#but anyway. i just really wish i brought my poetry book with me to read but it's really heavy so i left it out of my bag :(

[homelyhoney]

oh there are new forms of sadness in me that I am simply just getting acquainted with

[samstree]

What’s up readers?! How about a little show and tell? Answer these 13 questions, tag 13 lucky readers and if you’re feeling extra bookish add a shelfie! Let’s Go!

Thank you @darthwillies for the tag!

1) The Last book I read:

The Vampire Lestat. I've been slowly reading the first few Vampire Chronicles books since the TV show took over my body and soul lmao. So far this one is a lot of fun!

2) A book I recommend:

Creatures of a Day. It's a non-fiction and a good look into psychology in general and psychiatrist as a profession. Would highly recommend Irvin Yalom's other books too.

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

The Song of Achilles. I read very slowly in English but this book had me hooked from the beginning and I finished it in one weekend. This was actually a few years ago now but I haven't had the same experience since. (If anyone knows anything that is the same but like...different, please let me know alskjdf)

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more):

This Is Going to Hurt. I really liked the humor in the book when the topic is so serious. It's about working in health care and especially in the OB ward. Witnessing life and death daily can't be easy, but Adam Kay makes it easy to read.

5) A book on my TBR:

The Red Sorghum. It's been on my TBR since it won the Nobel prize lmao. The theme is very heavy though, but anyway, one day I will read, even just for the nobel.

6) A book I’ve put down:

All the Light We Cannot See. The writing is beautiful but the WWII story just doesn't draw me in as much. Maybe one day I will go back to it.

7) A book on my wish list:

Can I put an unpublished book here? The Winds of Winter lol, if I can be cheeky for a bit. Watching House of the Dragon really just brought me back into my asoiaf era. I feel sixteen again and piecing together all the clues for the sequel and thinking about all the theories. Unfortunately it is still very much a wish list.

8) A favorite book from childhood:

Journey to the West! Who doesn't love an adventure story about four besties going on a road trip that is full of cool monsters of the week? Also the whole book is metaphor for buddhist enlightenment. So it really contains multitudes.

9) A book you would give to a friend:

Silver in the Wood. It's a short novel that I brought to a long flight and just finished in one go. It makes you feel like you've just taken a little walk in the forest. It's a light read that makes a perfect gift!

10) A book of poetry or lyrics that you own:

Does Evgenii Onegin count as poetry? It's one of my favorite reads back in university. Partly because of the adapted play I think, it is still the top theater experience I've ever had.

11) A nonfiction book you own:

When Breath Becomes Air. It was written by a surgeon about his journey battling cancer at the end of his life. It's one of the books that stayed with me, having read it after cancer being such a huge part of my life for years. I feel like I got some answers from it and would recommend everyone to read.

12) What are you currently reading:

Queen of the Damned. More sexy vampires! Some of them are even old AND sexy!

13) What are you planning on reading next?

Keep reading through the Vampire Chronicles until reason and taste fail me (or Anne Rice does). I hear people tend to stop at some point during the 12 books in the whole series. We'll see how long I last.

tagging: @kuripon @cherryjuicegf @silvipeppers @tideswept @valdomarx. No pressures of course <3

[child-of-hurin]

my love @kareenvorbarra tagged me to share 5 books read since September that I have loved.

Clarimonde (La Morte Amoureuse), Téophile Gautier -- I don't have a single criticism to make about this book :) A wonderful read, I especially loved the execution of the part where the protagonist doesn't know which life is real and which is a dream. I listened to the old Brazilian Portuguese translation available on the Conto um Conto podcast feed and thought it was excellent, e uma amiga leu a belíssima edição da editora Wish e também elogiou bastante -- fica a dica pros lusófonos daqui :)

Le Cycle de la Belle Dame sans Mercy, David Hult & Joan McRae -- It's an anthology of poems and/or contemporary literary endeavors related to La Belle Dame sans Mercy (Alain Chartier), and it's very interesting, and a lot of fun to read, even if sometimes one can't help the exasperation at how much our titular character has to go through for the crime of... being the object of an extremely insistent suitor's obsession :P It's really interesting to see the ways in which many different readers reacted to it though, and a nice contrast to the Roman de la rose that I had just finished. And the poetry itself is lovely -- I wish there was audio or video available of someone reading it out loud, but if there is, I can't seem to find it :'(

Antes do Baile Verde, Lygia Fagundes Telles -- A collection of short stories, I think most of them are available individually in English but the collection itself doesn't seem to have ever been translated into this language. I recently got obsessed with The Hunt (one of the stories), and after listening to every single recording of it I could find, I decided to read it for myself, and ended up reading the whole book, and it's really excellent, I love the way she builds and holds (and almost never resolves) the tension... One of my favorite short story writers ^^

Vita Nostra, Marina and Sergey Dyachenko -- I LOOOOOVED this book, so much that I do not know how to talk about it. I loved it and I haven't stopped thinking about it since I finished reading it. I am on the verge of rereading it though I know I should wait longer... Anyway if anyone has read insightful conversation/reviews of this book that go beyond praising it, please let me know, I'm very interested!

The Obelisk Gate, N.K. Jemisin -- It's such a wonderful experience to read an author who has both a vision and the technical skill to pull it off! My favorite thing about this specific volume were the visuals, I really think they were incredible. I have already forgotten parts of the plot, but I think I remember vividly every single scene with a stone-eater. I'm also sooo pleased by the way she looks at greater social power structures! Been A WHILE since I read original setting fantasy with an actual spine. TBH I was 100% burned out on that specific genre for a while and The Fifth Season is what brought me back. On the side of things I didn't like, there are a couple (that "magic" vocabulary scene was genuinely cringe imo...), but mostly I wish there was more commonplace tenderness, both in-narrative and on a meta level. If it wasn't for Hoa as a narrative element, this book would be unreadable (to me ofc).

Tag uuuh @ourlightsinvain @imindhowwelayinjune @thelioninmybed @bamboocounting @vardasvapors @anghraine @yavieriel @medievalcat @seagodofmagic @hadrianspaywall @nelyafinwe (are you in the room with us giulia...) @hoeratius & anyone else who feels like doing it :)

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. This is inspired by her 12 coups de midi appearance. She said not to read anything into her song choice other than she likes it, but … Hope you all enjoy!

He let a huge sigh of relief as he stepped through the door to their apartment as he felt the heavy weight of the day slowly slip off his shoulders as he entered their sanctuary. He was home - he was safe and loved here, whole here, himself here.

He could hear her in the kitchen, could hear the movement of pots and pans banging together, muffled a little by the melody he could hear playing from the speakers she had set up in there to allow her to listen to music while she worked. He smiled as he got closer to the kitchen and was able to identify the song - "Je suis venu te dire que je m'en vais." She loves that song, he knows, knows how much she loves poetry, in books, in his letters, in music.

He stopped in the doorway to watch her work, watching as she waltzed to and from the fridge to the stove to the countertop where she had prepped out their ingredients and back again, looking like a master at work. He also wasn’t embarrassed to admit, as he was staring at her barefoot and in a very tight pair of jeans, he was enjoying the show.

He stepped back into the next room to make his entrance again, loudly so as not to startle her.

"Chérie! I’m home!" he called out.

"Dinner’s almost ready!" she called back. "Come grab yourself a glass of wine, and sit down at the table to wait for me."

"Or," he said slipping in behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist, "I could wait here with you until you’re done."

"Dinner is going to be late if you keep doing that," she warned, not really protesting, as she leant back into him.

"That’s okay. I’m not really hungry, for dinner, right now anyway," he whispered in her ear before pressing a kiss to that one place on her neck that makes her knees weak.

"I need," she tried to get out as he kept up his ministrations, "to turn the stove off."

He reached around her and turned off the flame, "done," he told her grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the kitchen.

Later, much later, when they’re both finally able to think straight again, he dared to reveal, "you know, when I first walked in, I could hear what you were listening to, so I took a sneak peek of you in the kitchen."

"You sneaky man!" she lightly smacked him in rebuke.

He places an appeasing kiss to the top of her head. "I like watching you when you think no one is around. I mean I always like watching you, but there’s something so beautiful about you when all your walls are down and you just simply let yourself be."

"You think I have walls up around you?" she asked both concerned and a little offended.

"No. But I know this job comes with stress and responsibilities for you too, and, well. It’s been a while since I was able to watch you sing and dance barefoot in our kitchen," he smiled weakly.

"Emmanuel, you have seen every single piece of me, at my best, at my worst. The deep, dark corners of my mind, the glowing joys in the corners of my heart. Every fear, every doubt, every wish, every hope, every dream. You hold my soul, bare and completely open before you in your hands. As I see it, there is no distance, no wall, nothing between you and me."

"So you’re not going to come one day and tell me that you’re leaving me?"

"Chéri, what brought this on? Is it that song?"

"Yes. No. I don’t know!" he paused before asking, "Are you happy?"

"You are asking me that after what we just did?" she teased, making him blush pink. More seriously, she turned over in his arms to look him in the eyes as she gave him an answer she hoped would quiet whatever part of his soul was worried. "Yes, I’m happy. Sure, I never would have seen this coming in a million years, and sure, I would have preferred just one term. But for over 25 years now, you have taken me on the best, most unpredictable journey. You have given me my life. So of course, where you lead I will follow, happily, lovingly. Forever.

"I will never come to tell you I’m leaving, because I am never, ever leaving you. And if you ever doubt that, I want you to look down at your hands. Those two rings are perfect circles, they have no beginning and no end. Just like you and me."

Helloooo fanfic Anon #2! ❤️

Hahaha after the interview, Brigitte cooking seems to be the new trend 🤩 (still waiting for messy Manu in the kitchen too hahaha).

Manu watching her is just one of the most beautiful sights ever 🥰 hahaha and of course he just couldn’t help himself and want “dessert” before dinner 🤭😏 🔥

But bless him for having doubts (and fears) over the song and it’s meaning... Brigitte reassuring him was so beautiful and touchy 🥹🥰

Thank you so much, fanfic Anon #2! ❤️❤️❤️

[frczenone]

⌈  bill skarsgard,  he/him,  cis male ⌋  have  you  seen  ANDERS OLSON  walking  around  recently  ??  you  know,  the  THIRTY-TWO  year  old  COUNCIL MEMBER ??  i  have  a  question  i  wanted  to  ask  but  i  haven't  seen  ANDY  around.  have  you  noticed  they  tend  to  be  CYNICAL  and  RESERVED  ??  but  i  guess  they  make  up  for  it  by  being  AMBITIOUS  and  OPEN-MINDED. i've  heard  they're  often  found  TEACHING HIMSELF TO COOK.  anyways,  if  you  see  them  let  them  know  to  come  find  me.  ————  kai,  24,  cst,  self-harm, csa.

[ stats ]

name: anders olson nickname(s): andy (close friends only), ders, olson age: thirty-two sexuality: unsure, bisexual pronouns: he/him gender identity: cis male occupation: council member

[ personality ]

positives: ambitious, open-minded, adaptable, intelligent, focused negatives: cynical, reserved, stubborn, aggressive, jealous, nosy hobbies: collecting old books, reading, trying out new recipes, going for runs, whittling, writing poetry temperament: for how pessimistic he really is it often manifests in him being rather reserved and closed off. he's trying to be more personable, and appear more friendly. he tends to have a soft spot for kids and good parents. anders will straight up look at you and lie to your face if he doesn't want to offer up the truth, but he tries to keep his lies geared towards keeping his own secrets, rather than lying just to lie. although sometimes he's lacking in manners, he will usually return some level of kindness if it's given to him. there's no guarantee that he'll be overtly kind back, but he will at least try to show his appreciation in his own way.

[ before jericho ]

andy was born on an especially frigid night, flexing his powerful little lungs and gasping in one cold breath after the other. and his mother was dying.

she'd managed to make it to a small community just outside of wyoming, getting there mere days before her water broke. one of her last fleeting thoughts was ' thank god, my baby '. she spent her last moments feeling serene, like she'd saved the world by giving her son a chance to live.

unfortunately, the community didn't share those sentiments. no, they were angry. some woman they'd just met shows up long enough to dump another mouth to feed on their feet, and then she dies?

anders did not get the feel good story where the community rallied together to raise him as their own. those don't exist anymore. instead, he was treated like the burden that he was.

when he was 10 years old he came to the realization that this world was nothing but cruel. he was born into a broken society, with no family and no home to call his own. and he didn't ask for any of it.

shortly after his 13th birthday, when he'd finally started to feel useful, icebergs attacked and ravaged the community where he lived.

only a few survived, anders being one of them, but they didn't get to stay together. and honestly, he didn't really think they wanted to. most of the adults couldn't stand him, unless he was contributing to some kind of labor. they were certain he'd be dead weight.

somehow, anders still managed to survive.

despite all of his hemming and hawing about the world and how cruel it was, and how he wished he'd never been born, he was here. he was alive. and he was hellbent on staying that way.

andy drifted through a few more communities after that, never really allowing himself to take root or settle down. he was all but certain that there was no use.

when he was around 24, he ran into a group of people traveling towards a new but thriving outpost they'd heard about: jericho.

now, of course, if anyone asks he'll tell them that he found himself seeking out jericho because he craved a sense of community. he wanted that tight knit group that he never had. a place to be safe, and cared about.

the truth is, he craved ambition. there was something in anders, call it his survivors intuition, that screamed at him when jericho was brought up. something told him that this would be his chance to thrive.

[ after jericho ]

while inside the walls of jericho, anders finally felt himself start to settle, to grow roots. it was becoming the first place to ever feel like home.

although, he still kept to himself, and he never spoke about his time before jericho. it was home, nonetheless.

for the first time he felt like he was living, not just surviving.

becoming a council member filled anders with greater purpose than he ever could have realized. he knew he wanted authority, to have some kind of power or importance, but he didn't know how much he would actually care about it once he was close to it.

he takes his job very seriously, but when he's not working on advising the leader, he's taken up cooking.

it was something done out of necessity, with whatever dead animal he could find, but now it's a hobby that he practices in his free time (given that the ingredients are available)

he's trying earnestly to work on being more personable, more likable, in the hopes that it might get him closer to winning the vote if the position of governor opens up.

[mangodestroyer]

I was listening to a reading of Edgar Allan Poe, and out of nowhere, I suddenly remembered that one of my teachers recommended a poet to me, and as a result, I was given a book of their poetry to keep. I don't know how or why. The details of this are pretty rusty at this point. This happened eleven years ago.

All I know is that I apparently "reminded them of this poet." At the time, I really didn't understand this at all. I was twelve. At this point, I was only writing short, simple stories and the most complicated thing I'd ever read was Harry Potter and whatever was assigned in class. I wouldn't exactly say the the things I was writing in English class were "brilliant." Especially since the teacher was really pushing us with frequent writing assignments that had, what felt like at the time, intimidating word count requirements. I found it tough at the time to come up with ideas that actually kept me interested in the assignments. And this is coming from someone who always loved to write.

And I certainly wasn't a gifted student either. To the contrary. I had to get extra help with my reading outside of class because my ability to read as a child was poor. I was often picked on for being "stupid" and I had a feeling that my mother wasn't very fond of me because I was not gifted in any way like my siblings were. No one told me I was intelligent and so I grew up thinking I was stupid because that's all that was ever said or implied. Probably would have thought I had an 80 IQ. So even when I did start putting an actual effort in school, started finding the materials super easy, caught up and even far exceeded my peers, and started taking advanced classes, I thought that anyone could do what I did very easily because I was an idiot. The only thing that finally snapped me out of this mindset was when I saw for myself that there were students who tried very, very hard to get a passing grade in AP Physics and Pre-calc, but couldn't do it no matter what. Meanwhile, I was getting A's in said classes with very little effort. Yes, I was even getting easy A's in my AP English classes as well. At this point, I was far above the reading level of my peers.

I know, going from being a dumb kid to a high schooler taking college level courses. Normally this is not an outcome people expect from children who do poorly in school, but I think my own experience goes to show you that there are problems with the education system and how we evaluate intelligence in children. Especially neurodivergent children.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic. The point is, when I was twelve, I was sort of at a turning point. I was going from being a "dumb" kid to an "average" kid. But there was nothing about me that stood out. I was never made to feel like I was good at anything. Not even in high school. And so I don't see how anyone would be able to relate me to a talented poet.

And I certainly wasn't a fan of poetry at the time because I didn't understand it. So I didn't read the book. I hardly acknowledged it at all when I brought it home. I had no idea what the teacher was going on about because I wasn't a poet myself. In fact, I sadly thought poetry was stupid, boring, and pointless. Perhaps I would have considered poets pretentious, if I'd known what the word meant.

Now I wish I had read the book. Or at the very least, I wish I hadn't lost the book to the abyss of my unorganized house. I wished I had remembered the name of the poet. Because now I'm curious to see what the Hell my teacher was talking about. I want to see if these poems were actually brilliant. Because of they are, I'd find that pretty hilarious. Even if they just think we have a similar vibe or whatever.

[skywardscroll]

the language of love

✧ summary: mondstadt boys (diluc, kaeya, albedo, & venti) and their love languages.

✧ warnings: mention of death & depression in Venti’s. gender neutral reader!

✧ a/n: my first headcanon post! it’s p cute, me thinks :D <3 hope you all like it!!

Love Language: gift giving

✧ Diluc was a mysterious man. Though you two were an item for a long while now, you were still finding out new things about him every day.

✧ In the last week, you found out that when he piles up his parchment, he preferred it the be placed longways, rather than vertical, on the edge of his desk, and that he disliked white grape juice, but loved red grape juice.

✧ Today, which was valentine’s day, you learned that Diluc, though clueless on what to get most of the time, loved buying gifts.

✧ It was a sacred form of love to him, buying someone a gift. He only ever did it to people he really loved.

He stared at you silently in subdued anticipation. He spent a month searching for the perfect gift, getting council from various shopkeepers and friends, always thinking Maybe there’s something better. Diluc knew, deep down, that you would be happy with anything. You were always so gracious, never expecting anything and always being thankful for the small gifts Diluc would sometimes give you. He trusted that you understood that he was not the best at voicing his feelings, but that he felt he could properly show his love and feel loved in return when giving you gifts.

Tearing into the red wrapping paper (Lisa and Klee wrapped it for him!), you let out a small gasp at seeing the gift he bought for you.

The Shared Experience: A Poetry Collection was a collection you had your eyes on for a while. Diluc, not being one for flowery language like that, even found himself taken with the compilation with poetry from all over Teyvat. Somehow, these poets from Fontaine, Natlan, and the likes, had managed to put into words what he wished he could say to you.

It was the perfect Valentine’s present, which was only to be expected from Diluc, who used gifts to show his love.

Love language: words of affirmation

✧ Unlike his brother, Kaeya probably spent 80% of his time telling you how much he loved you, how pretty you were, and how lucky you were to have such a handsome boyfriend.

✧ (The last one always earned him a gentle fist to the arm and a groan of half-hearted disagreement from you. Totally worth it everytime. You’re so cute.)

✧ He holds you in such high regard, thinking you’re the better half of him.

✧ He fell in love with you because you brought out the best in him.

✧ You were always there to make him feel better when the stress of being a Knight got to him. Tonight was, sadly, one of those instances.

“Y/N?” His sweetened voice, which always seemed to lift your spirits, had an exhausted tone to it. And, considering how much he liked to talk, especially to you, you were able to pick up on this immediately.

“Kaeya? Are you okay?”

He didn’t say anything, instead just sitting beside you on your couch and laying his head in your lap, completely blocking your view of the book you were previously reading. Of course, you didn’t mind, though. You’d rather spend time with Kaeya anyway.

Truthfully, you had a feeling that something like this was coming. He’d been particularly busy during the week with hardly enough time to spend leisurely.

“You work so hard…” You sighed, running your fingers through his dark hair. You could feel his shoulders relax against your legs immediately as he laid in silence. “I’m so proud of all you do for Mondstadt. You are a true hero. I’m so lucky to call you mine.”

He didn’t say anything – no smart remarks, no smirking or joking. He just laid there with his eyes staring up at you.

He loved you. So much.

Love language: physical touch

✧ Frankly, it surprised you how often Albedo just wanted to be as close to you as possible.

✧ He’s reserved, you know, and he likes his space. PDA is certainly not his thing.

✧ But… At home is different.

✧ At home, he always requests to have your hand in his and he always wants to lay with you (though, this does conflict with his desire to work constantly.)

✧ But the feeling of your skin on his was just so fascinating.

It was the temperature difference; he was sure of it.

The warmth of your body compared to his, which was always on the cold side, made his heart flutter with… Something. Love, he hypothesized it was.

Actually, maybe it was just the feeling of your skin – Your skin, which was just so soft; so smooth and comforting against his calloused fingertips (the downside of being an artist.)

Speaking of which, you were painting again. He encouraged you to tap into your artistic side, even lending you his painting equipment. Though, he failed to foresee the frustration that came with it.

“Bedo… I can’t do this.” You whined, putting down the paintbrush before rubbing your tired eyes.

“You can. Here.” He came up from behind you, sliding his hands down your forearm until his hand encapsulated yours. He slowly lifted your hand, dragging the paintbrush in your grasp against the canvas. “Try doing small circles. It makes the texture look right.”

He didn’t want to let go, but he did. Seeing the blush against your supple cheeks made him smile.

Whatever the reason, there was one thing he wouldn’t question: His love for you.

Love language: acts of service

✧ It’s an unwritten rule of the Archons that you just don’t fall in love with the people you’ve sworn to protect.

✧ Venti knew it was foolish of him. You were a mortal, someone who would die  before he could even blink.

✧ But he couldn’t help but be enamored by you because, when his role as Archon became overwhelming, somehow you knew just what to do to help.

Stanley was in another fit of depression, Klee was moments away from accidentally burning down a building, and Anthony was in the fountain… again.

This week was just… A lot.

Venti wanted nothing more than to just sit underneath the Windrise tree with a bottle or two of wine and his lyre. He knew he had all eternity to do so, but after the week he’d had, he really needed to take a break.

You didn’t know of Venti’s… true nature yet. He knew it was wrong to keep it from you, but how was he to say ‘hey, you know Barbatos? Yeah, that’s me’ without sounding crazy?

The thing was: He didn’t need to tell you. Somehow, you just knew that he was going through a lot even without him saying so. And, still without your full understanding, you helped him in so many ways around Mondstadt on your good nature alone.

Today was exceptionally quiet, though. When you returned home and asked him how his day was, he could truthfully say that it was rather uneventful.

“What about you, Y/N?”

“Oh! Today, I happened to run into Klee before she burned down the pier. Apparently, it’s the second time she’s almost destroyed Mondstadt? I love her, but she’s such trouble sometimes.”

Venti hid his shock easily, as it was soon replaced with admiration and thankfulness for you.

“It’s a good thing you were there, then.” He spoke.

[nanagoswife]

Noticing You, Noticing Me

Chapter Eight

Summary: More soft moments between reader and Obi-Wan as they enjoy being back together

W/C: 3.5k

Warnings: Not smut, but there is some intimacy? Not really though? Idk😅

- - -

Apparently, everyone knew about Obi-Wan’s arrival except for you. Anakin and Padmé were just the ones who participated.

As you walked through the halls, basically clinging to his arm, he laid his free hand on top of one of yours as he told you.

“I had also been talking with Anakin these last months, albeit, not as often as I was with you.” He paused to smile at you, gently squeezing your hand. “When I found out of my plans to come here, I wanted to find a way to surprise you. Then, Anakin came to mind.”

“Let me guess. You asked Anakin, then Anakin asked Padmé, and then Anakin told you what she had said.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Sometimes I forget how well you know your brother.”

A small sense of pride filled you with that.

“But yes, that’s what happened. Of course I had first written to your parents about a few things. They were more than happy to hear that I could make my way over after so long. I think it was something about how their daughter was quite taken with me.”

He looked down at you with that cheeky smile once again. You shook your head and giggled as you lightly pushed him, only sending him slightly off balance.

His laugh filled the halls as he regained his steady pace.

“I do believe that she is quite taken with the prince of Coruscant. The princess couldn’t be happier.”

Obi-Wan’s crystal blue eyes stared into yours while he smiled. Slowly, he brought the two of you to a stop in front of one of the windows. The light of the sun reflected perfectly in his eyes.

When he turned to face you, both of your hands ended up in his one. Although you loved the feeling, you took one hand away to bring it to his cheek. A small giggle bubbled its way out of you at the feel of his beard as he leaned into your touch. The well trimmed hairs were scratchy but in the most delightful way.

Your eyes couldn’t leave his even if you wanted to. The sight of him like this held all of your attention as you slowly dragged your hand down to rest on his chest.

The fact that both of you were leaning in went hardly noticed. It felt so natural that you paid no mind to it. It was only as you were that few centimeters away from the other’s lips that you realized, but you didn’t pull away. No, this was something the two of you had come so close to once before, yet it now had a different meaning. This was more deserved than before.

You were so close until footsteps could be heard from the other end of the hall. Obi-Wan huffed out a sigh of annoyance but didn’t make any movement to pull away from your proximity.

“We really need to find a more private place,” he whispered, causing you to chuckle,

“If I remember correctly, not even that worked, Obi.”

All he did was groan and roll his eyes as his shoulders slumped. “You unfortunately make a good point, my dear.”

You chuckled before the person arrived in your area. When you turned to greet them, it was Varlo. Maybe it was your eyes just playing tricks on you, but he seemed absolutely miserable. More than he had been in the last two months, anyways. Apparently not having the popularity that he used to have was weighing on him more than you had thought.

“Good afternoon, Varlo,” Obi-Wan greeted with a bow from just behind you. As he did, you saw that a small piece of his hair fell out of place. He did nothing to put it back, though, as he stood up.

“Prince Kenobi,” he greeted briskly with a stiff bow.

He seemed rigid in his greeting. Had something gone wrong in a dispute? You weren’t super into the politics of your kingdom as he was, so you didn’t know what possibly could make him like this.

Varlo’s jaw seemed tense, like he was clenching it.

“Is everything alright?” you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. You could feel Obi-Wan shift uncomfortably behind you. Whatever was going on with Varlo was unsettling him just like it was for you.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I apologize. Just something occupying my mind. Anyways, I really came here to find you to tell you that our parents are putting together a small feast in honour of your arrival, Prince Kenobi.”

“Please, call me Obi-Wan. And thank you. I’ll be sure to thank them later although it’s highly unnecessary.”

“Oh but it is,” you cut in, flashing him a smile.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Alright, alright. If you say so.”

“I’ll leave you two be. But, Y/N, I should mention that mom is putting this together. So, be prepared,” Varlo said with a playful smile.

You knew exactly what he meant. Whenever your mother would go into planning mode, she always made it the best. If it weren’t for the fact that Obi-Wan had told them before arriving, you would’ve assumed they only had a day's notice. In that case, it would be more toned down. Knowing that she had known well in advance, well, it would be extravagant.

Both you and Obi-Wan said your goodbyes to your brother before he turned away.

“Well, what shall we do until dinner?” Obi-Wan asked when your brother was far enough down the hall. Before you answered, you brushed those few strands of hair back into place.

“Have you unpacked yet?” You turned to look at him, seeing him shake his head no. “Why don’t we do that, then.”

His smile grew even more before offering you his elbow. “Sounds like a plan.”

-

At first, Obi-Wan felt a slight bit awkward. The last time he had a girl in his room, that wasn’t his mother, was Satine. Nothing had happened between them other than simple conversations.

With you, he was a little nervous. He wanted a life with you. Unlike with Satine, he felt like he could see himself with you for the rest of his life. Every part of him was drawn to you in a way that he had never felt in his life.

As the time went on though with you helping him where you could, it felt just as natural as everything else. Obi-Wan could feel himself relax more and more as the time passed.

By the time he had finished, you were sitting at the foot of the bed. Despite his insistence, you refused to make yourself more comfortable further up the bed. Instead you stayed where you were, intently listening to his ramblings. Some were stories from your time apart, others were just simply him muttering his thoughts.

Nothing changed though. You sat and listened, occasionally chiming in at certain details.

Once Obi-Wan was done, he sat beside you. It didn’t take long to find your hand so that he could intertwine his fingers with yours.

“So,” he started, “did that take all the time we had or is there still time?”

You giggled as you leaned against his shoulder. “I’m sure we have some time. Besides, who says we can’t be fashionably late?”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in curiosity. “Is there something your brilliant mind is working up?”

He watched as your cheeks flushed as you smiled coyly.

“Not really. But I did have an idea for after dinner.”

“And what might that be?”

You looked up at him, your cheeks burning an even darker shade than before. You opened your mouth to talk, but closed it before looking away again. It confused him.

“Darling?”

“Never mind,” you said quietly.

“If you think I would say no to whatever your plan is, I’m sure you’re wrong,” he said encouragingly. His free hand came up and turned your face towards him with his index. “What is it?”

When you stumbled over your words, he let his fingers trail along your jawline before cupping your cheek. It was a gesture to comfort you in your doubt, and it seemed to work. He could feel as the tension in your shoulders eased. Even the grip you had on his hand relaxed.

“I- I was thinking maybe… we could come back here after. Together,” you said. Quickly, you continue before he could react, “Not to do anything like, you know. Just to… sleep. And I was wondering if we could read that poetry book that we never finished that night because it was so beautiful and-”

Obi-Wan gently hushed you with a soft call of your name before you’d go into an endless ramble. “Yes,” he said in a breath. “Yes to all of it. Whatever you wish.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He felt you relax further against him. Almost on instinct, he wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer, pressing a kiss against your temple.

“Now, shall we head down to the feast your mother has put together?”

Chuckling, you lightly pushed off of Obi-Wan to sit up. “Are you sure you’re ready? She never goes halfway with these sorts of things.”

“Always.”

-

“Ok, so I may have underestimated what Queen Breha had planned,” Obi-Wan said with a sheepish chuckle.

What your mother had planned had even surprised you. All of the servants had been dressed in their best. The dining table was set to feed three times the amount of your group. The seven of you hardly made a dent in it all.

When it came to decorations, you would’ve thought that you would’ve been serving every king and queen there was. Yes, you were a part of a royal family, but you had never dined in such a fancy setup. You had thought your normal setup was over the top, but you were dead wrong.

Even Obi-Wan had seemed overwhelmed by it all. The enthusiastic call from your brother had distracted both you and Obi-Wan from your surroundings.

Apparently, despite actually arriving in time, the two of you were the last to arrive. Everyone else greeted you enthusiastically when you sat down after Obi-Wan pulled out your chair.

Varlo didn’t though. Like he was earlier, he had seemed preoccupied. That kept up during the whole meal. You didn’t pay much mind to it as your parents, Anakin, and Padmé all started a conversation lasting the whole meal.

Once you were all stuffed to the brim, Varlo had left. He said that he had something to attend to, yet he wouldn’t say what.

For the rest of you, the conversations continued as the servants all cleared the table without incident. Even if there were, it wouldn’t be a huge deal. Most of them you knew quite well, and so did your mother. They were all good people who strove to do their best in their role. You always smiled whenever you heard how happy they really were.

“Even I underestimated what she would do,” you replied, squeezing his hand gently as you walked down the hall to the sitting room that contained the poetry book.

Normally, your arm would be linked with his, but you didn’t feel like being that formal. You guessed he felt that same as he reciprocated the action without any protest. If he had said anything about it, you were sure that it would only be about how his thoughts were going down the same path as yours.

When you had gotten to the room you needed, you told Obi-Wan to wait as you quickly ran in to grab the poetry book. After you did, you resumed your hand holding all the way to your room first to change and grab some things.

You had disappeared behind your changing screen as he observed your room. There wasn’t much in your room. A few books on the shelf beside your desk, the satchel which held all of his letters that sat on the floor still next to your desk, your bed, and your changing screen.

Everything was going well until you were unable to undo the back of your dress. No matter how hard you tried, each attempt was met by failure.

There was no other choice other than to ask Obi-Wan to help.

Stepping out from behind the screen, you saw him looking out of your window. He had one arm across his chest while his other elbow rested against it as he stroked his beard. It looked as if he was lost in thought only to briefly smile to himself.

“Obi,” you called out. You hated to break his train of thought, but the longer this took, the longer it would be until you could get on with the night’s plan.

He turned towards you, looking slightly confused when you were still in the same lavender dress as before.

“I can’t get it undone, and I… I was wondering if you could help,” you said as you looked at the floor. It felt strange asking this of him. At the same time, it thrilled you. Nervousness took over in the end.

Obi-Wan walked over to you, taking your hands in his. He gently squeezed them in a silent question asking you to look at him. “Only if you want me to.”

You nodded. With a comforting smile, he led you back behind your screen. Turning around for him, his hands worked on the ties at your back. Each lace up your back slowly loosened as he made his way up, letting his fingers graze against your back.

As he made his way up, you couldn’t stop the shiver that went through you as his hand ghosted the bare part of your back. When he was done, he placed his hands on your shoulders, finger slightly under the material of the dress.

The sensation was one you had never felt before as his hands began trailing outwards, bringing the fabric with it. A part of you wanted him to continue, but you knew it was better when he had paused his gentle caresses.

“I’m sorry. I- I’ll let you get changed.”

“It’s alright, Obi,” you said as you turned to face him. “And thank you.”

With a shy smile, he went back to the main area of your room. A part of you wished you could’ve continued, but now wasn’t the time for that. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet.

Either way, you pushed it aside as you finished getting ready. Your sleep gown was much more comfortable than your dress. You wondered what Obi-Wan would think of the light blue gown that flowed more and was far less constricting.

-

When you walked out after changing, Obi-Wan’s breath hitched for what felt like the hundredth time today. He knew night gowns were nothing special, but you just looked so… beautiful.

The simpleness of it caught his eye immediately. Yes, you looked amazing in all of your day gowns, but this was just a new level he didn’t know was possible.

He must’ve muttered something about it because your cheeks turned flushed as you took on a demure stance.

Finally gaining some sense, he cleared his throat before speaking, “Shall we continue the evening?”

You nodded, walking over to him before taking his hand to make your way to his room. Although it was no secret that the two of you were together, you had to make sure you weren’t seen. People would most likely assume that something other than what you truly were doing would be happening.

The only people that were told were Anakin and Padmé. They had told you that they would make sure that no one saw either of you. Specifically in the morning. The plan was that Anakin would make sure the hall was clear as Padmé would come get you and escort you to your room. Of everyone, they knew that Obi-Wan wouldn’t take advantage of you. Plus, with your friend knowing of the night you and Obi-Wan had first read this book, she was quick to believe your true plans.

Thankfully, the hall was clear all the way to his room.

Obi-Wan had removed his jacket rather quickly, exposing his white tunic that lay underneath. There was a small area where his chest was slightly exposed, revealing hairs there that matched the colour of his beard.

A small part of you wanted to have the kind of courage that he did and unlace the top of his tunic for him, to feel some of the skin on his chest. That courage wasn’t there. Not a single part of you could muster up the ability to ask, but you didn’t need to. Obi-Wan had caught the way you were looking at him.

Taking a few steps to close the distance between you, he took your hands in his.

“It’s alright,” he said, placing one of your hands on his chest near the ties. “You can if you want. You don’t have to.”

His voice was quiet and soothing. That courage you thought you would never have? It was there now, slowly crawling out as he encouraged you.

Along with his comforting words, you moved your fingers to where the lace laid. With a shakiness, you brought your other hand up to help undo the knot. Before you could start untying it, he placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing gently for comfort.

“Relax,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this. Stop whenever you like.”

As he took his hand off of the two of yours, the final bit of courage filled you. Slowly, you untied the lace, loosening it until even more of his chest was exposed.

For a moment, you let your fingers graze over the exposed skin and hair. The golden curls on his chest made you smile as you briefly rubbed his chest.

This time, you gained even more confidence as you then let your hands glide down to his torso. Something in you wanted to see more, to feel more, but you weren’t sure if it was the best decision.

When your hands reached his waist, you stopped. Looking back into his eyes, nothing but warmth and sureness radiated from them.

“Go ahead. Like I said earlier, anything for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, gaining even more reassurance from Obi-Wan as you looked in his eyes. So, you let your hands clench the material of his shirt, pulling it up until he lifted his arms, letting the shirt fall to the ground.

You let your eyes explore the surface of his skin, noting every scar until you reached out to trace them all. He told you how many were from training, others from a battle years ago when a random group who wanted to dethrone his father attacked.

-

He worked hard to keep his breathing controlled as your hands explored the surface of his skin. Despite this, Obi-Wan knew that if you felt over his heart that you would be able to feel it racing.

As you traced over his scars, he couldn’t help but let his eyes fall closed. The thoughts that began to run through his mind were becoming intrusive. He didn’t want to rush into anything with you, though. What he didn’t want to do was scare you off and that meant having to keep this all under control.

Plus, he didn’t want to wreck your reputation. Something like this could ruin you, and that’s not what he wanted. You were doing so much good for your people. If they thought any less of you than they do now, he wouldn’t know how he would live with himself.

Instead, he closed his eyes so that he could quell the feeling of desire he felt for you. It was working too, until you reached his shoulders, trailing towards his collar bone.

Nothing could keep his breathing from picking up. The closer you came to his collarbone, the more he felt his want for you. But he wouldn’t let it happen. Not unless you wanted to, and you already had said that you wanted this to be purely just an innocent night. Just reading and sleeping.

So, he shifted slightly, taking a sharp intake of breath as your hand traced his collarbone.

-

This exploration lasted a few minutes as you looked over his freckles that were scattered across his shoulders. Obi-Wan took a deep breath as you traced his collar bone, shifting slightly.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, pausing your exploration. “Did I go too far?”

“What? No, of course not,” he said quickly to reassure you. “No, it’s just… maybe we should read now.”

Nodding, you went over to the bed. Obi-Wan joined you not long after.

After getting settled under the sheets, the two of you went into a familiar position like the night in front of the fireplace. Only this time, you didn’t stay awake long, falling asleep against Obi-Wan’s bare chest.

Everything, his warmth, the sound of his voice, the comfort of the bed, it all made you drowsy. Obi-Wan noticed and encouraged you, “Go to sleep, my dear. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

- - -

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly @animalgirl05 @blondekel77 @thereluctantherosrose @cosmicsierra @badbatch-simp24

[chvrliesapcet]

ever since olivia rodrigo released her debut album, SOUR, i have been listening to it on repeat (totally not kidding). so, after seeing a girl on tiktok do something like this, but with the avengers, i was inspired to make this post. there you go:

the poets as olivia rodrigo’s songs.

trigger warning: mention of su*c*de and mental health issues.

brutal: all of them. they’re teenagers, insecure sometimes, trying their best, but sadly not living the teenage dream (what is it, that fucking teenage dream, anyway?). “if someone tells me one more time "enjoy your youth, " i’m gonna cry” and they can’t quit what they’re doing, because their parents would most likely be hurt. “and they'd all be so disappointed 'cause who am if, if not exploited?” they once recited the lyrics of this song as a poem, during one of their meetings, and they were all laughing their asses off. life at hell-ton is brutal, what can i say?

traitor: knox, of course. “god i wish that you had thought this through, before i went and fell in love with you” or “guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor” just hit different for him. he thinks about chris when he listens to this song, that’s for sure..! we can’t really blame chris for knox falling in love with her though,, sorry buddy.

drivers license: knox, again. poor boy listens to this song while riding his bike, crying his eyes out. “but today i drove through the suburbs, crying 'cause you weren't around” chris isn’t with that blonde girl, she is that blonde girl. knox has never felt this way for no one, and it’s hard for him to imagine that chris is, well, doing okay without him. he thinks and talks about her all the time. “and all my friends are tired of hearing how much i miss you, but i kinda feel sorry for them 'cause they'll never know you the way that i do”

1 step forward, 3 steps back: todd. like many people (including me!) when he listens to this song, he doesn’t necessarily think of a past relationship (mostly because he has never dated anyone before neil). he thinks of his mental health struggles, such as his anxiety, instead. it’s hard, sometimes. he thinks he’s getting better, but then realizes he isn’t.. “got me fucked up in the head, boy. never doubted myself so much. like am i pretty, am i fun boy? i hate that i gave you power over that kinda stuff” need i say more? this song is as soft, but as sad, as he is.

deja vu: keating. this is.. kind of a joke, but only because i didn’t know who to pair this song with. john was an original member of the dead poets society, and knowing that now, other teenage boys are taking turns reading poetry, in the old indian cave, reminds him of his teenage years. “so when you gonna tell her that we did that, too? she thinks it's special, but it's all reused. that was our place, i found it first” olivia’s music isn’t the type of music he normally listens to, but after hearing students (the poets) talk about her album, during his class, he decided he’d give it a try. he likes it. he loves the lyrics, mostly.

good 4 u: CHARLIE. he loves screaming the lyrics to this song. especially the bridge and the last chorus. “LIKE A DAMN SOCIOPATH!” cameron has to beg him to turn the volume down,, he doesn’t listen to him, obviously, and instead turns the volume up. his argument? ‘this song is meant to be played loud!’ to which cameron responds ‘but not that loud! i’m trying to study!’ he thinks looking at his roommate directly in the eye when singing “baby, what the fuck is up with that?” exactly the way olivia does is funny. cameron just rolls his eyes every time, but it’s hard for him to hide the smile taking place on his lips.

enough for you: pitts. although he and stev/phen are both super, super smart, i think meeks is the ‘genius’ of the group. and that, can, sometimes, make pitts feel like he might not be good enough for his boyfriend, whom he loves very much. “and i knew how you took your coffee, and your favorite songs by heart. i read all of your self-help books so you'd think that i was smart” whenever he doubts himself, meeks is the first to reassure him and tell him he’s more than enough, but still.. “'cause all i ever wanted was to be enough for you” he listens to this song with his earphones, always, so no one knows he listens to it on repeat.

happier: meeks. ever since charlie got expelled, he can’t stop listening to this song. these two were pretty close, (“he flatters me, that’s why i help him with latin”) and stev/phen doesn’t like thinking about his friend being in a new school, and spending time with other people. “so find someone great but don't find no one better. i hope you're happy, but don't be happier” he wishes charlie would still be with them, at welton, even if he hated it. “your friends aren't mine, you know, i know. you’ve moved on, found someone new” or “does she mean you forgot about me?” he’s being a bit overdramatic, considering charlie comes to see the poets at least once a week, and still attends the dps meetings.. but anyway.

jealousy, jealousy: cameron, because, yes, he’s smart and everything, but he’s still jealous of other people, and wishes he were different. he thinks he should be like the other guys. “all i see, is what i should be, happier, prettier, jealousy, jealousy” he also thinks that, maybe then, people would like him more </3. he knows no one really hates him, but feels like no one really likes him, either. and in his opinion, it’s because he’s.. him. “I'm so sick of myself, i’d rather be, rather be, anyone, anyone else” just like mr. k, this type of music isn’t what he usually listens to, but he relates to this song so much, he can’t help but listen to it at least once a day.

favorite crime: neil. just like todd, he doesn’t associate this song with a relationship he had in the past. actually, he thinks of his father (and his mom, a bit, too) and all of the things his dad forces him to do, even if it upsets him. “those things i did, just so i could call you mine. the things you did, well, i hope i was your favorite crime” i know we don’t usually talk about the canon ending, but i have to. mr. perry didn’t want his son to pursue his dreams, and planned neil’s life for him, which made him feel so miserable, he sadly committed su*c*de.. but then, his dad wasn’t blamed for it, to preserve his reputation. “and i watched as you fled the scene, doe-eyed as you buried me, one heart broke, four hands bloody” todd knows this was neil’s favorite song. he listens to it once in a while, in their room, alone, and cries.

hope ur ok: all of them. do they know how proud i am they were created? after all they’ve been through, especially their family problems, i’m glad they found each other. “she was tired 'cause she was brought into a world where family was merely blood” and even when life throws bad things at them, they always stay strong, and support each other through everything. they’re very brave. “well, i hope you know how proud i am you were created, with the courage to unlearn all of their hatred” i love them, my beautiful poets <33

[modern-vellichor]

Darling, You're Hopeless

Summary: You and Loki are seemingly always on the run. One day Loki is forced to leave you, and Steve takes care of you while he's gone.

Warnings: smoking, cigarettes, mentions of blood, handcuffs?, needles, loki fluff, steve being a good friend, mostly fluff.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Dating the villain isn't as bad as it seems, especially when you are one in the same. They knew you only as Hestia, except you weren't a God, not like him. They knew that you flirted with flame like it was an old friend, hence the nickname. You were the first one they called when he ended up in their grasp. It had taken a week of persuasion from Tony and Cap to convince Thor to contact you.

You were nice when you arrived. You stepped out of the cab in very mortal clothes. Cap noticed how generously you tipped the driver. You shook everyone's hand when you came in, even gave Peter a soft, motherly smile and a pat on the head. When you were talking with Tony and Steve you were nothing but mannerly. You didnt hesitate in declining a call in the middle of your meeting. You shook your head and apologised upon hearing of Loki's actions. Then politely asked to see him, and they didnt see why not.

"My Darling, Hestia. You dont know how happy I am to see you", he said, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth after the gag was removed.

"I know, baby", you whispered, wiping his chin with your thumb.

The two of you spoke for a while, Tony and Steve watching intently. Then you flicked your hand beside your head, a lit cigarette appearing between your fingers. You took one long drag, and exhaled. Smoke filled the room, obscuring their view. When they burst in, the two of you were gone and the room had been set ablaze.

They should have known.

Your house in Missouri was secluded. You hid there, you and Loki. You lived an almost normal life. You had groceries delivered to the house and spent your days lounging around. You had work to do, and Loki kept himself busy.

One late afternoon you heard knocking on your door. You opened it without thinking and next minute Steve Rogers was shoving his way into your entry hall. You stopped him before he reached the door to the living room, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Y/N, Darling?", Loki called out. "Is everything alright? Who's at the door"

"Everything's fine, baby. It's just an old friend. We're going for a walk." You answered nonchalantly.

You shoved Steve into the cool afternoon air. You didnt say a word until the two of you had walked to the next block.

"So, Y/N?" He asked lazily.

"You don't get to call me that." You spat in return.

You had worked so hard on keeping private and safe. And now everything had been compromised. For all you know there could be 20 S.H.I.E.L.D agents at your home for Loki while Steve distracted you.

You took a deep breath. "What do you want, Mr. Rogers?"

"I want to make a deal"

"What deal?"

"Keep your boyfriend distracted long enough until we have precautions in place to defeat him should anything,,,happen. We have Intel that Loki is planning an attack on the Avengers and we dont need another problem right now"

"Will those precautions involve killing him?", you asked sadly.

"No"

"Then you have a deal"

"Pleasure doing business with you"

From then on Steve made a visit every month. He promised not to tell any of the other Avengers of your location. You had begun to enjoy your monthly walks. Until one day Steve rapped at your door and you opened it, teary eyed and distraught.

"He's gone and I dont know where he is", you rambled hastily. "Steve you've got to help"

Steve was quick to get to straight to New York. He left you stranded in a concrete room while he searched the city for Loki. Eventually he came to let you out, and guided you to a plain but comfortable looking cell. In it was an angry looking Loki who was pacing. He had a cut on his temple and a bruise forming on his cheek. You sighed in relief and tapped on the glass. The two of you spoke quietly for a few minutes before your hands were being held behind your back.

Loki put up a fight as you were lead away in cuffs and chains. But you went quietly. You made small remarks to Steve, you was hesitantly leading you to a cell of your own. He had done so much for you, the least you could do was cause him no trouble. And even in captivity, Steve took care of you. He snuck you books to read and journals to write in. He took letters and notes to Loki, and brought you his in return. And after a few months of lonely captivity, you asked Steve a final favour.

He had come to bring you dinner when you grabbed his arm, looking into his eyes with a pleading look.

"Steve please. Allow us to share a cell. I worry what Loki will do, should he be left alone any longer"

He walked you to Loki with your hands tied behind your back. The first thing that Loki did was embrace you, your hands not yet free. Before Steve could remove your restraints, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and passed a little note to him.

Steve came to visit you in the evenings. You both hated to admit it, but you had become good friends. Should things have been different, you would have turned to him for advice.

Steve liked his evening visit. You and Loki read aloud as you lay with each other. While you liked to recite poetry and other dramatic readings, Loki preferred to read classic literature. Steve vividly remembers a poem you recited about icarus. He remembers you being so passionate about changing the narrative of the story of Icarus, and it had worked. Steve never saw that tale in the same light.

One evening Steve brought you and Loki your food. You came to retrieve your plates from the little hatch. You were muttering an apology before he even realised what was happening. He only felt the needle as you were pulling it out of his hand. On a normal man, that amount of tranquilizer would knock him out for days. But with serum raging through his veins, it merely immobilized Steve. It was enough though. You and Loki crawled out of the confines of your cell. With the walls behind you, Loki was finally able to get the both of you out of there.

Your holiday home in Italy was a lot nicer anyway.

Neither of you were working very hard in Italy. The two of you spent your days walking around in the summer sun, or spending your afternoons curled up in bed with each other. Loki was soft behind closed doors. Soft and loving, gentle and caring. Although you weren't allowed to tell anyone that. You lived like this for a few, happy months.

Then one night you were curled up, asleep. Loki's hand rubbing comforting circles on your stomach. You didn't wake up when the lock on your front door clicked, nor when the thudding up the stairs began. You still kick yourself for it. You only startled awake when your bedroom door was kicked in, a sad group of Avengers standing where it would have been. You immediately scrambled to hide your lover from the group of angry heroes. Steve had an emphatic look on his face, he met your pleading eyes with sorrow.

"Steve", you whimpered. "Please. I'm begging you. Don't do this"

You gave Loki a loving squeeze on the thigh. That was the signal. Within seconds he had disappeared, and you were left alone with tears in your eyes.

"Can I at least get dressed before you lot kidnap me", you spat.

Most of the group ambled pathetically downstairs, all but Steve.

"I'm sorry." He stated, sitting at the edge of your bed. His gaze trained at the floor while you dressed.

"I'm sure you are"

"I'll take good care of you, until Loki gets back"

Should those words have fallen from any others mouth, you would have thought them a threat. But on his lips, it was a kind gesture. You smiled at your unlikely friend, and things felt a small bit better.

Months went by. Every day you woke up in that God forsaken compound wishing that Loki would arrive to collect you. And each day you were disappointed. But there were little things to make up for it.

The young Avenger. Peter, you had grown close with him. And even though you were as stubborn as a mule, and refused to help, Stark could not kill you, you were simply too valuable. So you had the run of the library. You memorized poem upon poem for the day your lover returned. You knew in your heart one day he would.

Eventually your incessant complaining grew too much for Stark. So he allowed Steve to take your for walks. The two of you would walk Peter home from school sometimes.

It was on one of these trips that a familiar voice rang in your ear. The familiar call of "Darling" lingered in the air as you almost fainted. Sure enough, when you turned around he was there. Notably a fair bit skinnier. You weren't sure if this was really him or an apparition. When you embraced him you found him to be solid. Peter and Steve stood awkwardly as the two of you reunited.

"you have to go, god knows what they'll do if they find you," you say, pulling away from him with tears in your eyes.

You run your hands down his chest, straightening his shirt and fixing his jacket.

"come with me, please, darling. You have to, I need you," he begs. His eyes are soft and pleading.

Peter is standing behind you, he watches in fear. He's heard of Loki and the damage he's done, although he isn't scared of the Loki that you tell stories of, he's definitely afraid of the one standing a few feet ahead of him.

Steve watches out of the corner of his eye as Peter reaches for his phone and begins to call Tony. Steve grabs the device and crushes it in his hand. Peter begins to protest but Steve's quiets him quickly.

"Does that look like a man who's gonna hurt someone?" He whispers angrily, gesturing at the frail and weak Loki. "He's not here for revenge, he's here for her"

Suddenly you turn around to look at Steve, teary eyed. You look at him imploringly, silently begging him to let you go with Loki.

Steve smiles at you sadly, he raises his hand and waves at you.

Your eyes go wide in shock and disbelief.

Steve nods and shoos you away with his hand, turning around a pulling Peter with him.

You both look back one last time and you mouth a Thank You at the blond. He just nods and turns around again.

When he looks one last time you're gone. But he knows he'll see you again, and hopefully you'll have turned Loki into a better man. Or maybe he'll have corrupted you equally as much. Steve didn't try care. He'll miss his friend, and you will too.

[randomshyperson]

hi! skam anon over here! I would really like to read some Nora (the skam spain one) x reader honestly. Maybe something where the reader is Cris older sister and she's been travelling a lot and finally comes back and is excited to meet her little sister friends and she has an instant crush on Nora? maybe when her and Alejandro were fighting and not a thing. And I promise I won't hate it, I just would really like to read something with her

Hello Anon! Funny fact, i never watched Nora season hahaha So i hope this is not too bad. Also is short cause i don’t really know the characters but is sweet ;) Witting this made me miss joana btw haha

i’ll try to focus on wanda request now, cause i really don’t connect with other characters ;( but it was nice writting this anyway. 

good reading!

Nora Grace x Reader

Warnings: None, all fluffy

Words:  1806 (short one).

Two years ago

Miami, 5:30 a.m.

You are lying in bed, a warm arm around your waist. You awake to the sound of your cell phone vibrating, and groan softly as you reach for it on the dresser.

- Hola? - You mumble as you answer it, sitting up in your bed.

- Hey, Y/N. - You hear a female voice. It's Cris. You blink in surprise.

- Cris? Is everything okay? - you ask feeling worried immediately. 

Your sister gives a dry laugh on the other end of the line.

- Yeah. - She says breathlessly, sounding tearful. - I wanted to tell you that I like someone. - You frown, but don't interrupt her. - But it is a girl.

You blink, then want to laugh. If only Chris knew what you were up to.

- I don't know what to do. - She confesses and you know she is crying.

- Cris is okay. - You assure her, getting up and walking to the balcony. - Have you told her yet?

Cris laughs again.

- She has a boyfriend. 

- Damn it, Cris. - You mumble. - You had to like the one who's already taken, right? - You try to joke and Cris gives a weak laugh. You swallow dryly trying to think of what to say next. - Listen, thanks for telling me this. I wish I could be there with you.

- That's fine. - She assures me. - You were the first person I wanted to tell.

You smile.

- Wow, baby sister, you are so sweet. - You scoff slightly and Chris laughs. - But seriously, talk to your girl. Make things clear between you two.

Cris sighed. 

- Thank you. - Cris says after a few minutes. You'd like to hug her.

You stayed on the cell phone with your sister for a few more minutes until you hung up. You found it ironic that your younger sister came out of the closet before you did, but you didn't say anything.

The next year, when you came home for Cris' birthday, you also told her before you left that you also liked girls, and Cris laughed and hugged you, saying that you always seemed to. 

//-//

Now you were back for your sister's graduation, after traveling almost the entire United States. You intended to avoid your mother's questions about college when you arrived at the door of your house carrying your bags.

After hugging and greeting everyone, you got ready together with Chris for the ceremony, and then you all drove to her high school, which had once been yours. It was strange to return, even though it had only been three years since you left.

Then the ceremony began, and you smiled and clapped your hands together with everyone else, and then Cris ran up to you and your brothers, ecstatic with happiness.

- I'm so proud of you. - You said to her as you hugged her. She smiled and thanked you, and then she waved to some girls in the distance.

- Hey, try not to flirt with my friends. - she joked.

- I'm not going to f... fuck. - You whispered the last part as a blonde girl reached you, followed by the others. You swallowed hard, trying to cover it up.

- Y/N, this is Nora, Eva, and Viri. - She introduced them, you already knew Amira, and she just nodded. You thought maybe you were staring at the blonde, Nora, too much, so you blinked and forced a smile, holding out your hand to greet them. And then Chris let out an excited exclamation, and ran toward Joana, who you only knew from video calls, and had just arrived on the scene.

- They are cute. - You commented with a smile watching your sister jump on the other girl's lap and hug her while laughing. 

When Cris came back to you guys, she said she would like to celebrate for real. You told her not to tell your mother that you were taking them to a real party. And so you ended up in one of the most exclusive clubs in Madrid, with VIP tickets courtesy of a friend of yours from Miami. Good thing they were all eighteen years old, you thought as you walked into the club. The girls were very excited.

After a few minutes of dancing, drinking, and greeting old friends, you were curious to meet Nora, so when she went to get something from the bar, you followed her.

- Hey. - You called out to her, leaning against the counter beside her. She smiled at you. - Tell me again how I didn't meet you before.

She lets out a little laugh.

- Cris told me you were traveling. - She says. - We've been friends for four years, I guess it was bad luck.

You sip your drink, smiling. Then the bartender brought her something, and she thanked him.

- What did you order? 

- Anything without alcohol. 

You looked at her drink, and let out a giggle.

- Wow, Paulo gave you the worst non-alcoholic drink in this place. - You commented with a smile, and then leaned back on the counter, sliding your hand to the inside. You let out a contented exclamation as you reach for what you are looking for. - You'll like this one. - Nora looks at you curiously, and you hold out a small circular bottle. - Don't tell anyone that I showed you my secret hiding place.

You joke, and reach for two small glasses from the bar and place them on the counter, pouring some for both of you. Seeing Nora bite her lip, you quickly clarify:

- There's no alcohol in it, it's just cider. - You say with a smile. - I got it in Ireland, it tastes very good. I brought it here when I graduated, because there was nothing alcohol-free to drink in this place.

Nora smiles, and reaches for the glass. You toast before taking a sip.

- Wow, that's really good. - She comments, and you smile.

You are startled when Cris and her friends join you, looking considerably more cheerful than before. But you smile, and let yourself be pulled onto the dance floor.

This is the longest you have stayed home since high school. It had been two weeks since you were back in your old room, and when Cris asked, you told her you were choosing your next destination. But you knew that it was because you didn't want to say goodbye to Nora.

When Cris said that she was going away with her friends two weeks ago, and you had the perfect excuse to ask for all her friends' numbers for safety. And it all started with a little emoji and "take care of my sister" so that you would make a habit of talking to Nora every day for the next two weeks. 

You didn't want to admit it, but you were completely hooked. When Chris came back, you were nervous about seeing Nora again, but you texted her that you would like to see her, and she called you for a date in town. You were smiling at your cell phone screen a few seconds before Chris came into the room.

- Ulala, who are you texting? - She teased, and you were startled, quickly putting the phone down and feeling your face heat up. She looked at you with amusement. - Wow, it's a girl, isn't it?

You laughed, sitting up in bed. 

- Actually I wanted to talk to you about it. - You start awkwardly, and Cris looks at you curiously, sitting down in the chair at the study table. You take a deep breath. - I'm going out with Nora.

Cris blinks in surprise.

- Nora? My friend Nora? - You nod. Cris looks in shock for a few seconds, but then she laughs. - Oh my God, I can't believe you're her mystery crush. Eva is going to love this.

- Aren't you angry?

- What? Of course not! - she says, looking excited. You feel a sense of relief wash over your body. - This is actually amazing! After Miguel and Alejandro, she seems so happy now.

You run your hand through your hair, really happy with Chris's reaction. 

- That's good to know. - You comment with a smile.

Eventually you tell her that you have been talking to Nora for the past few weeks, that you really like her, and that you are afraid that the distance will eventually separate you. Cris hopes that things will work out for both of you. 

When you leave home to meet Nora, you are relatively anxious. But you are immediately more relaxed when you see her, and she walks timidly toward you, and then hugs you tightly by the neck, while you close your eyes to enjoy the feeling.

- It's good to see you. - You comment when you two part. Nora smiles with flushed cheeks.

You spend the day walking around the city, talking about your favorite subjects. And then you walk into a library.

While Nora is distracted by the bookshelves, you are distracted by her. And she blushes and smiles when she catches you looking. You end up buying her a book of poetry, saying that you wish she had something to remember you by when you get back on the road. And then you leave the bookstore, and walk back.

- Do you already know when you are leaving? - she asks a moment later. You have your hands in your pockets as you walk beside her.

- By the weekend. - You say. - I've already found a room and a temporary job.

Nora bites her lip, keeping quiet for a moment. 

- Why do you always leave?

You blink in surprise at the question and give a sad smile.

- I really don't have a reason to stay. - You say, looking down at the ground. - My parents are fine, my brothers are graduated and well. And even Chris is already looking for an apartment with Joana. There is nothing holding me here.

You are beginning to think you said the wrong thing, because Nora stops walking and says nothing for a few seconds. And you stop walking to stand in front of her with a worried expression.

- What about us? - she asks in a low tone. And you swallow dryly. - What happens when you leave?

You feel your cheeks flush, and look away quickly.

- I would like to continue this. - You confess. - But I understand if you feel that the distance doesn't w-mmp...

Nora shuts you up with a kiss on the mouth as she advances against you. And it's sweet and gentle, and makes your whole body electrify. She pulls away quickly, though, as if to confirm that everything is okay. And when you see her, her eyes dark, you bring your mouths together again, now kissing properly.

- Don't go - She asks breathlessly between kisses. You smile against her lips when you agree.

When you drive her home, you hold hands all the way there. And on the same day you look for a job in Barcelona.

[fragiledewdrop]

Rant moment!

My mother teaches Italian literature in high-school, and she's having a hard time with...life, really, as of late, so she asked me to help her analyze a poem she has to explain to her students. I hadn't done it in such a long time, especially in my mother tongue, and oh, I had nearly forgotten how much I love it, how easy and natural it comes to me, how the verses unfold in front of my eyes and I can see the structure behind them, the meaning beyond them, the way the words unfold through alliteration and internal rhymes, the way the syllables are carefully counted or rebelliously half-ignored.

This was my first love, before languages, before even writing. I spent so many nights studying all manners of rhetorical figures as a teen, reading poetry from ancient Greece to today in the small hours of the morning when all the work of the day had been done. And I was good: when I was 18, in my last year of high-school, I won a national poetry analysis competition that my teacher quite literally forced me to enter, and I was so happy! The prize was the first money I ever earned, and with it I bought my first laptop.

Once, maybe naively, I hoped this would be what I would be doing with my life. I wanted to dissect poetry, not just feel it, and share what I had discovered. I wanted to teach people how to do it too, to see if it brought them the same joy it brought me.

No one can live on poetry alone, and it can certainly be argued that there are far more useful ways to spend one's efforts and time. I had that conversation with myself many times, and I concluded that I would try to stay at least partially with my feet on the ground.

But I miss it. I have literature classes, I do, and I love them, but it's different. There's never enough time to give each poem the attention it deserves, and I am too self conscious about doing Actual Useful Things to even bother trying.

I read in my own time, but there was something about the excitement of writing an essay about a single sonnet that I haven't been able to recreate, because I don't have time to actually do that.

Anyway, maybe one day I will get my wish to teach people this, if they want to listen. Sharing love for something, I've found, is never useless. I still don't know where my path is going. Maybe I'll be too busy to ever think about this again. But it was so good, to be transported to that dimension one more time. It was good to feel that kind of excitement again. Even if I got so frustrated with myself for not remembering the word for "hypallage" I almost spilled tea all over my mother's book.

[friiday-thirteenth]

hi uhhh people? bro i forgot how to greet you guys for a full second there lmao

disclaimer: I'm literally just giving you a rundown of what I've been doing for an hour.

anyway! instead of sleeping bc I was tired, I did something else bc I also have a brain that like categories for seemingly arbitrary things, such as books.

backstory bc its great: I started moving my room around last night, but i had to stop bc I was taking everything out, vacuuming, then moving my bed and all the shit under it, vacuuming there, and then it was like. 9.30 and i was truly tired. then today I moved my dresser and three bookshelves back in and therein begins the story

so I took everything out of my bookshelves, which are tiny and can hold like. 21 good sized books each, which is pathetic, because I have a ridiculously large amount of books that reside within my room.

I sorted those things into groups of author and uh, "genre" which basically boiled down to fun categories such as

really really big (volume of books big, not fame big) series/authors that're fantasy

anti-capitalist fiction that seems really fucking capitalism

non-fiction/books that feel like non-fiction

that one series that I love beyond measure and is where I took Friday from (Friday Barnes by R.A. Spratt)

fiction/sci-fi that I can just... read

fiction that doesn't feel like fiction/books I love from a younger time (artists are crazy and other stories, my beloved <3)

and then there are the authors/series I've got separate categories for:

Tamora pierce (hnghhhhh I love so much)

Rick Riordan

harry potter (bro I still like the books don't sue me. I'm far more critical of the writing tho lmao)

folk of air

six of crows

his dark materials my absolutely fucking beloved <3

the Medora chronicles

yeah there's more but I cbf ANYWAY

then I went out to the shed (that word is not doing it justice. its literally the size of my house. its a second building of its own right, really.) and sorted through boxes of books that we just chuck out there whenever mum has a crisis over the state of the house, and grabbed so many books. like, heaps.

but the thing is, out there is where the good old books are stored, like a bunch of Eoin Colfer ones (supernaturalists.... the wish list.... airman.... half-moon investigations..... Artemis fowl..... hnghhhhhh), a poetry book I had been reading online bc I didn't know we had it, The Hobbit, a bunch of Nancy Drew, and like. Wuthering heights.

and so I brought those (and more sbfbfv) inside and now I have so many piles, sorted and unsorted, just sitting on my floor. my room consists of a bed, a dresser, a lamp, three tiny bookshelves, and shit tons of books.

oh, plus the boxes filled with all of Charles Dickens work in matching covers, plus the complete works of shakespeare that's formatted like a fucking Bible. same type of paper and everything.

OH, AND I WENT OUTSIDE IN THE M I D D L E O F T H E N I G H T, in the freezing cold (bc its hitting winter here) in shorts and a t-shirt when I went to the shed. like. jfc idiot. then i fumbled around in the dark to find the light switch, as I was listening to the episode of welcome to nightvale where the computer comes to life bc the wallaby's daughter, Meghan, is literally just a man's hand. it's very terrifying to here a weird-ass computer voice just. play creepily through your earbuds, I'll tell you that.

here have some book related anecdotes that don't relate to this post whatsoever apart from the fact that Books

I remember the time it was a really hot day and I sat in the shed and read day of the triffids or whatever the title is. I'm pretty sure people were blinded and this one guy could still see and he got threatened. I was like, ten. I did not read age appropriate things bc I was fucking weird.

life ft. the time me and my friend laughed over the word boob in a book when we were twelve. go us. she's a lesbian now.

i go to second-hand bookstores with my dad whenever we aren't in my hometown, and it's a bad idea because I've come away from those with $50 worth of books before. and there was that one time where dad brought me the entirity of Charles Dickens' books for like, surprisingly cheap.

the Friday Barnes book series I was talking abt is like. it's it's connector between my mum and me bc she got the first one and we'd wait rlly rlly eagerly for the next to be released bc then we could buy it and I'd read it and then she'd read it and I think that's cool.

this has literally been a post about books I hope you have a nice life goodnight for potential reals.

[docholligay]

The Wild Iris

I love poetry. I love poetry, and yet somehow manage to forget this until I am in the middle of reading poetry. I don’t know why, I’m usually not the type of person to forget I like things, or activities. But in this particular way, I am a bit silly, and then I’m reading Goblin Market to Jewlet and remember, “Hey, I actually dig this stuff.” 

Anyway, I owe @miscanthusroots an extra and she asked if I would mind doing Louise Gluck’s collection of poetry, The Wild Iris, and even agreed to send me a copy to use when I had difficulty finding a copy that wasn’t too spendy. 

I don’t have to tell you The Wild Iris is good, because it won a goddamn Pulitzer, and if something wins the Pulitzer the very least you can do is sit up and listen, but technical merit does not necessarily make something beautiful on a personal or individual level. So I wasn’t sure how I was going to experience the book. I’ve read Gluck’s work before but not necessarily a great amount of it, and, so far as I recall, not an entire book of her work. 

Anyway, I suppose I’m dancing around the fact that it’s in some ways extremely difficult to talk about a book of poetry. Do you take apart each poem individually? I don’t have the time to do that, for this four hour chunk of writing about it, and so the best I think I can do is offer up my thoughts on the collection on the whole. I should say, that I am not a specialist in poetry at all, and though I had to study it to some small degree in college, I certainly don’t have the breadth of knowledge that someone who is very involved in poetics would. 

There’s a thread in the collection of the natural world and prayer, the natural and the divine, and I think to some extent, the idea of God as gardener, but also us as gardeners of the world ourselves, planting and creating like small gods, but ALSO God as the garden himself. I had to read this collection like four times before I really came around to this idea, and came to very much like it.. The Matins and Vespers poems are (obviously) us talking to God, and I think the not-flower poems are God talking back to us. 

Honestly, if you read the collection in the way one would read a novel, a conversation comes out of it easily--the first time I read it I wasn’t paying attention to this, I was reading them a bit scattershot, all taken as individual poems--but it’s this tangle between us and God, and the complication of our relationship with each other. 

In the poem Retreating Wind: 

I gave you every gift, 

Blue of the spring morning, 

Time you didn’t know how to use--

You wanted more, the one gift 

Reserved for another creation

One of many poems titled Matins:

...You want to see my hands?

As empty now as at the first note. 

Or was the point always

To continue without a sign?

Field Flowers:

….Your poor

Idea of heaven: absence 

Of change. Better than earth? How

Would you know, who are neither 

Here nor there, standing in our midst?

Now it was the flower poems themselves that gave me pause, the idea of the natural world, acted on by both God and man, commenting on the nature of life and death and the relationship between God and man, they read at turns deeply critical of man’s striving for immortality, of the human way of defining weeds and flowers , and how they can never truly understand what it is to live and die and live again, 

So I had to go find out if Louise Gluck was Jewish, based on the impressions I got from her writing about God, sure, but what actually made me think about it was the way “God” in the poems speaks about us--there are plenty of Christians that struggle with God, but there’s a very certain way of looking at God as desiring us to overcome him and become him that I really only ever see in Jewish writings and stories. When I first thought this, I immediately then thought, “Nah, couldn’t be, she’s used Matins and Vespers throughout the book” but then I considered that I have been known to use Cathlic imagery myself simply because so many more people are familiar with it. Far and few are the goyim who recognize shacharit and maariv as anything at all. Anyway she is! On a personal level, I dunno, but we can’t get away from the viewpoints we’re raised with in many ways, and I was delighted to find out I was correct. Retreating Light is I think the best and clearest example of what I’m talking about. 

You will never know how deeply

It pleases me to see you sitting there

Like independent beings, 

To see you dreaming by the open window, 

Holding the pencils I gave you

Until the summer morning disappears into writing

Creation has brought you

Great excitement, as I knew it would

As it does in the beginning

And I am free to do as I please now, 

To attend to other things, in confidence, 

You have no need of me anymore 

How many things are said in that line, “In the beginning?” This idea that God loved the creation of us, and watching us, but also, has tired of us, has tired of our questions and needs, and that it has become the work of the day to day, but in the beginning, it’s so exciting. WE crave novelty, and maybe God does too, and perhaps that’s the way we were created in his image, that God longs for us, this children to grow and become better. It reminds me of the story (which I recently told on my chat) of the Oven of Acknai, where the conclusion of the story is God saying, “My children have defeated me, my children have defeated me” and smiling. That we, too, are creation. 

I’m getting close to running out of time here, and it’s frustrating because I could say so much about this, but getting back into the idea of this reading as a novel, it’s also very cyclical. It begins with birth, as a flower, and ends with death, as a flower. And it’s really in this bit, in the bits near the end where I find the most emotional impact. Some of the ideas and imagery she’s using here aren’t exactly new but maybe it’s in knowing them that gives them that emotional resonance, for me. The line

In what contempt do you hold us 

To believe only loss can impress

Your power on us

I mean, how many times have we felt that, at least, those of us who are still talking to God, where it feels as if God can only speak in loss and in taking? Even when you can see the evidence of other gifts, it can feel that way so deeply, and I tink that’s the gift of Gluck’s work here, is that the poems see things both from the side of God and the side of man, the way that all love is a struggle and this love most of all. 

ANd these lines on the nature of death, like this one from Lullaby that just floored me:

Time to rest now; you have had

Enough excitement for the time being

I wish I could explain why things like that, put so simply, affect me so often, much more than anything overwrought. Maybe I’m just getting old, but just that idea of, “It’s time to rest now” just SLAYs me, well done, and the whole poem is great in that way but I’m not going to quote the whole poem at you. 

Also this idea contained in the poem The Silver Lily

After the first cries

Doesn’t joy, like fear, make no sound? 

I am rapidly out of time, but basically this poetry collection contains, especially in the back half, so much of what I love about the idea of struggling with life and death and God. Poetry can, at its best, have the gift of putting these complex feelings and ides into so few words, and there are brilliant moments in The Wild Iris where I feel like that happens for me, were a line sparks an idea, a feeling in my mind, lighting it like a match. I love when something can do that for me. 

I need to remember how much I like poetry when I’m looking for books to read. 

Oh also, before I go I have to point out this line that made me crackle because YES

Sometimes a man or woman forces his despair

on another person, which is called

Baring the heart, alternatively, baring the soul--

[pixieposts]

Dice Prompt 33: Ew that is so sappy I just might vomit

Want some self-indulgent fluff with a side of my secret addiction to poetry?  Cause that’s what you’re getting.  

AO3  

“You know you could just talk to him”

“I have no idea what you mean, I am reading”  

“No Cay, you’re holding a book up and occasionally glancing at it” Beauregard flicked his cheek, her voice rising as she continued to speak “in between staring at Fj—”  

“Shh!” Caleb glared, cutting her off “okay okay I was looking, I was not staring, please keep it down”  

She sighed, but the smirk on her face told him that it was sarcastic.  

“Some sister you are”  

“This is literally exactly what sisters are supposed to do, who even reads at a party?  Do you want me to talk to him for you?”  

“Absolutely not”

She bumped her shoulder into his suddenly, throwing him off balance and sending his book sliding across the old hardwood floors.  He cursed, shoving her back and standing up as she laughed, eyes locked on his errant book.  

As he caught up to it and stooped down, it was swiped from the floor by a large green hand.  Caleb swallowed and stood slowly, feeling his cheeks heat as he looked up into Fjords smiling face.  

“Beau messin’ with your books again?”  

“You could say that, ja”  

Fjord flipped the book open, and the heat in Caleb’s cheeks turned fierce, spreading to his ears and neck.  Fjord read with a curious look on his face, amber eyes trailing across the page.

“I never saw you as the poetry type” Darrows voice teased from as he walked up “Pablo Neruda?”  

Fjord smiled and shrugged “it’s not mine, but I like it” he turned back to Caleb “you highlighted this one, a favourite?”  

“I--well in a way, yes... I only read it this morn--”  

“Bitter love, a violet with its crown of thorns in a thicket of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?”

Caleb tried not to shiver as Fjord read, his low, smooth voice doing the words a service that Caleb felt his own never could.  He made the almost-anger that Caleb had associated with the sonnet soften into something so much more vulnerable, almost sweet.  Fjord smiled and held out the book, still open to the page he had been reading from.  Caleb took it slowly, a jolt like lighting going through him as their fingers brushed, and he could almost convince himself he saw a similar expression flash over Fjord's face.  He held the book to his chest, taking a steadying breath and mentally cursing Beauregard.  

“Th-thank y--” “Do you have any other favourites?”  

They blinked at each other for a moment, then Fjord chuckled and shrugged.

“Sorry, I just figured if you’ve been reading it, you might have some favourites?”  

“I... do not usually read them out loud, I likely would not do it justice”  

“Well” Fjord’s smiled softened “I won’t force you, of course...”  

Caleb felt the familiar flutter in his chest when Fjord’s eyes found his again, and he opened the book instinctively, flipping through the pages.  

“I loved you without knowing I did; I searched to remember you I broke into houses to steal your likeness, Though I already knew what you were like.  And, Suddenly, When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped.”  

He stopped reading, realizing with a sudden jolt that the room had gone quiet and the weight of many eyes was on him.  He looked around in horror, seeing that yes, in fact, this was his worse nightmare.  Everyone was staring, Beauregard’s expression dropped from good-natured teasing to guilty horror as she caught his eye.  He looked up and met Fjord’s amber eyes, a look of shock on his face.  

He dropped the book and ran.  

He ran all the way out the door of the old duplex, down the three blocks to the nearly identical one he shared with Beauregard and Jester, and up the stairs.  He fumbled with the key, collapsing against the inside of the door the second it was closed.  He panted, chest heaving and lungs on fire as he tried to calm himself enough to get up without falling.  His legs ached, his head ached, his chest ached.  He absolutely could not ever go back there, in fact, he should probably just start packing now.  He couldn’t face them again, not Beauregard or Jester, and definitely not Fjord.  

Eventually, he dragged himself up and into the shower, pulled on his most comfortable pajamas, locked his bedroom door and burrowed down into his bed.  

Maybe he could just hide out in here forever.  

---

He did hide, for a good three days in fact.  He managed to sneak food into his mini-fridge while the others were sleeping off the hangovers from the night before and knew his housemates well enough to know when he was safe to use the bathroom without running into them.  Beauregard knocked at one point, speaking in the tone closest to kindness, telling him that everyone got so drunk they wouldn’t even remember (“and it wasn’t even so bad anyway man, you’re good at reading out loud and stuff!”).  He elected to ignore her.  

Jester slid pictures under his door, a couple from her instant camera that showed the three of them at the beginning of the Cursed Evening, and one that she had drawn for him.  It was pretty, and abstract piece with almost floral patterns hidden in the colours.  He hung it up... but still did not speak.  

He checked his socials almost obsessively, looking for any mention of his social faux pas.    

Being one of the awkward quiet kids paid off sometimes, it looked like Beauregard was right about everyone forgetting.

By the end of the fourth day, he felt nearly ready to face the world again.  In an effort to test the waters he crept out of his cave that evening and threw together an easy dinner of pasta with meat sauce.  Half because he was sick of cold food, and half because it was something that both women would be distracted enough by to only tease him for a little while.  Just as he was setting the table he heard the tell-tale sound of keys in the lock.  He turned and pinned on a sheepish smile as the door opened.  

Jester walked in laughing, but her eyes went huge when she caught sight of him standing there.  

“Uhhmmm...”  

Before she could explain, Beauregard walked through the door... followed by Fjord.  

They all paused, staring at him as he stared back, feeling the colour drain from his face.  He cleared his throat, setting down the last plate.

“Hallo.”

“Hey Cay” “Hi Caleeeb”  

He looked at Fjord, whose cheeks had gone a ruddier shade of green, as he coughed.  

“I um... I have extra, if you want to stay”

“No, I—well actually that would be—that is...” Fjord stumbled over his words before setting down his bag and pulling out Caleb's book “I came to give you this, and maybe talk to you?  If you want I mean”  

“Oh” his instinct to be polite kicked in as he nodded towards the living room “ja sure, do you want to-?”  

“Yeah, yeah that works”  

He heard the shuffle of the girls tossing their jackets and shoes and making their way to the table, and his nerves ramped up.  They would definitely be eavesdropped, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go in the house at the moment.  He stopped in the middle of the living room, wishing absently that he had tidied up more today.   There was a moment of mildly uncomfortable silence, before Fjord stepped closer to him, a sheepish look on his face.  

“So... I wanted to return your book” he reached and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, the nervous tick was endearing and Caleb felt his expression soften “I also... well, I wanted to—want to apologize, for what happened”  

“Apologize?”  

“Yeah, I kinda pushed you into reading, and I shouldn’t have, it was shitty of me when I knew you’d probably be uncomfortable” he looked down, face dark again “You just have a great voice, I wanted to—well, it doesn’t matter, it was shitty”  

“Oh” Caleb blinked in confusion “Well, thank you?  You did not need to apologize; I do not blame you for it.” he paused, the rest of Fjord’s statement settling in his brain “you... like my voice?”  

“Yeah” Fjord looked up, a tentative smile on his face “it’s nice, I like your accent.  Why do you think I started going to those books and wine things Jester set up?”  

“Oh” Caleb repeated, feeling like more of an idiot every time he said it “I-I never thought about it, well, no, I did think about it but I thought you were into Jest--” he bit his tongue, trying to stop the waterfall of stupidity that seemed intent on flowing from his mouth.  

“You thought I liked...Jester?”  

“Yes?”  

“No”

“Oh”  

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, Fjord's expression softening to a fond smile.  He stepped farther into Caleb’s space, holding up the book slightly.  

“You’re smart Cay, really smart, but I think you maybe missed a few points here”  

“Explain them to me?”  

“I started going to the wine nights because I liked listening to you talk, I asked you about your books, and your cat, and I wanted to hear you read the poem at the party because I like your voice.  I like you darlin’, not Jes”  

“You like... oh”  

“There you go” Fjord flipped the book open, revealing a scrap of paper being used as a bookmark “you missed part of the poem you know”  

Joy soared in Caleb's chest as the understanding that not only did Fjord like his voice, but he also liked him settled there.  It filled him with a new kind of warmth, and sent a bright smile across his face.  

“I know, tell me anyway?”  

“When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped: You stood before me, ruling me.  And you reign:   Like a wildfire in the forest, and the flame is your dominion”

He reached out as he spoke, capturing a lock of Caleb's hair between his fingers.  The red of his hair only looked more vibrate against the rich green of Fjords skin.  A wildfire among the trees.  

Caleb blushed, pulling his eyes from where Fjord held him to catch his gaze instead, and found him staring back.  As they stared, Beauregard's voice rang out from the adjoining kitchen:  

“Ew, that is so sappy I just might vomit.”

Caleb caught the mischievous glint in Fjord's eye only a moment too late.  

“If you didn’t like that, you’ll hate this”  

And then Fjord was kissing him, soft, almost chaste really, but with one hand in Caleb’s hair and one still trapped between them holding the book... it was perfect.  

[spencapenca]

The Misfits

Hi! So I am currently writing a highschool AU called The Misfits. It is about the BAU as teenagers. Going through four of the roughest years of their lives. Highschool sucks for everyone, especially when you go through it alone. Rolling with the punches of life and high school, these students find solace in each other. Anyways! It continues after the break

CW! Mentions of mental abuse, emotional neglect, physical abuse, suicide, and homophobic slurs.

---

Spencer woke up early… way too early, but he was excited. This was his first day of highschool. Sure, he was at least five years younger than everyone in his grade, but he was ready. His mother on the other hand was not. She hadn’t moved out of her room in three days. He walked into the room and went over to her bed. 

“Good Morning Mama, I start high school today.” He says seeing that she was awake and reading. She looked at him and back at her book without saying a word, he realized that she was too far gone to respond right now. He walked out of the room sadly, going to the kitchen to look for food of some sort. He had become used to doing things by himself, adapting to the new changes. His dad had left six months earlier, which only worsened his mother's downward spiral. Spencer wanted his mom to get him ready for his first day: to cook him breakfast, pack his lunch, maybe even do the cheesy pictures that other moms did. But not Diana. No. Never Diana. Electronics were evil, from the government. His dad had bought him a phone and paid the bill; the only thing he did. Not that he ever answered Spencer's attempts to reach out but it was nice to have though, just in case. 

After standing on plenty of stools, Spencer decided on poptarts. He popped the strawberry pastries in the toaster and shifted his weight from foot to foot, thinking as he waited for the poptarts to become warm and toasty. His mind wandered to a time two years ago, his first day of middle school. His mom was still lucid then, she had made him breakfast and read to him. He was only seven then,he was nine now; always was smart for his age. It wasn’t easy to be the youngest in the grade. He got jostled around a lot and took a lot of elbows to the nose, but he was used to it. He was also used to the looks he got when he did the advanced work in class,the looks of doubt. He hated them. His attention popped back to the pastries when they sprung up in the toaster. He jumped before realizing what had just happened. He pulled them out and hissed at the heat, dropping them onto a paper towel. He sat and ate, allowing his mind to wander again. Remembering his mom before she went down hill. Before he was forced into being his own parent, he was already expected to be an adult.He just wanted to be cared for, like most kids did,he was only nine after all. Sure, he was in highschool, but he was still little. He still wanted the crutch of his mom and dad. He wanted to be held. When he went into his mom’s room earlier, he had hoped for her to scoop him up and give him a kiss on the forehead, and read some poetry to him. Or even just talk to him. Just be a human, and she would, in time…

After he finished eating, he had to rush to get dressed. Trying his best not to think about the fact that he had to walk the five and a half miles to school. He was too young to sign himself up for the school bus, obviously too young to drive, and on top of that he didn’t have anyone to carpool with. He rushed into his room and pulled on a pair of corduroy slacks, his old striped comfort sweater, and his tennis shoes. The only reason he wore a sweater was because it helped calm him down when he was having sensory issues, though he was always cold. Probably from the lack of vitamins in his diet. He rushed to pack his lunch, not able to find his old lunch bag, so he used a grocery sack. He remembered when his dad would pack his lunch and he lost some composure. Small tears stinging at the corners of his eye, a lump rising in his throat, the building pressure behind his nose. He pushed it all down, while making a sloppy PB and J and throwing a sleeve of Saltines into the sack. He called it a day and got his bag, shoving his lunch in the torn backpack. He walked out of the door and started the trek to school, getting to watch the sunrise. The purples made a small smile peak at his cheeks, the pinks mixing with the oranges made his chest feel warm. His hands flapped happily and he walked with a small bounce in his step. Sweat already starting to bead at his forehead.

  It took him an hour and a half, but he got to the school in enough time to get his schedule. He knew that he was assigned a guide for the first day, just to help him around the school because he was so young. Spencer walked into the main office, and didn’t even clear the top of the counter, his messy curls peeking up from behind it. 

“Um, excuse me. I need to get my schedule.” He said in a squeaky voice. 

“Okay honey, just come right around here.” The nice secretary lady said. Her name plate read Alex Blake. 

The small boy walked around to her side of the counter and smiled at her. “I’m Spencer Reid. R-E-I-D.” He said confidently, trying to show that he belonged here. 

“Oh the youngin. Okay honey, your freshman guide is Aaron Hotchner. He is a Junior. You guys surprisingly have a similar schedule, so stick with him. Let me know if you need anything.” She said, pointing him over to a tall ravenette man. 

He walked over, and in a small voice approached him. “Hi, I’m Spencer, your freshman. I need my schedule, please.” He said with a squeak, his voice rising in pitch because he was nervous. 

“Hey Spencer, um… Here is your schedule, we actually have a first period and lunch together. So just stick with me for a bit and we can head off to our first class. Which just so happens to be Algebra II.” He said without looking at the kid. He handed him his schedule and held back a gasp. “How old are you?” He asked in a hushed voice.

Spencer wasn’t surprised this was one of the first questions. He had become used to this. “I’m nine… I know I’m little, but I am advanced. I have a high IQ and tested when I was seven, being placed into seventh grade. Now I’m nine in the ninth.” He liked how that had worked. So far, this hadn’t sucked. 

…

Jennifer had woken up hours earlier, going on a run before school. She did her best to stay in shape during her off season, still allowing herself to indulge in normal teenage things from time to time. WIthin the three hours she had been awake, the young woman had already worked out and showered, standing in front of her mirror, looking at the shell of the person she once was. Tired, dark bags fell under her eyes, her face puffy from the long nights spent crying herself to sleep. Her sister had died seven months ago. Her sister's room had been left untouched, besides the clothes that she had taken from her closet. She would sleep in her sister's hoodie, only to put it back the next day so it wouldn’t lose her smell. Her death hit her harder than she let on. She had slowly started to become numb inside, forcing a smile only around her parents and friends. Everytime she passed her sister's bedroom a small piece of her heart would break again. 

Today was supposed to be the day her older sister started Senior year. They were going to be in school together for one year. Their year. Jennifer shook her head at the thought. Refusing to let tears fall from her eyes once more. She felt so broken and weak, though everyone told her it was normal. It would probably be easier if everywhere she turned Rosalyn wasn’t staring back at her. Her door being open, a crack, her shampoo bottle, the untouched toothbrush. Everywhere Jennifer looked she saw her dead sister. She refused to shower in the bathtub after finding her sister in it. She tried… once. It ended with her shaking and crying in the tub, her mom having to turn off the water and pick her up. Since then she barely walked into that bathroom. She blinked, being brought back to reality. She puts on a burnt red dress with paisley print on it, paired with simple white shoes. She brushed through her hair, and tied it up, a ribbon lacing around the ponytail. She had opted for a softer sense of style. Mainly to portray the happiness she longed to feel. 

She soon walked downstairs, greeted by her mother. Her father was already at work, having seemed burying himself in it since the death. Her mom was the American Dream of a mother: supportive, stay at home mom that cooks breakfast and dinner. She loved her mom, though she wished she saw her break down just once. Not just act like everything was okay. 

“Good morning sunshine, how did you sleep?” Sandy asked cheerfully.

Jennifer looked at her and put on the fake smile that had an all too comfortable home on her face. “Good morning, Mom. I slept well. What’s for breakfast?” She asked in a happy voice.

“French toast, eggs, sausage, fruit, and orange juice.” She answered, setting a plate of food in front of her. Sandy was sweet, really. And Jennifer appreciated her so much for the things she did. 

Jennifer's eyes lit up when the food was sat in front of her. She took a sip of her orange juice and smiled at her mom. “Thank you Mama. It looks really good.” 

Sandy smiled softly, living to see the smile of her daughter. It broke her when Rosalyn killed herself. She never let Jennifer see how it hurt her. She had to be strong for her daughter, keep her afloat too. She would cry when Jennifer wasn’t around. Sitting on the rug of her eldest’s floor, her smell enveloping her as she sobbed into it. Blaming herself for not seeing the warning signs of her daughter's depression. The withdrawal, the sudden “I love you’s’, soon to be followed by long hugs. 

Both ladies had happy, light conversations until it was time to leave for school. The time Jennifer was dreading. Sandy drove her happily, happy to see her daughter entering such a crucial time in her life. Reminding her not to forget that she had volleyball practice after school. After multiple rounds of I love yous and goodbyes, Jennifer walked into the school. She walked to the Secretary and was assigned her Freshman Guide. Emily Prentiss. Jennifer shrugged it off until she saw the other female. The blonde had known that she liked girls, coming to terms with it over the summer, though you couldn’t tell by looking at her. Emily was gorgeous. She had a totally opposite look of the younger woman. Tall, pale, dark haired beauty. Jennifer felt heat rush to her cheeks. ‘Keep it together Jareau!’ She thought to herself.

“So you’re the freshie I have. Good to know. I’m Emily.” She said with a nod.

“I’m Jennifer,” she said with a squeak in her voice that she swallowed. 

“I’m gonna call you JJ. Fits you better. Here’s your schedule. Try to keep up.” She says handing her it and walking off.

JJ. She liked it. She made a mental note of it. From this day forward she was JJ. 

…

Penelope has already been up for hours. Grooming herself to look perfect for the first day. She wanted to make sure everyone knew who Penelope Garcia was,though she wished her last name fit her better. During roll call she always had to explain that she was, in fact, Penelope Garcia. She had buried her feelings with her parents. Six feet under. After her parents died, she moved to Virginia and moved in with her mom’s best friend, of whom she thought of, and called her aunt. This was the first year she wanted to be back in school,the previous year she opted to do homeschooling. She didn’t want to be around anyone, but she decided that this year would be different. She would push herself to be happy. She was going to force herself into her old happy persona. Maybe it would start to feel real to her again. Though the issue wasn’t that she was sad, it was that she wouldn’t allow herself to be. She felt the need to be happy all the time. Show everyone how strong she is. That was except for one person, Derek Morgan. He was the next door neighbor's son. Her aunt had set her up to hang out with him because they had one thing in common: a dead parent. They had hit it off. He would come over and just talk to her some days when she was having a bad day, sitting out in a tree that she thought was secluded, until Derek came up. She was crying and he let her cry on his shoulder. He told her that it would all feel better soon. That it would take time. And from that moment forward, they were best friends. Soon morphing into more. This summer they had made it official. 

Penelope smelled the familiar smell of chocolate chip pancakes through the air and followed it downstairs. Greeting her aunt with a bubbly smile. “Good morning Alyssa! It smells amazing!” She complemented. They both sat and ate, light conversation flowing between them. She received the text that Derek was ready, finally home and showered from his football practice. 

“Goodbye Alyssa. Derek is gonna drive me to school today. Love you!” She called out from the doorway. Her black skirt ruffling up in the breeze. 

“Have a good day Pen!” She called back, the screen door slamming in response. 

Penelope walked over to Derek’s house, knocking on the door. He greets her with a toothy smile. “Good morning baby girl” He says, wrapping one arm around her shoulder as he walked out to his car with her. They had been dating for about four months, though they had been pining for at least eight months.

“Good morning handsome. Are you ready for sophomore year?” She asked, smiling at the male. He always held her hand while they drove. He could drive early because he had a birthday that fell early in the year. 

“Of course I am, are you? I know how hard this is. Especially since you’re new.” 

“I’m ready. I’m just gonna take this year by the horns, no one knows me, no one knows what happened. No one knows my past. All they know is I’m the new girl. That's all they need to know.” She says matter of factly. 

Derek looked over at her and smiled. “Okay, but remember. I understand, and I am always here. No matter what, no matter how bad you think it is. I’m in your corner.” 

Penelope blushed softly, “Thank you… I know.” 

After ten minutes they pull up to the school. Penelope took a deep breath and swallowed. Smoothing out her pink top. She looked cute, really. Pink top, black skirt, white shoes. Though, her and Derek looked out of place together. 

She looks over at him and smiles, pecking him on the cheek. “Lets go kick ass.” 

Derek let out a nice hearty laugh and rolled his eyes, “Lets go kick ass.”

They walked into the school, hand in hand, smiles on both of their faces, like nothing could ruin their happy high, 

…

Five a.m always came too early in Derek’s opinion. Groaning as he rolled out of bed, he threw on his practice uniform and grabbed his equipment bag, heading to the field. When he arrived, he ran his five laps around the field and then drank water, heading out to practice. Three long hours later he was dripping sweat, putting away his cleats.

 One of his teammates comes over to him, “Yo Morgan, you coming out to breakfast with the team? We’re going to IHop before school. It’s a tradition.” 

“Nah man, I’m good. Thank you though.” Derek said, not wanting to give an explanation to why. 

“Come one man! It’s tradition! It's your first year on varsity, just give me a good reason why, and I will leave you alone. Just one good, legitimate reason why.” 

“I’m… I’m picking up my girl okay? It’s her first day here, and I promised her I would pick her up and drive her. Chill?” 

“Show me a picture of ‘your girl’ and I’ll leave it be. Lady Man Morgan.” He teased, pushing his shoulder.

Derek pulled out his phone and showed him his lockscreen, him and Penelope together, Her head resting on his chest. There was a significant height difference between the pair. “That's my girl. Her name is Penelope, but I call her Pen.” He boasts, until he hears a scoff and a chuckle. Who did this kid think he was?

“Oh, THAT’S your girl. Dude just skip her. She ain’t cute anyways.” 

Derek felt a small bubble of anger rise in his chest, “Watch what you say, that’s my girl. You right, she ain’t cute, she is beautiful. I can’t see what would make you think otherwise McClellan.” He replied through gritted teeth.

“Come on… It’s obvious isn’t it? The  ELEPHANT in the room… Well picture I guess.” He added snarkily. Of course he was talking about her weight, most people did. It always pissed Derek off in public, when people would see them at dinner and stare at her. Making comments about her or what she was eating. 

Derek glared at him, “Oh… so you’re that type of asshole. Okay, well be sure to never invite me anywhere with you again. I would much rather hang out with my girlfriend. She is gorgeous, funny, kind, smart, and stronger than you would ever be.” He spat, turning away and texting her. ‘Good morning, gorgeous. I hope you slept well, I just got out of practice. Will be ready to go at 9:00’ 

She responded almost immediately, like normal. ‘Good morning babe :), I slept amazing, I’ll meet you at your front door.’ 

Derek smiled and put his phone away, driving home. Greeted by his two older sisters in the kitchen, Desiree and Sarah. They basically raised him. His mom was always busy working as a nurse at the hospital, and his dad died in Chicago when he was ten. It was still hard, even after six years. Big dates always reminds him of the lack of a father. The first day was no different. His fifth grade year was his last first day with his dad. His dad would always make chocolate chip waffles and give him a pep talk. Tell him to be good, make sure he was always kind, and then kiss his forehead, and ruffle his hair. He missed it every year. 

Desiree tried to keep the tradition of chocolate chip waffles alive, trying to keep their dad alive with the memories. “Der! I made waffles for you, for after you shower. Please  shower first. You smell like sweaty boy and feet.” She called from the kitchen, not even seeing him yet. 

Derek just laughs in response and goes upstairs getting ready for the day. He looks in the mirror and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Dad, I promise this year I am going to do my best in school, I’m going to stay out of trouble, and I’m always going to be kind. I gotta girlfriend this year. You would love her pops. She’s feisty, she’s so smart and kind. Her folks are gone too. Maybe you know them… maybe not. I don’t know how it works, but I gotta go pops. I love you.” He said into the mirror. Sometimes he would talk to the picture of his dad that he hung on his mirror, looking himself in the eyes. He found it helped on the hard days.

He walked downstairs and smiled when he smelled the waffles, “You guys are the best!” He commented through a mouthful of hot waffle. Light banter flows between the siblings, followed by hugs. Derek leaves when Penelope walks over to his house, hearing her humming something before she even knocks at the door. He smiles widely at her, she looked pretty today. He always had thought she was pretty, even when they had first met. “Good morning, baby girl!” He greeted, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close so he could secretly get a smell of her perfume. She always smelled sweet, like vanilla, or cake. 

The two drove to school, Derek holding her hand the entire time. They hadn’t kissed or anything yet. Just hand holding, they had cuddled while watching movies, but they both didn’t want to hurt the other. Derek knew she wasn’t in the best state, so he was always her best friend first, boyfriend came second. 

He looks over at her and smiles when she says, “Let’s kick ass.” “Let’s kick ass.” 

…

Emily woke up bright and early, dealing with her mother. Of course, today of all days she had to be home. She woke up to her light being flipped on, “Emily! Get out of bed, it is six in the morning. You have school today!” Her mother said, her voice raised. 

“Mother. It’s six. School starts at NINE FIFTEEN.” She said, her pillow now over her eyes, “Leave me alone.” She groans

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, you have two minutes to get out of bed before I pour water on you. Now. And look presentable.” She commands, the door slamming shut with her exit. 

Emily groaned and got out of her bed, her dark messy curls falling over her eyes. She lets out an annoyed huff and throws her hair into a messy ponytail and walks to the bathroom. She washes her face and then goes into her room, pulling out an outfit. Fishnet tights, ripped jeans, cuffed of course, a black and white striped long sleeved shirt, and a band tee over it. She slipped on her Doc’s and an assortment of chains. Her mom always hated how she looked, how she dressed. It started out as a way to piss her mom off, show her that she isn’t some political figure. She never would be. She sat down at her vanity to do her makeup, she favored dark colors, purples and blacks mainly. She smiled as she winged her eyeliner, it came out perfectly. The raven headed girl decided to go downstairs, drink some coffee. Maybe it would make her feel better. 

When she got downstairs her mother audibly gasped, “Emily! You look like the grim reaper's wife!” 

Emily looked at her and rolled her eyes, walking over to the cabinet and getting the items to make her coffee, pouring the cream into the bottom of a tumbler filled with ice, pouring the hot coffee over it. “As long as SHE is pretty, I’ll take it,” She mouthed, knowing her mother hated her sexuality. She often told her it was a phase, just a rebellion. 

Elizabeth dropped the spoon she was using to eat her oats, “Emily, you and I both know that you’re just rebelling. Don’t talk that homosexual talk in this household. It’s dirty and imperfect. We’re Prentiss’ we don’t do those things.” 

The teen looked at her and scoffed, her heart dropping. She took it, always did, always would. Though she would never show her mother the pain she caused; she would never let her win. The second that Emily showed any trace of hurt, she would win. Emily translated that to her normal social life. Always making herself look like a hardass, scaring everyone around her. She couldn’t let herself be vulnerable, or else her mother would use it, and treat it like a weakness. Emily was always a pawn in her mother's political games. She knew it. 

Emily had let the stress get to her, taking the coffee upstairs, she dug in her bedside drawer to grab her old friend. She would smoke weed whenever she needed to relax, whenever her life seemed like too much. She was high most of the time. She normally used a dab pen, though sometimes she would use a (joint/blunt). She never used bongs, she held herself higher than that. She put the pen to her mouth and inhaled. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Hold…. Inhale. Exhale. She repeated this process a couple of times, feeling the buzz of more vapor in her lungs than air, knowing that's her sign to stop. She could longboard to school now. Forget about the rest of her problems momentarily. Though, it was less than ideal to do in her boots. 

She goes downstairs, and thankfully her mother is gone. She said her goodbyes to her nanny, Amanda, and walked out the front door with her long board in one hand, her backpack on, and her music blaring in her ears. She would listen to a mix of most everything. Sometimes it was screamo, sometimes it was soft pop. Today it was her love playlist. She liked to imagine herself riding alongside a pretty girl, holding her hand as they skated together. She pushed the two miles to school, arriving early anyways. She makes a beeline for the secretary. She had become close to her the previous school year after Blake found her crying in the bathroom because of her mother. The vile names she had spit at her. Ever since then she had become a confidant. 

“Blake! You will not believe what happened. Ugh! It was so fucking, sorry, freaking stupid!” She huffed, pulling a chair besides her desk.

“Well, good morning to you too Emily. What happened?” She asked, holding back a laugh

“Well for starters, my mother was home. That in and of itself is horrible. Then she wakes me up at six this morning, demanding I get up and dressed. So I did. But THAT wasn’t good enough for her either, now was it?” She spat angrily, her hands tapping on her leg that was bouncing up and down, anxiety still very obviously present.

“Oh… wow. She said something about your clothes didn’t she?”

“OF COURSE she did. Because GOD FORBID her precious little perfect angel. She said something about me looking like the Grim Reaper’s wife. So I said as long as SHE is pretty, I don’t care. That thoroughly pissed her off. It’s like she just doesn’t care. I’m not her perfect little girl, and she can’t use me, so she decides that I’m just not good enough. All A’s and on honor roll, not to mention the advanced classes. But THAT'S not good enough.” She ranted, the older woman listening, nodding her head and adding small affirmatives.

“I’m sorry that she is like that. I think that your outfit is quite cool, and she has no reason to get mad at you over that. It is your sexuality, and you can’t control who you like. I wish I could help you, but from what I’ve heard, she isn’t around much, and your nanny is pretty accepting.” 

Emily nodded, taking a ragged breath, “You’re right… I better shut up, there is a freshman” Emily says, seeing a blonde girl walk in. She looked like that Junior that committed suicide. Shit. That was her sister. She was gorgeous, unique looking. She was soft. Her hair framing her angular face perfectly. She was just beautiful. Emily honestly forgot to breathe for a moment, letting her face turn a rosy color before realizing what she was doing. She shook her head and got up, walking behind the desk, over to distract herself. 

It took about ten minutes, but Alex came over to Emily, presenting her with the freshman. Her mind started to race, the pretty girl standing in front of her, leaving her speechless. She soon heard that her name was Jennifer. JJ… It fit. It was soft enough to be spoken with the utmost love, but also to be called carelessly. She made it known too. 

“I’m gonna call you JJ, it fits you better. Here’s your schedule, try to keep up.” She spoke back, trying so hard not to turn into a pile of mush in front of her. She turned on her heels and walked fastly in the other direction, making sure no one could see the radiant smile painted on her face. 

…

Aaron woke up at 5:30, making sure he had enough time to get breakfast ready for his mother and his little brother. He had always made sure to step up, wanting to make the house a more peaceful place. His dad had begun taking his rough days and frustrations out on Aaron, soon becoming more than just yelling. The young boy made sure to keep his brother and mother safe, taking the brunt of the abuse. His father died when he was fourteen, and he had a wave of relief crash over him. He knew that he didn’t have to take the abuse any longer, he didn’t have to wait until his father went to sleep to do things because he was afraid of getting thrown against the wall. He didn’t have to step in between his mother and his father, letting the punches land on his body. The first time his father ever hit Sean was the day Aaron knew he wasn’t able to be a kid. He grew up extremely fast, acting and talking like an adult from the age of eight. He had never learned how to be a kid. He never knew how to play with other kids. And that would come to affect him. He was always seen as the hardass, from the clothes he would wear, to the way he talked. He was always more mature, not laughing at the jokes his classmates would tell, not really having many friends. He always stuck up for everyone though. He would see freshmen being made fun of by upperclassmen and he would make sure he put a stop to it. 

The ravenette would make his family breakfast everyday, today he was making them french toast and eggs. He saw a very sleepy looking Sean bound down the hallway, his hair a sleep ridden mess. “Good morning, breakfast is on the table. I need to go get ready for school. You have forty five minutes to eat and get dressed. I’m walking you to the bus stop this morning.” He said leaving the room, running into his mother in the hallway. “Good morning mama, breakfast is on the table. Have a good day at work.” 

The male got into the shower quickly, rushing to get ready. He pulled on a pair of khakis and a green polo shirt, looking like a dad about to go golfing. He chuckled and rolled his eyes at his reflection, smoothing out his hair. He looked at his phone and realized that he needed to get a move on. He took Sean to the bus stop, walking back for his friend, Dave Rossi to pick him up. Dave and him had been friends since elementary school, seeking solace in each other. He was the stability that Dave needed, and Dave was the rebellion he needed. The man pulled up in his classic convertible. Aaron climbed into the front seat, relaxing into the leather. 

“Hey Dave, thanks for picking me up.” He piped up with a small smile.

“Aaron! It’s no issue. How is Sean and Amanda?” 

“Oh, they’re good. Sean misses you, he keeps asking me when you’re coming over again. Mom misses you too.” 

Dave smiled at him and hummed in response, “I’ll have to come over one night for dinner” He said, pulling into the school. It was a short drive, but it was one that was well worth the gas.

Aaron walked into the school building and met with Blake, getting introduced with his freshman. Spencer Reid. When he saw the boy he was confused, he looked like a child. “Hi, I’m Aaron. What’s your name?”

“Spencer, I’m your freshman. I need my schedule.” He squeaked out. Damn he even sounded young. 

Aaron was puzzled. How old was this kid?  “Hey Spencer, um… Here is your schedule, we actually have a first period and lunch together. So just stick with me for a bit and we can head off to our first class. Which just so happens to be Algebra II. How old are you?” He asked, his voice lower in pitch.

Spencer looked up at him. “I’m nine… I know I’m little, but I am advanced. I have a high IQ and tested when I was seven, being placed into seventh grade. Now I’m nine in the ninth.”

Aaron looked at him, keeping his face in a calm manner. Nine. He was nine in high school. He knew that he needed to protect him. He was an easy target. He led the boy to their first hour, showing him the ropes. Maybe this year wouldn’t be terrible. 

…

David woke up to the smell of food cooking. This was new. Normally he was home alone. He used to have his nanny Laura around, but  when he started highschool his parents decided he was old enough to stay home without constant supervision. He missed the company though, seeing as how they had grown a nice friendship in the time. He wandered downstairs and saw his parents in the kitchen, a warm smile spreading across his face. They were home… For the first time in at least a month. 

“Ma! Pa!” He greeted from the doorway, soon walking into the kitchen. He felt a warm bubble of happiness in his chest, something he felt less and less. The young man was lonely to say the least. He never had his parents around as a kid. He was always being handed around from nanny to butler, his parents deciding to buy his love instead. It started with nice toys, soon turning to electronics, and then a car. He was spoiled, but not on his own accord. He knew that his parents felt guilty for how they were absent in his life. 

“Bambino!” His father greets, kissing the side of his head obnoxiously like the Italian father he was. Though the warmth of the moment was short lived when his phone rang, calling both him and Mrs. Rossi into work. Dave sighed, knowing that no arguing or sadness could help his case. 

Dave sat in silence, eating the eggs his dad had made for him. He put his dirty dishes in the sink rinsing them off to make his job easier for later. Even though he had people to do these things for him, he insisted on doing it himself. He wasn’t that lazy. He knew that he would be on his own, so he figured he needed to know those basic life skills. He did get to learn some things from his friend Aaron. Aaron and him had been friends since fourth grade, despite the social classes. He thought of Aaron like an older brother, though they were the same age. He needed the responsibility and boundaries the other male had, craving that himself. 

Dave walked upstairs, getting ready for the day. A hot shower, followed by jeans, a white tee-shirt and a leather jacket. His hair messily fluffed to the side. He went for a Greaser esc style. He packed his bag, soon going out to his car to pick Aaron up. He felt bad for the man because he didn’t drive yet, he was too busy to deal with minimal things. Or that is what he said. When he got to the males house, he smiled warmly. He was so alone at home, any interaction made him happy. When Aaron told him Sean missed him his heart swelled. Dave was an only child. He always loved children, being around them, playing or talking to them, coloring, really anything they wanted. He thought of the Hotchner family as his family away from home. Amanda being around more than his mother ever was. 

Dave pulled into the school at 7:15, leaving time to screw around before his first hour. His grades never suffered from his antics. He felt himself slipping into the persona of David Rossi, the class clown. He acted different at school, making himself overly obnoxious, trying to be funny because he wanted acceptance. Was that really too much to ask?