed between you after that. Until your next birthday came around.

Up to your eighteenth birthday, your interactions were mostly harmless. But when you turned eighteen, an official adult, the tension between you had changed. The energies you both entertained shifted and became... dare you say... sexual to a degree. Anakin seemed to treat you a little differently now that you were fair game.

To celebrate your eighteenth birthday, he was there. In fact, he was the only one you insisted that mother invite. Not Drew or any of your school friends. Just Anakin. And he had to be there because he really was your one true friend. You couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday without him. He was always a guest at your birthday parties, but he gave you a special gift this year, one so unforgettable that sometimes you hear it clear as day.

Anakin wrote you a piano solo. One that was simple, sweet, and addicting. You told him to play it again and again. After cake and presents, you made him teach you how to play it. You were very proficient now, and often could play things just by hearing them once. But the chords he chose for your song were unique and shouldn’t have meshed so well together. But they did. Just like you and him. Unlikely friends. Star-crossed lovers in your head.

The two of you stayed at the piano all evening, messing around with the song. By the end, you both had figured out how to layer the notes and chords in an even more perfect duet. Playing piano with him was almost the best birthday gift in the world to you. But it was not what you wished for.

You wished for a kiss.

But that would mean you’d have to tell him how you felt. And you were terrified. As an adult, now you could. It was more empowering than you thought it could be.

But you never did find a chance to tell me on your birthday. You were too afraid to ruin your night with a love confession. You know he would do the right thing and reject you, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming for the impossible.

When you walked him outside to his car—you insisted—your secret birthday wish came true. Not in the way you expected. But a kiss did happen. Your piano teacher kissed you on the cheek. Your face burned the whole night through. You couldn’t sleep because you wanted to know what it meant. He had never used his lips to touch any part of you before.

Physical contact had always been an important part of your bond with Anakin since the beginning. There were always the hugs that lasted just a little too long. And he seemed to always find an excuse to hold your hand. But he was your piano teacher, and the hand-to-hand contact always felt necessary and never strange.

But following your very special birthday, you found him staring at you a little longer, a little more deeply, and he seemed to always find an excuse to touch you, not in a sexual way but in a way that led you to believe the attraction wasn’t one sided.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ears, brush the side of your arm, and sit impossibly close to you that you swore you could almost hear his heartbeat. Anakin had never been hesitant to touch you before, but if there were any boundaries before, they were forgotten by him. And you enjoyed it. His new attention made you feel special and wanted. And that was all you ever wanted.

You began to touch him too. And seek physical attention from him. You would nuzzle his arm. Slip your fingers between his. Tap your shoes against his. He’d always notice, and he always hugged you or kissed your cheek in response.

You two were getting closer than ever before. Sometimes... you would barely touch the keys, getting lost in conversation. At this point, Drew and any other boy you were interested in before might as well have been dead. There was only room in your heart for Anakin.

And you had discovered a way to tell him without using your fragile words.

You sit on the bench waiting for him to get off the phone with his mother. She called him shortly after he let you in. About ten minutes later, he comes back.

“Sorry. I was worried she was in trouble,” he says, taking his spot beside you. “Now, where were we last week?”

“We... didn’t really go over anything.”

He bites into his full lower lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What are you paying me for then?”

You laugh because you’ve never once paid him for his time. You nudge his thigh with yours. “Honestly, I don’t really think there’s much more you could teach me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh really?”

You nod. “Actually, I’ve been writing something for you.”

His jaw lowers, and his mouth hangs open slightly. “How long have you kept this secret?”

“Since my birthday.”

He slips his arm around your back and rests his hand on your hip. “I’m impressed. Show me?”

You gulp heavily. That had been the plan today. It is ready for him. He’d never judge you even if it were bad. But you know that it’s not. You know that he’ll know what this piece means. He knows you too well. He’s too perceptive of everything. You wrote it in his favorite key, C minor.

With your hands a little shaky, your fingers glide softly across the piano and press down powerfully in chords. Through music, you profess your love. Anakin sits beside you and waits for you to finish. When you do, he’s waiting, staring with tears thickening his dark eyelashes. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but you know... he knows how you feel.

You tug on his shirt, drawing him closer. A war of heart and mind reflects on his face. He’s doubting what he wants. His resistance is half-hearted. It isn’t long before he scoops you up in his arms and kisses you. This time his mouth is on your lips, wetting them, and tugging them apart to fill you with his tongue.

Drew was never this good. His mouth was sloppy and tight. Anakin kisses like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he kisses like he wants you. Like he’s wanted you for such a long time, despite how wrong you both know that is.

He holds you down in his lap, and you hug him tightly, carding your fingers through his dreamy hair. You start to feel lightheaded because you haven’t been able to breathe, but you don’t want to stop him. If you stop him, he might think and realize that he doesn’t want you anymore.

But you’re dying. Turning blue. You tap his shoulder. And he stops devouring you. His lips sparkle when he smiles. “Too much for you, baby?”

You sharply inhale, finally catching your breath. You shake your head. You want more. You need it. More isn’t even enough.

You spend the whole lesson entangled with one another until your mother comes to pick you up.

For the next month, that’s all you did. Kiss and kiss and kiss. Breathe and breathe and breathe. And kiss some more. You wondered why he was waiting to take you to his bed. You wanted that with him, but he never asked you to go that far. He seemed afraid. Even when his affection was overflowing in passion as you always knew it would be, it was clear that he was holding himself back. Did he need you to tell him what to do?

Your make out sessions extended beyond just your lesson time. Whenever he would come over to your house, he would go upstairs with you to your bedroom, and you’d end up tangled in the sheets. Though with every item of clothing on. Your parents never suspected anything was happening to their young, virtuous daughter. They trusted him completely. And so did you. You would have done anything he asked of you no matter the risks.

Even at church, he’d find a way to get you alone. In the girl’s bathroom. During the preacher’s sermon.

Anakin lifts you onto the sink and spreads your legs out so that he can fit between them and get close to you. Thumb under your chin, he tilts your face up to his. He grins before going in for a kiss.

Your lavender baby doll dress rides up your thighs as he inches closer. He presses up against the crotch of your panties. The dampness is cold against your tender flesh. His erection only grows as the friction between you builds, your bodies rubbing against each other in a clothed attempt to satisfy yourselves sexually.

And now you’re glad you waited and didn’t mess around with Drew like he wanted when you were together. Because that means Anakin could be your very first.

He freezes up when you try to unbuckle his big belt. Anakin looks at you strangely, almost disturbed by your actions.

You lean to his ear and whisper, “I. Want. It.” You had thought your seductive voice would be enough to cast him off the edge of all hesitation, that he’d bend to your will and give you what you want.

But all you did was kill the fire.

Head shaking, he backs away. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And you didn’t see him for nearly a month after that. But you don’t regret what you said. You were tired of just endless make out sessions. It seemed so immature, and you knew you were ready for something real.

All of those memories, those beautiful capsules of your favorite times with Anakin, are the reason you find yourself on his doorstep, a quarter till midnight in the pouring rain.

Complete desperation.

You took your moms car without permission just to drive over despite the threat of a storm. And you’re still deathly afraid of them. But you came anyway. Because tomorrow, you’re leaving for college. You might not get another chance to fix things. Death would be better than living another moment without him.

“You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, Anakin.”

The door is barely cracked open, just enough that you can see his pale face. Dark circles surround his rainy eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, not even making eye contact.

Thunder echoes behind you. The wind blows your hair around. Leaves rustle, filling the silence between you both. It’s going to storm soon. You had been stupid enough to drive to his house just before a storm. But you couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to him and why he was dodging your calls.

The eyes that used to linger a little too long won’t acknowledge you even as you stand in front of him.

“Why are you being like this? This isn’t you!” you nearly scream. You’re so afraid that he’s not only pushing you away but also ejecting you from his life completely, as if the memories you share can be erased. He’s engrained in almost every memory you have.

“It can’t happen. Go away.”

He tries to close the door on you, but you stick the toe of your right shoe in the crack before it shuts.

“Please… please don’t do this.”

Anakin’s eyes are bloodshot as if he’s been crying. “What I want isn’t right. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I could live with myself after.”

Does he really hate me so much? Is that the truth? Perhaps it’s your naivety, but you won’t let him go so easily. You have suffered in silence for nearly a decade, pining after him, waiting for him to reciprocate the depth of your feelings. Your hands shake as you reach out to him. If he would just… hold your hand like he used to, then maybe everything would be alright.

Your fingertips brush against each other. You feel the spark instantly, and it travels down your spine, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

“What about what I want?”

Anakin blinks several times before he speaks. It’s as if he didn’t consider your feelings in this decision. “You’re… not in a position to see things clearly. You’re—”

“Don’t say it!” you exclaim, squeezing your fists. “I’m not a child. I’m all grown up. And you know it. You see it.”

Anakin sighs a long time, his eyes scanning down your body. “Of course, I see it. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Though you can never overpower him, you still try to force the door open. “Just let me in. We can talk. Just let me talk to you.”

Anakin’s frown is firm, and his stillness enforces that he’s not backing down. “I don’t know. If I let you in… if you cry… I’ll want to hold you. Then things might happen. I don’t know if I can control myself around you.”

Hugging yourself, you gaze upwards, into eyes that finally meet yours. His eyes reveal his mourning, his grief, his lust. It’s the latter that sends shivers through your body. The knowing that he wants you is more than you can take.

“I don’t want you to.”

There.

You said it.

You have told him exactly what you want. And if you hadn’t made it painfully obvious before, he knows now that you’re no longer thinking like a little girl.

Following a sigh of defeat, he backs away from the door, and you move in.

All the lights are off in his home. He must have been sitting in the dark like a vampire. The piano lid is open. He never left it open unless he was actively playing.

Anakin strides across the room to seat himself on the piano bench. He taps the spot next to him. “You’re right.... We should talk. Talk. Nothing more.”

Sitting beside him here feels like the most natural thing in the world. Here, you’re not afraid to speak from the heart. He’d never judge you even if he disagrees. But you’re not so sure he disagrees this time.

He wants you too.

“I couldn’t let you go back. I can’t believe you drove in the rain.”

You shrug. “It’s just rain. The storm hasn’t—”

The windows flash like they would in a horror flick, and thunder comes after. With a whimper, you grab onto his arm.

“I can drive you back home once we talk,” he says emotionlessly, gently pulling you off him.

But you double down and grab his arm, tugging him back again. “Don’t push me away.”

He doesn’t do it again. He stills. And sighs. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.”

With your chin resting on his sleeve, you look up at him, wide-eyed. “Just kiss me like you always do. And don’t think about it.” You stretch your arm out and fiddle with the top button of his dress shirt. “I’m not thinking.”

His chest rises and falls with his breaths. He doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his shirt.

When you rise on your knees, you’re at eye level. He’s so much bigger than you even now. He makes you feel so small. Holding onto his arm, you lean close and peck his clean-shaven cheek. He winces as if you pricked him with a needle.

“Angel, I shouldn’t.”

You kiss him again, closer to his lips, almost tasting him. “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Finally, he turns and looks in your eyes. Then at your mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. You... understand how this might look. What they might say about—”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you whisper. “What’s one more?”

You finish unbuttoning his shirt for him. Taking care of him feels good. You run your fingertips down his chest and his abdomen. His bare skin. It’s soft and warm. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist.

“Cold hands,” he murmurs. He takes your hands between them. He rubs his hands over your fast to warm them with friction.

“Sorry.”

Still rubbing your hands, he stands and leads you to the back of his grand piano near the flashing window.

Any other time, you would be trembling in fear because of the loud storm, but tonight you’re trembling because of the new feelings bubbling inside you. You’ve never been so aroused before.

“Can I hold you?” he says as pulls you into his embrace.

You can hear his steady heartbeat and feel it pumping right against your sensitive ear. Your piano teacher holds you against him and tangles his talented fingers in your hair. He sniffs your neck before taking a bite. His teeth pinch your flesh, and his tongue soothes you. The pain he leaves in several spots along your neck means that he’s marked you as his.

Your own heart is racing at lightning speed. You can’t think. In his arms, you’re helpless to his whims. You need him to tell you what to do. All you want is to please him.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper to him so weakly you question if he hears you.

Anakin slowly unzips the back of your dress. “Consider this a teaching moment.” His voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. The undertones are sultry and possessive. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to—” He stops to pull down your dress, and his eyes wander over your pretty body. You wore transparent lace underwear and a matching bralette. He can see everything you hide from the rest of the world.

And he tells you, “You’re perfection.”

That makes you want to kiss him so badly. You try to lift yourself to reach his lips, but he’s too tall.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I want you to lay down first.” He guides you under the piano.

You lie down on your back atop the giant rug. Instantly, relaxation takes over as you remember all the times you used to lie here with him, hiding from the storm. Never did you think this would be the place where you’d give yourself to him. This must be meant to be.

He follows you after fully undressing. His body is every inch a man’s.  His size makes you feel so small. He runs the risk of crushing you with his weight.

Lying on his side, he looks down at you, watching his own fingers running under the elastic of your lacy panties. “Take these off and spread your legs.” He whispers kisses to your cheek. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Nodding, you do as you’re told and wiggle out of your underwear. He snatches them from you and crunches them in his hands before throwing them over his shoulder. You proceed with fanning your legs open. The air is frigid as it touches you.

Anakin is looking where no one else has. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. Saving yourself just for me.”

You gasp as he kisses you between your legs. He kisses you there for a long time. It feels strange and wonderful. The feeling building inside you makes you moan and your toes curl. You feel so good your body aches. You hear your own heartbeat. You breathe but can’t find relief. Nothing soothes the need inside you but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. And before long you hit the breaking point, pleasure storming through your body from your place beneath him. Your cries are dampened by the thunderous sounds outside, but he hears you. He stops to look at your face. Making eye contact with him heightens the vulnerability of the situation. The intense way he looks at you burns. He notices every little change in your expression.

Anakin knows he made you feel good, but he still asks, “Did you like that?” He brushes the wild strands of hair away from your face. You know you’re precious to him. He sweetly kisses your forehead. “I like your taste.”

Your cheeks are seared by that comment. You cover your eyes, not wanting to let him see how he’s affecting you. “I did like it.”

“Do you want to do more?” He kisses your lips this time, and you taste yourself. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready!” you lift your head up and cup his cheek. “Don’t make me wait longer. I’m leaving tomorrow.” You bite your lip, knowing how dangerous what you’re about to say is because of who you’re saying it to. “Do you really want some college guy to be the one who gets me first?”

As if trying to reject the image you gave his mind, he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “No,” is his short answer. From the way his lips are pressed together, you know he wants to say more, but he’s saving you from his own selfish anger.

“Me either.” You rub his cheek with your thumb. “Anakin,” it feels right to call him by his first name instead of Mr. Skywalker, “I’ve waited for you. I always knew this would happen.”

He chuckles lightly. “I never gave you permission to use my name. Don’t forget—” he grunts as he slides two of his fingers between your slick folds and pushes them inside, “your manners, young one.”

These same fingers were the ones that rested atop yours when you were first learning to play piano. They pointed to the right key when you played the wrong note. They pointed to the sheet music to guide you along for all these years. They held your hands when they were cold.

And now he’s using them to teach you something new. But he’s just as skilled at fingering you as he is with music. You’re like his new instrument. He’s plucking all the right strings in just the right way to make you cry out for him. With your body pliant, he controls when you come. He doesn’t make you wait for it. He uses his thumb too and nudges until you come. It’s wetter than the last. And he instructs you to lick his fingers off when he’s done.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks again. “Don’t hate me for asking.” He hangs his head a little.

What he doesn’t understand is how insatiable he’s caused you to be. There were so many times you thought you might explode from how desperately you wanted him. But now it’s okay if that does happen.

“Keep going. Please,” you beg. You’re not ready to stop. You’ve waited for this moment since you were fourteen years old. If it were up to you, you’d live here forever.

“If that’s what you really want,” Anakin moves from lying at your side to settling himself between your legs.

“It is,” you reassure him. Holding onto his neck, you pull yourself up a bit. “Can you kiss me too?”

He grins before pushing you down, his large hand spread out over your soft stomach, and he chases your lips as you fall. You’re partially distracted by his mouth as his cock slides inside you. You had expected it to be more of a challenge, all things considered. Throughout high school, your friends always complained about how much it hurt their first time. Some girls bled too. And that had scared you, which is one of the reasons you never took Drew up on his many offers of a “good time.” Deep down you knew he wouldn’t treat you right. But Anakin clearly is experienced with having sex. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as you thought he had been all those years.

This being your very first time, it does sting when he fills you completely, his bony hips pressed against yours. You feel the tightness and the stretch. But you enjoy how it feels. You’re so close to passing out just because this is as close as you can get to someone.

Anakin rocks in and out slowly. Maybe he can feel that you’re tired. He’s being gentle with you despite how much he wants to rail your cunt to shreds. You can tell when he’s holding himself back. He has that weary, pained look in his rainy eyes. A part of you wants to tell him that it’s okay. Let go. But you both know that you couldn’t handle the full extent of his lust.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks before sinking his teeth into a bruise along your neck.

Short of breath, you answer, “I said... anything.”

“Okay,” his shaky voice whispers. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and moans your name into your skin. He pulls your hair gently as he finishes, his heat spreading through your core. It’s so much that you feel it leaking out.

After, he holds you there all night long. He doesn’t let you leave. And you wouldn’t want to escape.

The three words he says to you as you leave his house the morning after, you realize that he’s lied to you all the years you’ve known him.

The piano isn’t his only love or his only obsession.

It’s an outlet, and yet a mask for his sin nature which you understand more deeply than any other girl ever will.

He’s kept his real obsession hidden from everyone but you.

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[thewritingofspencerrose]

straight from the books | masterlist

It had started with her small comments from the moment they began their friendship at the age of sixteen.

The Hughes had just moved in next door, the two youngest Hughes having been sent on yet another run to the car for boxes when Jack had heard the first one.

"When I have a boyfriend, he's going to hold my hand Han. Not shy away from it like my dad does my mom."

The statement was sadder than he was sure she wanted to be heard by outside ears, but it was the first time he had heard those words.

When I have a boyfriend...

It was a week later when his mom decided fate wasn't on her children's side and that it was time for her and the neighbor she had befriended to unite their children.

He came to learn that the girl he'd heard on the phone was actually his age to the day, a fact the two bonded over while her older brother spent time with his, his younger being sat by her side as if she were his sibling instead.

A month later, he started to jot them down in his phone because "any guy that comes along is not going to know where to start if you never write anything down."

A year later? Jack realized that the idea of another guy being the one she checks against the ever-growing list made him angrier than any cross-check. She should be checking him against the list, he had decided.

Five years later, he still had not made a move on this realization, and the list that was once started as a joke was nearing an absurd amount of requirements.

"Jack, it's just impossible."

"It's not impossible, you just have a lot of requirements," Is the boy's carefully worded response, his head never turning to face me from where he stands at the pingpong table, brother Luke across from him in a battle that has managed to last half an hour.

"Having a lot of requirements is never a bad thing," the younger Hughes is the one to chime. "Isn't that what you've always told me?"

"It is, and I'm glad you've been paying attention Lu."

"How can I not when a beautiful woman offers to teach me the ways of beautiful women?" Is his cheeky response, taking just a second away from his game to wink dramatically.

It's sudden, and unexpected, that the ping pong ball hits Luke straight in the head, the sudden hit making the boy jump back, hand on his forehead as I can't help but laugh, spotting the bright red circle already forming.

"Sorry," Jack's voice calls, although rather than sounding apologetic, his voice is filed with pride, a slight smirk on his face that indicates it was less than an accident.

Luke grumbles something, face lighting a red color as he drops his paddle to the table. "Kay, it's your turn. I'm done being on the other end of this guys wrath. He's nicer to you," Are the youngers final words, taking off to hall and out of the game room.

"Do you want to play?" Jack's eyes are soft, a lot softer than when he was looking at his brother, and it brings me back to something his mom said to me over coffee the other morning.

"Oh don't be silly Kayla, Jack would hang the stars and the moon for you."

But that isn't normal for best friends is it?

But when have we ever simply acted like best friends?

"Sure, as long as you won't be too distracted by my mad game," It's banter, banter we've had since the start. But it's as I rise from the sofa where I had plopped myself earlier, simply in my swim suit from the day and an old Devils tee I stole off Jack his first year in the league, that everything about this room feels different for the first time in seven years.

Jack's response is a mumble, something I hardly hear other than "not that I" and "distracted", the indication of which launching my heart into over drive.

Why must this have been the morning that Ellen decided to mention how different Jack treats me? All through the day it has sat in the back of my head, analyzing every day since Ellen first said, "These are my sons Quinn, Jack and Luke. Your mom and I realized you and Jack have the same birthday, so we have a feeling you two will get along."

She had a smirk that day.

Sixteen year old me should have run.

"Hey, anyone in there?" Oh shit, I'm just standing here.

"Yeah, yeah, just was thinking back to breakfast with your mom," Is the reasoning I give, but his eyes are on me, and I'm finding a hard time continuing with anything closer to a lie.

His chuckle gives me hope that he'll further drop this conversation, but his head is shaking and hair swooping, "You and my mother need to spend less time together."

"Absolutely not! Ellen is my favorite Hughes and that should be well known by now," The comment one I've had to repeat through the years, now warranting a simple smile. "Let's just get this game going before I abandon you for your mother."

His brows rise, skepticism in every wrinkle of his face, "You could never, you love me too much," he's confident of this, of course he is. He is Jack Hughes after all. And I remember this as he starts our volley, bodies setting into a rhythm after years of this game.

But that doesn't change the fact I need to think of a come back.

"Well, as if you could really get rid of me if you tried." Nailed it.

"Who says I ever want to?"

I'm well aware that the ball goes zinging past me, landing somewhere on the floor nearby, but the only thing I can bring myself to care about right now is what has come out of this boys mouth.

"You never want to get rid of me?"

His eyebrows are up again, and a soft but knowing smile is lighting is lips as he leans forward against the pong table, muscles tightening in his upper arm. "I know you talked to my mom this morning."

I can't control the ways my eyes grow slightly, "I always talk to your mom."

"Kayla," Oh no, first name, "I know she pointed out how I feel about you. You don't have to pretend the conversation didn't happen. You've been weird all day."

"I haven't been weird, I've just been quiet. In my head, as some would say," I offer, not entirely admitting to anything.

Blame life on Ellen ✔️

"That's weird for you," He's sure of this as if it's written in stone. "You're a certified yapper, as you love to tell Quinn."

I can't take this. "Jack, please get where you're going. I feel like I do when your boys chirp me."

The smile is washed from his face, hands meeting his hair and running through it as he groans.

"I'm not trying to chirp you Kay, I'm trying to tell you I have feelings for you!" His voice is raised, but theres no aggression there. His eyes are sincere, more sincere than I've ever seen him.

And as a smile slowly comes to my face, his smile grows as well, larger than on his draft day as he starts to round the table.

"I need you to tell me if that's your 'I'm burning the world down' smile or your 'i adore you' smile you use on babies," Jack requests, hands hesitantly reaching for my hips, resting gently as his thumbs rub over the waist of my bottoms.

"I think we can consider this my Jack smile," I return, smiling up at the equally smiling man in front of me. "Have you never noticed? This smiles reserved for you."

"Can I keep it forever?"

"It's always been yours."

How did it take me 7 years to realize the man right in front of me checked every box?

[loganwritesprobably]

– Shanks & Buggy & Reader with the 2° or 3°genre, prompt (e.) ✨

Oh this pairing has so much potential, but I like it being platonic. Switches up the vibe a little. You've given me a little too much power with that choice, but I think the end here manages both..

Content/Warnings: Shanks & GN!Reader & Buggy, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, childhood friends, background character death, arguing, yelling, end of friendships

You, Buggy and Shanks had been friends for as long as you could remember. Your first few years had been rough, or at least everyone assumed so considering you'd been picked up by the Roger pirates as a three year old after Shanks of a similar age had identified you and wanted to play with you. A year later had come Buggy, and on the Oro Jackson the three of you were raised to be pirates. Shanks was always the strongest of the three of you, while Buggy was the most sensitive, and you were the smartest. Between the three of you, you would've made a brilliant pirate crew.

Would've. That was the key word. Past tense.

Roger had been executed, and the skies had opened up to scream their protests. Rain poured down over the three of you as you trudged through Loguetown and away from the execution platform. You couldn't bare to look at it anymore. Shanks was up ahead, leading the way, while you followed, hand in hand with Buggy.

You paused near the docks, and you took a few steps away from the boys to look out at the sea. It wouldn't be the same without him. You'd wanted to stay with the crew until you were at least sixteen, but you'd not been with them in over six months and you were only fifteen. Shanks and Buggy were hardly older than you. You'd been abandoned.

Your ears perked up as you heard yelling. Buggy. You whipped around to look for the danger, and realised it was you in trouble - Buggy was yelling at Shanks. You rushed over to their sides, stood just between them, trying to figure out what had happened.

"He isn't going to go looking for the One Piece." Buggy muttered, and you could hear how betrayed he felt, and some part of you felt the same. You looked at Shanks with slightly widened eyes.

"Shanks.." you murmured, searching his face in hopes you could understand.

"We can all still sail together." Shanks offered, but the offer was lame, it fell flat. He didn't even sound confident about the offer.

"But that's our dream Shanks - the one piece." You replied, inching closer to Buggy. You hated to choose sides when they bickered, but you all knew a choice had already been made.

"I just.. I don't know. Maybe it isn't mine anymore." Shanks whispered, but he might as he might as well have screamed it. Not his dream anymore?

You took Buggy's hand in your own, and laced your fingers. Both of you needed the support.

"You know, most people only deal with one idiot. You pick a best friend, and you put up with them for life. I thought you two would be the death of me. But it looks like I'll be picking sides before that happens." You said to Shanks, and Buggy squeezed your hand to reassure and comfort you. You watched as Shanks took a single step back, scared and betrayed, then he spun and took off in a sprint, away from the two of you.

You and Buggy leaned heavily against each other, tears rolling anew down your faces, eyes already sore and cheeks red and splotchy. You thought you'd cried your share of tears already, but of course there was more. Buggy held you, and you held him in return. For a long time the two of you stood there in a tight embrace, crying and letting the rain wash away your tears.

"We'll start our own flashy crew." Buggy said, and you smiled despite the tears and just nodded, not trusting your own voice. Yeah, you didn't need Shanks.

Requests are open! See below links for my other works, and how to leave requests. I write both canon/canon and canon/reader requests for your enjoyment

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Tags: @claryeverlarkf

[camisoledadparis]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … January 25

1800 – The Commonwealth of Virginia reduces the penalty for free peoples who commit buggery down from the death penalty to one to ten years in prison, but did not remove the death penalty for slaves who commit buggery.

1874 – British novelist and playwright W. Somerset Maugham (d.1965) was born in Paris, where his father Robert Ormond Maugham was an English lawyer who handled the legal affairs of the British embassy.

Maugham was sent back to England to be cared for by his uncle, a Vicar, in Kent. The move was damaging, as Henry Maugham proved cold and emotionally cruel. The boy attended The King's School, Canterbury, which was also difficult for him. He was teased for his bad English (French had been his first language) and his short stature, which he inherited from his father. Maugham developed a stammer that would stay with him all his life.

Miserable both at his uncle's vicarage and at school, the young Maugham developed a talent for making wounding remarks to those who displeased him. This ability is sometimes reflected in Maugham's literary characters. At sixteen, Maugham refused to continue at The King's School. His uncle allowed him to travel to Germany, where he studied literature, philosophy and German at Heidelberg University. During his year in Heidelberg, Maugham met and had a sexual affair with John Ellingham Brooks, an Englishman ten years his senior.

On his return to England, the local doctor suggested he enter the medical profession and Maugham's uncle agreed. Maugham had been writing steadily since the age of 15 and fervently wished to become an author, but as he was not of age, he refrained from telling his guardian. For the next five years, he studied medicine at St Thomas' Hospital in Lambeth, London.

Maugham kept his own lodgings, took pleasure in furnishing them, filled many notebooks with literary ideas, and continued writing nightly while at the same time studying for his medical degree. In 1897, he wrote his first novel, Liza of Lambeth, a tale of working-class adultery and its consequences. Liza of Lambeth's first print run sold out in a matter of weeks. Maugham, who had qualified as a doctor, dropped medicine and embarked on his 65-year career as a man of letters. He later said, "I took to it as a duck takes to water."

The famous playwright was twenty-one when Oscar Wilde was put on trial. It was enough to make him "publicly straight." Frightened by the Oscar Wilde trial, Maugham avoided treating homosexual themes and characters in his novels and plays. He later said that his biggest mistake was "I tried to persuade myself that I was three-quarters normal and that only quarter of me was queer — whereas it was the other way around."

By 1914 Maugham was famous, with 10 plays produced and 10 novels published. Too old to enlist when World War I broke out, Maugham served in France as a member of the British Red Cross's so-called "Literary Ambulance Drivers", a group of some 23 well-known writers, including the Americans John Dos Passos and E. E. Cummings. During this time, he met Frederick Gerald Haxton, a young San Franciscan, who became his companion and lover until Haxton's death in 1944. Throughout this period Maugham continued to write. He proofread Of Human Bondage at a location near Dunkirk during a lull in his ambulance duties. Maugham also worked for British Intelligence in mainland Europe during the war, having been recruited by John Wallinger; he was one of the network of British agents who operated in Switzerland against the Berlin Committee. Maugham was later recruited by William Wiseman to work in Russia

Although Maugham's first and many other sexual relationships were with men, he also had sexual relationships with a number of women. His affair with Syrie Wellcome produced a daughter named Liza. Syrie's husband Henry Wellcome sued his wife for divorce, naming Maugham as co-respondent. In May 1917, following the decree absolute, Syrie and Maugham were married. Syrie and Maugham divorced in 1927-8 after a tempestuous marriage complicated by Maugham's frequent travels abroad and strained by his relationship with Haxton.

The gap left by Haxton's death in 1944 was filled by Alan Searle. Maugham had first met Searle in 1928. Searle was a young man from the London slum area of Bermondsey and he had already been kept by older men. He proved a devoted if not a stimulating companion. Indeed one of Maugham's friends, describing the difference between Haxton and Searle, said simply: "Gerald was vintage, Alan was vin ordinaire."

Despite his wealth, his fame, and the love of his secretary-companion Gerald Haxton and later, Searle, Maugham died a bitter man but among the pantheon of the most prolific and read writers of the 20th century. And if you haven't read him, you've watched his stories. No less than 35 film shave been made from his novels and short stories including The Razor's Edge, Of Human Bondage, Being Julia, The Moon and Sixpence and Sadie Thompson (later called Rain.)

1892 – Lesbian writer Virginia Woolf was born in London (d.1941). The most celebrated of the Bloomsbury set, her writing is cerebral, and subtle.

Woolf was born Adeline Virginia Stephen on January 25, 1882, in Hyde Park Gate, London, the daughter of Leslie Stephen, a man of letters, and Julia Pattle Duckworth. Virginia's mother's first marriage ended with the death of her husband, leaving her with three children, one of whom, Gerald Duckworth, is known to have sexually molested Woolf as an adolescent.

Her adolescence was marked as well by a sequence of deaths and the first bout of a mental illness that would haunt her for the rest of her life: Her mother died in 1895; her half-sister Stella, who served as mother-substitute, in 1897; her father in 1904 and her brother Thoby in 1906. She experienced her first mental breakdown at the age of thirteen following her mother's death, while the final one ended with her suicide when she walked into the river Ouse on March 28, 1941.

Woolf developed her closest attachment to her sister Vanessa, what she called "a very close conspiracy." The two sisters functioned as co-conspirators in their alliance as women artists, on the one hand against the tyranny of the father who repeatedly sought to enlist their services as surrogate wives; on the other hand, against Victorian mores that considered marriage the only suitable profession for middle-class daughters.

Following Leslie Stephen's death, the four siblings moved to Bloomsbury, a section of London that would eventually give name to a group of artists and intellectuals, the Bloomsbury Group. This group began when her brother Thoby and his Cambridge friends moved back to London and met every Thursday evening to discuss art and literature, as well as pressing political issues such as pacifism and socialism. Initially, Virginia and Vanessa were the only two women present, as Thoby's sisters but also as intellectuals and artists. Several of the male participants were avowed homosexuals, including Lytton Strachey, who proposed to Virginia in 1909, although the engagement was almost immediately broken off.

Woolf's relationship to gay men remained an ambivalent one. On the one hand, she appreciated a lack of sexual interest that made it possible for her to have access to an intellectual environment based on an indifference to her gender; on the other hand, the absence of women meant a lacking female eroticism that for her prohibited creativity. Much later, on August 19, 1930, she wrote in a letter to Ethel Smyth: "It is true that I only want to show off to women. Women alone stir my imagination."

In 1912, she married Leonard Woolf, "a penniless Jew," also a member of the Bloomsbury Group, a political writer who had recently returned from service in India. This marriage is considered to have been a supportive although passionless one. In 1917, the Woolfs established Hogarth Press as an attempt to engage Virginia in more practical work in the hope of keeping at bay further bouts of mental illness. The Press published the works of several lesbian and gay writers, including E. M. Forster, Christopher Isherwood, and Vita Sackville-West.

Woolf had several intense friendships with women throughout her life. They often resulted in literary works, not always published, written as tribute to friendships that greatly fostered—but were ultimately confined to—writing. Often these women were older, unmarried, more masculine in appearance, and highly successful artists; often they offered Woolf some form of maternal protection as she struggled with another incident of physical or mental illness. None of these relationships is known to have had a sexual component.

Woolf's first passionate friendship was with Madge Vaughan, the daughter of the well-known writer and sexologist, John Addington Symonds, whom Woolf met at the age of sixteen and who was to serve as a model for Sally Seton in Mrs. Dalloway (1925). Violet Dickinson, almost twice Woolf's age when she nursed her during the mental breakdown following the death of her father, was an unmarried Quaker for whom she wrote "Friendship Gallery" (1907), a spoof biography that anticipates Orlando (1928). Much later Woolf looked back on this friendship as the one that enabled her to say for the first time with confidence, "I am a writer." The final of such friendships was with Ethel Smyth, a well-known composer, whom Virginia met in 1930, when Woolf was forty-eight and Smyth seventy years old.

Woolfe's greatest love was probably Vita Sackville-West, with whom she had the only intense friendship to include a physical relationship. Although married to Leonard Woolf, the ethos of Bloomsbury discouraged sexual exclusivity, and in 1922, when Woolf met poet and novelist Vita Sackville-West, after a tentative start they began a relationship that lasted through most of the 1920s. The sexual affair began in 1925, the point at which Woolf wrote in her Diary, "These Sapphists love women; friendship is never untinged with amorosity" (December 21), and is thought to have lasted until 1928. During that time, Vita took two trips to Persia to visit her husband who was working in the British embassy in Tehran. The second time she traveled in the company of another woman, which began to create a rift as Woolf became less and less tolerant of Vita's other affairs.

In 1928, Woolf and E. M. Forster wrote a letter defending Radclyffe Hall's Well of Loneliness, not as a good novel or because of its lesbian content, but in the name of free speech. Various members of Bloomsbury appeared at the obscenity trial prepared to testify as expert witnesses, including Woolf, who described her presence as a way of also defending Vita's Sapphism.

In 1928, Woolf presented Sackville-West with "Orlando," a fantastical biography in which the eponymous hero's life spans three centuries and both genders. It has been called by Nigel Nicolson, Vita Sackville-West's son, "the longest and most charming love letter in literature."

After their affair ended, the two women remained friends until Woolf's death in 1941.

1915 – Josef Kohout (d.1994), German concentration camp survivor and author, was born in Vienna. By age sixteen, he was already aware of his homosexuality. His love for the son of an Nazi party functionary led to his arrest in late 1938. Kohout served a seven-month prison sentence.

After a second arrest, Josef Kohout was sent to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp in mid-January 1940. Four months later, he was transferred to Flossenbürg. He worked as a Kapo in forced labor in the loading commando at the train station. His position as a Kapo was unusual for a homosexual inmate. He survived, as he himself explained, because of his good relations with other “green” Kapos. During the death march in April 1945, Kohout succeeded in escaping near Cham.

Male homosexuality remained a crime after 1945. For decades, Josef Kohout fought for recognition as a victim of National Socialism. The years of his concentration camp incarceration were not counted toward his pension until 1992. Using the pseudonym Heinz Heger, his experiences were published under the title “The Men with the Pink Triangle” in the 1970s. The unique testimony was accorded great respect within the gay movement.

Josef Kohout lived with his male partner in Vienna until his death on March 15, 1994. He never received reparations for his persecution.

Aaron Fricke (R) with Paul Guilbert

1962 – Aaron Fricke is an American gay rights activist. He was born in Providence, Rhode Island. He is best known for the pivotal case in which he successfully sued his high school for not allowing him to bring his boyfriend, Paul Guilbert, to the senior prom at Cumberland High School in Cumberland, Rhode Island.

At the age of 17, shortly after he came out in 1980, Frick decided to take a male date to the high school prom. "The simple thing would have been to go to the senior prom with a girl. But that would have been a lie — a lie to myself, to the girl, and to all the other students." When the high school informed Fricke he could not bring him to the prom, he filed suit in U.S. District court. The presiding judge, Raymond J. Pettine, ruled in Fricke's favor, ordering the school to not only allow him and his partner to attend as a couple but also to provide enough security to ensure their safety. He recounts the battle over that date in in "Reflections of a Rock Lobster: A Story About Growing Up Gay."

He later collaborated with his father, Walter, on a book about their relationship and of the elder Fricke's coming to terms with his son's homosexuality. That book, "Sudden Strangers: The Story of a Gay Son and His Father", was published in 1989.

The suit brought by Aaron Fricke against his school is considered a major milestone in the history of gay rights. Each year cases of young same-sex couples being discriminated against by their schools happen around the world, and when these cases are brought to court, the suit first brought by Aaron Fricke and Paul Guilbert is invariably cited by the plaintiff's counsel.

1963 – Don Mancini is an American screenwriter, producer, and film director. Mancini is best known for creating the character of Chucky, and writing all of the films in the Child's Play series. Mancini was also the executive producer of Bride of Chucky, and he directed, Seed of Chucky, as well as the latest installment in Child's Play franchise, Curse of Chucky.

Along with Michael McDowell and Clive Barker, Mancini is one of the few openly gay writers in the slasher film genre.

In 2007, he won the EyeGore award for career contributions to the horror genre. He sometimes goes by the pseudonym Kit Du Bois (also spelled Kit Dubois).

1970 – Stephen Chbosky is an American novelist, screenwriter, and film director best known for writing the New York Times bestselling coming-of-age novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower (1999), as well as for screenwriting and directing the film version of the same book, starring Logan Lerman, Emma Watson, and Ezra Miller. He also wrote the screenplay for the 2005 film Rent, and was co-creator, executive producer, and writer of the CBS television series Jericho, which began airing in 2006.

Chbosky was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He was raised Catholic. As a teenager, Chbosky "enjoyed a good blend of the classics, horror, and fantasy." He was heavily influenced by J. D. Salinger's novel The Catcher in the Rye and the writing of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Tennessee Williams. Chbosky graduated from Upper St. Clair High School in 1988, around which time he met Stewart Stern, screenwriter of the 1955 James Dean film Rebel Without a Cause. Stern became Chbosky's "good friend and mentor", and proved a major influence on Chbosky's career.He wrote, directed, and acted in the 1995 independent film The Four Corners of Nowhere, which got Chbosky his first agent, was accepted by the Sundance Film Festival, and became one of the first films shown on the Sundance Channel. In the late 1990s, Chbosky wrote several unproduced screenplays, including ones titled Audrey Hepburn's Neck and Schoolhouse Rock. In 1994, Chbosky was working on a "very different type of book" than The Perks of Being a Wallflower when he wrote the line, "I guess that's just one of the perks of being a wallflower." Chbosky recalled that he "wrote that line. And stopped. And realized that somewhere in that [sentence] was the kid I was really trying to find." After several years of gestation, Chbosky began researching and writing The Perks of Being a Wallflower, an epistolary novel that follows the intellectual and emotional maturation of a teenager who uses the alias Charlie over the course of his first year of high school. The book is semi-autobiographical; Chbosky has said that he "relate[s] to Charlie[...] But my life in high school was in many ways different."

The book, Chbosky's first novel, was published by MTV Books in 1999, and was an immediate popular success with teenage readers; by 2000, the novel was MTV Books' best-selling title, and The New York Times noted in 2007 that it had sold more than 700,000 copies and "is passed from adolescent to adolescent like a hot potato". As of May 2013, the number of copies in print reached over two million. Wallflower also stirred up controversy due to Chbosky's portrayal of teen sexuality and drug use. The book has been removed from circulation in several schools and appeared on the American Library Association's 2004, 2006, 2007, 2008, and 2009 lists of the 10 most frequently challenged books. As of July 2013, The Perks of Being a Wallflower had spent over a year on the New York Times Bestseller list, and is published in 31 languages.

Chbosky lives and works in Los Angeles, California. He is an active gay rights supporter, and he continues to work on films.

1993 – South Africa adopted its post-Apartheid constitution. The breathtaking freedoms declared in this document made South Africa the first nation to bar discrimination based on sexual orientation.

[humblequestvinyl]

halloween

HALLOWEEN, FISHER!BROTHERS X SISTER!READER

APART OF THE ‘WE’LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER SERIES’ 

SUMMARY: when it’s susannah fishers favorite holiday, the youngest fisher tries to honor her mother, but it’s impossible when she feels haunted by it.

inspired by halloween by noah kahan

◀ ⏸ ▶

lowercase intentional! wc: 1.7k

warnings: implied/written in age (because it is the youngest fisher) HEAVY drinking, fem love interest! a breakdown, mentions of death, swearing

a/n: HELLOOO this is connecting to the view between villages blurb, so if you haven’t read that pls do! if you don’t no worries either!! loving this series so far omgomgomg also this desc isnt great (sorry) & BACK TO DECEMBER TV IN THE TRAILER IM LOSING IT.

IT WAS LESS THAN A WEEK LATER WHEN SUSANNAH’S FAVORITE HOLIDAY CAME,

and it would be the first year the fisher siblings wouldn’t be able to spend it with her.

it was late in the afternoon as y/n sat down on the beach, sipping on the only beer conrad had picked up the entire time they had been in cousin’s, waiting for her brothers to come back from the store.

it had been over an hour since they had left, and throughout that entire time, Y/N had stayed in the same place, drifting off to a place she always feared. she had seen it happen to other people, and always heard about it but had never experienced it herself.

the girl broke out of her thoughts as she heard footsteps heading towards her, and her head snapped behind her, seeing conrad walking towards her with a beer in his hand.

“is that for me?”she questioned as he sat next to her, and he chuckled before shaking his head and taking a sip of it. “you’re not even supposed to be drinking that.”

“maybe don’t leave beer where the sixteen year old can get it.”y/n shrugged, before the two sat silently, with an understanding that’s how it had to be right now to even try and get through the girl.

conrad and y/n always understood each other. maybe it was because they both had aquarius sun’s, or it was conrad knew how y/n felt when she quit volleyball just because of their father. ruining the one thing she truly loved the most besides her mom and cousins beach.

the two watched as the waves crashed against the sand, and fizzled out, representing the feeling the two felt.

y/n always joked that when they were talking about what taylor swift songs represented them, he was the archer, and she was the one who was trying, while jeremiah a mirrorball.

the three fisher siblings; the one who never grew up, the one who got wasted like all of her potential, and the one who when they break, it's in a million pieces.

“what do you think belly, laurel and steven are doing right now?”y/n asked quietly after a while, and conrad chuckled, taking another sip of his beer before the two heard a voice behind them.

“laurel’s probably writing while belly’s with taylor, and steven i know for a fact is with their dad.”jeremiah spoke up, and y/n watched as he sat next to her, sipping a can of coke the fisher boys had picked up at the store.

“what are our plans for tonight?”jer questioned, and y/n looked back towards the water, with emptiness filling her.

“there’s a party going on down the shore at michael’s.”y/n spoke up, and she saw the look both of her brothers were giving her, knowing where she was talking about was some weird guy who was only popular because his parents had money.

“after last summer you still wanna go there?”conrad questioned, and y/n shrugged, not really caring as long as there was alcohol, “i’m going either way.”

the two fisher brothers watched as she stood up, and walked back towards the house with an empty bottle of beer in her hand, and more grief than anyone could have imagined.

“we’re both in agreement she’s not going to that party right?”jeremiah questioned, watching as conrad took a sip of his beer, before doing a quick nod.

“absolutely.”

—

SOMEHOW WITHOUT HER BROTHERS KNOWING, Y/N ENDED UP AT THE PARTY.

with a red solo cup in her hand, and shitty synth-pop music blaring through the speakers that were in the living room, the h/c felt like she had succeeded in her mission of escaping her brothers.

she was sick and tired of their worried looks, and them wanting her to be okay when in reality nothing was okay. it was in absolute shambles, and scattered everywhere in little shards, almost like a mirrorball.

memories that once glimmered and brought the girl so much joy, now stabbed her and opened up a new wound everytime she thought about it.

like dress shopping for the deb ball.

this year was supposed to be her year to do it. this was the year she was supposed to pick out her white dress, learn how to courtesy, how to have the proper manners, and to be escorted out and to dance with whoever she chose. as her mother always said, it was her turn to be ‘in bloom’.

instead, she felt like she was shriveled up and dead. she felt like those flowers that you had left out in the sun for too long, never gave any water to, and when you finally remembered that you had them, they were depressing looking, with the petals falling apart.

taking a sip of whatever alcohol she had in her cup, her nose scrunched as it burned going down, knowing this was a constant cycle of today. y/n didn’t know how many she had already, and she didn’t really care as long as it ended with her being passed out drunk later that night.

she had been there for almost two hours, and the room was already spinning on her. stumbling towards the kitchen, the girl finished her drink before going to pour another before blue eyes met hers, and she stopped.

“how many have you had already?”the girl in front of her questioned, and y/n placed the bottle of vodka down on the counter, and pursed her lips as she stayed silent for a few moments.

“who cares emerson.”y/n finally spoke up, watching as the girl in front of her pulled her brunette hair back into a low ponytail, just like she always did.

emerson scott. the girl from last summer y/n had spent as much time as she could with, when both girls weren’t working or at the beach. the girl who had shown up for her when others didn’t.

the girl she loved the most.

“well, obviously me.”emerson pulled the red solo cup away from the girl, and leaned on the counter, “i don’t want you to get alcohol poisoning.”

“yeah well i do.”y/n stated as emerson handed her a bottle of water to try and lessen the girls hangover, “at this point, i’d love it.”

“well too bad.”emerson told her, and y/n rolled her eyes, not really giving a shit on what the girl in front of her thought.

“will you let me take you home?”the brunette questioned, causing y/n to glare at the sixteen year old, not wanting to leave and go back to the beach house she was convinced was haunted.

“absolutely not.”y/n denied, before starting to walk away, but emerson was right by her side, “emerson i’m serious.”

“i know you are n/n.”emerson told the youngest fisher as she walked through the house to get towards the exit, and started to walk out, “if you’re going to leave can you at least let me get you ice cream or something?”

“why!”y/n threw her arms up in frustration, wanting nothing more than to be left alone and down her sorrows, “i’m not going home and i’m sure as hell not in the mood for you to say we’re not going back to my house and then we end up fucking there!”

“y/n,”emerson gently grabbed ahold of the girls hand, trying to make sure she didn’t stumble into the street in her drunken state, “i’m being serious. if you don’t want to go back we won’t. i wouldn’t lie about that.”

“everyone fucking says that!”the h/c cursed, as her bottom lip quivered, “first it was conrad who told me last summer that everything was fine, and dad just had to go on a trip on the fourth when in reality my parents were getting a divorce because my dad is a piece of shit!”

“next it was my dad who claims he’s not disappointed in me for quitting volleyball when every time he looks at me it’s filled with disappointment and makes me feel like a failure!”she yelled, ripping her hand away from emerson, as she continued on her rant, “finally it was mom who said that her cancer wasn’t back, but guess-fucking-what! she lied because now she’s six feet under in some cemetery in brighton!”

“i’m sick and tired of being lied to because everytime someone lies to me, it ends up going to shit!”she screamed, before a sob escaped her lips, and emerson wrapped the girl in a tight hug.

“i can’t do it anymore emmy.”the girl cried, clutching onto the brunette tightly, “i can’t continue being fucking lied to.”

it was awhile before the e/c girl sobs turned into cries, and those cries turned into whimpers, and emerson was able to get the girl into her car, with taylor swift playing softly in the background.

my tears ricochet started to play, and y/n looked out the window as emerson had started to drive away to god knows where, but y/n didn’t care. she watched as they exited out of cousin’s, and towards the city y/n adored so much.

boston.

the remaining fisher girl watched as a murder of crows flew over the skyline of boston as they entered it, and the city of boston reminded y/n of a ghost town. 

as they entered the city, presumably to just drive around and get the girl away from cousins, her eyes started to become heavy, and she slowly fell asleep as the sound of taylor swift’s voice reminded her of a soft lullaby.

emerson looked over at the girl, seeing her finally be relaxed since her mom had passed, and a small frown was placed on the blue eyed girl’s lips.

it wasn’t halloween, but the ghost of susannah fisher knew how to haunt y/n.

[more-sonorous]

crutchie morris and jack kelly's recipe for disaster (gmybw)

here, have thousands of words worth of crutchie watching a disaster unfold at the hands of jack kelly. gay pining and shenanigans ensue.

yes this is the same universe as the gmybw pieces but it is many years later! they're all in high school, and it's a bit of a time jump but i have so much fun writing davey into the group dynamic that i just had to skip around a bit-- so please enjoy.

also, TW FOR UNDERAGE DRINKING. minors who are reading this, do NOT do this. do not break the law, please! this is not to be tried at home.

additional tw for a mention of blood and a bigger mention of vomiting. i said shenanigans and yes i meant it. again PLEASE do not do this at home, i am NOT advertising underaged drinking do NOT DO IT DONT DO IT IM SERIOUS.

.....

In retrospect, Beer Night was born to be a shitshow. Somehow Crutchie had managed to be optimistic about it, but he considered his past self to be an idiot when he looked back at his own foolish hopes.

There were many reasons why he should’ve recognized Beer Night for the disaster that it was. The first reason was simple: it was Jack Kelly’s idea. Now, Jack was one of Crutchie’s two best friends in the whole world, and he loved the boy with his whole heart. However, if someone were to ask Crutchie if he trusted Jack’s judgement, or thought that any of his shenanigans were good ideas? Well, that was another story. He’d seen the disastrous outcomes of many Jack Kelly schemes before (see sneaking out of their group home using sheets tied into rope, or wearing a ‘if found, return to my gorgeous girlfriend’ shirt to meet his girlfriend’s rich father, or constantly unintentionally flirting with his best friend while in a relationship with said girlfriend whilst being totally unaware of it) and at his wise old age of sixteen-going-on-seventeen, Crutchie had learned to shoot down Jack Kelly schemes as quickly as they popped up in his pretty head. 

He did not shoot down Beer Night.

Second reason for disaster: Beer Night was born out of spite. Jack Kelly spite, to be more specific, which was not good. Jack had accompanied his girlfriend to a monthly tradition she shared with her best friends, Wine Night. Wine Night was classic rich kid shit– Kath and her two best friends Darcy and Bill plucked bottles from their parents cellars, ordered cute charcuterie boards and dressed in semi-formal clothing. They’d spend the evening tasting wine, pairing it with cheeses and crackers, and gossiping whilst watching high-brow French films and discussing classic literature. Not an activity Crutchie would’ve taken Jack to, but he admired Katherine’s balls.

Jack had shown up in cargo shorts and a henley (he was very handsome, bless him, but the common sense department was lacking at times) and proceeded to wreck the night by subtly teasing Darcy and Bill’s wealth and interjecting little bits of horrific knowledge about his abusive childhood. Because he found Darcy and Bill’s faces funny, and they did not let him joke about his backstory like Race and Crutchie did. Plus, Jack Kelly was well known for his hatred of wine. Why he would even agree to go to wine night was beyond Crutchie’s understanding– but the fact remained that it was a shitty time for him, and Jack left in just as bad of a mood as his girlfriend did. He had a whole ‘eat the rich’ thing going for about a day after that before he remembered that his girlfriend was, in fact, one of the rich– it was a mess.

So, the second reason was spite. Jack created Beer Night as his own joking middle finger to Wine Night. That was never a good reason for an alcohol-fueled hangout to be born. 

Third disaster reason? The guest list. 

Jack, staying true to Wine Night source material, invited three other people to his Beer Night. Crutchie, Racetrack, and Davey. Now this was a guest list that could make mothers cry. Not because of Crutchie, of course— he considered himself to be incredibly responsible and he had a lot of friends, so he assumed he was fun to be around. People liked he stupid jokes. That was good. Jack and Race alone with alcohol were perfectly fine. Jack and Race together with alcohol were like two toddlers raised from the fiery pits of hell. Crutchie had spent countless evenings looking after their shitfaced asses and countless mornings caring for their ear-splitting hangovers. When they got drunk together, their already reckless brains became even more stupid. The wildest things could happen. If they got too drunk at Beer Night (which wasn’t the original plan, but neither Jack nor Race had stellar self control), iminent horrors had the potential to spawn. Then there was Davey. Sweet, almost perfect Davey. Truly, Davey was too good for their ragtag little gang of idiots. He was loving, understanding, gentle, family-oriented– a genuinely lovely personality with stellar grades and extracurriculars to match. He was the type of boy that parents wanted their children to bring home. Responsible, loyal, uptight. Though Davey could be anxious and shy and sometimes a bit standoffish, all of that was part of his charm. Their friend group adopted him remarkably quickly and soon everyone saw Davey as someone that needed protecting, despite his dry, sarcastic humor and his sufficient ability to stand up for himself. He was the most sheltered person they’d ever met, and he had a serious babe-in-the-woods vibe that wasn’t helped by his wide green eyes. They gave him a deceptively sweet look, but he could be mean if he wanted to. Normally he just didn’t want to.

Of course, you combine an undeniably gorgeous mess of a boy like Jack Kelly with an anxious gay boy like David Jacobs and the only result is disaster. They’re both sort of irresistible in their own way– Jack with his endless charisma and effortless good looks and Davey with his little smiles and comforting presence– so they were naturally drawn to each other. Jack (supposedly straight as a ruler with the girlfriend to prove it) takes the kid under his wing, Davey falls in love hard and fast, and the entire friend group is suddenly subjected to off-the-charts levels of pathetic gay pining.

Everyone loved Davey. Crutchie included. But when someone is well-loved in their friend group and they say ‘what’s a body shot’ during lunch with a wide-eyed, totally innocent expression? Well, they get taken to one of Racetrack’s famous raves the very next Saturday. That is exactly what happened to sweet Davey Jacobs.

In short, he… he did not mix with alcohol well either. That was another story. 

Anyways, a guess list with a 75% disaster rate around alcohol was obviously contributing to the Beer Night recipe for disaster. You add drunk Davey into the mix of drunk Race and drunk Jack and Jesus Christ, why hadn’t Crutchie shut this down? Why did he ever agree to Beer Night?

Beer Night started off good, to give Jack some credit. The four of them hung out without alcohol very often, whether they were sprawled out doing homework in Jack’s bedroom or goofing off at the public park. They had a good dynamic. Davey was usually level-headed and he had a remarkable talent for reeling Jack in, so he was really nice to have around. Maybe that’s why Crutchie had been so falsely optimistic. They’d been hanging out for months. He liked hanging out with the guys. Things had the potential to be fun, right? 

Just four guys in Race’s ridiculously rich foster parents’ basement with two six packs of beer between them. That was three beers per person– but Davey had vowed not to drink three, and it took Race and Jack more than four beers to get dangerously shitfaced. They had a massive TV to play Mario Kart on and all the extra cash they could dream of thanks to Race’s folks– plush couches, comfy armchairs, fuzzy throw blankets– it was a teenage boy’s dream. Deceptively nice.

To kick off the night, Jack climbed onto one of the armchairs with a beer in hand, smiling that remarkably bright smile of his. Davey was obviously enchanted, staring up at him with stars in those expressive green eyes. “Hello, boys, and thank ya’ very much for bein’ here on this fine evening! I want to take a moment ‘n welcome you all to our inagri– fuck, Davey, what’s the word?”

“Inaugural.” Davey corrected with a smile, fondness lacing his tone. 

Race grinned in a ‘oh-my-god-he’s-stupidly-in-love’ manner at Crutchie, who glared at him in a ‘cut-it-the-fuck-out’ sort of manner. Davey was marginally less oblivious than Jack, and if he noticed them grinning about his crush, he’d be hurt. Hurting Davey’s feelings would be like kicking a puppy, and Crutchie Morris was not a puppy kicker. 

“Yes! Our inaugural Beer Night!” Jack raised his beer triumphantly and his meager crowd erupted into cheers. Jack was an excellent public speaker. Crutchie could even imagine him rallying hundreds of starving children to do something dangerous like, maybe, strike against a millionaire in another life. “As you all know, Beer Night is my personal response to my girlfriend’s very lame event, Wine Night. We’ll be keeping Kath updated to show her just how much cooler Beer Night is. They eat little cubes of cheese with their wine, so we’re gonna have fuckin’ pizza with our beer! They watch boring movies, so we play video games! They discuss yacht club gossip, we discuss– I dunno, cool shit! This, my friends, is the high life. No caviar, no stupid expenses… just four guys in a basement, chilling the fuck out! Beer Night Supremacy!” 

“Beer Night Supremacy!” They all echoed through laughter, as Race popped the caps of beers for everyone else and Davey carefully opened one of the pizza boxes. Jack grinned and hopped onto the couch, walking across the cushions and stepping over Racer’s lap to squeeze in next to Davey. He slung an arm over the back of the couch and Crutchie watched poor Davey take a breath and mentally reboot, nervously biting his slice of cheese pizza as he geared up for the night. That should’ve been the first sign of disaster, but hey– Crutchie was an optimist, and it was hard to be negative with garlic knots and brownies sitting in front of you. 

It was actually good fun for at least an hour after that. They ate, played video games, made stupid jokes and shared stupid stories. Crutchie could admit that some levels of drunkenness were really fun.

He liked to have a beer and quiet some of his more anxious thoughts, and he sort of liked the heavy-eyed, lazy feeling that took over him. Being around other tipsy people was especially fun, because no one’s brains were quite working right and everyone knew it. You could have the stupidest conversations and treat them like the most serious thing, and laugh about it in the morning without a hangover. Tipsy Davey was also a treat to be around. His anxiety seemed to drain away, leaving him ten times less rigid than usual, smiley and easy. There were three levels of drunk Davey, and tipsy Davey was a safe and pleasant one that Crutchie thoroughly enjoyed. 

Unfortunately, disaster was imminent. It was bound to happen– Beer Night was born to be a complete and utter shitshow. Crutchie was just glad it didn’t happen sooner. First, the pizza disappeared. Then, Race shot into the basement with a bottle of strawberry flavored vodka in his hand. Then, in the fucking middle of a conversation, while Davey was in the fucking middle of a sentence, sloppy-drunk Jack grabbed Davey’s chin and smiled lazily. 

“Dave, anyone ever told you how fuckin’ gorgeous your eyes are? I wanna draw ‘em sometime.”

Davey had been doing so well. So very well. But then Crutchie watched the gay panic set in as big green eyes stared at Jack like he’d just recited a particularly beautiful love confession and oh, it was heart wrenching. He didn’t even blame Davey for ripping himself out of Jack’s touch and popping the cap of another beer. If he was eyes-deep in unrequited love, he’d be drinking, too.

Unfortunately Davey Jacobs was a lightweight. Race was going wild on the vodka, too. Soon he’d turn into an impish fairy creature and start asking everybody to play poker or do stupid dares. Jack, strangely enough, had not touched the vodka– but he was still causing problems because he would not stop flirting with poor Davey– Crutchie almost wanted to slap him or separate the two. 

When Davey entered the second level of drunkenness, Crutchie knew there was no saving Beer Night. Race had already called two of his exes and Jack had actually run one of his hands through Davey’s hair. Things were falling apart fast. 

Angry Drunk Davey was step two, and he was a terrifying sight to behold.

When Davey got really and truly drunk, he got really and truly angry. Whereas Jack and Race were just generally chaotic and random in their drunkenness, Davey had three predictable stages. Stage two was a fair departure from his normal calm and collected self. He was prone to ranting and shouting like some sort of hellfire and brimstone evangelical pastor, and by the time Crutchie struggled down the stairs with bottled waters in his arms, Davey was in the midst of his third passionate sermon of the night. He stood on the coffee table, shirt half unbuttoned, curls beyond rumpled (thanks to Jack) and face flushed, gesticulating wildly.

Race was watching him raptly, obviously drunk off his ass, and Jack was sprawled out on the couch grinning up at Davey like the stupid, oblivious dope he was. Crutchie kind of wanted to murder them all.

“And that is exactly why heteronormativity is so fucking harmful to American youths!” Davey shouted, raising his hands up as if he was shouting directly to Jewish God. “I mean, why is it just assumed that straight is the default? Why do people ask me if I’m sure when I tell them I’m gay? Why is it that a straight boy that’s never kissed a girl in his life is totally normal, but if I tell someone I’ve never actually dated a guy, they tell me I should still experiment with women? I don’t want to experiment with women!”

“Hell yeah!” Race shouted, lazily pumping his fist as if pushing it through molasses. “Hell yeah, Davey, you shouldn’t have to touch tits if you don’t want to!”

“I don’t wanna touch tits at all!” Davey practically roared in response, holding both hands out like  drunk, Jewish Richard Nixon. “And I shouldn’t hafta! I wanna touch men! Goddamnit, niech geje będą gejami!” (Let gays be gay!)

Jack laughed softly and leaned forward, gently tugging on the hem of Davey’s pant leg. “Hey, Dave, maybe you oughta slow down for the night, yeah? I think Crutch has some w–”

“No!” He reared around to face Jack, pointing one accusatory finger at him. “Fuck the straights!”

Race leapt up from his seat on the couch, impassioned and haphazardly swinging his vodka around. “Yeah, fuck ‘em!” 

“Gay rights! I have the gay rights to drink as much goddamn beer as I want!” In a show of his gay rights, he plucked a beer from the pack and tried to open it with his bare hands, lips curled in a snarl. Jack, bless his heart, looked positively dumbfounded and concerned by this change in demeanor. “I also have the gay rights to ask you to open this beer for me, Jack Kelly!”

“Nah, man, no can do.” Jack said very carefully, holding his hands up in a form of surrender. 

Davey blinked at him, his dark brows twisting in an almost comical display of rage. “Fine! Racetrack, give me vodka!”

“Yes, President Jacobs, vodka for the gay president!” Race crooned, and Crutchie quickly intercepted the bottle just as Jack worked in tandem to crack Davey’s beer open. Christ, this was a mess already. Race shouted his offense and threw himself onto Crutchie, moving like a wet noodle. Crutchie tugged the blonde down onto the couch and shared a terrified look with Jack, who for once in his life, looked concerned about the drunk people. Or maybe he was just concerned about Davey.

Davey took a large gulp of his drink and leapt back onto the coffee table. He brandished his beer, eyes glimmering with drunkenness. “Fuck heteronormativity in America, and fuck the straights! Gay rights will always win!”

“And bisexual rights!” Race crowed, still curled into Crutchie’s side and fighting for his vodka. “I want rights too, big boy.”

“Rights you shall have, bisexual boy.” He pointed his beer towards Race. Then he pointed it towards Crutchie. “And you too, my fellow Jewish brother. I love you… deeply.” Crutchie couldn’t hold back his own giggle and he held up a fist of solidarity, brandishing his Magen David necklace to Davey.

Davey grinned and gave a dramatic bow, tipping forward dangerously. Jack was standing in a matter of seconds, looping his arms around Davey’s waist and tugging him off the table. Davey let out a noise somewhere between a whine and some Polish word. He dug his nails into Jack’s arms and kicked his feet fruitlessly, but Jack had gotten very strong since living with Medda, so Davey (already scrawny when sober and coordinated) stood no chance. 

Honestly, Jack really had gotten strong. Fourteen year old Jack would look at seventeen year old Jack with serious surprise and delight. He’d filled out and then started hitting the gym, which led to some very impressive muscles. Crutchie was very proud of him. He was also very proud of Jack for being responsible for once, tugging Davey onto the couch. 

“You need to sit, Mr. President.” Jack’s voice was soft and careful, and Crutchie wished he could pay more attention to their exchange but he was currently fighting off an increasingly agitated Racetrack. 

“You don’t tell me what’ta’do, Mr…. Mr. Beautiful face.” Davey sassed, wagging a finger in Jack’s face, and taking another swig of beer right after. 

Jack laughed, soft and low, and carefully cupped Davey’s cheek in his hand. It was a fleeting touch, but it seemed to murder Angry Davey on the spot. “Davey. Sit.”

Davey blinked. Slow. “Okay.”

Jesus Fucking Christ.

They were all a veritable mess. Race and Davey got into a very deep conversation about capitalism while Jack repeatedly begged Crutchie to let him try doing tricks with one of his crutches, his drunkenness showing now that Davey was safely seated on the couch, getting drunker by the second. 

Crutchie sort of wanted to die. He was fine with looking after two drunk idiots– but two drunk idiots and a distressed drunk gay boy? Not okay. He was feeling out of his depth. 

Thankfully Jack and Race started up a round of Lego Star Wars and Race sobered up, devouring an entire bowl of liberally buttered popcorn. That left Davey as the only disaster, and he was only getting worse as Jack continued to mindlessly flirt. He kept sending Davey these private smiles and showering him with compliments, and he even kept his left hand firmly planted on Davey’s lower thigh throughout the entire Lego Star Wars game. Jack was so fucking oblivious sometimes, it literally baffled Crutchie. 

How he managed to ignore the fact that he was sending Davey into a drunken stupor was beyond Crutchie’s mortal comprehension, but eventually Davey was finishing his fourth beer and stumbling into the feared third and final stage– Flirty Drunk Davey.

At Race’s rave, this had been a serious problem and Kath had called in Crutchie for help. Flirty Drunk Davey was such a far departure from rational, anxious Davey that it was almost funny. It would’ve been funny if he wasn’t flirting with every single dark-skinned boy he came across, twirling his curls through his fingers if they had a pretty smile or cornrows braided like Jack’s. During that rave, Crutchie really wished that Davey was ugly, because he was far too successful when it came to flirting.

He kept slipping off with random strangers and sending Kath into panic mode, and they kept finding him making out with these random ass boys in secluded corners, clinging with his eyes dilated and his face red as a rose. One of the bastards had even tried to take Davey home, and the little minx was actually down to go with him. Crutchie eventually managed to wrangle Davey into a bathroom and force him to drink water, but the chaos of Flirty Davey had left Crutchie scarred for life. 

Thankfully he was more subdued when there was only one option, and it was the real thing. All of his inhibitions seemed to fall away as he let himself cling to Jack specifically, and Drunk Jack was a slut for physical affection (or maybe just a slut for Davey) so he dared not push a clinging Davey off his lap. 

Jack was not helping to discourage him and Racetrack thought it was the funniest thing in the world, so Crutchie was forced to watch in abject horror as Jack ran his hands through Davey’s hair and Davey melted into him. 

Beer Night was a disaster. Just when Crutchie thought things were fine, Flirty Davey unmoving and blissed out in Jack’s lap, Race caused yet another disaster. He let out a furious string of curses and practically leapt onto Crutchie’s bad leg when he stepped on a beer bottle, shattering the thing beneath his sock foot. Crutchie watched with distant horror as crimson stains began to leak onto Race’s Phantom Of The Opera socks.

“Oh, fuck.” Race groaned, tilting his head back. “I liked these socks!”

“Hey– Jackie look Jackie–” Davey supplied unhelpfully, nuzzling his nose against Jack’s neck. “‘S a piece’a glass in Tracerack’s foot.”

“God, he’s wasted. Why did we let him get wasted?” Racetrack whined, hopping around. Jack was already close to laughter because of Davey but he totally lost it at the sight of his friend hobbling, and soon Race and Crutchie were laughing too, because why did they ever think they could produce anything that would rival a Katherine Plumber Pulitzer event?

That woman was far too brilliant.

She was probably laughing at their failure somewhere far across the city, sequestered in her mansion and wrapped in furs and silks. That mental image made Crutchie laugh even harder (sue him, he was still a bit tipsy), and he actually had trouble getting to his feet and stumbling into the basement bathroom to fetch a first aid kit. They’d used it before. Jack and Race were always idiots, and they were always doing idiotic things to get themselves hurt.

He giggled his way through wrapping Race’s foot and they all giggled their way through multiple shitty rounds of various video games, slowly crawling back to sobriety. Well– it was a crawl for Jack, Race, and Crutchie. Unfortunately their friend group seemed to have a penchant for putting Davey in bad situations with alcohol.

He hadn’t spoken a word in at least thirty minutes, curled up in Jack’s lap and seemingly content, when he suddenly lurched to his feet. Crutchie knew instantly, just by how pale he was and the sweat beading on his brow, that he’d had one too many and things were about to get bad.

Jack, as if drawn by a magnet, leaned forward in his seat as his eyes followed his friend. “Dee, man, you good?”

He received no response as Davey tumbled into the bathroom. All three of them were on their feet within moments, their giggles dead and buried, only to be replaced by the sounds of Davey retching. Jack ran to his aid but Crutchie and Race both had to limp over to the door, each of them hobbling with an injured leg. Once they leaned against the doorframe and stopped laughing at themselves, they were greeted with an almost confounding sight.

Davey was retching into the toilet, gripping the seat so hard that his already pale knuckles turned white. What was shocking was Jack's demeanor. One of his dark hands was threaded through Davey’s hair, holding his fluffy curls away from his face. Jack rubbed rhythmic circles onto the other boy’s back, and he spoke in a soft and low voice that Race and Crutchie seldom heard from him. He whispered little affirmations, some in English, some in Spanish, and the two boys shared a bewildered look.

“Christ.” Race muttered, dragging a hand through his own blonde hair. “Who killed Jack and replaced him with this guy?”

“No idea.” 

He wrinkled his nose and scoffed. “Last time I threw up, Jack pushed me into a bush and filmed the whole fucking thing. Dave’s getting the royal treatment, I guess.”

Crutchie was just as confused as Race was. Sure, Jack had comforted kids at the group home through a stomach bug or two, but that was years ago. This was incredibly different. Jack was looking at Davey– an honest to God, downright mess of a boy– like he was in love with him, even as he was spilling his guts into the toilet. Jack’s eyes were the real giveaway. He just looked infatuated. Crutchie had only ever seen him look quite so enamored with Katherine. It felt almost like they were intruding on something private, considering the fact that Jack literally had a girlfriend.

“Could someone get Davey some water?” 

When Race hobbled back into the bathroom and dropped the water into Jack’s lap, Jack was preoccupied with gently passing a wad of toilet paper over Davey’s mouth and nose. Davey’s cheek was pressed against the toilet seat and he was staring at Jack like Jack was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Maybe, to Davey, he was.

Shithead that he was, Race grinned impishly as he hoisted himself up onto the bathroom counter to sit. “God, Jack, you are such a good boyfriend.”

“I know.” Jack replied easily, grinning like an idiot.

Crutchie watched Davey’s awed expression crumble. Within moments he was even paler than before and throwing up even harder than the first time around. Crutchie couldn’t hold back a wince at the sound of it– it was one of those vomits where you felt like you were choking on the stuff, unable to get a breath in, and Davey was actually sobbing with it. Race at least had the decency to look halfway guilty but Jack had only turned up his stupid flirting.

“Davey, baby, it’s gonna be okay. Just get it all out.” He murmured, gently scratching his fingers against Davey’s scalp. Davey made a particularly unbecoming noise and Crutchie knew his hangover was going to be positively murderous. “There you go. You got it.”

“I c– I can’t breathe–” He sobbed and gagged at the same time (impressive).

“Naw, cielito, you’re okay.” Jack brushed his thumb over Davey’s cheekbone and Crutchie really, really felt like he was intruding at the sound of Davey crying. “It’s okay. I’ve gotcha. I’m right here, ‘m gonna make sure you’re okay.”

Race seemed to have the exact same idea– this had turned into something very personal very quickly– and the two of them quietly, carefully exited the bathroom to the sound of Davey throwing his guts up and Jack shushing him like he was the most precious thing on earth. Both Race and Crutchie flopped onto the couch, feeling far too sober for boys who had been drinking less than an hour prior. After a very prolonged silence, in which the sound of vomiting devolved into the sound of quiet sobbing, Race carefully picked up a water bottle and raised it reverently.

“Beer Night.”

Crutchie rolled his eyes and lifted his own water in response. “Fucking Beer Night.”

[leprosycock]

pls educate/ advertise f0b / peterick yaoi to me. i know nothing about it but i want to.

uhhhhh okay this is gonna be really fucking long and deranged because i've been into them for like? nine years and i promise you from the bottom of my heart that nothing i will tell you is exaggerated or made up, their relationship really is this twisted and intense and insane. a lot of this is gonna be under the cut for obvious reasons

faII out boy are officially formed in the summer of 2001 when p4trick stump overhears joe tr0hman talking about music in a boarders bookstore and feels the need to jump in and correct him because patrick is extremely pretentious and insane about music, having grown up around it due to his blues-performing dad. joe is personal friends with pete w3ntz, a legend in the chicago music scene that patrick has personally admired for ages. joe invites patrick to come try out for a band that pete wants to start on the side next to his other projects, something just for fun. patrick intends on just becoming a drummer- until he meets pete. then his life is changed forever.

to really put things in perspective, pete is 22 years old and patrick is barely sixteen when they meet. pete is an unstable college kid with unmedicated bipolar disorder and kind of a huge sex freak who's very mean to girls and patrick is a loser virginal high school kid. pete is short and covered in tattoos and his hair is buzzed and he has whiskey-colored eyes and bright big teeth and a smirky smug pouty mouth. patrick is shorter and pasty and a little chubby and he has choppy strawberry blond hair and a big pink mouth and big baby blue eyes. both pete and joe show up to patrick's house to hear him audition and patrick is wearing shorts, black knee-high socks, and an argyle sweater. we know this because pete has repeated this story of their first meeting many, many times.

patrick insists that he wants to play drums and has never thought about singing before, but pete bullies and pokes and prods until patrick finally gives in and sings for him and joe as long as pete promises to be the actual frontman and lets him sink into the background because he's unbelievably shy and insecure. pete is immediately taken with patrick and calls him "the kid with the voice" and a "golden boy" and he gives him a knit cap so he can hide his face in front of the microphone. patrick is wearing this same hat on the cover of their first official debut album, take this to your grave.

their tentative first album, evening out with your girlfriend, is a rushed slapjob full of embarrassingly delightful fruity pop punk hits that patrick today is ruthlessly ashamed of. this was recorded with two other former members, tj and chris, who eventually leave in pursuit of other projects that they believe will be more successful. they continue to be friends with the other boys for a while until pete tries to convince chris' girlfriend to use sex dice with him and this causes a rift and leads to chris cutting pete off and, by extension, the band. after these two leave, pete brings in a permanent drummer, andy hurley. andy is a pacifist and a vegan and has a voice like a kitten and is an all-around good guy and well-rounded adult who's around pete's age. they record take this to your grave. during the summer, pete takes his pet high schoolers and his fellow hardcore music scene buddy around on tour in joe's mom's shitty old van so the boys don't have to miss school. (or, more accurately, he has joe do it, because pete does not have a valid driver's license at the time.)

one of the singles on tttyg is called saturday. pete and patrick write a lot of lyrics together for this album and saturday is another joint effort. here are some lyrics:

and here is the description for the music video:

The video features all of the band, but particularly frontman Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz. Pete is killing the other band members and their friends, leaving a Queen of Hearts playing card with each of the bodies. Patrick is a detective tracking the "killer". During the bridge of the song, Patrick and Pete are seen in the same position, sitting on a bed with a wall of pictures of Pete's victims in the background, suggesting that Patrick and Pete may be the same person. In the end, Pete kills Patrick, but because Pete and Patrick turn out to be the same person, Pete dies as well.

they perform this song at the end of every show and they have since 2002. pete spent their entire tour in 2015 grabbing his dick during this song for some reason ?? idk but i have pictures:

during the tttyg era, pete and patrick become VERY fast and VERY intense best friends. patrick is extremely temperamental and impatient and has a short fuse and pete has routine breakdowns and is a general violent, obnoxious asshole who likes to torment patrick for fun, so a lot of their interactions tend to ignite like throwing a match on gasoline. he once famously strangled pete with a gas pump, has thrown punches at him in the studio, and cursed him out over small disagreements. for those curious, this feisty little sweaty golden firecracker of a boy looked like this:

just so you know what we're dealing with.

the rest of them looked like this ^ andy, pete, patrick, and joe respectively. patrick did that gay little wrist flick in photoshoots a lot for some reason

it's important to note that pete was a genuine creep around patrick and was VERY WEIRD WITH HIM. during this van days era, pete tried to carve a peephole into his bedroom door when they all shared a shitty apartment together in roscoe village and never left his side. he talks about him frequently on livejournal and their website and i will quote some of these incidents here: 04/16/05: patricks birthday is tommorrow. i am in love with him so give him presents. 06/09/05: when i want patrick to sing in my ear i call him on the phone and he does it 06/16/05: that kid is my best friend and the rest of the world could blow up and fall out boy can break up and he still will be 10/11/05: i dreamt him. q&a incidents from the official fob website:

pete fucking adores this kid with everything in him. patrick is routinely frustrated with pete and his inability to grow up, but he's still just as maddeningly in love and still maintains a sense of hero worship for him and considers him a tragic figure that needs to be protected. they become very codependent.

during van days, they record and release an acoustic album called my heart will always be the b side to my tongue. they also release a dvd called release the bats, which is a hideous nightmare clusterfuck involving a lot of pete doing really gross shit for attention such as vomiting on the floor, pissing in garbage cans, and hurting himself and his friends alongside showcasing some of their live shows and performances with other friends in fueled by ramen, a borderline incestuous record label where everyone knows each other and is constantly collabing and doing shows together. included on this dvd is a short film that pete and patrick make called bedussey. they film this while sharing a dirty disgusting mattress in an even smaller apartment than the last during their writing sessions. it's fucking awful, watch it

just before the release of their second studio album, pete overdoses on ativan in a best buy parking lot while hallelujah plays on the radio. the first person he calls is patrick, who doesn't pick up, and then he finally tries his mom and his doctor. he writes two songs about this, 7 minutes in heaven and hum hallelujah. he also talks about this incident in his book, grey, but that comes much later. not terribly long after this, his nudes get leaked and it's ambiguous for a while as to who posts them, but it's theorized that it was actually chris or a friend of his. i can't honestly remember how much of this was confirmed. pete's life is surrounded by tragedy and flashbulbs constantly popping in his eyes and it's a mix of him bringing it on himself and not finding the help he needs and having terrible, terrible luck in love and in himself.

during this time, he's in an incredibly twisted and unhealthy relationship with a seventeen year old named jeanae white. she cheats on him five million times and vise-versa and they're very mean to each other. she also plays a pivotal role in his book later on. they break up for good in 2006. there's also a vague theory that he had a brief fling with mikey way in 2004 which is referred to as "the summer of like" by those invested. it may very well be true but i couldn't give a fuck about that if i tried; i'm a peterick loyalist. he marries ashlee simpson in 2008 (most likely due to her unplanned pregnancy, even though he was pretty in love with her at the time) and has a baby boy named bronx with her. during this era, patrick is in a committed relationship with a girl named anna who eventually cheats on him and it tears him apart.

jumping back a bit, from under the cork tree is their third official studio album (if you count b side, which i do) and it contains a lot of very interesting music.

the original lyric was meant to be "just friends" and for some reason, patrick changed it to "best friends" in the final cut. the name of this song is 'i've got a dark alley and a bad idea that says you should shut your mouth (summer song)'. pete LOVES to use the idea of summer in his music, which is so interesting, because fall out boy's first tour was in the summer, he and patrick have spent the fourth of july in a beach house together (REMEMBER THIS), and their biggest projects have been produced over summers. it's also worth mentioning that pete has kissed patrick on the neck more than once during shows. even more worth mentioning that pete is REALLY fucking clingy with patrick on stage.

^ they sing this at each other. i don't really know what else to say

their next album, infinity on high, is slightly more artsy and, in my opinion, a fucking masterpiece. one of the most valuable tracks on this album is g.i.n.a.s.f.s. (gay is not a synonym for shitty) and i will explain why

"trade baby blues for wide eyed browns" alongside literally walking in someone else's shoes and physically trying to become them or embodying them is just following a theme that pete and patrick have been portraying for years, about how the two of them are inherently the same person, two sides of the same coin. pete says they experience cryptophasia, an implicit, intimate language that can only be used by twins. their next album is even titled folie a deux, "the madness of two". pete later writes about a character named martin (patrick's irl middle name) in grey, who he talks about saving the main character's (pete's) life on the roof of a hotel. "some nights it gets so bad i almost pick up the phone" = pete has said multiple times that patrick has sang to him on the phone to calm him down or help him fall asleep because patrick's voice really is that healing for pete. also possibly another reference to pete's suicide attempt and how his call to patrick failed ?

lastly, here's a quote from pete's livejournal in 05 when he was babbling about patrick:

"i know i am sal and i feel damn lucky to have the wind blowing in the thru the windows as he keeps us at 80mph. make no mistake, there is a difference between a parlor trick and true blue magic. i will remember this til the day i die."

fuck you

2007-2008 is full of massive, massive drama. alongside pete's ongoing war with the media and his almost immediate marital issues with ashlee, he's ALWAYS fighting with patrick inside and outside the studio, both physically and verbally. the band is constantly getting called sellouts and posers and were heckled very badly during the tours they did to promote folie a deux. it's kind of the beginning of the end.

for folie, pete writes a song called what a catch donnie. this is a ballad that pete writes from patrick's perspective that he is very, very nervous to show to him and almost doesn't. showing him something so heartfelt and vulnerable is dangerous given the current nature of their relationship. this is that song.

the music video stars patrick as a sea captain who's lost and lonely and trying to get home and he's eventually rescued by many of his irl close friends through fueled by ramen. but pete never appears.

after the round of tours for fad ends, they release a greatest hits album called believers never die and the coffin lid starts to slide closed. the band is well and truly dissolving; the reception for fad was very poor and miserable and pete and patrick truly cannot work together anymore and both joe and andy are tired of trying to put up with them. pete tells the boys he's going to leave and the breakup is mutual, to say the least. pete has his head shaven on stage as a ritual of mourning during 'saturday'. pete says in interviews that he thinks his name and his marriage and all the drama that saturates his life became a hindrance to the band.

fob is on hiatus from 2009 to 2013. during this time, pete forms the band black cards and seeks out a female vocalist specifically because he doesn't want to "replace patrick". he writes grey, opens nightclubs, divorces ashlee, abuses prescription drugs, and wants to die. patrick loses a bunch of weight and produces a solo pop album called soul punk. it has a very poor reception and he's bullied and tormented by fans who go to his shows just to tell him he sucks and he wants to die just as badly as pete does. he also gets married, but whatever

he bleaches his hair and dresses like this the whole tour because he's a massive faggot:

i have this whole theory about how his song run dry is about gay sex. a lot of the album is about infidelity too. he claims that this is because it's a "concept album" but it .. really kind of isn't. patrick is not very good at lyrics. (SOMETIMES. we'll come back to this too.)

pete and patrick do not talk to each other for a bulk of the hiatus. pete says that the hiatus felt like a breakup and hurt just as badly. closer to the end of this painful spell, pete calls patrick to say "i helped buy your house and now you don't even know my kid, that's messed up" and they have to learn how to be friends again. there are vague statements from the band about how they had a series of work meetings before seriously discussing the idea of reuniting. patrick also sends pete a postcard, telling him he has music he wants to show him if he's willing to see it.

in 2013, out of fucking nowhere, like a couple weeks after pete assures the media that fall out boy will never reform, they drop an album called save rock and roll and the band is back for good. as they release this album, they also release a massive and incredible series of eleven music videos for the entire album called the young blood chronicles. essentially, fall out boy plays a group called the members of the faith and they have to essentially defend music from courtney love, who plays a nazi-esque dictator leading a group of leather-clad women who want to establish a dystopia where music doesn't exist. music = faith. the women steal patrick away and put a demon in him and chop his hand off and he turns evil and starts to murder the rest of the band, including pete.

the most important track on this album is miss missing you.

pete wrote a good chunk of the lyrics for this album, as he is wont to do (this changes later on but it's still mostly pete for now), but this song is all patrick. this was a song he wrote for soul punk, but he never recorded it because, in his words, "it sounded too much like a fall out boy song". this particular installment in the ybc involves solely pete and patrick, separated from the rest of the band after joe and andy have left. this entire music video is about patrick trying to kill pete and struggling to do so, at war with his own humanity that keeps slipping through the cracks. pete has said that this is his favorite music video that the band has ever made.

relevant quotes:

"pete's my best friend. i was the best man at his wedding, i love that man to death. i'd take a bullet for him."

"[patrick is] probably my best friend in the whole world. this is one of the only people in the world that i would take a bullet for."

also! summer! summer summer summer! summer never dies!!!

2013-2014 are essentially a honeymoon phase. fob do tons of interviews, immediately make plans for a brand new album to follow srar up with, and they record an insane ep on a whim called pax am days. they do it while ridiculously drunk. it's REALLY good and SOOOO underrated and some of the most interesting music they've ever made. pete and patrick record a commentary track for the ybc. they're best friends again- admittedly less physically clingy, but they're older and more grown up and pete is more secure in his relationship with patrick. they're easygoing and comfortable and they love being around each other again and they're irrevocably in love.

late 2014-early 2015 birth their next album, american beauty/american psycho. i have a lot of emotional attachment to it because i was old enough to witness this release in real time and this was the height of my obsession. there are a LOT of fascinating things to pick apart in this album, but here are my favorites (tumblr won't let me add more than 30 images per post for some reason ?? i didn't know there was a limit but alright. Sure):

And in the end I'd do it all again I think you're my best friend Don't you know that the kids aren't al-, kids aren't alright? I'll be yours When it rains it pours Stay thirsty like before Don't you know that the kids aren't al-, kids aren't alright?

very obvious. the kids aren't alright was more or less confirmed to be about patrick and pete tended to get very lovey-dovey on stage whenever they performed it.

Do you, do-do you remember When we drove, we drove, drove through the night And we danced, we danced to Rancid And we danced, we danced And I confessed, confessed To you riding shot-gun Underneath the purple skies And we danced, we danced With windows down And we danced, we danced (Spin for you like your favorite records used to) (Spin for you like your favorite records) You were the song stuck in my head Every song that I've ever loved Play it again and again and again And you can get what you want but it's never enough And I spin for you like your favorite records used to And I spin for you like your favorite records used to

And I can’t, I can’t I can’t remember just how to forget Forget the way that we danced We danced to Danzig And we danced, we danced And when you ask, you ask me how I’m doing Like you know, you know how much better off I am And when we danced, we danced With windows down And we danced, we danced (Spin for you like your favorite records used to) (Spin for you like your favorite records)

favorite record is a big one because of pete's "patrick is an ipod full of my favorite songs" and "you ask me how i'm doing, like you know how much better off i am", a possible reference to the hiatus and their inability to communicate. i'd also like to firmly call back to pete's quote about driving with patrick and remembering that day until he dies.

and, lastly, fuck me:

I'll be as honest as you'll let me I miss your early morning company If you get me You are my favorite what if You are my best I'll never know And I'm starting to forget Just what summer ever meant to you What did it ever mean to you?

Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean any of it I just got too lonely, lonely, whoa In between being young and being right You were my Versailles at night

It was the fourth of July You and I were, you and I were fire, fire, fireworks That went off too soon And I miss you in the June gloom too It was the fourth of July You and I were, you and I were fire, fire, fireworks I said I'd never miss you, but I guess you never know May the bridges I have burned Light my way back home on the fourth of July

My 9 to 5 is cutting open old scars Again and again 'til I'm stuck in your head Had my doubts but I let them out You are the drought And I'm the holy water you have been without And all my thoughts of you They could heat or cool the room, and no Don't tell me you cried Oh, honey, you don't have to lie

-

I wish I'd known how much you loved me I wish I cared enough to know I'm sorry every song's about you The torture of small talk with someone you used to love

fuck!!!! fuck!!!!!!! summer again!!!! we're back to summer and back to the fourth of july i told you that would be important later. finding your way back home on the bridges you burned. memories of squandered youth trapped in these moments from years back and viewing someone as this grand monument worthy of worship and posterity. "my nine to five is cutting open old scars", pete's job, what he's been filling his life with for years, the music that he makes for a living. "i'm sorry every song's about you" = doesn't have to be literal. i believe it's more so about the idea that so many songs are about patrick and it's more tongue-in-cheek, despite how melancholy it is. i believe this song is a grand release for pete and a way for him to reconcile his feelings after years of confusion and longing and torment. but that's all just a theory

it's also worth mentioning twin skeleton's, which a lot of peterick truthers theorize is about pete and patrick having flings in hotels during tours throughout 06-09. it's not really definitive and it's very conspiratorial, but i do enjoy thinking about it

there's a three year gap between albums this time and then we get mania, which is by all accounts awful. people can defend this album all they want, but i think it's fucking terrible and patrick admits that it was rushed and he doesn't like it and he's right and he should be ashamed. i hate this album. it sounds terrible and there are very few good songs on it. they did a ton of promotion for this record and did a pop-up event where they had rooms you could go through based on each track of the album. they really, genuinely tried, but it was a miss. i was so frustrated with this album that i really don't have much to say about it peterick-wise, but this tour was the first time that i was actually able to see them live, so i can't really stay mad at them. they played thriller and opened with disloyal order <333 (which, by the way, is also about patrick, confirmed by pete himself! he said that "half-doomed and semi-sweet" is a literal description of himself and patrick.)

i do like young and menace, hold me tight or don't, and wilson, but none of them feel like fob. moving on.

they release the lake effect kid ep in 2018 and believers never die volume two. lake effect kid is a BEAUTIFUL fucking track and it made me actually ache for what mania could've been if they'd just returned to their roots. that'll come soon though.

Boomerang my head Back to the city I grew up in Again and again Forever a Lake Effect kid

Oh, I got the skyline in my veins Forget your nighttime Summer love on a gurney with a squeaky wheel And joke us, choke us 'Til Lakeshore Drive comes back into focus I just wanna come back to life Spark my crazy head to keep you warm at night

summer love :))) it never ends :))))))

2023 saw the release of so much (for) stardust. this is one of the strongest albums they've had since the hiatus and i really, really love a lot of it. as New as it feels, it's still very fall out boy at its core and it's full of heart and it's passionate and it's pure.

We were a hammer to the statue of David We were a painting you could never frame and You were the sunshine of my lifetime What would you trade the pain for?

^ love from the other side. pete has likened patrick to sunshine, sunsets, sunlight, and the color gold many, many times while talking about him. there are a lot of songs where he uses the sun as a metaphor for longing, something he can never reach because he's eternally eclipsed in shadow.

My moodboard is just pictures of you, but I'm not sad anymore So make no plans and none can be broken, no plans and none can be broken But I didn't take the love when I had the chance, but I swear I'm not sad anymore So make no plans and none can be broken, no plans and none can be broken

Do you laugh about me whenever I leave? Or do I still need more therapy?

Love is in the air, I just gotta figure out a window to break out Buried alive inside my dreams, but it was all a fake-out And I don't care, I just gotta figure out a window to break out Buried alive inside my dreams, but it was all a fake-out, fake-out

Oh-oh, we all started out as shiny dimes But we all got flipped too many times We did it for futures that never came And for pasts that we're never gonna change

fake out makes me want to die in the most intense way, mainly because there's something so utterly familiar about it. it's SO fob and it's one of the best tracks they've put out since the hiatus. it's also .. so ..... it's very similar to fourth of july for me. this is recovery from the pain and finally coming to acceptance while acknowledging the past, love that was never reciprocated. it's not something that ever really goes away. it'll linger, especially when you still see so much of that golden boy that you first fell in love with the second he opened his mouth and began to sing to you.

i will state emphatically that through all my speculation, none of this is meant to be taken at face value aside from the direct quotes and irl incidents. most music comes from anywhere and everywhere within an artist. artists draw from their real life and nothing has to be literal, but pete writes about a lot of real people. grey is about as subtle as a sledgehammer when it comes to his representation of people he knows irl. sometimes he's writing about exes and sometimes he's writing a story. sometimes he's writing about patrick. we never really know for sure. but it's fun to think about!

i'm really passionate about them and i adore their relationship inside and out. a lot of it is really fucked up and weird and twisted and crazy and a lot of it is genuinely so beautiful and tragic. even if they're not fucking and never have and have never thought about it, they're undoubtedly soulmates in any way you feel like interpreting that. they love each other massively and endlessly and it's a fire that has refused to really die for over twenty years. i love them a lot and i hope you enjoyed this essay!!!

[zlobonessa]

standing in the doorway menacingly. I brought my writing here Again.

this one was a part of a regurein challenge i organized for myself on regulus chapter anniversary. not sure if i'll translate the rest but i like this one. regurein, canonverse (so regulus is at his Usual Bullshit), soulmate au. bon appetit.

Regulus's world has been full of colors since birth, and its shades are repugnant to him.

One day your soulmate will die, and you will never see anything but black and white again, says his mother and sighs, if fate allows, you will find out who was prepared for you only in old age.

Regulus — he's fourteen, bony, awkward, and with an eternally whiny face that makes girls laugh — doesn't like this idea at all. And if he chooses incorrectly? So he's going to spend his whole life on the wrong person —just might as well throw it into a compost heap, is that it? Just like that?! But that's what's going to happen, surely it will: how is he supposed to meet his soulmate here, in this barely-a-village? He is not, that's for sure. It is more possible in the town, but they will not let him move there: only smart and strong kids who can work there and send money to their families move to the town, while Regulus...

No one will ever believe that Regulus is not a stupid little boy who will be hit by a cart as soon as he leaves the yard. His parents won't, that's for certain. They don't care that Regulus will spend his whole life in the middle of nowhere, digging in cabbage beds — and his knees, by the way, hurt already, what will happen to him in twenty years? — while all his peers run away to the town to live a better life. His brothers, two relentless idiots, and these jerks who keep laughing and laughing, and even this moron, Rodimus, face so stupid, it's unbelievable, and he barely can form a sentence, but his shoulders are as wide as a doorframe, and he can carry a whole sheep on his back, — everyone will leave him here to rot alone until he becomes a half-witted old man, like that one from the edge of the forest who hanged himself last winter, and Regulus' mother said that he broke his hip and did not want to starve to death, because there was nobody to care for him. His children abandoned him long ago because he was, well, crazy, and his wife died even earlier when everything suddenly turned black in front of his eyes, and she realized that she had married the wrong man and rushed into the river out of grief. How do they know how "capable" he is, huh? What kind of abilities can you have here, in the wilderness, without anything? Cook an empty cabbage soup? How is he supposed to know how to cook it, look, his mother had been cooking it for decades, and it still tastes like grassy water, and is it really that much worse that all his attempts were burnt? If he had been born somewhere else, say, in that same town, he would have been rich then and never cooked at all, and would not have weeded the beds, and in general he would not have been engaged in any of this stupidity, but would have been busy with something actually important — like finding a soulmate, for example.

A soulmate, they say, is someone who will understand you always and easily, someone who gets your feelings like their own, your other half. Soulmate wouldn't laugh at Regulus. Soulmate would not call Regulus a stupid kid with stupid feelings.

Regulus is fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty, he is bony, awkward, and with an eternally whiny face, and he does not know who his soulmate is.

No, there is one — they have known each other since they were five, probably, she lives in a house next to him and is the same age, is the only child who was often sent to play with them so as not to get in the way, quiet, non-talkative, never laughed at him — but she never laughed at anyone, but she never laughed at him, and everyone laughs at him. She's — well — blonde, soft, and smells like some sweet forest herbs.

And she's getting married in a few days.

Haha, Regulus, what did you think? That somebody will want you like that? That you — seriously, you? — can have the only person who didn't dislike you? Sure thing. Only your family can love you, and they can't stand you — this child is a punishment from gods, I swear, — and your soulmate, even if you meet him by some miracle, will forever nag you about how worthless and useless you are, and how being bound by fate to you — is one neverending tragedy.

It's not fair. He just doesn't deserve anything good. He simply has no right to anything good. Is that his fate?

"What a tragedy the future sometimes brings, prescribed by an indifferent fate," says a strange, strange girl, glowing pure white from within, and Regulus believes her like no one else. "For ordinary people, fate brings order and clarity to their lives, and that's why they need it — but you are not one of them. You are special, you are not one of those who need her guidance and charity, and it is completely unfair to force you to live like them."

Regulus paints the world red, pulsating, tearing wet, splashing, dripping, and drying. Oh, this is better. Now we're talking. The one who laughs last laughs well, eh?

(He stands on the smeared, torn-up dirt that was once his courtyard, and the sucking dark pit under his ribs does not disappear anywhere at all.)

Oh, and he's taking her with him too. So what? Soulmates? Since when does he care about soulmates? These soulmates didn't do him any good. Follow the instructions of some higher power — how about you'll find another fool for that.

"Tell me, that guy... honestly, I can't help but point out that his face... ugh, seriously, if I were not your new and, let me add, much more attractive fiance, I would question your taste in men, you know... Tell me, was he your soulmate?"

She is silent for a long time. Her gaze is blank. Regulus is completely satisfied with this. Let her not look at him at all. It's better this way.

"No." She is still silent. "It didn't matter to me."

Regulus suddenly feels like he's choking in the summer heat, down on his knees between cabbage beds.

"What? What's that supposed to mean, it doesn't matter?"

She shudders.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I'm sorry? It doesn't seem to me that this is "nothing"! Who are you trying to fool, exactly, your future husband? In any other situation, I would!.. What is this all about? Haven't you all been running around with the idea of soulmates like somebody bit you in the ass? Are you trying to say that you didn't care? All this time? Pfft!.. It's just ridiculous! You!... You know what? I'll get out of here. You have disappointed me so much. I'm going to get out of here, and you're going to sit and think about your behavior!"

When she ends her life, she smiles and laughs in his face. Her body falls lifeless to the floor, and the pool of blood spilling under her is red.

There are other girls. Of course, there are: now he is not chained to any villages, to any worthless towns — ha! It's funny to even think that once it seemed to him the pinnacle of dreams, what a fool he was. There are other girls, they are blonde, pretty, obedient, do not smile in vain and do not look at him it all, then cross the line, defile themselves, pull his last nerves, show their true faces, grow old, show themselves to be unfit wives, and none of them manages to suck the colors out of the world of Regulus.

And that's right. Who are they, after all? Why on earth would they have the right to deprive him of the opportunity to contemplate the light? Hey, isn't that greedy? Definitely is! Now Regulus understands clearly: he just never had a soulmate. How did he not think of it before? What is he, some kind of defective freak? No, of course not. He, an exalted and enlightened man, does not need any "second halves" at all. To follow some kind of moldy old traditions? No, thanks. And anyway, his mother could have been lying. Maybe everyone was lying! Their fragile bodies simply break down on their own, and they have come up with some kind of half-assed explanation. What a comedy. And nobody had thought that it was some kind of nonsense? It's such a good thing it's not his problem.

"Let me kill you. It's simple, isn't it? Yes, yes, I admit, it's a bit cliche," Regulus says to the what Saint — Halberd Saint, maybe? He must admit — Regulus prides himself on his objectivity, after all — that he is not so bad: at least he has some manners, and his face is, well, um, rather symmetric. It's a pity, really. But what can be done? Double standards are unacceptable.

The young man's body falls to the ground with a completely ungracious flop, and — eh?

"Eh? Is this some kind of joke? Eh? Eh?!"

His blood is black, and his hair — it was bright red, he allowed himself to imagine that it would go well with blood, and now it's gray, and everything around — everything, absolutely everything, from earth to sky — everything is colored black, gray, and white.

Regulus rubs his eyes. And again.

"Hey, this is not funny. Does anyone even think this is funny? Haha, I'm going to fall. What have you done? What right did you have at all... No, this is absolutely unacceptable!"

Something inside him is turning inside out. He hadn't felt sick in a century or so.

"What are you talking about, you crazy man..." the boy begins, a disgusting mass of gray and black — and stops. His face contorts in horror and disgust.

"This, this... No, it's simply... how did you dare... I will, you, you..." He stammers; his lips are trembling. He tries to reach under his eyelid with his finger: frozen time rejects him, and he wants to immediately tear apart the ribs and the chests of all these, these, these... "All of you, I will!.."

"It's weird. I was under the impression that you were... hmm?"

The color returns immediately like nothing ever happened. The red-haired young man rises for the dead gracefully, even drenched in fresh rich red blood.

Regulus is pretty sure he's going to throw up. Maybe his heart will start pounding now just to stop.

"You." He points at him — Reinhard van Astrea, what a vile, vile, unbearable name — with a shaking finger.

"Me?" Reinhard stares at him blankly.

"How old are you?"

He frowns. Oh Witch, Regulus hates his face.

"I must admit, I don't see what this has to do with..."

"How old?"

Reinhard looks at the boy who has regained his revolting clothes colors. He only smiles tensely in response.

"Twenty. I don't..."

"Twenty. Twenty!" Laughter bursts from his throat. "Twenty, no, did you hear that? You asshole. You brute. You filthy lazy animal. I'm going to kill you now. You scum, you, you, you, you-u-u..."

Dirt, stones, planks, and buildings are flying everywhere. Regulus hardly sees what he's doing. The blood is pounding in his temples, and he knows that this is impossible. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters right now.

***

The colors from Reinhard's world are washed away by waves in the rhythm of a heartbeat. He doesn't say a word.

This is how fate is.

[billkaulitzwife]

I know u only have 1 post so far but i literally love ur writing 😭 <3 can u do headcanons for the gang and how they'd be if the curtis brothers had an 8 year old kid sister? how they'd all treat her and such and how she'd feel about everyone <3 thank u!

AWHH!! TYSM NON! i actually write a lot of short stories, add me on snap or disc and i can share them🫶🫶

The Curtis's 8 Year Old Kid Sister.

Ponyboy :

this man is amazing with kids, like he'd work at the daycare or something

He's always lookin out for his kid sister.

bullies?

they're dead. gone. obliterated.

she says she's got a crush?

soda, dal, johnny, and pony surround her like

OOOOOOOH WHO IS ITTTTT

i feel like she'd play soccer or track like pony

because he's her favourite.

when pony bleached his hair she didnt recognise him and she thought he died🥲

Pony would always comfort this kid

hed die for her

if she was in that fire, she'd be the first one outta there

Pony would stop studying just to comfort her about anything

"Pony?"

-immediately turns away from his work- "What's up, sis?"

Sodapop:

dress up. this man would sacrifice his dignity for this girl

"Sodaa! Let's play fairies!"

"Hell yeah, kid!" and Steve would stare at him like 🥲

Steve: damn. someone took my bitch.

Sodapop would be the exact same about bullies and crushes.

He'd make her TWO cakes for her birthday (he has a favourite sibling)

Soda is SO defensive of his sister

When Darry and Pony get to arguing, Soda is the sibling to calm her down and hush her back to sleep

Nightmares? This man will do anything to not have them happen. Cuddles, stories, ANYTHING

hes TOO GOOD with kids

hed let her put makeup on him and put him in a princess dress (i literally did this to my brother)

the moment she turns 16 is the moment he dies inside

he'd play sixteen candles (not in a romantic way ofc)

Darrel:

He tries not to get upset when she colours on the walls or gets into trouble at school

She once brought a blade to school for show anc tell and Darrel got in SO MUCH TROUBLE

He tries to get her to stay away from Keith and Dallas

Darry's the kinda brother to not stand for any shi goin on.

like he'd slay? SLAUGHTER. somebody for looking at his kid sister wrong

The moment S/N brings a boy home

he dies of a heart attack

OR

he has his blade out and ready😋

Anytime Dallas is around or running from the cops it's automatically

"Soda, keep S/N in the house."

Darry would sit on the floor colouring with her all because she didn't wanna be alone while Soda was at work and Pony at school (a sick day ykwim)

Dallas:

"Who's this?"

"I'm S/N who the hell are you?"

"ATTA GIRL" -highfive-

he'd teach this girl attitude.

obviously has a soft spot for this kid

the crushes "tell me. is he cute? nice? hot like me?"

"hes real cute like johnnycakes!"

johnnycakes: HUH😰

Dallas would tell this kid to stay away from cigs until she's about Pony's age.

Darry thinks hes a bad influence, but he teaches her a lot

When its raining hed sacrifice his jacket since STEVE DOESNT WANNA WEAR ONE

if he was babysitting and S/N had a nightmare, he'd let her hold his St. Christopher while hugging or sum

He tries to keep his smoking to a minimum, but.

its ol dally we're talkin about.😐

He isn't the best when it comes to kids, but he'd kill someone if they hurt his neice

"UNCLE DALLY!!"

"hey, kid!"

Johnny:

Loves S/N almost as much as he loves Pony

He'd protect her life with his, even if it meant gettin jumped again

He's quick to worry about her

"It's about S/N, Joh-"

"NOOOOOO"

"Shes failing math"

"Oh."

He's the sweetest little thing with her

He'd let her play with his hair and ask questions about his scar

When Johnny babysits, Pony, Darry, and Soda always come home to a slumped S/N resting on a slumped Johnny's chest

He keeps his smoking to a zero when around her.

Johnny always admires the way she's so outgoing with people around her

Like they're the black cat and golden retriever duo

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we colour? Or watch Mickey? Or read a story? Or-"

"Alright, alright."

If S/N ever ran away to the lot because the boys were all fighting, he'd be the one to comfort her and walk her home.

Water fights in summer.

Steve:

he treats this girl like she's his sister

Soda: steve thats my sister, where the hell are you going-

"OUR SISTER"

Like he'd be like "hold the light so I can fix this"

He'd play dress up with her and Soda and wonder how his life came to be

He'd be wearing fairy wings and a pink dress with makeup everywhere on his face

When he brings Evie around, she absolutely loves on S/N

Evie: what a pretty young lady!

"I'm eight"

"S/N, be nice-

"NO IAN KNOW THIS BI-"

"That's enough"

When he's babysitting it's always baking together and colouring on the floor (and the walls)

He teaches her how to do push-ups and sit-ups and basically, this girl can punch.

She once punched Dallas in the balls cuz Steve told her to

He limped for 3 days.

Two-bit :

Since he has a sister at home, he brings her over when he babysits

He makes sure S/N tries staying outta trouble, but when the Shepards are busy and so is the gang, Two would be drunk while watching her

He'd take her to the movies whenever a princess movie was playing

Two once accidentally took her to see a horror movie and he couldn't watch her for 2 months

Like

Darrel grounded him.

He's forgetful of a lot of stuff

"Hey, kid how old are you again?"

"I'M EIGHT JESUS CHRI-"

Dallas: it's perfect.😍

He loves S/N so damn much.

When his sister started growin up, he hung around S/N just to bring some of the youth back

Whenever there's a rumble between outfits, or greasers and socs in general, he'd most likely be voted to stay back and watch her

Him and her get in each other's faces about different colours and princesses

"SNOW WHITE"

"CINDERELLA"

THAT'S ALL!!! tysm for the request! hope you like them <33

addi asking the boys whos babysitting :))

[hewantshisbrideback]

Modern AU Jonrya + Divorced!RhaeLya Snippet

Test-running this the same way I did NHAT's first chapter! Keep in mind, this is not specifically RhaeLya or anti-RhaeLya. That said, Rhaegar, by virtue of being raised as more of a 'boy prince' than actual prince, has a characterization you may not agree with! But I don't care, it's my fic lol. Not a lot happens in this first snippet, it's more to establish the home-life Jon is coming from, the dynamic between Rhaegar and Lyanna, and because I find writing from this perspective funny. There is not a lot of Jonrya and only the set up for conflict. Enjoy! Please, tell me what you think.

It’s an age-old story. A real crowd favorite. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy sings a sad song. Girl cries. Boy gives her roses. Girl looks pretty with flowers in her hair. A classic love story, one for the books.

Things may have progressed a little quickly after. But, still, nothing truly out of the ordinary. Girl got pregnant. Boy proposed. Well… Boy had to get a divorce first. But it was a quick divorce.

Sure, maybe after the shotgun wedding, Boy and Girl had to hide out in the desert for a while, disappeared from the public without telling anyone where they went, resulting in a media-fuelled frenzy, a nation-wide search party involving everyone from paparazzi to armed police to private investigators…

Maybe her family had publicly accused him of kidnapping before the dust had settled. Acquitted of all charges, both in the legal court and that of public opinion.

Still, when Rhaegar looks back at how he and Lyanna first met, first fell in love, it really did feel that simple, that… uncomplicated, at the time. The politics, their respective family drama, the music scene and the industry bullshit, the age gap that was only a little less scandalous at the time…

He hadn’t cared about that. Neither had magazines, or newspapers. If anything, they’d eaten it all up. It only made them more sympathetic. For the most part. According to all the important publications, anyway.

Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen had been... the love story to end all love stories. Had been, as in, weren’t anymore, because, as anyone could tell you, they hadn’t been married for, say, like… a decade now? Somewhere between a decade, and thirteen years, four months, and twenty-one days.

And yet, it still smarts to think about it. Better not to, if he can help it.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing in the great, empty expanse of fucking woods he’s staring down to distract him. Why does Lyanna live out here again? Shouldn’t someone running a non-profit live somewhere with actual people around, in need of help?

Frankly, he never understood why they divorced in the first place. But I respected her wishes. Because I loved her.

Obviously. He wouldn’t be leaning against his car, waiting for his son to finally emerge from his aloof (second) ex-wife’s cabin in the woods if that wasn’t the case, all so he could spend a weekend enjoying the kid’s brooding company, pointedly not asking questions about how his mother was and what she was doing in her spare time when she wasn��t too busy saving the world and ignoring his calls.

Rhaegar taps his foot. Crosses his arms. Checks his hair in the passenger window. Uncrosses his arms. Checks his phone, again. Nothing. He texted Jon about his arrival three minutes ago.

Maybe, sometimes their conversation verged into discussion-of-Mom territory. But there was only so much for him and Jon to talk about. The kid was almost sixteen, permanently unimpressed with him, and he made no secret of the resentment he felt for him.

Rhaegar wanted to connect, he did, but he also had to acknowledge certain limitations to his position. The one thing they both shared was Lyanna. It made sense to fall back to common ground in lieu of any other options.

And he’s curious. Sue him. The woman is a bank vault when it comes to her personal life. Always was. Just ask the press. They'd tell you.

Rhaegar checks his phone. Four minutes. He thinks he can get away with ringing the doorbell. There’s literally ice on the ground. Even his openly embittered son doesn’t actually want him to freeze to death.

Well, he assumes. But the void of interest in Jon’s gaze as he opens the door and claps eyes on him might make him reconsider.

“Hey, champ.” Rhaegar forces out, and pretends like he isn’t internally grimacing at his own words. “Uh, I texted, but…”

Jon nods, already turning around, walking away and leaving the screen door to drift shut on his father. “I know.”

Rhaegar wedges a foot in before the heavy screen can shut him out completely, then shifts awkwardly in the doorway, propping it open. “You ready to head out?”

“Almost.”

He takes that as an invitation to step inside. Jon’s disappeared into a door beyond the stairs - the den, or the dining room? It’s been a while since Rhaegar got to really see the place. He’s never gotten an actual tour, technically, has maybe been in the kitchen twice, ever, let alone the rest of the place. Technically, it's a converted ranger station from back when the family held private ownership over the woods. For all he knows, it's an armory back there.

He glances around surreptitiously for a second, wondering if he has enough time to poke his head around - innocently, of course - only for Lyanna to skid into view before he can even move past the wet room. His pulse quickens, but before he can pull out a greeting as equally as cringeworthy as the first, she interrupts.

“Oh, good. You’re here. I’m heading out then.” She pushes an earring in with lethal precision and force, not even sparing a glance at the conveniently-placed hall mirror, calling back into the house, “Jon? I’m heading out! Did you hear me?”

Rhaegar almost has a heart attack when Jon pops his head in from the nearest room - he could’ve sworn the only way to the back was through the main hall, last time he was here - with a furrowed brow and a playful scowl on display. “Yeah, I’m right here. You don’t need to yell.”

Lyanna is doing her eyeliner, but she pauses to raise her own brows at him in warning. “Sometimes I think you could do with me yelling at you more, actually.”

He rolls his eyes. “Is that even possible?”

She smacks her hairbrush in his general direction in response, a fruitless gesture so familiar to Rhaegar it hurts. “Would you get out of here? With your… teenage… attitude? Ugh.” She fixes her lipstick then shoves her tools in her purse.

“Brutal, mom. Do you have my charger?”

“Our charger,” she insists. “It’s in the den. Go watch some dumb, scary movie, would you? Have a good time with your dad. And get out of my hair!”

Jon gives her a brisk salute as she hurries past.

“We will! Uh, have a good time,” Rhaegar assures her, but his eyes get caught on her cocktail dress, as she scoots past him, adjusts the skirt, and grabs her coat. “Where are you off to? Didn’t think you were even allowed to leave the woods.”

She gives him a slightly withering glance, then shrugs, smiles. “I have a thing.” By now Jon has joined them in the wet room, and she turns to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Lock up when you leave. I’ll see you two later.”

“Gross.” Jon waves from the door as she sidesteps the ice in her heels on her way to her truck. “Bye, mom. Be safe!”

“No worrying, kiddo! Have fun.”

“I know. But still.”

“Thanks, honey,” she clambers into the truck, blows a big, fat kiss from the window, intentionally over-the-top. “Mwah.”

Rhaegar follows her out, takes advantage of her patting around the front seat to plug her phone in. “Seriously, we never talk anymore. What’s the big occasion?”

She gives him a look he decides is indecipherable, then sighs. “Just meeting up with old friends of the family.” She finds the right chord to plug in her phone, then shoos him away from the window. “Okay. Really, this time - I’ll see you guys later.”

By the time she’s pulled out, and he’s shaken himself from his suspicious stupor, Jon is joining him out in the driveway. He shakes his head, then turns and gives him a fond, knowing look. “Where is she actually going?”

Jon, shrugging and hiking his backpack up his shoulder, returns the knowing look, if... decidedly less fond. “Some kind of double date.”

“What?” Rhaegar scoffs. “With who?”

“Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn.”

Interesting, but irrelevant. “No, who is she going with?”

“I don’t know. One of the Baratheons.” Jon is walking toward the car at this point.

“Shit!” Rhaegar jolts to follow, stops and curses as he almost slips on the ice, resumes his path with more caution. “Shit. Which one?”

“I don’t remember,” Jon says, popping open the trunk. He throws his luggage in the back.

Rhaegar rubs the back of his neck, exhaling a little in relief at just making it to the car without face-planting. “It can’t be Robert, is it? That’s insane.”

Jon pauses getting into the passenger seat to slip his backpack off his shoulder and spare his father a faintly exasperated look. “Dad…”

“Look, I - I know your uncle and him are friends, I’m sure he’s… fine, but… your mom hates him,” he rushes to clarify. Jon rolls his eyes and gets in the car, and Rhaegar scrambles to follow suit. “She always has.”

“I mean, it’s really none of your business.”

“Right, but… Right. I’m not saying she can’t. I’m just saying it would be stupid, and I hope your uncle hasn’t convinced her to give him another chance, when -”

“Are we going?” Jon interrupts, then sinks into his seat with a strange expression. “Arya and I have been waiting to see this for ages.”

“Uh…” Rhaegar blinks. Thinks. Starts to dig out his keys. “Yeah, we can go…” He starts the engine, but doesn’t take it out of park. “Just, let the engine warm up… How is Arya doing, lately, by the way? She wants to see this film?”

“Yeah,” Jon answers, slouching in his seat. “Has wanted to, for a while, now.”

“How’s she doing? You get to see her much, now she’s getting older?”

Jon turns to pretend to look at something out the window. Rhaegar knows he’s pretending. He was staring at the same goddamn woods waiting for a text for four minutes, so. “Not as much.”

Rhaegar takes this as an opportunity to change the address on his phone. “Is she busy tonight?”

“No.” No uncertainty. Not even a pause.

“You want to invite her along?”

“Seriously?” 

“Why not?” Rhaegar starts backing out of the driveway. “She’s allowed to watch scary movies, right?”

“Yeah, we watch them all the time.” Good. It was a fifty-fifty bet, considering what Catelyn and Ned are respectively like as parents.

“Why don’t you text her? We’re early anyway. We can start heading down that way, and if she says no, we’ll just… You know. Course-correct.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll text her.”

“Good. Great. We’ll just… head for your uncle Ned’s.”

And if they happened to run into Lyanna when they got there, well... that's a non-issue.

❦

Thanks so much for reading! Hope it piqued your interest, even though there wasn't a ton of Jonrya right away. It's partly written but not enough to share for feedback. I'm curious to get feedback on the Rhaegar and Lyanna dynamic - I know the characters have huge fans and huge antis and frankly I'm half curious and half worried as to how either party will be reacting to the situation, lol! Anyway, thanks again.

[lilac-hecox]

oooh :D the bluffs 3, 4, 13 for the ask game

Oh my Gosh! Thank you! Sometimes I feel like the Bluffs isn't very popular, but I still love it and want to do another piece in the series!

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

It’s quiet, and he can hear Anthony’s faint breathing, he can feel the warm rush of Anthony’s breath tickling his neck. They are best friends and sixteen-year-old boys. They are as close as can be, but right now Anthony feels like a stranger. They are like brothers, but Anthony’s leaning in slowly, inching his face closer to Ian’s.

(I like this as the parallel between the different ways they viewed/view/could view each other and how their dynamics shift with age, time, and situation.)

Orrr this:

Ian feels a line in the sand between them, something that has existed ever since the day they met. He feels the cool water that smells suspiciously like the American River lapping at that line, slowly erasing it with every wave under the huge and pale moonlight.

(Because an undercurrent of this is a lot of themes of nature like water, the moon, greenery, etc. and tying it into the American River where they were at the beginning just feels good to my brain.)

Orrrrr:

Ian is suddenly nostalgic for being twelve, before he became a teenager, before alcohol was a rite of passage, before he kissed one of the most important people in his life, before he knew what Anthony’s lips felt like, and he never dreamed of feeling them again. When his best friend didn’t look like a stranger lying next to him, their knees touching, fingers linked, the line in the sand nowhere to be found.

(Because this also goes along with the main theme which is that weird spot of time between growing up and still being a kid and how even if you don't want things to change they can for better or worse.)

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

“You’re my best friend,” Anthony says, a million other things left unsaid, but Ian can parse them out.

Ian nods, desperate to keep that position.

“You’re my best friend too,” Ian whispers. A best friend that knows what it feels like to kiss the other in the quiet darkness of the night. A best friend who knows how to keep a secret. A best friend who wants to drink at the bluffs and kiss people (girls?) at parties.

“Forever?” Anthony asks, swallowing thickly, his voice quaking just a little, like he’s scared of the answer he’ll get.

Ian nods, “Forever.” In the same way he’ll forever remember his first kiss. The who, what, when, where, how, and why. He might change the details for others, but he’ll always remember this night, this bed, the feeling of his best friend’s mouth.

(It's this because it is very simple, but it highlights all of the things in this moment that are left unsaid. The silent fear and silent reassurances of their relationship and friendship, and the need to let each other know it was still intact.)

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

I LOVE this question! I think I was listening to a lot of You're On Your Own, Kid by Taylor Swift because the song in general reminds me of Ian (and I keep meaning to talk about it in a post). I was also listening to So Much For Stardust by Fall Out Boy!

If I had to recommend music, I'd say something that maybe reminds you of your own childhood??

[magicalyaku]

Greetings! It's been a while, but here I am, same as before (as in probably talking to much. :P) Work sucked the life right out me, I had a few conventions to attend, and I wrote another book. But things are slowing down again, and as I'm reading regularly again, I feel the need to share. I have four months which were hugely different in reading volume to talk about, so I'll split it up by theme this time! First up is: Ace books and Academic setting!

Dear Wendy (Ann Zhao): I was apprehensive about this one when I read the summary for the first time. Because two aroace protagonists? Awesome! But the setting and the story themselves didn't appeal to me at all. Unfortunately, that stayed true as I actually read it. Don't get me wrong, I do think it's a good book. I liked how the discussions about aro/ace and gender topics where integrated quite naturally into the story thanks to it being a college setting. And I liked what topics were chosen. It's just that I couldn't care less for that social media war they have going on. I'm the weirdo who has never used instagram, twitter, or facebook. The only thing I have is my tumblr and even here, I'm barely interacting with anyone. Stories centered around social media just aren't something that appeals to me. It also didn't help that the formatting of the e-book edition from libby that I borrowed was kinda hard to read for the posts and comments. I think I remember wondering if I am actually too old to enjoy this, but then again, the last ace/aro book I read before this was Just Lizzie which hit really hard and that was about a 12-year-old. :'D So personally for me, it was more meh, but I can see it resonating with other people. Go give it a try, please.

Upside Down (N.R. Walker): Another book with two ace protagonists, male this time and homoromantic. This one had me wary at first as well, because the author usually writes gay romance with smut? (That's what the books look like at least, haven't read anything.) But it's super cute and really funny. The discussions about asexuality were more basic in here than in Dear Wendy, the usual "we're all valid" etc., but a) they were for the most part well intergrated again as one of the protagonists leads an ace support group, and b) if the author's usual readers can broaden their horizons a bit through this, that's a good thing, right? Overall, I had a lot of fun reading this. There's two cover versions for this one. Obviously, the new one with illustration is superior.

A Darker Mischief (Derek Milman): Ugh, this … was weird? Intriguing? I'm still not quite sure what I'm supposed to take away from the ending. I'd have to reread the whole thing for the analytical part of my brain to activate and I'm not going to do that any time soon. The prologue was wtf, then for the longest time not much happened. Except, you could totally see the slow descent into the abyss. That one guy? Not real. The other one? Walking problematic person with difficult tendencies? Next guy? Alarm bells from every side. Fortunately, the main protagonist is smart enough, he's just poor and sixteen and been through rough times, what reflects in his choices. Oh, and there's probably a bunch of references in here that I didn't catch (history is not my thing at all). I did get the apple thing, at least. Yeah, so a weird experience, but all in all I liked the book.

Darker by Four (June CL Tan): This is one of the two books I read in April, so it was ages ago. :'D I remember having fun, though! It's the kind of book that was basically written for me. Badass sword-wielding heroine, suffering boy hero who kisses other boys, interesting worldbuilding, magic, evil creatures to slay, action, a sweet romance that is not the focus of the story, actual story to think about. A ton of good ingredients! What I liked best was that you get to know both protagonists, Rui and Yiran, equally as people. There's two of them but only one can have the magic! There's no choice but to have one of them suffer! And it's so mean, which makes it so good! I'm very eager to read the second volume to see where it all leads, the sacrifices and the triumph. <3

That's it for today. Next up will be another five books in Part Two: France and Other Places. :)

[icarianiscariot]

for ao3 wrapped!!! 5, 6 ,17, 29?

kae!! thank u for the ask :D

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

OOOOOOH okay as far as fics i wrote this year, "can heaven fall into my lonely earth" which is one of very few iskris fics on ao3 and??? has the most bookmarks out of my bllk fics (i think only recently surpassed by dtootc), and the third highest amount of comment threads (surpassed by dtootc and wwap, both of which are multi-chapter works vs this little oneshot?!) ....however. this year i also had uh. an old work kind of blow up on twitter??? which i NEVER expected. and it was like 90% really positive stuff too! so shoutout to "01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101, or something," a poem i wrote in 2016 about robots being married. the official star wars twitter account has seen my gay r2/c3p0 poem. the tweet that someone posted about this poem has over 5mil views. my brother and his friends were actively discussing the tweet in their groupchat before finding out it was written by me. random IRL people mentioned it before finding out it was written by me. this was definitely not on my 2023 bingo card.

6. Favorite title you used

the rituals are intricate, bro!!!! it really felt like it encapsulated otoya's voice for me and he was just so fun to write sldkjflskdjf

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

sae for sure!!! although i think i've had so much fun with all the bllk boys that i've put into pickle jars and shaken around slkdfjlskdjf it's hard to pick just one!!

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

shit this is HARD. fuck. KAE HOW COULD YOU MAKE ME CHOOSE OTL maybe: "Here's the thing: Bachira looks at Rin as if he's stained glass, transparent and a work of art all at the same time, delicate and sharp in tandem. He looks at Rin and says lonely where others see alone, and when Rin throws thorns at him, Bachira only smells roses. So when Bachira slots himself into Rin's life like moss on a river stone, Rin takes him for the tumble." (but if your lightning lips aren't mine) > I'm really proud of the metaphor tbh, it feels very apt for both their characterizations and it was a strong opening that I still enjoy!! or, "We were fourteen together, fifteen, sixteen, which means we know more about each other than our families ever will again, because that's what this career has done to us." (we wrote a prelude) > something something The Burden of Teenage Nostalgia, the way sae didn't go home at ALL from ages 14-18 which i think are core years to becoming a human being, the way kaiser was there but rin wasn't, something something - the point of Being Changed in a way that your blood relatives cannot understand but your comrades do or, a handful from dtootc: "Rin can hear it when his engine revs and his tires squeal. Like Rin is important enough to run stoplights for." "Rin knows that other teenagers don't feel like this. No one else drowns like him. // Sae around this age was cruel; at fourteen he was curious, at fifteen he was already sharpening himself into a knife, and sixteen saw him as a scalpel, carving out pieces of himself while also cutting Rin down to the bone with surgical precision. Somewhere at seventeen his edge dulled, but the damage was done. // Some might say Sae has always been cruel: it's in his nature, with his blank face and calculating eyes, the bluntness of his tone that bruises, the sharpness of his words that scar. // But to Rin, he'd once been kind. The kindest in the world. // (Maybe Sae had been drowning too. // Maybe that's why he left.)" ""No one has ever looked for me." // Shidou turns, pink eyes bright and brow furrowed, a kind of innocent confusion that doesn't seem suitable for a demon. He's not wearing eyeliner; it makes his face seem more human. // "I did." and finally, spoilers for the most recent chapter: "Their hand lingers for a moment, and then in a motion achingly familiar, nostalgic like childhood fevers, Sae brushes a strand of Rin's hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear before adjusting the blanket over him once again."

WAUGH KAE THANK U THESE WERE HARD BUT GR8 QUESTIONS

ao3 wrapped game

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

Beautiful Creatures

Hello everyone! I had a new idea for a fanfic that I am actually excited about. I had been trying to write short things, so it doesn't consume my time and energy, but I started writing and imagining the plot in my head, and I am having a lot of fun.

The fanfic is based on the book Beautiful Creatures, the first book of The Caster Chronicle Series written by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl. And also it's film adaptation. But with Marauders Era Characters.

I posted the first chapter on Ao3, so give it a read, and if people like it or are interested I will keep writing and posting chapters every week.

Here is the summary:

Is falling in love the beginning... or the end? In Remus Lupin's boring hometown Hogsmeade lies the darkest of secrets... There is a beautiful boy. Gray eyes, long black hair, black rockstar clothes, chains and makeup. Sirius Black, is a boy who seems too out of place in Hosmeade. The same boy who had hunted Remus's dreams for a while now. There is a curse. On the seventeenth year, the darkness will take what it's been promised. Sirius has to prevent it. To save himself and his brother. In the end, there is a sacrifice to make. Sirius and Remus become bound together by a deep, powerful love. But Sirius is cursed and on his seventeenth birthday, his fate will be decided. Remus never even saw it coming.

And here is a little sneak peek:

Remus was tempted to look, so he followed everyone’s gaze. There in the middle of the courtyard was Albus Dumbledore. Their headmaster. Short bearded man, with white hair and blue eyes. There were very few people that Remus genuinely liked in this town. One of them was Professor Dumbledore. He was wise, fun, and open to new things. Something that the parents committee hated about him. Remus knew they were trying to make that old man retire for ages. Remus knew there was some mysteries about this town that he knew but didn’t tell.

Though students weren’t looking at him. They were looking at the boy next to him.

Remus’s first thought was that he was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. The bloke was around sixteen perhaps. He had long black hair that reached his shoulders. Pale skin, smooth as cotton. He had breaded shoulders, muscular arms under his clothes. Aristocratic posture, almost like a prince. But he was not dressed like a prince.

He was wearing leather trousers so tight, that Remus feared with one move they would break. He had a punk rock shirt that many parents at Hogsmeade would call devilish, with men doing obscene gestures and the words “PUNK IS FUCKING SEXY”. Combat boots that could kill anyone and a leather jacket to match. Chains around his neck, piercings, black nail polish and a cigarette tucked behind his ear. Remus was reminded of a rock star he had seen in a movie once.

The foreign boy was wearing black shades, but Remus somehow could tell how his eyes were looking widely around.

That boy represented everything the respected Hogsmeade community hated. Remus was absolutely attracted to him.

So, this was Alphard’s nephew.

Remus was not the only one to be moved by this boy’s beauty. But he could tell a lot of girls were eating him with the eye. Though they would never admit that. The stranger was so different to what boys around Hogsmeade were.

The whispers amongst students died down when Dumbledore spoke.

“Good afternoon students” the headmaster said, not quite believing what he was about to say “This is a very uncommon event as we know, but we have a new student at Hogwarts” he eyed carefully at his companion “Please welcome Sirius Black”

There were gasps of horror at the mention of that name. Black. Like Alphard Black. The color of darkness. It sounded evil.  What was most strange was the way that name had some sort of power. The clouds turned darker, and the wind became cold and hollow. The sun had been replaced with a dull cold sky. Remus saw many students scream and shiver at that sight. Remus was fascinated.

Sirius’s mouth gave them an evil twist when he saw everyone’s expression.

“So, you come from that creepy mansion where your mad Uncle lives” Nick Mulciber sounded almost afraid. It was hilarious.

Sirius turned his gaze towards him but didn’t say anything.

“Mum says Alphard Black worships the devil” It was Mary who spoke next, her voice shaking “Mum says he sold his soul to him so he can do witchcraft…”

“Miss. Macdonald, please!” Dumbledore warned.

But Sirius didn’t seem offended. He seemed amused.

“Look at the way he is dressed!” Frank Longbottom added “Maybe his Uncle taught him”

“Perhaps all Blacks are crazy” Samuel Avery added with a mocking voice.

“Wow, he is so handsome!” a female voice was heard amongst the younger students. And right after, her friends shushed her.

Sirius smiled with satisfaction. Remus presumed that boy was used to be the center of attention everywhere he went.

“That’s enough!” Dumbledore spoke over the students’ whispers “Sirius is our new student, and we are going to make him feel welcome. Is that clear?”

“My mum says that devil worshippers dance around naked in the moonlight” Alice said as if the headmaster hadn’t spoken “And they make human sacrifices”

“Oh well, darling. How did you know? That is indeed our favorite activity”

Everyone was shocked to hear Sirius finally speaking. Remus noticed his voice sounded ancient, like he was from another time. He used proper English, royal English, like the one The Queen used. His voice was a bit hoarse but with a harmonic tone to it. Like he could put anyone into a trance, or he could perfectly sing opera. It sounded like music to Remus’s ears.

Most of the students were already letting out horrified shrieks or murmuring prayers. Remus genuinely smiled. He was so happy to witness this precious moment. Sirius Black was incredible.