#classic fifteen year old boy move

[15-lizards]

“You can’t leave the fate of the Imperium in the hands of one child”

[hairmetal666]

It's a fluke that Eddie ends up a gymnast. Wayne only signs him up for summer classes at Hawkins's tumbling gym to burn off his excess six-year-old energy. Nobody, lest of all Eddie or Wayne, expects him to be talented at it.

And now, somehow, he's at his first ever elite gymnastics competition. His coaches all said he was good, but he hadn't really had a frame of reference for what that meant. Not until now. Not until he's in 3rd place after high bar, right behind Steve Harrington.

They tumbled together, as little kids. Steve a tiny boy with an absurd pompadour, monopolizing the mats for insane tumbling passes and lording his high-end competition shirts over the other kids (none of the rest even wore actual gymnastics gear; they were six and it was Hawkins).

Now, he's a swaggering fifteen year old with the same pompadour and bad attitude. They're not on the same rotation, but as Eddie moves on from his floor exercise, Steve makes a point to ram into him.

Eddie doesn't react and maybe that would've been the end of it, but he ends up placing, and Steve corners him in the locker room.

"Come to congratulate me?" Eddie smirks.

"You better watch your back, Munson." Steve shoves him into the lockers.

"I knew you were an asshole, Harrington, but I didn't realize you were a sore loser."

Steve leans close, heat melting into Eddie. "You better count yourself lucky you've gotten this far. Not really a sport for poor kids."

Eddie bristles at this. Yeah, sure, his gear is secondhand, and he and Wayne learned how to sew to mend his competition shirts, gymnastics pants, and warmups, but they work hard, together, for Eddie to do this. "Don't worry about how I afford to be here." Eddie checks him as he brushes past. "Just fix those wobbly flairs on pommel."

The rivalry is hot and fierce and mean, made even worse by the fact that Eddie has an enormous hate-boner for Harrington. It's not, Eddie reasons, his fault. He's gay and surrounded by guys whose bodies are honed for a sport based on strength, endurance, and agility, Steve the most beautiful of all. So he looks, and he longs, and he hates Harrington with every fiber of his being.

Eddie's sure this would continue for their competitive lives, but everything changes the summer before their junior years of high school. They're at a training camp, the kind for world champion, Olympic hopeful types. Steve is practicing ring dismounts when he loses himself in the air, lands hard off the mat, destroys something in his knee. He needs surgery, the recovery time 6-8 months, if he's lucky to be able to compete again.

Maybe a year ago, Eddie would be excited by this development, but now it's kind of devastating. He doesn't bother examining why.

--

Steve comes back and he's--different. His first competition, he comes up, asks, "Eddie, hey, can we talk?" And, well, they've never been on a first name basis before and Steve is so so pretty, so he agrees.

"I just want to say, I'm sorry how I treated you back before. I was a real piece of shit and you never deserved it."

Eddie truly doesn't know how to respond, never foresaw this day coming. "Thanks. Uh--yeah. Thanks."

They stare at each other for a few seconds longer before Steve taps him on the shoulder and walks away.

It's not the only thing that's changed about Steve. There's this big group of feral children that follow him around everywhere now. Apparently, Harrington told them Eddie plays dnd and now they follow him around too.

He also. Has a girlfriend now. She's pretty; delicate looking. Her name is Nancy. And she's nice, or whatever. Eddie definitely isn't jealous. It's just. He's been with Steve in locker rooms for years, and he thought--well, he'd seen the way Harrington's eyes sometimes lingered on a bicep, a well-cut thigh, the intrigue of a pelvic v, and he thought--not that it matters, but he thought--

Anyway, Steve has a girlfriend.

---

They're at the winter classic, when it happens.

Eddie is doing good. Like. Really good. Like his routines, they're not flawless, but he's hitting the big skills and sticking landings, and stays in 2nd throughout the majority of the rotations.

It's not a huge shock when he finishes his final rotation, vault, and winds up finishing in 2nd. What is a shock, though, is that, when the scores go up, Steve is wrapping his arms around Eddie's waist, hoisting him into the sky. And, even after he's back on solid ground, Harrington doesn't loosen his hold.

And it's, like. Nothing, right? It's nothing because he has a girlfriend and, sure, maybe he's bi, but that doesn't stop Nancy from existing.

He's not going to think about it, is the thing. He knows it doesn't mean anything, so he isn't going to dwell. It's definitely not all he thinks about during the podium ceremony, or after when he talks to media, or even later walking into the empty locker room.

Or. He thought it was empty. But Steve is there, smiling, saying "you were amazing out there."

They hug again, and Eddie tries not to enjoy the warmth of Harrington's body, the comforting strength of his toned biceps. Eddie pulls back and Steve is--he's so close, gazing at Eddie's lips and--

Steve's mouth is hot and sweet, like he's wearing cherry chapstick, and Eddie can't--he thinks of Nancy; she's nice, doesn't deserve this, they should stop--

But he's sucking on Steve's tongue and Steve is making the sweetest sounds, hard against Eddie's thigh, and nothing else matters.

---

It goes on for months.

Eddie knows he needs to end it, vows to as soon as they're apart.

It all goes out the window as soon as they're together again. He can't get enough. It's Steve. How is he supposed to resist?

(He needs to. It's horrifying, what they're doing to Nancy)

---

The children who follow Steve around invite him to dinner after the first day of the USA gymnastics championships.

Nancy is there.

It's the worst three hours of his life. He can't look at Steve, can barely speak to him.

Nancy is beautiful and smart and kind and strong. She doesn't deserve any of this.

And when Steve drops by his hotel room hours later, Eddie greets him by saying, "I can't do this anymore."

Steve's shoulders drop, eyes squeezing shut. "Right. Yeah, I--Yeah."

"I like you, Steve. A lot. But I can't--you have a girlfriend. And I can't keep being whatever this is for you."

Steve nods, won't meet his eyes. "You're right. It's not fair to either of you. I--My parents expect--And I--I'm sorry," he whispers the last part.

Eddie smiles, heart aching. "Sweetheart. I get it. But. Figure out your shit, yeah? Maybe then we can talk?"

The smile Steve flashes him is a broken thing. "Maybe. Sure."

And that's it.

Eddie cries himself to sleep that night.

The next day, he wins first in the all-around.

---

He and Steve stop speaking.

Somewhere around, ohh, the very first time they hooked up, he caught feelings. So sue him if it kills him, seeing Steve at every competition.

They don't speak again until the Olympic trials. And isn't that ridiculous? Eddie at the Olympic trials. It's such an insane pipe dream, being an Olympian, that he doesn't actually have any expectations whatsoever.

So knock him over with a feather when he fucking makes it on the team.

And so does Steve.

The announcement rings out, and Steve is there, out of nowhere, pulling Eddie into his arms. And Eddie's so hyped, so excited, that he just shouts and hugs Steve right back.

He pretends the proximity, the musk of Steve's cologne, the tangy saltiness of his sweat, doesn't bother him, doesn't transport him immediately back to Steve's bed.

They're teammates now; he can keep it casual.

Right before they leave for the games, news breaks that Steve and Nancy have broken up.

---

The Team competition at the fucking Olympics is going well. They've had good routines, with no huge errors, stay consistently within the top 5 scores. But then they're on the last rotation, parallel bars, and he's the very last competitor to go. They'll win bronze if he can score above 14.933.

But

He's inconsistent on parallel bars, always has been, something deep and psychological he can't quite let go of, and now their medal chances are all on him.

He salutes the judges, jumps into his starting position--and his mind goes quiet. Muscle memory, skill, years of training take over--he's flawless.

Eddie sticks his dismount, and the place erupts. He doesn't have a score yet, doesn't know if he's done it, but the rest of the team screams like he has.

They pull him into their arms, but Steve is closest, his grip the tightest. Their eyes keep catching, holding, and Eddie can't really breathe but he doesn't think it's the anxiety or the excitement.

The score goes up.

Not only is it high enough for bronze, it puts them in silver.

Eddie has barely a second to process before he's being hoisted into the air, Steve's arms bracing him up. The crowd's going crazy, his teammates screaming and hugging him, each other, but all he sees is Steve beaming up at him.

He's slowly lowered to the ground, Steve's arms still around him. "You were perfect, baby," Steve whispers. "Never seen anyone like you."

He wishes he could stay right there, Steve beaming at him, but they won the silver--they won the silver at the goddamn Olympics--and they have to get medals, do interviews.

They don't have a chance to be alone together until they're back at the Village, where Steve is just waiting in Eddie's room when he gets back.

"Is this okay?" Steve asks. "I wanted to talk to you and Jason let me in, but I can--I'll leave."

"Please don't." Eddie swallows. "Stay."

Steve smiles, a little. "I needed to tell you that I'm sorry for what I did to you and Nancy. It was unfair to both of you. I love her, you know? But she's not who--I'm not in love with her."

"No?"

"No. I thought it would make my parents happy, settling down with a nice girl. But it turned out it didn't actually make a difference to them, who I dated. And she isn't who I wanted to be with."

"I'm proud of you for figuring out what you really wanted. It's brave."

"I wish I could've been brave earlier." He gives a little laugh. "Before I hurt you."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. He wishes the same thing.

"Um, which is also why I'm here." Steve plucks at the waistband of his Team USA Nike joggers. "I wanted to see if maybe we could try again? Officially this time?"

Eddie can't keep his smile from taking over his entire face. "Sweetheart, I would love to."

"Yeah?"

And Eddie just--after all this time, he just--pulls Steve into his arms and kisses him. The silver medals, still around both of their necks, clink together with the force, but neither of them really care.

Steve sighs, nuzzles his nose to Eddie's. "Missed you so bad," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Eddie smiles. "But kiss me a while."

Eventually, they fall back onto Eddie's bed, which makes a horrible noise as their combined weight topples onto it, and they break apart to laugh. Steve smooths back his hair, wrapping a few fingers through his curls to keep Eddie close, even though he's not about to go anywhere.

"Can't believe we made it all the way here." Steve's looking at him like he hung the moon

"Cause we're taking medals home?"

"Honey," he laughs. "Because I'm taking you home."

[thestarsofpines]

a little wip of a combination of prompts and AUs I've seen that I just had to give my own take on.

Damian was bored. He’d followed Father around for most of the night, listening absentmindedly to the trivial blabbering of rich socialites that tried to suck up to the prince of Gotham. He could only handle it for so long, patience quickly running out as a few shoved their own children his way, perhaps hoping the young heir would make a friend and create easier access to the Wayne wealth. Pitiful. 

The young teen stood off to the side of a polished dance floor that had couples mingling and swaying to the soft classical music playing. He’d picked up a drink and was sipping at it slowly, just to have something to do with his hands. He itched for something to do that wasn’t making small, meaningless talk.

He hears footsteps approaching, perhaps a bit heavier than intended, as if it was a warning for someone that they were approaching.

“Little Badger, we talked about this in great detail earlier, you are not to leave my sight-“

Just as a man moves to place a hand on Damian’s shoulder, the teen turns around and glares at the man. He takes in the details of the man quickly; older, likely mid forties if not older, gray hair pulled back into a low ponytail, vibrant blue eyes that at first are narrowed at him in perhaps annoyance before they turn wide with shock. The man recovers quickly, expression turning apologetic as he steps back.

“Oh-my most sincere apologies, I thought you were someone else!” He breathes out, and his expression shifts again to one of slight surprise as he takes in more of Damian’s features from the front. “My, you two do look quite alike.” He says easily, hand coming back to rest beside him before he places both his hands behind his back. “I do apologize again, young sir…?”

Bruce spots this interaction, politely ends the conversation he was in, and makes his way over to investigate. 

“Damian Wayne, my son.” Bruce slides up to the pair, standing easily at Damian’s right. “Vlad Masters, yes?”

Said man’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the easy recognition and at the fact that he could’ve accidentally torn into such an influential young man as he’d been planning to do to whoever he was looking for, but he recovers quickly again.

“Yes, I was just apologizing to your boy here, Mr. Wayne. It seems he has quite a lot of physical similarities to my godson.”

Damian remains silent, but nods in the direction of the billionaire. Something isn’t sitting right with him about Masters, but he can’t put it into words. He’ll allow Father to handle the situation, for the moment. 

“Oh? Why, that is quite interesting.” Bruce smiles, open and disarming. He places a hand on Damian’s shoulder, and gives a subtle squeeze. “What’s the young man’s name?”

“Daniel,” And the grip tightens ever so slightly. “He is the son of some old family friends who unfortunately cannot take care of him anymore, so I’ve become his legal guardian in their stead.”

“How kind, opening your house to a youth in need.” Bruce continues, pushing for more information. “From experience I know how hard that can be. Raising a teenager is no cakewalk that’s for sure.”

“Oh yes, I do recall hearing of your experiences with adoption; you’re up to four adoptions now, yes?” There’s a hint of something in Vlad’s eyes, likely aware of the information seeking nature of this conversation but unconcerned by it. Intriguing. “I can hardly claim to have such kindness, one fifteen year old is enough for me.”

Damian has to physically restrain his face from reacting. Perhaps this is another cloning situation. Perhaps this Vlad Masters should be higher on the priority list of people to investigate closely. 

“Oh, well I do believe I have taken up enough of your time, Mr. Wayne. I really must get looking for Daniel, as we do intend to leave soon.” Vlad holds out a hand to the two, smiling confidently. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.” 

Bruce takes it and shakes it politely; Damian’s following is more forced in its gentleness. Vlad Masters unsettles him and it is driving him mad that he cannot pinpoint why. 

“Enjoy the rest of the gala, Vlad Masters. Perhaps our paths will cross again soon.”

[uncouth-the-fifth]

pythia, a supernatural rewrite. bloody mary, rough draft.

read it on ao3.

words: 6k notes: hi y'all! yes, you read that chapter title right - this is a little unconventional, but since I've unfortunately shifted hyperfixations and have drifted away from SPN, I thought I would post what I have for the next part of pythia. since I'm moving into resident evil land, I'm not sure if I'm going to come back to this fic—but I absolutely didn't want to leave you guys empty-handed!! I'm so so sorry that this fic will go unfinished (for now), and I'm so grateful to those who were along for the ride with me. I have so much love for all the people who motivated me through writing this fic. all of you are beyond kind!! and I hope you enjoy this dose of pythia content, featuring some of my notes and process-work, lol. I only had a few heavy chunks of the beginning written, but the prose for this chap (ironically) started to get into the meat of what I really wrote this fic for—psychic bullshit between reader and Sam. It was just too plain juicy to not share!! All of my spn fics will remain up, but if you keep up with me, expect lots of Leon Kennedy bullshit and tomfoolery. Again - thank you so much for your endless love and support, I had so much fun writing what I could of season one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this unfinished chunk of silly/ansty Christmas drama :)

EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - Dec 21st, evening.

Sam drops the stack of glossy, brand-new legal pads into his lap, and flashes his brother a plain smile. “Thanks, Dean. I needed more of these.” From your spot seated on the living room rug, you twist your rings and wait for Dean’s witty reply. With all those notes you’re always makin', Sammy, I’ll hafta buy you some for New Years, too. You wait for him to make a crack about the gift he got Sam, something about diaries or his brother’s girly handwriting.

Instead, Dean shrugs, “Well, then there ya go.”

Voila. And with that, the feeble threads you’d tried to braid into a proper Christmas are cut. Without a word, your Mom picks up the little wooden jewelry case the three of you had thrifted her and recedes into the dark hallways of the house. Dean peels himself out of his seat to clean up. Sam sighs, picking at the plastic seal around his legal pads. Hilariously, this all plays out while Paul McCartney chimes about what wonderful Christmastime he’s been having from the radio in your kitchen.

Technically, you hadn’t just been celebrating Christmas. No, you managed to completely bomb both Christmas and the sacred Winter Solstice sabbat that the Proctors had been celebrating for a bajillion fucking years. The special sabbat that would have a real spiritual effect on you for the next couple months.

You’d given it a good ol’ college try. First, you’d painstakingly picked out gifts for the boys and your Mom. Good ass gifts, too, that you’d been hiding in your duffle since summertime. Hell, you’d been looking for the Eagles album you bought for Dean in tape form for at least two years. (Cool, Dean had said, half alive in his armchair after your chupacabra hunt in Illinois. He was at the ugly front end of a cold. He’d sniffled, Don’t have this one.) And knowing that this would be Sam’s first Christmas without Jess—the one person who had given him any kind of good holiday when he was away from home—you’d poured extra love into his gift, too.

He’d been begging you to read Frankenstein since high school, and you’d dodged it because sometimes books that pushed too far into the “classics” category could lose you. Mary Shelley got a little wordy at times. But you were a big girl with a big brain, so you’d read the whole thing for Sam… and annotated the whole thing for Sam…

He’d taken one look at your labor of love and murmured, “Good. Glad you read it.”

…Yeah. You had half a mind to check if he’d been replaced by a clone, hearing that. Fifteen-year-old Sam would have melted into a babbling, ecstatic mess if someone had carefully combed through one of his favorite books and shared their thoughts on it with him. Bare minimum, you figured he’d at least enjoy having his own copy of Shelley’s work. All his other books had been lost in the fire.

But you’d given the book to a Sam who was twenty-two, not fifteen. Fine. People changed.

The boys being a collective bummer was something you could deal with. Sam was always sullen around the holidays, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Dean for being exhausted after a stressful hunt. But your Mom…

Beth used to make Yule her bitch. When you were a kid, come December 1st, the Proctor House could easily have been the center of all Wicca celebrations in the world. If working retail during the holidays tested one’s love for festive music, then the non-stop winter songs bouncing off Beth’s vinyl player would’ve made Santa beg to hear something else. Every room would gush with the smell of evergreen branches and holly. Your family’s altar, the home of all the love and joy for the season, would be lush with offerings and presents. The candles you lit as a family to welcome the light of the new year would glow in a neat row—your little silver candle, your mother’s tall red one… and the biggest. Your Dad’s.

Now, your Dad’s candle was tucked away with the rest of the unused decorations in the attic. From your spot on the floor, you couldn’t help but stare at your piss-poor excuse for a family altar. Beth hadn’t “had the time” to find the table runner your great-grandmother had embroidered just for that space. The small bouquet of mistletoe you’d brought sat pathetically on the wide, barren surface, framed by your family’s dollar-store candles: silver for you, red for Mom, and twin green candles for the boys. 

It was stupid. Really, you shouldn’t have cared so much. You were almost twenty-five, and the older you got the less people cared about silly, trivial things like a single holiday out of the year. That was just a fact of life.

Still, an ugly ball of bitterness sat in your gut. She couldn’t have tried to decorate? Even out on the road, you’d still found ways to make today a little special for the people you loved. Did she really have such little strength left in her? You’d dragged the boys up to Wisconsin with you so your Mom didn’t have to be alone. Was it really that impossible, after eleven whole years without your Dad, to try and be happy?

Fuck this. Yule isn’t over yet. There’s still time for you to squeeze some life out of today, and you’re going to start straight at the source. You find your Mom in the kitchen, mindlessly swiping invisible crumbs off pristine counters. When she senses you paused behind her in the kitchen doorway, clutching in both hands the gift she got you this year, the radio suddenly needs to be toyed with. Then cleaned. There are gray strands in her hair that shine like tinsel in the low kitchen light.

“Hey,” you say, your voice bright and christmas-card perfect. “I don’t think I got to say thank you for the gift.” (You did. More than once already.) “It’s been a bit since I read this one.” The gift in question is your Dad’s second edition print of The Shining. It’s even older than you are, with soft, petal-thin pages that reek of that wonderful old book musk. Rolling the flexed and cracked paperback between your hands, your Gift automatically picks up the distant echo of the hands that had touched these pages when they were new.

When you were little, you’d always found it kind of strange that your Dad considered this book his favorite. He was a sweet, soft-spoken person, and the mental image of him indulging in uncensored horror novels didn’t mesh with the Ray preserved in your head. Having since grown up and read it for yourself, you understood that it was less about the gore of the Overlook and more about “the shine;” the array of psychic abilities that kept five-year-old Danny Torrance alive through the book.

Years of having book-club with Sam had trained you to form cultivated opinions about the stuff you read, but The Shining existed in a realm that made it hard for you to describe how you felt about it. See, you had Danny Torrance’s shine—on the same level, too, enough shine to power the decades of ghostly ballroom parties and mob conspiracies inside the Overlook for a century. Seeing your Gift put onto a page so nakedly and cinematically made you uncomfortable. Yet, feeling the weight of your father’s book in your hands, standing in the kitchen he hasn’t touched in a decade, you know that it must’ve comforted him. Back then, surrounded by a psychic mother-in-law, girlfriend, and daughter, it would've been impossible to survive without a little shine of his own. You’re sure that your Dad's Gift was faint and unimpressive next to the psychic blackholes of your Mom and Grandma. Just enough to know if you’d skinned your elbow or had a nightmare. On the days that you came home from school tear-streaked and ruddy-faced, Dad would be waiting on the porch with soup.

You can still feel the faint psychic imprint of one of his whiskery kisses on your face. You don’t have many vivid impressions of him left to feel; none that haven’t been rubbed again and again, like the hollow of a fingerprint smoothed into the face of a rock over time.

Your Mom gives a non-committal hum at your attempt at conversation. Not because she doesn’t care—you can feel how much she cares from across the room—but because she’s tired. Adult Tired, like when she’d turn down your pleas to play together as a kid. Not tonight, baby. Momma’s exhausted.

“Mom,” you say, sounding as glossy and clean as a brand-new cookie tin. You open your mouth to say more, maybe to start in on one of your long-winded book-rants that had everyone wondering where Sam had suddenly appeared from. You know the answer, but you ask anyway, “This was one of Dad’s favorite books, right? I vaguely remember him talking about the hedge animals.” Beth accidentally hits a button as she’s dragging a rag over the shiny front of the radio, forcing Paul McCartney to have yet another wonderful Christmastime. She doesn’t look at you.

“Yup. But you knew that already, honey.”

C’mon. Nothing? She won’t even throw you the smallest, most pathetic olive branch? A psychic battle occurs. You get so frustrated all at once that your throat closes up, and that frustration balloons out into your family kitchen like the expansion of a bomb. You push. There is no give. The bubbling stormcloud of grief and loss hanging around Mom is there, then it’s not. The side of the kitchen your mother stands on is suddenly a void of absolute nothingness, empty of any feeling whatsoever, good or bad. She’s cutting you off from reading her—and protecting herself from your explosive emotions, as per usual.

Beth keeps cleaning the radio, her back to you.

Your rage bubbles out of you all at once. One day! One day out of the entire fucking year, the day your Dad always made special, and she can’t even pull herself together for that. You know you should be a good daughter and empathize with the woman who made you, but you’ve been a good daughter about this since you were twelve years old. Eleven Yules have gone by since your Dad passed. Just for one measly moment, you want to talk about him like he’s not a corpse rotting in the living room.

And the worst part is that Mom knows that. She’s known you’ve felt that way all day, a slow-bubbling pot building to a boil across the room. The two of you can always feel each other. You’re the only two who can; she’s the only other radio tower that can receive your station in its purest quality, and yet she has the gall to shut all her signals down.

“Fine!” You burst out, making the conversation physical.

It should feel good to yell, really. After the slow, ungratifying day you’ve had, you’ve been a shaken soda bottle waiting to implode. Instead, since you’re the crazy person yelling at nothing for no reason in the kitchen, your anger booms out of you and fizzes out in the same breath like a faulty firework. Fine. Fuck all of this. If you can’t beat em’, join em’. If everyone’s determined to rot the day away, then you’ll go wallow in self-pity the Proctor-Winchester way, too. Merry fucking Christmas, and a happy fucking Yule.

There is no satisfying door to slam on your way out of the kitchen. You take a sharp right down the front hall, hoping to veer up the stairs and slam your feet down on every single step up to your room. If your Mom wants to live forever in the year your Dad died, by all means—you’ll even bring home your thirteen-year-old self and her childish tantrums, just for time-accurate ambiance. Sam’s standing frozen just outside the kitchen archway, and you catch his deer-in-headlights look as you go peeling around the corner. You’re still keyed up with enough lashing rage to spare, so seeing him, just as hollowed-out and not there as your Mom, only feeds your pyre.

As you get to work thoroughly stomping the staircase to death, you hear him go into the kitchen and ask Beth about soup for Dean’s sore throat.

Upstairs is even more painfully quiet. Through the floor, Paul McCartney muffles down to a cheery mumble. All old houses shift around a little, but yours settles like it's alive, clicking, creaking, swaying. You don’t look at the portraits of Proctor women up the stairwell. The dusty grandfather clock in the hall watches you with its stained glass face, and you’re so lost in your own head—

—and Dad’d be so pissed we didn’t decorate the altar or listen to the Tull Christmas album, he’d riot, he’d talk some sense into her—wouldn’t think any of this is stupid— —that you don’t hear it when it chimes. Muscle memory plants you right in front of your bedroom door. Having a good cry under the covers sounds like a perfect end to the night, right? And yet you stop. Your hand drops on the knob and stays there, unmoving. Maybe it’s your Gift, or good old-fashioned human instinct knowing when something in the home has been nudged two inches to the left, but the air in the hall tastes staler than usual. A draft? Your gaze is pulled all the way down to the opposite end of the hall, where the untouched, stately storage room door is ajar.

Your Mom probably left it open. Maybe she’d gone in there to hunt around for all the heirloom Yule decorations, only to rediscover Dad’s football memorabilia or Dad’s engraved cigarette case and go bolting out of the room. —everything’s different without him, Sam and Mom and Dean too. So am I. Everything’s twisted—without him— Still riding the whirlwind, you stomp from one end of the yellowing, starry zodiac carpet (Aries) to the other (Pisces), the floorboards squeaking under your weight. You push the door and it goes shuddering into the darkness. This was one of many rooms in the house that Mom had banished you from as a kid, mostly as a way to shoo you away from the hunting world. It’d given you this insatiable fascination with it as a result, but when you tug the chain to turn on the closest lamp, what it illuminates doesn’t come close to the spectacular stories you’d made up in your head.

It’s just a room. It has windows and shelves and old things, some from your childhood, some from your Mom’s. Some from even further back than that. The closest fascinating thing is a shiny gold blob poking out of your baby things, which turns out to be Sam’s eighth-grade mathlete trophy. You had no idea what possessed Mom to come up here so often. There was no way she wasn’t in here at least a couple times a week; the tall metal storage shelf where she immortalized your Dad’s things was never dusty, and yet the whole room reeked of rotting books and insulation. You shove the box with Sam’s trophy aside with your foot until it skids out of your way, and then send the heavy door shut behind you with a wall-shaking bang.

A flurry of dust hails down from the ceiling. You cough through the cloud, wandering in your blindness towards the neat row of plastic storage tubs labeled with your Dad’s name. Clothes. Misc. Books. Maybe that’s where Mom had gotten your new copy of The Shining from, halfway through one of her sacred meditations over Dad’s things. You drop a hand onto the cold lid of the tub. Nothing, not even the slightest psychic imprint, reaches back.

What is she even holding onto anymore? You try the clothes next. The rounded corners of this bin have been scuffed gray from how many times it’s been pulled off and then pushed back on its shelf, again and again. The case feels as lifeless to you as it would for anyone else, but you try your luck and slide it out onto the floor. It comes loose with a solid thud.

When you were old enough, Beth would sometimes send you up into this room to grab things (spell ingredients, books you didn’t keep downstairs). You would run full-tilt right up until you hit the storage room door, then pass inside like a stranger in a dangerous realm, watching where you stepped and always, always keeping your Dad’s shelf in the corner of your eye. On brave days you would pick up his silvery cigarette case and roll it between your palms. It grew harder and harder to feel him each time, the ghost of him whittled down like a rock made round by the current of a river.

When you crack off the lid, you expect some kind of smell. You don’t remember what he smelled like, but you have a few guesses—cheap, vanilla-sweet aftershave, or maybe the woody stale smell of cigarette smoke you know you shouldn’t love. Maybe both. It doesn’t really matter. The neatly folded stacks of your Dad’s old shirts and jackets don’t smell like a damn thing. You dip your face into a holey band-shirt with the sleeves scissored off, but all that comes back to you is the rotten smell of dusty insulation. He’s here—he’s right here in front of you, right in your fucking hands, and yet the whole world is dead of him. You can’t sense even a sliver of him left.

The same old reservoir of despair pushes and pushes at your composure, wiggling through your cracks, widening them with a hundred thousand tons of pressure bearing down on you a minute. It is a day by day task to handle the reservoir. You like to think you’re good at handling it, at patching the cracks as they come and letting them breathe when the moment calls for it. But when you lift your face from the bin, the leak springs—really, genuinely springs, like it hasn’t in years.

You fall back onto your haunches, swallowing back sudden stinging tears. The bin and its askew lid go shrieking back onto the shelf with a lash of your foot.

-

The music downstairs stops. You can’t tell how long it’s been.

When his death was fresh, and you were stuck deep, deep within the reservoir, you’d wondered if it would always feel this way. It got easier, right? And in many ways it had—on most days you could talk about your Dad without it hurting, letting the dam’s water run. The battle was still there, but it was a burden you were proud to carry if it meant his memory lived on in you. He would want you to be happy, your Mom used to urge. So you gave being happy your best shot, loving and giving as much as you could.

That’s what frustrated you so endlessly about your Mom. She’d been right; your Dad would’ve wanted the two of you to move on, and yet she still entombed herself in the bottom of her reservoir far too often. There was no release, no acceptance with her. The dark part of you that wanted to pass blame wondered if this was all because of John, and how well Winchester grief happened to mingle with a Proctor’s. How would your mother’s life be different, if the evil that’d taken Dad hadn’t been put down a week later? Would she be just as hellbent? With your knees sore from pressing into the floor, you knew the answer. You knew if the thing that’d taken Sam or Dean from you was right in front of you, you’d chase it until you were in your own grave. You knew that even after it was dead, you would be digging your nails into the backseat of the Impala and clawing for every psychic molecule of them left in the leather.

And that’s what scared you—was she just going to be chasing Dad forever, til’ there wasn’t a wisp of him left in the world to feel? 

Something dawns on you, thudding through your mind like a rock dropped down a chute. With limp hands, you slide The Shining towards you on the worn wood floor, part the pages with your thumbs, and press your nose into the binding. There’s the smoky, earthy scent of old paper first… then something just underneath the surface that no one but you and your Mom can pick up.

Old books. Yes. Yes, that’s what Dad had smelled like.

-

You’re seated on the floor of the storage room, back pressed to one of the ancient metal shelves holding up your gramma’s VCR collection, when a blot of the future is tossed at you. Cheap deodorant and lemon cough drops.

Around a minute later, the stairs beyond the door squeak under someone’s weight. Even without the roulette glimpse of the future, you can tell by the footfalls who it is. Heavy knuckles rap the door and come straight in without waiting for an answer. Behind him, the silence of the rest of the house is even heavier.

You try to sound like a reasonable adult, but the mopey teenager slips out anyway. “Thought you were sick, Dean.”

He artfully dodges your point. (Dean is, after all, a master of the craft.) You don’t look back at him, but the lemon cough-drops glimpse you got of him creates a clear picture: Dean’s whole body listing into the door frame, one hand on the knob, his face lacking its usual color. His cheeks have graduated from stubbly to scruffy, neglected. “Hey,” he says. It’s the, okay, you’re done cooling down, let’s have a grown-up conversation kind of hello.

You don’t know what to say back. You’re not sure if you can have any kind of conversation right now.

Dean rolls with it, trying to decide if this silence is begging for a subject change or a heart-to-heart. You’re not sure what he goes for when he says, “I had an idea.” “Did it hurt?” You joke. Jokes you can do.

There’s his opening. After a beat, you’re—

—fucking lobbed with a foam football. Like you’re fucking twelve. Dean’s throw arcs straight towards your head and bounces clean off the top, a perfect spiral. You yelp in outrage, and before you can think you’re following where the stupid ball went so you can clock him right in the face with it. Asshole. It loop-de-loops on the floor around an old dining chair, and you clamber on your knees to fish for it.

Just when you get the toy in your hands and you’re about to demolish him with it, Dean ducks behind the doorway, chuckling, “Woah! No face shots! You wouldn’t bash a poor, sick guy’s face in, would’ja?”

God. You can’t fucking believe him. If anyone else did that…

You lower your hackles and drop the foam toy into a basket, far out of reach of congested troublemakers. When his shining eyes appear in the slit of the doorway again, your cheeks are aching with an impossible smile. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, loser. What is it?”

Dean hesitates a moment more, just in case you’ve got something else to throw at him, then joins you in the storage room with the evil little oily smile you love. The same dust cloud that got you earlier descends on him in a rough coughing fit, but this lets him get a good look at the little mess you’ve made: the book on the floor, your Dad’s things open and askew. When he clears his throat for the last time, he looks pained.

For your sake, you pretend it’s an empathetic kind of pained. And you know that’s a part of it—Dean doesn’t enjoy seeing you and your Mom like this. But it’s an unfortunate fact of your life that you will have four times as much context for him than he will ever have for you. Just breathing the same dusty air as him, you know he’s been nursing a sinus headache since Monday, one that’s made his head feel like it’s chock-full of stuffing, and that Sam made him canned chicken noodle soup—and at first he felt a little smug making Sam play nurse, until he stewed on it more and—

—hate it when he gives me that dead-eyed look, like he can’t even pretend to care anymore. Like he’s just dragging himself through this for our sake. Poor kid scares the shit outta me. Is this how it’s always gonna be? Sammy aching over her, night after night after night—

You know just touching the bins holding your Dad’s things that on a icy February afternoon in 1994, fifteen-year-old Dean had picked up the plastic tubs for your Mom from the store.

So when he gives you that pained look, you know it’s part-concern, part-fear. If this is what you look like eleven years after your Dad’s passing… if John never comes home from his hunting trip, is this what Dean will become? The loyal son, waiting and waiting on that porch for a man who would never come home? 

Your whole life, you’ve felt like you were becoming more and more like Dean; lately, it feels like he’s becoming so much like you. Your last four years on the road together had slowly but surely melded you together.

“Okay, so, Yule’s a fire festival, right?” Dean grasps around in his memory for the yearly history lesson your Mom gives about the Wicca calendar. “Uh, we lit candles… I thought about burning Beth’s Muppet Christmas CD with my lighter a couple times. That’s about all the fiery, burny-stuff we did today.”

“I love the Muppets Christmas album,” you pout.

“After the millionth partridge in John Denver’s goddamn pear tree, you’d change your mind,” Dean swears. “But I was thinkin’—we got the firepit in the backyard, marshmallows, and I think I could put together some vodka shots. Then we can blow em' out and eat em' with the s'mores.” Your eyebrows raise. Only he, of all people, could take your sacred family traditions and twist them into such a wonderful, stupid-ass thing. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but… there is chocolate and graham crackers downstairs… and with how cold it is outside, a fire would be perfect… It’s the best blend of weird Proctor-Winchester traditions you need to save Christmas and Yule. Dean takes your silence as glowing awe. “Exactly. I told you, I'm a fuckin' genius. Helluva way to start the wiccan year, right? You in?”

You’re well aware that this is an elaborate plan to coax you away from your moping. Still, it’s just too Dean to turn down. “...Hell yeah.”

At first R hopes that it’s just her and Dean, and that Sam and Beth keep their grief to themselves. But then she realizes how cruel and selfish she’s been—everyone grieves in their own way, and just because she works through it by talking about it doesn’t mean it will work for everyone. It’s not good that Beth is holding on so tightly to her loss, but that doesn’t mean R wants to leave them out.

Lead this into a touch of psychic!Dean and how he has a teeny tiny second sense for what she needs, just like her Dad did. Just enough shine to get by.

R and Dean come downstairs and invite Sam and Beth to their campfire 😀

Or, at the very least, all the psychic happenings in the house echoing between them; if Dean's sharper instincts were as psychically heavy as a shadow falling on grass, then Sam's Static was six feet of snow in an arctic blizzard.

It tingles all the way up to your shoulder when Sam touches you. And that, oh, that was a whole new can of worms. As they get dressed for the snow outside and assemble the s'mores and flaming shots, you try not to head down that train of thought again.

Every time you’ve glanced at Sam these past few weeks, you’d been unable to hide from what you’d sensed there—from what you’d seen in the demon, and what you now knew to be completely and utterly true after reading its mind.

Sam had It. The Gift, the Shining, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. Not the vague imprint of psychic-ness from loving one or sharing the Impala with one for four years; full-on, unlatched, REDRUM, I-saw-it-before-it-happened psychic abilities. In the weeks you'd had to sit with that revelation, you'd poked carefully at Sam from afar. Obviously, you knew what a fucking psychic felt like. The five-year-old Sam who'd cut Dean's gum out of your hair had not been psychic. Yet this Sam, twenty-two with three-fourths of an ivy league law degree under his belt, was as psychic as a fucking—well. You. He was just as psychic as you.

Without even a sliver of the same control or even understanding of—of what he had, yes, but you were confident that if Sam was pushed, he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could reach into his. There had been a shift, then. At six, having gum cut out of your hair, you had been decidedly less psychic than you were at twenty-four. So Sam had gone through the Proctor Rite Of Passage; some terrible moment had cut him deep, deep enough to pull a new kind of blood to the surface. After Jessica, he had been... yeah.

It was fucking crazy. And yet it also slotted perfectly into some of the weirder things you understood about Sam; about who he was now and the vague, strobing flashes you got of his future. It freaked you the fuck out. Did Sam know? Did anyone know, besides you? Had your Mom recognized that spark in Sam, the same way she'd seen it in you? Had John?

And the plain existence of the Gift in Sam begged the question—why? Had he just happened to drop from the tree as a different kind of apple? Or was this something you could trace back to his mother, the same way it traced back to yours? Had Mary…?

The implications of that took pretty much everything you understood about Sam and Dean’s life, lined it up on the chopping block, and cleaved it in two. Needless to say, thinking about it made you sick. How could you even begin to bring this up to them?

You cursed your abilities with all you had. There were nights when you sat on the bathroom floor, wishing you could dig in with your nails and rip out whatever had put It in your head. Never in a billion fucking years would you have wished It upon anyone else; especially not Sam, good, selfless, wonderful Sam, who already ached so deeply for other people. Seeing their future, too? And even more often, seeing it and being helpless to change it?

He used to cry over squashed spiders as a kid. You'd felt a whole lot more than just spiders die.

…Beside that shuddering horror was another, far more selfish feeling. As scary as the implications could be, when you thought less about the Winchester family and more about your relationship with Sam, you were… excited. Relieved, even.

There were only four people in the entire world that you could share your Gift with. One of them has been six feet under for over a decade. Your Gift was a clingy, possessive creature, too. It was maybe two steps shy of being an eldritch horror. It poked through Dean’s dreams when you slept beside him, sucking them up like cigarette smoke. It breathed down Sam’s neck wherever he went. If you wanted, no one could lie to you—all punchlines and stories were spoiled for you, you knew when people found you annoying or pretty or stupid. If that particular Proctor gene had skipped you, then maybe you’d be able to form relationships with people where you didn’t immediately, intrinsically understand who they were and why. Dean would say, You need a drink. You would know without asking that he meant, You scare the ever-living hell out of me n’ I know I can’t hide it from you. Fucking hell, kid, I wish I could.

You knew you were a freak. The tiny human vessel for the lashing, bubbling, soul-melting, cosmic weight of a star about to bloom into a black hole. Only your mom would ever understand what it felt like to exist on the fringe of time, between the exhaustive influence of the past and the vast, spotty expanse of the future. You were a tool to men like John; an anomaly for men like Bobby; and a responsibility to men like Dean. 

But Sam… Your best friend Sam, he’d always tried to understand. Maybe he’d never fully get it, but the point was that he tried to. You remembered sitting with him on the curb outside your old high school, the concrete thrumming with music from the junior prom you’d both left behind inside.

How either of you had gotten dates was a miracle. You, the class weird-freak-emo punchline, and Sam, on his fourth round being the new kid that year, were two peas in a pod. Your date had never picked you up; Sam’s had escaped with her friends long before their first dance. Neither of you were very broken up about it.

The future had sprawled in front of you that night as clear as could be. You must've sat and talked on the curb for three straight hours, pressed together at the hip with Sam’s blazer around your shivering arms.

He was always beautiful in the boy-next-door kind of way, dimples popping with every good smile and freckles rising out of the too-short sleeves of his button-up. But that night he’d been fucking Helen of Troy, and the roar of the past and future slowed to a halt around him. 

Do you really see the future all the time? Every second? Sam had curiously tilted his head, sending a gleaming swish of chocolatey hair out of his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you’d hesitated, Not every second. But a lot, yes.

Again, the head tilt, then the swish. His gaze was innocent and intrigued. No existential dread, no sweeping sense of fear. Just plain curiosity. Not even morbid curiosity. Sam had asked, What about right now?

Sam’s cologne—oh god, his cologne—was steaming off his borrowed jacket and floating around your head in a wonderful rosy fog. You’d poked at the future. Sometimes things came back, sometimes they didn’t. That night, the future had come back tasting like Sam’s vanilla chapstick and junior prom punch, and your face had gone up in flames just sensing it. He’d waited for an answer. You’d blurted out the plain truth: In a minute or two, you’re gonna kiss me.

This kind of absolute, unshakable certainty about the future had made other hunters’ blood run cold. You’d braced yourself for Sam’s displeasure or worse, his fear. But instead, there were those dimples again, and Sam had the gall to bat his lashes at you and delightedly ask, Really? That’s what the magic eight ball has to say?

His big hand had dropped onto your knee and you’d squeaked out a shrill, Signs point to yes!

Sam loved the stupid magic eight-ball joke. You could feel him smiling about it as he kissed you, kissed you, hand-on-knee, his face tipping down to yours, the shitty school punch staining his lips as the two of you connected. At fifteen and sixteen respectively, this was the first kissing that either of you had ever done. It’d been wetter and warmer than you’d expected, and Sam’s vanilla chapstick had left the slightest print on your mouth, one that your tongue swiped over obsessively for the next month. Your Gift had chased him for weeks after that, silently and invisibly swarming him every time he entered a room.

Back then, your mind had been on the Curse. But now, you thought about what had led to the kiss in the first place. Sam hadn’t kissed you on a night when your Gift had been crammed down deep where it could bother nobody but you. He’d instead chosen the precise moment where your Gift was most raw, one of Its fingers coming down from the sky to press against the pulse of the future. It was small, but at a time in your life when you’d wanted to claw your Gift out with your bare hands, Sam had gotten the smallest glimpse of It and had fallen in love.

You couldn’t help but see this thing inside him, his Static, and feel the exact same way. His powers were twisted and unavoidably demonic, and yet you kind of loved them. It made perfect sense to you. No one really understood you like Sam did. Now, it's clear why.

-

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan @notanotherthembo

[loversfms]

[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed safiyah adeyemi walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who she is ? they kind of look like ayo edebiri and i could be wrong but i think that they might be twenty - nine years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last fifteen years. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of angela moore from boy meets world. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at sunny shores high school as an english teacher. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the salubrious of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty stoic at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty practical to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that two bedroom apartment beside me over in mango bay. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!

STATS:

full name : safiyah adeyemi nickname(s) : saf, safi birthplace : richmond, virginia date of birth : 07 / 01 / 1995 parentage : enofe adeyemi sibling(s) : n / a ! children : dominic adeyemi-lomax relationship status : single gender identity : cis woman ( she/her ) sexual orientation : bisexual faceclaim : ayo edebiri

BACKGROUND: ( tw: mentions of pregnancy )

growing up a in a single parent household as a military brat was not easy for a young safiyah. ending up with just her dad at two months, the phrase "it takes a village" meant a lot to the adeyemi duo.

enofe adeyemi needed a lot of help once safiyah's mother left the picture. he was able to get some time off upon receiving her, and it was spent bonding and learning everything he could about being a single dad. lots of calling his own mom and befriending anyone on base with kids.

safiyah had so many villages growing up, it was almost hard to keep up. moving every two years made it hard for her to develop and keep any friendships. even the ones on base were hard to keep and maintain, because they almost never moved at the same time, or to the same place.

one thing that helps her find peace is books. she would spend evenings reading with her dad or even over the phone with her grandma. it was something her and her dad worked with on frequently. she was learning her letters by age 3, and was able to read the classic site words by age 5.

while her real life was frequently changing, it was easy for her to get lost in the lives of jack and annie from the magic tree house series.

she became a bit of a recluse as she grew older in elementary school and even into middle school. she found herself reading during recess and lunch instead of socializing, because it was easier to just keep up with the worlds she was interested in than to try and make another set of friends that would soon become a distant memory.

it's on her thirteenth birthday that her dad promises he's going to finish his time in the marines. he wants to get them all situated in time for her to start high school. he knows that's when grades start to matter, and while she'd never particularly struggled in school, he could only imagine how hard it would be to try and transfer credits and start life all over during such important years.

he makes good on his promise by the summer of her fourteenth birthday. he's officially retired, and he thinks a beach town is the best place for the two of them to go. she's skeptical at first-- she's not quite sure how to actually settle down. however, once school starts, it doesn't take long for her to knock her own walls over. she couldn't be a recluse forever, and life was going to suck if she was.

she graduates in good standing and heads off to the university of florida where she gets her degree in english & language arts, with a minor in creative writing. in both high school and college, she had fallen in love with all the classics. shakespeare, lord of the flies, the iliad, etc. she also adored writing just about anything. fiction, poetry, short stories... she was the jack of all trades.

she comes back and works different jobs. barista, server, all while she spends some time writing. she doesn't really have a lot to do, and she's kind of enjoying just slowing down and taking things one day at a time.

she does that for a year, while she works on getting her teaching certification. it doesn't take long for her to find a place at sunny shores high school, where she starts the following fall.

safiyah has never been a believer of fate-- not until she's twenty-four with a car that needs work, and who else is the mechanic other than her high school sweetheart-- someone she hadn't seen since she was fifteen.

overwhelmed with a motion, the two fell back into a whirlwind romance. they're not as careful as they should be, and she gets pregnant after just a year reunited. she's scared out of her mind, but with his support and encouragement, she thinks she can really do this.

of course, the confidence comes in waves. with no mother to look up to, and a grandma she spent more time with over the phone than in person, she was really stressing herself out. however, once her son was born, she seemed to understand exactly what everyone was talking about. she just became a mom.

however, being a parent is hard. something her and her baby's dad find out quite soon. it's more taking turns working than an actual relationship. they're attentive to the baby, but not to each other. they find it best to part ways and co-parent as best they can.

still, three years into his life, she questions how she is and what she's doing, never sure if it's the right thing or if it's going to mess him up forever. co-parenting is going well, and their son seems happy, and that's all that matters for now.

PERSONALITY:

a little awkward at first, but opens up pretty quickly

fiercely loyal to those she loves, and will stick up for them if she needs to

currently trying to remember who she is outside of being a mom, now that her son is a little bit older and a little bit more independent.

classic quirky english teacher..... what can i say.....

©

[tempered-grace]

Measures

Five years old.

A white CD player sits squat on the floor of my room. I can’t play any classical CDs too close to bedtime, they make me think about death and I lie awake in fear. I whine for my mom. She sings me to sleep with hymns and out-of-season Christmas carols. My favorite is “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.”

Seven years old.

I plunk out tunes on the piano, having taken lessons for a little over a year. Simple songs from my lesson books, little ditties I make up while sitting at the piano bench. I pull out my mom’s book of German Christmas songs, passed down from her grandmother. I can’t play them with any proficiency, but I sure do try.

Eleven years old.

I move to a new town, 240 miles from everything I know. I make friends. I lose friends. I start playing violin, something I have always wanted to learn.

I start on a three-quarter size instrument, nestled safely in a hard plastic case. I give up piano, but my hands remember the shape of chords and the scales I practiced endlessly.

Thirteen years old.

I download remixes of the Avengers theme song, learning to play a crude rendition on my violin. In the middle of quarantine, I order a full-size instrument. I feel like a real violinist now, and my fingers quickly adjust to the expanse of the larger fingerboard.

Fifteen years old.

I play musicals on repeat during long bus rides. I search for the best version of Phantom of the Opera, deeming the movie soundtrack superior. Classical music creeps in as well, and I spend wintry days with Dvořák and Saint-Saëns. I save pieces that I hope to perform one day. I play during my free blocks at school, despite the irritation of other students. One boy complains directly to me, and I grow a little quieter. Every missed note sounds shrill and razor-sharp in my ears as I realize how awful I must sound.

I stop practicing where others can hear me.

Seventeen years old.

I change schools. I find a new violin teacher. I pick up guitar in earnest after learning it for a musical. I sing, finding new appreciation for my voice. I store my violin in the band room, practicing at night when nobody is there to listen. I’ll perform once I have perfected a piece, but for now, I’ll hone my skills where no one can hear my mistakes.

I have measured out my life in scales and octaves, in metronome clicks, in the perfect angle of horsehair drawn across silver strings. I measure it in runs of sixteenth notes, triplets, trills and grace notes. And I know that my musical journey is far from over. If life is a concerto, I am only in the first movement.

[krsonmar]

I don't think I ever posted my Nandermo playlist, so here it is, with annotations: "Their Love Can't Be Put Into a Box full of Oreos and Pedialyte", a Nandermo fan playlist

1.) Please Don't Leave Me--P!nk

One way to describe this show is "it's bouncy and fun and about how horrible we are to the people who know us best". That called for radio pop about knowingly unhealthy relationships, so of course I went for P!nk. Listen to that bridge ("I forgot to say out loud...") and tell me that's not a Nandermo dynamic.

2.) King of Wishful Thinking--cover by Newfound Glory feat. Patrick Stump

Denial is the name of the game, kids! This cover gives the song a nice rock anthem feel. I'm proud of finding this for this playlist.

3.) I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE--Måneskin

A nice little song about inverting the servant-master dynamic. Who's really dependent on who? And who's really "corrupting" who? Also it's very queer, good old-fashioned campy glam rock. Play it for your Sunday School group!

4.) How's It Going To Be--Third Eye Blind

It's getting to be an unspoken rule when I make a playlist that I have to have one of three songs by Third Eye Blind and one of three by Vertical Horizon. In my defense, these two bands fell into a sweet spot in the late-90s where alt rock was getting just poppy enough but not too poppy.

This one's about knowing you want to leave, you're just waiting for something to happen to finally start the actual ball rolling on it, an inciting incident of some sort: a fight, a snafu you should be able to handle together but that snowballs instead, so on. It's the point in a deteriorating relationship where you've decided you want this to end and you just need an opportunity to enact the decision...but you're also mad at what you've lost. It's before the resignation where there's nothing left to say except "goodbye". Fifteen years and you're not a vampire yet, so please won't the other person give you a reason to leave? Special stuff, kids, and here it has a good singalong chorus and another rockin' bridge.

5.) If You Ever Leave I'm Coming With You--The Wombats

"This relationship degrades me so badly and don't you even think about trying to escape me!" Great to listen to on a loop while nailed into a coffin for weeks while sobbing quietly about how you were *going* to travel the world with your Nan-with your Master!!

6.) I Get A Kick Out Of You--Frank Sinatra

Yeah this one is out-of-place for this playlist but this playlist goes to some weird places. It's a fan playlist about goofy vampires, I do what I damn well want.

Nandor is 700 years old and can't die. He's been a deadly military warlord, watched empires rise and fall, and outlived the majority of his own descendants. He's gotta be pretty jaded. When you drink the blood of other people to live, a lot won't phase you anymore. That's the thinking behind this song. I think Nandor is kind of fascinated with Guillermo's mortality in a way (I wrote a meta post here) and that might play into why he doesn't want to turn him.

Also this song is a standard that gets remade all the time, so if you know of a version that isn't by Old Blue Eyes that you think would fit this playlist, I'd love to hear it.

7.) Dancin' In The Moonlight--either the 1970s original by King's Harvest or the 00s remake by Toploader, take your pick

Ah yes, a good old-fashioned autumnal ball for the supernatural who walk among us, perhaps held on the night when the veil between worlds is thinnest! And a classic song to dance to. I like to imagine our boys having a cute moment to this one; Guillermo trying to spin Nandor around by the hand until he realizes a second too late that the height discrepancy is ridiculous, Nandor doing some medieval Persian dance moves Guillermo tries to copy, long coats sweeping behind them as they twirl and boogie, lots of giggling. It ain't all angst here, folks.

8.) One Week by the Barenaked Ladies (the acoustic version from The Bathroom Sessions, find it on YouTube)

I have always loved this song, so I was thrilled to see it in the Fitness Center episode, and you know I had to get it in here. The song's about having a fight that could end in a breakup but you both know each other too well to stay mad, and this version--recorded in one of the band members bathrooms as an experiment in acoustics-turned-full impromptu YouTube series--conveys a good-natured casual intimacy and amiability that comes from years of deep familiarity--haha--and learning to get things done together and have fun with it while fully expecting each other's shortcomings and planning for them so it'll be okay. Maybe that's me reading a lot into it; yes, it's filmed in a bathroom, and it's an acoustic version of a song the band is known for even to non-fans, so Ed Robertson and Steven Page's easy back-and-forth ad libs have the comfort of years of doing this under it; but also, the song was almost 20 years old at the point this was filmed, so it's *that* level of "we know how to do this", and it you know the band's history, a few years later, the band kicked Steven out due to a lot of drama, with, IIRC, the understanding he could come back at some point if he worked on himself. Knowing that, the recording can read a lot like a comfortable, long-lived domestic relationship that eventually went south, but this is a snapshot of when times were still good.

I'm way overthinking this, but anyway, the song fits that episode of the show really well and I think this version heightens the "why" of that.

9.) You're A God, by Vertical Horizon

This is the other band with three songs that end up on all my playlists somehow. I really think Nandor and Guillermo have each other, despite what it seems, on a pedestal somewhat, and might even see each other as having a type of divinity that makes them untouchable to the other in some sense. Guillermo, to Nandor, is pure, fragile, mortal, in need of protection, unsuited to being "ruined" by vamipirsm...because then what other human would dare risk gracing Nandor with their time of day? Nandor, to Guillermo, is a powerful, aloof being, literally supernatural, infinitely more powerful than him and far less vulnerable (in multiple ways, so it seems), and promising him access to this thing he wants so badly if only he just proves himself enough.

Catholicism ahoy! And I'll take mine with a side of a modified Madonna-Whore Complex, please!

They've got some complexes, these two.

10.) Last one and then you can stop reading (why are you still reading this??)

Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler, or, depending on a few things, go for the techno remix by Nicki French

This song was actually written by the composer best known for his work with Meatloaf, for a campy rock opera about a human in an emotionally abusive relationship with a vampire. I know, right? If they don't use this song somewhere in the final season, I will riot. A good finale piece; I want to see it used in its techno incarnation for a climactic fight scene, I wrote a stupid thing a couple years ago about the idea. A nice, very fitting wrap-up to the playlist...and the show, perhaps?

Go take a break, you just read way too much meta about a fictional neurotic gay couple.

[halfamask]

The boys and their drinks bc I’m planning a cocktail party and my mind is forever on 5Ds:

Jack: I think Jack is the easiest one bc he moved to New Domino to try to fit in and his habits still betray that. They have alcohol in the Satellite obviously when when he, Yusei, Crow, and Kalin were still together that usually involved whatever discarded low quality liquors they found and beers that their one hookup sold them without checking for ID. So once Jack moves to New Domino his tastes verge on things he thinks are expensive and fancy. He goes to cocktail bars but doesn’t really know many names other than an Old Fashioned so he gets that, also because it’s a stereotypically manly drink. My headcannon is that he becomes a wine snob, and prefers reds with lots of tannins. This also turns out to be great bc Yusei and Crow hate dry wines and will not take his stuff. He’s the kind of guy that’ll know exactly what brand, region, and year he’s looking for on a given day

Crow: drinks the least because he spent enough time taking care of kids alone that he stopped drinking for a while and now basically only drinks with Yusei and Jack. He’s the kind of guy to spend a Saturday afternoon making his way through a few beers as he works on his bike with classic rock playing and not realize he’s a walking talking stereotype. He also likes that your typical beer is an approachable drink; Yusei or Jack will walk up to see what he’s doing and absentmindedly grab his bottle and sip from it, which he thinks is super endearing, especially when Jack looks scandalized that he’s been enjoying a light beer for the last fifteen minutes. When he treats himself, which is rarely, he goes to a brewery to find locally made hazy IPAs with cool new flavors and insists on trying new things each time. He’d drink a whisky and coke to keep Jack company but very rarely.

Yusei: I also feel like he doesn’t drink a lot because he prides himself on his control and being able to help people when they need it, and drinking impairs both control and clear thinking. But he relaxes with his boys and also Aki because he knows they can take care of themselves. He’s probably the least picky about his drinks; he’ll accompany Crow to the brewery and then Jack to the wine bar but doesn’t drink either as bitter as the other two like it. He sticks to lighter ales and semisweet white wines when he drinks but he doesn’t love how fragile wine glasses look. He rarely indulges but loves to get wine drunk with his boys, loves how sleepy and happy they get as they sit on the tables and roll around in their beds and kiss because wine lowers every last damn inhibition he has. He likes going to cocktail bars with Aki because she’s upfront about liking sweet things and actually knows different drinks to order and try. They order one drink at a time and share every drink they have so they know what they like and after he drops her off at home he loves coming back to Jack and Crow with what he knows is a stupid little smile he can’t control on his face, seeing their own indulgent ones beaming back at him as they make room for him between them on the couch.

[themovieblogonline]

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe Review: An Earnest Exploration of Friendship

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe is a coming-of-age film adaptation of Benjamin Alire Sáenz's beloved 2012 novel of the same name. This cinematic journey takes viewers through the summer of 1987, where fifteen-year-old Aristotle Mendoza, played by Max Pelayo, embarks on a transformative friendship with Dante Quintana, portrayed by Reese Gonzales. While the film touches on various themes, including friendship, identity, family, and love, it ultimately falls short of achieving the depth and emotional resonance found in the source material. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3yV0Hzj8jM The movie begins by introducing us to Ari and Dante, two boys with contrasting personalities and backgrounds. Their initial meeting at the local pool marks the start of a poignant friendship, one that is built on a foundation of shared experiences and personal revelations. The classical namesake they both bear serves as a poetic metaphor for their unique connection, a connection that promises to uncover the secrets of the universe. The Good: Director Aitch Alberto captures the essence of their budding friendship beautifully, emphasizing the genuine moments of connection that occur between Ari and Dante. Their interactions feel natural and unforced, and the film is at its strongest when it delves into the heartwarming moments of their camaraderie. Dante's role as Ari's mentor, introducing him to literature and poetry, is particularly touching, as it showcases the power of friendship to inspire personal growth. However, the film stumbles when it comes to portraying the depth of the characters and their inner struggles. While the novel delves into their innermost thoughts and emotions, the movie often leaves these aspects unexplored or only superficially touched upon. The result is that some of the emotional impact and character development that made the book so compelling are lost in translation. One pivotal moment in the film is the accident that leaves Ari severely injured while saving Dante from an oncoming car. This incident serves as a turning point in their friendship, bringing their families closer together and setting the stage for deeper connections to be explored. The film captures the essence of this moment effectively, conveying the gravity of the situation and its impact on both families. Eva Longoria and Eugenio Derbez deliver heartfelt performances as Dante's parents, adding depth to the story's exploration of family dynamics. As the story unfolds, the film explores Dante's struggles with his sexuality and his move to Chicago, which adds an extra layer of complexity to his character. Reese Gonzales does an admirable job portraying Dante's vulnerability and the challenges he faces in accepting himself. However, the film falls short in fully addressing the depth of Dante's internal conflict and self-discovery, leaving his character feeling somewhat underdeveloped. Max Pelayo's portrayal of Ari is solid, capturing the character's introspective and reserved nature. Ari's journey of self-discovery and coming to terms with his feelings for Dante is at the core of the narrative. While Pelayo delivers a commendable performance, the film fails to fully explore Ari's inner turmoil and the complexity of his emotions, leaving some viewers wanting more depth and insight into his character. The supporting cast, including the talented Eugenio Derbez as Ari's father and Eva Longoria as Dante's mother, provides strong performances that enhance the overall emotional resonance of the film. Their interactions with their respective sons add authenticity and depth to the family dynamics portrayed on screen. One of the film's most powerful moments occurs when the truth about Ari's brother, Bernardo, is revealed. This revelation is a poignant exploration of the impact of family secrets and societal prejudices. It adds a layer of depth to the film's themes of identity and acceptance, highlighting the importance of confronting uncomfortable truths. The film also tackles the issue of violence and discrimination faced by LGBTQ+ individuals in the 1980s, as seen through Dante's experience of being attacked for his sexual orientation. While this aspect of the story is a vital and relevant commentary, it is not explored in as much depth as it could be, leaving a sense of missed opportunity to shed light on the challenges faced by LGBTQ+ youth during that era. The Bad: One of the film's notable shortcomings is its handling of Ari and Dante's romantic relationship. While the novel beautifully portrays the evolution of their love and the complexities of their feelings for each other, the film often rushes through these moments, leaving their romantic connection feeling underdeveloped and lacking the depth it deserves. Overall: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe is a commendable adaptation of Benjamin Alire Sáenz's novel, featuring strong performances from its cast and capturing the essence of the source material's themes of friendship, identity, and acceptance. However, the film falls short in fully exploring the depth of its characters' inner struggles and their romantic relationship. Despite its shortcomings, it remains a heartfelt coming-of-age story that offers moments of genuine emotion and connection. While it may not fully satisfy fans of the novel, it still serves as a valuable addition to the genre of LGBTQ+ cinema, shedding light on the challenges faced by young individuals in the 1980s while on their journey of self-discovery. Read the full article

[ghostflowerdreams]

Books Similar to The Lost Boys & Near Dark

If you like the 1987 films The Lost Boys and Near Dark you might be like me—on the hunt for books that capture a similar vibe. I’m talking about stories with non-sparkly vampires, set in the '80s with all its bold hairstyles, vivid colors, edgy fashion, and unique charm. Most of the books here are recommendations from others, so I can’t guarantee they’ll match the feel of The Lost Boys or Near Dark, but I’m giving them a try.

If you have any suggestions that truly fit, please share—I’d love to add them to my TBR list! So far, most of the books here are set in or around the '80s, though a few might stray into other decades. They’re also not in any particular order, and not all may be suitable for every reader.

The Lost Boys by Craig Shaw Gardner — A mother and her two sons move to a small coast town in California. The town is plagued by bikers and some mysterious deaths. The younger boy, Sam, makes friends with two other boys, the Frog brothers, who claim to be vampire hunters. Meanwhile the older boy, Michael, is drawn into the gang of bikers by a beautiful girl named Star. Michael starts sleeping days and staying out all night while Sam starts getting into trouble because of his friends' obsession.

Near Dark by Stacey Abbott — Isn't a novel but a scholarly book that analyzes the 1987 vampire film Near Dark, directed by Kathryn Bigelow. The book is part of the British Film Institute (BFI) Film Classics series, where each book provides an in-depth look at the themes, cinematic techniques, and cultural impact of a specific film.

Near Dark is set in the contemporary American Midwest and follows Caleb, a young man turned half-vampire who must decide whether to embrace his vampire nature or try to return to his human family. Abbott explores how the film blends horror and Western elements, portraying vampires not as romantic figures but as gritty, violent outsiders in a desolate American landscape.

She also discusses how the film’s unique approach to vampire lore set it apart from other '80s vampire movies, such as The Lost Boys, and influenced later portrayals of vampires in media.

Until Summer Comes Around by Glenn Rolfe — When fifteen year old Rocky Zukas meets a mysterious dark-haired girl named November, his world is forever changed. The young couple falls under the spell of summer love, but not everyone approves.

November's brother, Gabriel, is the keeper of the family's secret, and big brother is always watching, growing more sinister as his bloodlust gets the best of him. Directing his attention to Rocky's family, Gabriel aims to make sure little sister knows who is in charge.

Mayhem by Estelle Laure — It's 1987 and unfortunately it's not all Madonna and cherry lip balm. Mayhem Brayburn has always known there was something off about her and her mother, Roxy. Maybe it has to do with Roxy's constant physical pain, or maybe with Mayhem's own irresistible pull to water. Either way, she knows they aren't like everyone else. But when May's stepfather finally goes too far, Roxy and Mayhem flee to Santa Maria, California, the coastal beach town that holds the answers to all of Mayhem's questions about who her mother is, her estranged family, and the mysteries of her own self.

There she meets the kids who live with her aunt, and it opens the door to the magic that runs through the female lineage in her family, the very magic Mayhem is next in line to inherit and which will change her life for good. But when she gets wrapped up in the search for the man who has been kidnapping girls from the beach, her life takes another dangerous turn and she is forced to face the price of vigilante justice and to ask herself whether revenge is worth the cost.

Mouth Full of Ashes by Briana Morgan — Mourning the sudden loss of her sister, Callie Danoff wants nothing more than to embrace a fresh start in a new town, leaving the haunting memories of her sister’s death behind. But when her brother Ramsay drags her to a spooky boardwalk, the two become entangled with a local vampire gang and its enigmatic leader, Elijah. Callie refuses to accept their existence... until she and her brother unknowingly ingest vampire blood. Now, they only have three days before they turn into vampires themselves.

With her carefree summer thwarted, Callie must trust a group she barely knows in order to save her family.

Nightfall by Suzanne Young — In the quaint town of Nightfall, Oregon, it isn't the dark you should be afraid of—it's the girls.

Theo and her brother, Marco, threw the biggest party of the year. And got caught. Their punishment? Leave Arizona to spend the summer with their grandmother in the rainy beachside town of Nightfall, Oregon—population 846 souls.

The small town is cute, when it’s not raining, but their grandmother is superstitious and strangely antisocial. Upon their arrival she lays out the one house rule: always be home before dark. But Theo and Marco are determined to make the most of their summer, and on their first day they meet the enigmatic Minnow and her friends. Beautiful and charismatic, the girls have a magnetic pull that Theo and her brother can't resist.

But Minnow and her friends are far from what they appear. And that one rule? Theo quickly realizes she should have listened to her grandmother. Because after dark, something emerges in Nightfall. And it doesn’t plan to let her leave.

Less Than Human by Gary Raisor — The town of Carruthers, Texas, has seen its share of drifters and lowlifes. But never anyone like Steven and Earl.

They move from town to town. Hustling the pool halls. Raising a little hell. Drinking a little blood. They sleep by day and hunt by night -- the ultimate predators. The perfect life. Until now.

A barroom brawl ends in disaster. The soil from Steven's grave has been stolen. And a young boy's death sparks an all out war between vampires and mortals that will turn the local Frontier Day celebration into a blood bath....

Live Girls (Davey Owen #1) by Ray Garton — Seeking consolation after losing his job and his girlfriend, Davey Owen enters a small, dark club in the seedy precincts of the city and finds a world of uncontrollable ecstasy and unbelievable horror inhabited by savagely seductive vampires.

The Light at the End by John Skipp — The newspapers scream out headlines that spark terror across the city. Ten murders on the New York City subway. Ten grisly crimes that defy all reason -- no pattern, no m.o., no leads for police to pursue. The press dubs the fiend the "Subway Psycho"; the NYPD desperately seeks their quarry before the city erupts in mass hysteria. But they won't find what they're looking for.

Because they all think that the killer is human.

Only a few know the true story -- a story the papers will never print. It is a tale of abject terror and death written in grit and steel... and blood. The tale of a man who vanished into the bowels of the urban earth one night, taken by a creature of unholy evil, then left as a babe abandoned on the doorstep of Hell. Now he is back, driven by twin demons of rage and retribution.

He is unstoppable. And we are all his prey... unless a ragtag band of misfit souls will dare to descend into a world of manmade darkness, where the real and unreal alike dwell in endless shadow. A place where humanity has been left behind, and the horrifying truth will dawn as a madman's chilling vendetta comes to light...

Lost Souls by Poppy Z. Brite — At a club in Missing Mile, N.C., the children of the night gather, dressed in black, looking for acceptance. Among them are Ghost, who sees what others do not. Ann, longing for love, and Jason, whose real name is Nothing, newly awakened to an ancient, deathless truth about his father, and himself.

Others are coming to Missing Mile tonight. Three beautiful, hip vagabonds - Molochai, Twig, and the seductive Zillah (whose eyes are as green as limes) are on their own lost journey; slaking their ancient thirst for blood, looking for supple young flesh.

They find it in Nothing and Ann, leading them on a mad, illicit road trip south to New Orleans. Over miles of dark highway, Ghost pursues, his powers guiding him on a journey to reach his destiny, to save Ann from her new companions, to save Nothing from himself...

Blood & Dust (Vampires in the Sunburnt Country #1) by Jason Nahrung — Kevin Matheson works at his family’s service station in the Queensland outback. Life is all about cricket, fishing, the pub, his girlfriend. Then it all gets blown to hell – he’s caught up in a hideous, unbelievable world of cops and monsters in which two rival gangs of vampires vie for control, all while maintaining a charade of humanity.

Kevin has to cope with his new existence as a vampire, adapt to the destruction of his family and play the politics of the supernatural world. The biker Taipan and his lover Kala make for unlikely allies as they lead the nomadic Night Riders in their fight to be free of the control of the Brisbane-based Von Schiller group, led by the ruthless Mira and her pack of blood-addicted human servants.

Caught between vicious nomadic bikers and their brutal foes from the coast, Kevin fights to save not only those he holds dearest, but his own soul. In a world without rules, only one tenet holds true: blood really is thicker than water. But how far will he go to save the people he loves?

The Lost Girls by Sonia Hartl — When Elton Irving turned Holly Liddell into a vampire in 1987, he promised her eternal love. But thirty-four years later, Elton has left her, her hair will be crimped for the rest of immortality, and the only job she can get as a forever-sixteen-year-old is the midnight shift at Taco Bell.

Holly’s afterlife takes an interesting turn when she meets Rose McKay and Ida Ripley. Having also been turned and discarded by Elton—Rose in 1954, and Ida, his ex-fiancée, in 1921—they want to help her, and ask for her help in return.

Rose and Ida are going to kill Elton before he turns another girl. Though Holly is hurt and angry with Elton for tossing her aside, she’s reluctant to kill her ex, until Holly meets Parker Kerr—the new girl Elton has set his sights on—and feels a quick, and nerve-wracking attraction to her.

Song of the Vampire by Carmen Adams — Believing that peace has returned to sleepy Blue Mesa after dispatching the vampire members of the The Band, Megan and Iris find their lives disrupted again when a group of the undead invades the beach town of Turo.

In the Valley of the Sun by Andy Davidson — One night in 1980, a man becomes a monster.

Haunted by his past, Travis Stillwell spends his nights searching out women in West Texas honky-tonks. What he does with them doesn’t make him proud, just quiets the demons for a little while. But after Travis crosses paths one night with a mysterious pale-skinned girl, he wakes weak and bloodied in his cabover camper the next morning—with no sign of a girl, no memory of the night before.

Annabelle Gaskin spies the camper parked behind her motel and offers the cowboy a few odd jobs to pay his board. Travis takes her up on the offer, if only to buy time, to lay low and heal. By day, he mends the old motel, insinuating himself into the lives of Annabelle and her ten-year-old son. By night, in the cave of his camper, he fights an unspeakable hunger. Before long, Annabelle and her boy come to realize that this strange cowboy is not what he seems.

Half a state away, a grizzled Texas Ranger is hunting Travis for his past misdeeds, but what he finds will lead him to a revelation far more monstrous. A man of the law, he’ll have to decide how far into the darkness he’ll go for the sake of justice.

When these lives converge on a dusty autumn night, an old evil will find new life—and new blood.

The Lesser Dead by Christopher Buehlman — New York City in 1978 is a dirty, dangerous place to live. And die. Joey Peacock knows this as well as anybody—he has spent the last forty years as an adolescent vampire, perfecting the routine he now enjoys: womanizing in punk clubs and discotheques, feeding by night, and sleeping by day with others of his kind in the macabre labyrinth under the city’s sidewalks.

The subways are his playground and his highway, shuttling him throughout Manhattan to bleed the unsuspecting in the Sheep Meadow of Central Park or in the backseats of Checker cabs, or even those in their own apartments who are too hypnotized by sitcoms to notice him opening their windows. It’s almost too easy.

Until one night he sees them hunting on his beloved subway. The children with the merry eyes. Vampires, like him…or not like him. Whatever they are, whatever their appearance means, the undead in the tunnels of Manhattan are not as safe as they once were.

And neither are the rest of us.

[chcrrybcmbs]

✼  ʾ   𝑎𝑐𝑡.   𝒊   ,   the   bits   &   bobs   .

FULL NAME: beckham james van buren. ALIAS(ES): beck , bj. BIRTH DATE: august eighth. BIRTH PLACE: southhampton , long island , new york. AGE: twenty seven years old. PRONOUN(S): he , him. GENDER: cis male. ORIENTATION: bisexual , biromantic. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single . EDUCATION: private school in new york. OCCUPATION: musician , actor. CAREER DETAILS: click here.

NATIONALITY: american. ETHNICITY: english , german , scottish. LANGUAGES SPOKEN: english , some german. FINANCIAL STATUS: upper class. FATHER: fredrick van buren. NATIONALITY: american. OCCUPATION: ceo of a luxury jewerly company. MOTHER: sara forbes - chase. NATIONALITY: german - american. OCCUPATION: heiress , philanthropist , and supermodel. STEP - FATHER: harry chase. NATIONALITY: american. OCCUPATION: ceo and chairman of jpmorgan chase banking company. SISTER: bianca van buren. NATIONALITY: american. OCCUPATION: heiress and model. PETS: none. PAST RELATIONSHIPS: waverly lockhart ( recent ).

HEIGHT: 6 foot 2 inches. WEIGHT: 180 pounds. HAIR COLOR: brown. EYE COLOR: blue. TRAITS: witty , charismatic , clever , adventurous , arrogant , distant , tactless , manipulative. ZODIAC: leo. HOBBIES: tba. CHARACTER INSPO: sebastian valmont , lucifer morningstar , patrick bateman , nate jacobs.

✼  ʾ   𝑎𝑐𝑡.   𝒊𝒊   ,   the   story   so far   .

it  was  was  very  clear  from  the  day  he  was  born  ,  beckham  was  not  going  to  be  like  other  children  .  rarely  cried  ,  he  was  cold  and  distant  .  wails  only  coming  from  him  when  picked  up  .  born  the  first  and  only  son  of  fredrick  van  buren  and  sara  forbes  ,  a  couple  who  were  the  picture  of  perfection  in  new  york  society  .  all  that  glitters  isn't  always  gold  though  ,  the  truth  was  his  parents  hated  eachother  and  it  wasn't  long  before  the  two  finally  separated  .  unlike  most  children  he  was  unphased  by  the  split  between  his  parents  ,  entirely  indifferent  .  his  parents  showed  their  love  for  him  in  drastically  different  ways  :  his  father  tossed  money  and  gifts  his  way  to  make  up  for  the  lack  of  affection  while  his  mother  took  on  the  role  of  a  fan  of  her  own  son  ,  he  could  do  no  wrong  in  sara's  eyes  and  as  he  grew  older  it  became  clear  she  was  more  of  a  friend  to  her  son  than  a  mother  .

formative  years  spent  in  long  island  before  his  mother  let  go  of  the  idea  of  living  her  best  life  and  settled  down  (  although  the  last  thing  she'd  done  was  settle  )  ,  marrying  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world  ,  harry  chase  .  harry  was  no  better  than  his  mother  ,  beckham  quickly  turning  into  the  apple  of  the  mans  eyes  .  claiming  to  have  always  wanted  a  son  ,  he  wanted  nothing  more  for  him  to  accept  him  and  even  at  a  young  age  beckham  was  aware  of  this  and  used  it  to  his  advantage  .  a  household  entirely  ruled  by  the  whims  of  a  young  boy  .  the  move  to  the  upper  east  side  of  manhattan  happened  swiftly  ,  beckham  already  well  acquainted  with  the  area  thanks  to  time  spent  with  his  father  .  city  life  turning  out  to  be  much  more  his  speed  .  a  life  riddled  with  luxury  drivers  ,  elite  private  schools  ,  and  access  to  just  about  anything  he  could  ever  want  .

it  was  at  fifteen  that  he  started  his  acting  career  ,  getting  the  role  of  max  dennison  in  the  classic  hocus  pocus  .  it  was  entirely  based  on  nepotism  ,  his  parents  having  the  right  friends  in  the  right  places  but  he  couldn't  have  cared  less  and  neither  did  the  audience  who  fell  absolutely  in  love  with  him  .  as  if  his  ego  needed  to  be  stroked  any  further  .  from  there  on  the  roles  just  started  to  flood  in  but  beckham  was  very  particular  about  what  he  took  on  .  acting  never  his  first  priority  ,  he  cared  much  more  about  the  life  of  a  socalite  .  the  parties  ,  the  drugs  ,  the  sex  ,  the  drama  it  was  addictive  to  him  .  becoming  a  mainstay  in  gossip  blogs  before  he'd  even  hit  eighteen  years  old  .  his  reputation  soon  enough  preceded  him  ,  he  would  ruin  someone's  life  with  a  smile  on  his  face  .  walk  away  from  the  chaos  he'd  created  and  do  it  again  .  he  doesn't  hide  who  or  what  he  is  and  somehow  has  managed  to  convince  many  he  means  well  (  fun  fact  :  he  doesn't  )  .

at  some  point  he  got  wrapped  up  in  the  internet  world  ,  making  appearances  in  some  of  the  biggest  youtubers  videos  and  making  guest  appearances  on  podcaster  where  he  quickly  became  a  favorite  .  his  lack  of  a  filter  and  charming  smile  that  always  followed  outlandish  quotes  capitulated  him  into  a  space  acting  simply  could  never  .  it  wasn't  long  before  he  realized  guest  appearances  weren't  needed  any  more  and  he  started  up  his  own  podcast  ,  why  stop  now  .  within  two  years  he  was  picked  up  by  spotify  who  offered  him  the  biggest  deal  to  date  .      

now  he  splits  his  time  between  los  angeles  and  new  york  ,  leaving  a  trail  of  tears  and  disarray  everywhere  he  goes  . 

✼  ʾ   𝑎𝑐𝑡.   𝒊𝒊𝒊   ,   the inner   circle   .

same guy : and when it comes to you and i , all that i ever did was tell lies . a relationship built on his own ego , having her on his arm looked good and for some time he genuinely did care about her in his own way . it didn't take long for him to grow bored and inevitably step out of the relationship time and time again . always able to reel her back in by professing his love for her , even if he knows he doesn't mean it , he still likes having access to her . taken by : waverly lockhart .

the three musketeers : three best friends , always seen together , wreaking a little havoc . just you're typical squad vibes . taken by : johnny kennedy & maddox mckelvie .

one of her boys : these two got close while in new york years ago and it's been that way ever since . one of the few girls he's actually been able to keep around probably because their relationship has never surpassed friendship . taken by : maggie rosario .

evil twin , evil twin : they may just be half - siblings but she's the closest thing he's ever had to genuinely caring about someone outside of himself . never a dull moment when they are together , normally leaving a path of destruction everywhere they go . taken by : bianca van buren .

you're just like me : these two's similarities have done so far as to making them despise being in the same vicinity as one another . neither one can quite put their finger on why they don't like the other , they just simply do not get along . taken by : stacey ortiz .

funny seeing you here : imma sip my drink and crack a big smile just to see if i can still get you cause it's been a while . they had a good thing going in the past and in true beckham fashion , he ruined it by cheating . now they really only ever see one another at events or nights out and he never fails to approach them to see if they still have a thing for him . recently they've been turning him away for whatever reason . which is only making him want them more , he has a serious case of wanting what you can't have . taken by : open .

lil secret : cause you confident that we soulmates . i told my therapist about you , she always takes your side . ain't nobody i love more , i just need more time . to the public they barely know one another , aside from attending some of the same events . in reality there is no one who knows him better . if beckham knew what being in love felt like he'd be sure this was it but he's not ready to settle down , afraid he'll ruin everything with them . they're growing tired of being his secret but won't fully leave him because they are sure they're meant to be together . taken by : open .

they dont love it : i've been laid back to long , i'm tryna get turnt . fuck searching my name , dawg , that's how you get hurt . fuck being likable , i'm tryna be unbreakable . these two were once good friends but somewhere down the line they realized beckham wasn't a good person to be around . they ended up having a massive falling out and now it seems whenever they cross paths one of them is being escorted out of a venue . taken by : open .

random : people he's worked with whether it be through acting or they were in one of his music videos , childhood friends maybe they've drifted apart , flings / hookups , someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with him but he gets a kick out annoying them , someone he's a bad influence on , someone who thinks they can " fix " him , literally every and anything .

[sleeppaw]

What will be Classics in fifty years ( Children's and YA Edition)

With news that "Night Watch" is set to become a Penguin Classic, the first Discworld novel to attain Classic Status, I have been wondering what books published in the last thirty years will become Classics.

1990's

Sabriel: The first book in the Old Kingdom series was published in 1995, and has pretty timeless themes; more importantly it's obscurity today will help it gain classic status.

Holes: The 1998 novel has been called "The last Classic novel of the 20th Century" as it deals with racism, poverty and human rights abuses alongside a story of friendship, justice and bravery.

2000's

The Mortal Engines: This 2001 novel tells the story of a world where larger cities eat smaller towns and villages, told from the POV of two children, Tom and Hester, and the unique concept of cities on wheels makes it a classic in YA Sci-Fi.

Twiight: The 2005 novel tells the story of a teenage girl, Bella Swan, who moves to the town of Forks, Washington, where she meets a strange boy named Edward Cullen. After discovering he is a vampire, Bella falls for him. Criticised at the time for being "female focused", it has undergone a renaissance as a result of the backlash against both "Cringe Culture" and "Not Like Other Girls" characters. Indeed, the renaissance saw better appreciation of both Edward and Bella as characters and interest in the side characters while acknowledging the racism, misogyny and general bad choices prevalent in the books.

Uglies: Released the same year as Twilight, Uglies tells the story of fifteen-year-old Tally Youngblood as she looks forward to her sixteenth birthday, when she undergoes plastic surgery to become a "Pretty". Throughout the series Tally learns the dark truth of the world she lives in. With themes such as beauty standards and mental health and how they affect people being openly discussed in the 2020's, Uglies is more relevant today than it was in 2005.

The Hunger Games: This 2008 book and sequels is destined to be a classic, with the characters, plot and themes being universal. The ending is bittersweet, in that Panem is peaceful but with a cost: many people, including Finnick, Rue, Prim and Cinna, are dead while those that survived are left with trauma, a fact made clear wth Annie, Katniss and Peeta's kids; Annie's son represents a new era where children don't have to die while Katniss and Peeta's children represents unity.

2010's:

The Hate U Give: This 2017 book tells the story of sixteen-year-old Starr, who witnesses her childhood friend get shot by police. The book deals with themes such as racism and justice. In fact,

2020's:

Meet Me At The Moon Tree: The most recent book on the list, this 2023 novel tells the story of ten-year-old Carina, a girl dealing with several changes; the death of her father and moving into a new home. Wishing to honour her father's wish, Carina explores the woods to search for a "Moon Tree". The themes includes grief, science, change, nature, friendhips and healing.

Might be Classics in the future:

2000's:

Percy Jackson: This YA series centres on a Son of Poseidon, Perseus "Percy" Jackson, as he learns of his half-blood heritage. Sent to a camp, he learns how to control his powers as well as going on quests.

Princess Academy: This book series centres on fourteen-year-old Miri, who lives in a mountain village. After priests of the kingdom of Danland receives a vision of a potential princess living in the mountain village, a school is set up with the girls of the mountain as pupils, and Miri is one of the girls. While at the Academy, she discovers that she is good at Diplomacy, a skill she later teaches to the merchants in the village.

[harrison-abbott]

The dog had gone.

The other person in the house was watching TV in their room. Didn’t matter what was on.

It’d been hot in the house all day because the heating was on, despite it being fifteen degrees outside.

There was a cat yowling in mad sagging intervals out in the garden.

The news on the radio bulletin focused on some berserk random crazy story from the capital 800 miles away.

The carpets were still fucked up from the party from last weekend.

But the birthday stat hadn’t changed anything else in the household.

The garden was abrim with real proper colours that seemed to dissuade matters like global heating; the blueness of the pretty lil flowers in the garden under the kitchen windowsill, blue as comicbook blue skies, blue as the Pacific Ocean in classic movies … perfect in hue.

And up along the supermarket path there already seemed that gaudy breath of summer, with the mix of pollen and the rash bold greenery of the weeds mixed untamed by the pathside.

The supermarket car park was only an eight full.

Kids from the local estates clung to the metal bars that hosted the trolleys.

And the bins were all stuffed up with dog shit bags and bottles and plastic.

On the skyline the sad giant skyrises that were built in the 1960s.

They were ugly beauties indeed, with their orange caps and their overweight sucking

Of the twilight sunshine.

The supermarket was filled with young folks who tended to remind him how old he

Was getting every time he looked at them; the boys as well as the odd pretty girl.

There was a hazy delirium about the supermarket.

Had been here a hundred times and it seemed like a woozy dream coming here at

This time of the evening.

Even the security guard seemed sleepy.

Everything was cheap, the items he bought, except the beer, and only the beer

For being in crates, and poorly beer at that. Meh, shrug, whatever, hey ho.

The girl who had to approve him being over 18 years had these fake painted

Fingernails. Multicoloured nails. And she had a nice body even though her face

Was okay. And she went and spoke to one of her colleagues after serving you.

Again – there was that jealousy of youth as you packed your things into your

Bag and headed off home.

Back in the world there was a wide sense of forgetfulness. Perhaps a sense of

Surprise, also, that you had been here for so long – for most of your life – and

That you often were a waif walking about these parts of the suburb.

The ugly/pretty giants in the background didn’t matter so much in the modern

Age. All you remember of them was playing football when you were a kid nearby

Them. Or, heading along to that library, and the man glaring at you from his car

Because he didn’t recognise you as part of this neighbourhood. Or, you went a

Few times to your brother’s mate’s house who lived near there and the mate loved

Your brother but hated you because you were so different. And they would eat

Chicken pizza and you nothing because you didn’t eat chicken, and they would

Watch zombie movies upstairs and you sat downstairs because you were too

Afraid of the gore and didn’t want to watch. …

All these kinds of memories in a simple stretch of a city, the back gardens of a city.

And you did indeed walk back home. Earlier on you had seen the mysterious neighbour

Who had to walk on a zimmer frame these days because of his history of alcohol.

Presumably he was back home now. And then there were the other family who

Lived next door who were selling their home because their only son had committed

Suicide last year; they wanted to move up north to the city where they were

Originally from in order to try and cope with the grief of it all.

And then there was the boisterous man from across the street who had

Failed to sell his own house around ten years back and he was still here.

Still here in this weird little island of a community which did not belong

To a cathedral or politics or district of even a commune.

It was just what is was; pulsing in actuality, with the coming season of Summer.

[sc0tters]

Mistletoe Confessions | Quinn Hughes

summary: when Quinn finally realises that he doesn't just want to see harper as jacks best friend.

request: my entry in the @wyattjohnston fic exchange for @tkwrites

warnings: swearing, mentions of sleeping with someone but nothing explicit.

word count: 3.87k

authors note: this took an embarrassingly long amount of time to write this one out but here is my first ever entry to a fic exchange and I seriously had so much fun writing this one!

Christmas at the Hughes’ was by every definition the highlight of her Christmas.

Harper always adored the cold Michigan weather and the way that everyone seemed to come together for the reunion of the three Hughes boys. Jack was the one who got Harper into the group. Her family had the lake house just down the road and the moment Jack watched her punch a guy for taking his cap, they were destined to be best friends.

Time went on and Jack kept Harper by his side through it all, but even as he was in New Jersey and Harper was in Florida they still stayed as close as the day they were when Harper kissed him. It was a stupid thing were they were twelve and were scared they’d end up being bad at it so they practiced on each other one night -don’t worry, they didn’t try that with sex-. Yet it was much to the dismay of Quinn that the duo had to stay so close.

To him Harper was a pain in the ass who was always around when he didn’t want to have to see her. Their moms agreed that this hatred masked a crush that he had on Harper, but as he grew to the ripe age of twenty three she began to think that the margaritas had something in them to feed their delusions.

Quinn never seemed to have the time of day for Harper which Jack made sure to always call his brother out on but after fifteen years of the same drum being beat. It got old for everyone but Quinn, silently sealing her indefinite broken heart.

Yes because like every unfortunate yet classic story Harper had a reason for never getting into anything serious with any guys. For her relationships only ever lasting six months at most, the secret ate up at her but no matter how hard she tried to deny it Harper was in love with Quinn.

She knew it was stupid to think so fondly of a man who thought so poorly of her but as she would watch him each time with a new girl, the glimmers of hope would weaken yet it seemed that nothing could remove them fully. The one moment when Harper was ready to move on Quinn found a way to unintentionally bring her right back into the midst of the crush.

Beer pong against Trevor was never going to end well for Harper. But six games strong and her untimely demise came from playing with Cole as it ended up with her curled over the toilet as she emptied her guts in the porcelain bowl “oh.” The grumble made her freeze as she found a moment of silence where her mouth was able to remain shut “c’mon Quinny we can go somewhere else.” The preppy girl had this sultry tone in her voice as she wrapped her arms around his torso, Harper wished she wanted to throw up in that moment.

But Quinn sighed as he watched Harper’s small body cling to the toilet “you should go.” In that moment Harper swore he was talking to her “k-kinda busy!” She snapped coughing at the taste of bile in her throat “not you.” Quinn rolled his eyes as he made the mental note to chew her out for that later.

The sound of the girl he had scoffing were like music to Harper’s ears “let’s not have you throw up on your hair.” Quinn joked but when he was met with a glare that she clearly used all of her energy to send him he sighed “let it out harps.” The hockey player mumbled as he wrapped his hand into her hair using his free one to rub her back “I’m never drinking again.” Harper groaned as she finally found a moment of solace that let her sit across from the boy.

It made Quinn smile as he laughed “I’ll remind you of that tomorrow.” Somehow she had gotten herself invited to the boys drunk golf game, and as someone who never played golf, she was set to be hammered. Harper pressed her head against the wall as her lips formed a pout “you should go back down to that girl.” Harper didn’t want this to be held against her at a later date so she just offered to let him go “she wasn’t my type.” His confession made Harper’s eyes go wide as she laughed.

She truly didn’t mean to but as she was as drunk as a skunk she couldn’t help but sit there and keep her lips locked “the short dress and the hair twirls didn’t get to Quinn Hughes?” Harper gasped as she pretended to be shocked “you wound me Harps.” Quinn pressed his hand on his chest as he fanned a hurt expression.

It made her giggle as she shook her head “like that’s not the worse thing you’ve said to me.” Harper slurred as she placed her hand on his knee “woah.” Jack walked in on the sight of his best friend and his brother finally not fighting “you enjoying the company?” His eyes went wide as he stared at her.

Her cheeks went red as she looked up at him “not bad?” She shrugged not knowing truly what else to say instead “c’mon Z wants to show you something.” Quinn had to force a smile on his lips as he nodded his head off in his brothers direction. Out of Jack’s friends Trevor was by far the one that Quinn saw as competition.

It was beyond stupid but Harper clearly got on with Trevor and it wasn’t a relationship like Jacks with her. Quinn had walked into the living room on more than one occasion where they were jumping apart after being sat on the couch. He swore he’d never get the image of Harper leaving Trevor’s room in a pure walk of shame. Maybe it was the fact that Quinn couldn’t see her in that light but it was more than likely because he was never going to forget her white lace thong in her hand as she ran across the hall in Trevor’s t-shirt thinking nobody was awake.

The smell of eggnog brought Harper back to reality as she walked into the Hughes family home “honey I’m home!” She giggled as the door shut behind her “in the kitchen sweetie!” Ellen called back as the girl always made sure to get there early.

Harper squealed as she ran into the kitchen “momma Hughes!” Ellen was quick to drop her spoon into the gravy as she turned to the girl “oh how I’ve missed you!” The through Hughes brothers watched in amusement as Ellen wrapped her hands around the girls waist.

Luke scoffed as he squinted his eyes “it’s like she doesn’t have children of her own.” He mumbled as he was met with a glare from his mother “I haven’t seen her in months, I saw you last week.” Ellen corrected him as she rolled her eyes “now how have you been sweetheart?” She smiled as she tucked Harpers hair behind her ears.

Quinn couldn’t help but notice how she had cut her hair. The ends of her once died hair was now gone as Harper let her natural hair grow to her collar bone that was hidden by her turtle neck “I’ve been good.” Harper nodded as she fiddled with her teddy bear bracelet.

It had been a gift from Trevor for your twenty first and as she never took it off it was the constant reminder that she was Trevor’s. The title might not have been written in stone but for each time he’d smile at her and Harper would reciprocate, the image spoke more than a thousand words.

But as a laugh left his lips her head snapped in his direction “what’s so funny?” Harper furrowed her eyebrows as she grew irritated “can’t a guy laugh Harps?” Quinn smirked as he rested his head on his hands “I’m gonna go talk with her okay?” Jack nodded as he grabbed her hand pulling Harper out of the room.

The duo couldn’t help but sit on the corner of the living room as they caught up “god I’ve missed you.” Jack sighed as he wrapped his arms around her “you saw me two weeks ago!” Harper laughed as she shook her head “and we were on FaceTime yesterday!” She added as the boy kissed her head letting out a scoff.

His arms squeezed around her “let me as your best friend miss you!” He emphasized on the last two words as he smiled “I’ll always let you miss me.” Harper giggled as she kissed his temple “you two sure you haven’t fucked?” Luke’s vulgar words made them both laugh as Jim reached up to hit his son’s head.

The best friends snickered only going quiet as Quinn glared at them “I wouldn’t laugh if I was you Harps.” The boy twirled his finger in her direction “last time I checked you had cobwebs up there.” His words made her lips form an o as she scoffed.

It seemed as though everyone was quiet as they watched the interaction between the duo “please I get plenty of s-” Harpers rebuttal was cut off when Jack gagged “okay eww.” He scrunched his face in disgust silently praising the lords as the doorbell rang “behave.” Jim warned glaring at Quinn before he went to the door.

For the most part the night went smoothly, with Quinn sat on one side of the table and Harper on the edge. They had Jack and Luke amongst both her family members as well as a few more members of the Hughes family along side friends to bulk out the table. It was as though Quinn and Harper weren’t even in the same room with how little they acknowledged each other “so your mom told me that you got a job in Vancouver?” Ellen smiled as she turned her attention to Harper.

It made the young girl freeze as she was in the middle of eating a piece of broccoli “couldn’t get enough of me Harps?” Quinn teased as it made the table tense “trust me I would not be calling you when I’m there.” Harper let out an unimpressed scoff as she threw fork onto her plate.

His lips formed a smirk as he realized that he had gotten to her “can I get that in writing?” As Quinn pushed out of his chair she did the same “the only thing you’re going to get from me is my foot up your ass!” Her fists clenched as she knew he was going to act like this when he found out.

Her mom grew embarrassed as she placed her hand over her mouth “didn’t think someone as dry as you could have been so kinky.” The hockey player wriggled his eyebrows as he shrugged “god you are so infuriating!” Harper stomped her foot on the ground.

Luke looked down at his plate as he tried to avoid the harsh glares that were being sent over the table “c’mon Harps, you know I’m the only person who would be able to put up with your ass-” the words flew out of Quinn’s mouth quicker than anyone could have processed “I’m gonna do just fine in Vancouver without you Quinn.” She spat as she pushed her hair out of her face.

The table stayed silent as she stepped closer to him “because I’d rather die a cold miserable death before I ever go crawling to you.” As the gap between them both dispersed into nothing “so respectfully go fuck yourself!” Harper pressed her finger in his chest as she turned to see everyone at the table staring back at the duo.

It made her cheeks grow warm “excuse me.” She mumbled turning her heel as she almost dashed to the bathroom “could you not have just kept your mouth shut for one god damn night?” Jack’s anger echoed through the hall as she pushed open the bathroom door.

As the cool water hit her face the ringing in her ears subsided as the anger in her heart began to wear off. Whilst she had gotten used to the constant back and forth with him part of Harper began to grow tired of this as she did hope that Quinn and her could move on from where they were in their relationship. Maybe it was naive but this year it finally felt like they were’t going to have to try and bite each other’s heads off.

So as Quinn sunk further into his seat hearing the lectures come from each member of his family. His mind drifted to the girls words, did she seriously mean that she hated him enough to rather be dead than get with him “you’re back.” Jack sounded as though he let out a sigh of relief as he watched Harper tuck her hair behind her ears before she joined the table again.

The rest of dinner went down quietly as everyone avoided any topic of her going to Vancouver fearing that they would irritated Quinn and start up that argument again. Quinn watched her stay silent only sending Jack the occasional nod as he spoke about how his season went. Just like always Harper was first to jump up to help with the dishes and this time it was more pressing as she was desperate to avoid Quinn.

So much so that she went as far as to use the route she swore he wouldn’t. Yet the universe seemed to want to screw with them both as it sent her crashing into his chest “shit!” He groaned looking up to see a mistletoe right above them.

Panic set in as Harper stared up at the plastic decoration that hung from the ceiling “we don’t have-” Quinn began as he was cut off when his younger cousins let out a squeal “kiss her Quinn!” The girls played their hands on their face as they stared at the duo who stood in front of them.

Harpers cheeks turned red as she frozen “you guys should go upstairs so you can go to bed!” Quinn went to shoo them away but it was a punch to her gut “think I’m gonna go home.” Her parents were only down the road and as she had left the last of the dishes in the kitchen.

Quinn cursed himself as he turned around to stop her only to see her practically already bolted in the other direction “fuck!” He groaned watching her pull her coat from the rack before she waved goodbye to members of the family that she actually wanted to see.

As Harper made her way back to the door she couldn’t help but look back silently praying to see Quinn’s eyes. But the only thing she found was the back of his head as he was already headed upstairs and with that any hope of things ending differently went along with him.

Harper ended up barely getting ready for bed before Luke got her on the phone to talk. Luke had weirdly found himself in the role of being her little listener. As much as she valued her relationship with Jack, there were simply some things that she knew were better left secrets to her best friend.

Luke also got the role after he made the mistake asking her what was on her mind one night as she sat staring at the stars at the lake house. Harper was drunk and as tears streamed down her face wishing that Quinn would stop hating her. As he was the only one who knew how she truly felt about his eldest brother, it meant Luke was the one she confided in.

It was clear that she was irritated as she braided her hair rambling on about how Quinn had pissed her off “and he couldn’t even kiss me after he stared at me like a fucking fool!” She scoffed honestly not knowing what she wanted from the scenario “like Jesus Christ am I that fucking bad?” Luke remained silent as he knew the simple reason behind her outburst was that her pride was hurt.

Nobodies ego handles rejection well and Harper swore she was the idiot for running away “maybe it’s about time you moved on Harps?” Quinn froze as he heard the question linger on Luke’s lips “you know part of me still thinks that there is a part of him that is good f’me.” The fears in the oldest Hughes boy turned to jealousy as he furrowed his eyebrows.

But as Luke’s laughter echoed in his ears, the little self restraint that Quinn had left stopped him from opening the door “that’s because you’re still in love with Quinn!” Anyone who could have heard that sentence through the young boys giggles should have deserved a prize “shut up!” Harpers groan brought him back to earth as his chest began to rise in a mild panic.

He began to step away feeling like he had heard too much of a private conversation “you okay Quinn?” Ellen furrowed her eyebrows as she walked out of her room wanting to go downstairs for a glass of water before she went to bed “I need to clear my head.” Quinn announced as he nodded.

Like any concerned mother she reached out to grab his hand “it’s almost midnight.” She pointed out looking down to her watch “I just need to go for a walk.” Not much went through his mind beyond the fact that Quinn knew he needed to see Harper.

He almost pleaded with his mom just desperate to get out of that house “I’ll be back in a bit.” Quinn gave his mom the briefest of hugs before he left “pretty sure it’s my eldest who is the weirdest.” She mumbled to herself as Luke was still on FaceTime “love you too.” As the words came from him Ellen just sighed “spoke too soon.” She mumbled as she shook her head.

Quinn felt panic coarse through his body as he ran the route to your parents house like it could have been clockwork for his brain. The light in her room was the only one that was on as she had always been one for those late nights. Soft sounds of Christmas carols echoed through her ears as she had just gotten into her pyjamas.

The soft patter of a knocks on the window made Harper freeze as she saw the shadow of someone’s figure behind it “go away!” She called out grabbing Jacks old hockey stick that had been left in her room. But as the figure didn’t move Harper slowly walked to her window nervously gripping to the side of the curtain as she pulled it to the side.

Her eyes went wide as she was faced with Quinn “what the hell.” She mumbled to herself as he was barely safe on the tree that was next to her bedroom “open up!” He begged tapping the glass.

Harper nodded as she pushed it up opening the pane as she moved to the side “Quinn it is so late.” She pointed out seeing her alarm clock with the red numbers illuminating the black screen on her side table “do you love me?” His question echoed in her ears as alarm bells rang.

It truly felt like her world had stopped as she looked to find any kind of argument what was better than the simple word no “it doesn’t matter.” She shook her head as she chewed at the inside of her cheek “like hell it does!” Quinn was careful to not let his voice reach above a certain octave as he feared at he would wake her parents up.

Her hands formed fists “so you want to hear me say that I’ve loved you since I was ten?” She blurted out sending him a glare “that I feel sick but how much I care about what you think?” Harper took a step closer to him “what makes it worse is that you don’t even care that I have you on that pedestal.” Tears formed in her eyes as she pressed her finger into his chest.

Quinn watched her stare at him as he was almost left speechless “you love me?” He repeated the words as it made her let out a dry scoff “I am fucking obsessed with you.” She nodded feeling her cheeks turn red from the attention he sent her.

Not often did Quinn feel trapped but in that moment he swore was in shackles “god this was stupid.” Harper laughed as she shook her head before she pushed to leave him “I haven’t stopped thinking about the time I had to watch you leave his room at the lake house.” Quinn didn’t need to say who he was talking about because as her eyes went wide she knew it all.

The moments that Harper thought were only better her and Trevor actually involved Quinn too “I spent nights wondering if I could be what you not only wanted but also deserved.” His words only enraged her “why the hell didn’t you kiss me under the mistletoe!” Harper didn’t want to reveal just how much that had felt like a slap in the face but as her eyebrows furrowed she just grew more visibly confused.

Quinn rolled his eyes “I didn’t kiss you because I wanted the first kiss I got with you to be one you wanted.” His words made her go quiet “you wanted to kiss me?” Her pupils were blown as the musky scent of his cologne ran through her nose.

He nodded reaching out to cup her cheeks “I have since you punched me for taking that stick.” Quinn looked to the one that she had used minutes ago as a weapon to ward off the risk that she thought Quinn was “think you should have kissed me then.” Harper teased as she smirked.

It made Quinn laugh “you gonna let me?” As she nodded it made the hockey player melt as he stared at her lips. Now neither one truly remembered how it happened but as Harper pushed to her tippy toes and Quinn dropped his head their lips met on what felt like perfection.

If Harper was going to talk about it she’d say that not even the Greek gods could have written something like this, Quinn was crafted for her. His lips moulded into hers letting them join together like the final two pieces of an over complicated puzzle. So as she pulled away the taste of her peppermint chapstick tingled on his lips “merry Christmas Harps.” He mumbled pecking her lips once more as it made them both smile.

They silently stared at each other as they stood there “don’t be a stranger in Vancouver?” The question reminded her of the conversations over dinner “wouldn’t dream of it Quinn.”

As Harper watched the sun come up she thought about the elements that almost seemed too good to be true, but all she knew was that she was going to have to thank that little green Christmas decoration for tonight.

[pennyydear]

Name: Penny Dearley Age: Twenty-four  Occupation: Grad Student  Sexuality: Raging bisexual Pronouns: She/Her  Currently Playing: Good Days by SZA Big Three:  Leo sun, Aries moon, Taurus rising

Headcanons:

Penny was born off of Echo Isle, to parents she never knew. All she was told as a child was that her mother had a classic case of teenage pregnancy and she was unable to take care of her. Thus, she was given up to the system, moving from orphanages quite often, as she usually wasn’t the best behaved. Though she went to all the interviews with prospective parents and was told to put on her best smile or else she’d never find a home, Penny didn’t really care. To her, home was the people that she was with more than the place.

When she turned thirteen, Penny was moved onto the Isle and placed into an orphanage that was specifically for teenagers. She was fairly certain there that she’d just wind up aging out of the system, since she had never found any success with finding a permanent home. She could tell that this was when people stopped caring as much about placing kids somewhere, focusing their efforts on the younger ones who might actually appreciate growing up in stability.

Through her time in orphanages and in a few foster homes here and there, she met some pretty dope people, including some boys who were a few years younger than her, and some guy named Flynn Rider who she was fairly certain was born with another name entirely. Penny was the type of girl who fit in with the boys seamlessly, a tomboy who stood her ground when it came to being involved in their shenanigans.

With being so set on never getting adopted, Penny never expected to be put in a foster home when she was fifteen, with a social worker of all people. She resisted, knowing that this would probably be the end of her freedom for a bit, but Pongo and Perdita Dearley changed her entire world. Ever had she met two people who actually gave a shit about her without any conditions attached. The Dearleys took as many kids as they could in their home, and it was the kindest thing Penny had ever witnessed. She fell in love with her foster parents from the start, even if she gave them trouble while getting acclimated.

Shedding the rebellious nature she’d grown into while she was still in the system was hard, but Penny never wanted Pongo and Perdita to worry about her. Still, she did the shit that every teenager did, like drink, smoke a little, and sneak out every now and then. Penny had never been one to take to authority, but she tried her best not to give her foster parents too much of a headache. It was her old friends from the system who mostly egged her on with trouble, especially while she still wasn’t technically adopted.

After two years of living with the Dearleys, Penny finally became one. She figured it was kind of dumb to be adopted when she was almost aged out of the system, but having a real family felt kind of nice, so she agreed. It was also the first time she ever had a last name, since Penny was never given one while she was in the system. Becoming a Dearley was the best day of her life, and Penny is proud every day to be part of the family that took her in when no one else would.

It was Perdita who suggested she go to college since she could get a full ride, coming out of the foster care system. Though she started a year late since she had to get her GED, Penny didn’t actually mind school. She didn’t really know what the hell to study when she started, but she decided that she would take after her mother and become a social worker. Penny knows it’s a hard job, and not a very forgiving one, either, but she’s confident that she can give kids the empathy she wished someone had given her when she was a child.

It was one weekend spent traveling with a friend off the Isle for spring break that she met Dodger and Scamp. Though she kind of couldn’t stand the latter for leaving a perfectly fine family when so many others had none, she kind of hit it off with Dodger. Scamp didn’t come back to the Isle when she and Dodger did, so the two stayed in contact. Though she wished it would’ve stayed a friendship, Penny let things get what she now thinks was a bit too far out of hand, going so far as to start hooking up every now and then. Once she started to develop feelings that were anything beyond sexual, though, Penny cut off their physical relationship, saying that it was best if they stayed friends. Penny’s not sure what the right decision is when it comes to the blonde, but for now, she’s content with where they’re at: as just friends.

Gaining her not-so biological siblings was another one of the best things to happen to Penny. She took care of Jewel and Scooter like they were her own kids, even though she was late into her teens when Scooter was born. She considers them almost like her own kids, even though she knows it was a dream come true for Pongo and Perdita to finally have biological children of their own.

In contrast, losing Pongo was the biggest heartbreak she’d ever experienced. He was the only person who had served as a father figure to her, and she loved him like a dad, too. What was worse, arguably, was watching Perdita grieve. She wanted to take all of her mother’s pain away in any way she could, knowing that she now had to go through all of this alone. Penny tried to step up in any way she could by taking care of the younger kids and be there for Perdita whenever she could be a shoulder to cry on. Though it was a shitty way to bond, the loss brought them closer together than anything Penny had experienced before.

Now, Penny’s about to start grad school in the fall for a master degree in social work, and she still helps Perdita around the house however she can. Penny knows that the authorities are kind of inching closer to making their house smaller, and she’s set on helping her mother in any way she can to avoid that. At the same time, Penny’s trying to live her life while staying out of trouble as much as she can, since she knows that it can get back to the Dearleys if she fucks up too bad. It’s a fine line to be on, but Penny’s been keeping herself clean so far, and will keep pushing until told otherwise.

Huuuuuge flirt with anyone and everyone, men and women. Definitely is more forward with it now, too, given that she and Dodger didn’t exactly work out, just for the attention.

[theeclipticarts]

One very importance experience relating to music for me occurred in December to January of this year. I met a new friend who was interested in the same fandom I was and we were both artists / animators and fanfiction writers so we had a LOT of importance in musical ties to our projects. For a while we would spend hours ever day chatting about music lyrics and associating them with parts of the fic we were planning together. I have a lot of songs now that are really important to me because of that and I really feel as if music is what really brought us together and held us there until we eventually mostly parted ways due to changing interests. It's the same with a lot of important things in my life, I associate and bond over music.

An old internet best friend and I bonded over the song Break the Distance by Ashton Edminster. My current best friend is She by Dodie. My old lease horse was Beautiful Boy by John Lennon. The DreamSMP is The Valley by The Oh Hellos, my art pieces all have musical associations for example my most recent piece is associated with El Tango De Roxanne. One of my OCs is Spider and the Lamps from Razia's Shadow. Everything has an association and they're all incredibly important to me. I connect with people through these associations. I create through music as well.

Another story that's really important to me is how my dad and I have connected through our music tastes. It started in about 2017 when I started choosing music to play for our long drive to school and back. We really connected over Five Bells by Coco and the Butterfields and The Election of 1800 from Hamilton, both of which I'd discovered recently in Warrior Cats MAPs. This only grew from there. Soon we were singing along to the Star Wars soundtrack every day, our favourite piece was "The Throne Room and End Title" from A New Hope. We played this together and bonded over it for years. Then I introduced him to Dodie, and to this day we both tap out the rhythm to Monster, which became one of his favourite songs of all time. In return he showed me old favourite instrumentals that he loves like Hooked on Classics which I adored and listened to for months. The Mandolorian theme was a big one that we shared and The Peninsula of Wild Ponies from Star Stable was a big, big one when I introduced it to him! I can still sing along to both 1 and 2 to this day. There were so many small associations that brought us together and we are finding more and more every week but the most important so far is our discover of Cody Fry.

Now, Cody Fry is my favourite musical artist of all time. He's been a favourite since day one, really. He is most likely most recognizable for the massive tiktok hit "I Hear a Symphony" which was MASSIVE in the DreamSMP fandom while I haunted it. I cried to it in my English class because it was associated with and mentioned in a devastating fanfic I was reading at the time. Even now I am a bit struck thinking about it, even though it really shouldn't have been anything of consequence. (Much like another fanfic of that author's who caused Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber to bring me to tears every time without fail to this day). At the time, I Hear a Symphony itself wasn't really something that aligned with my music tastes though and so I never added it to my playlists or explored Cody Fry's other songs. Fastforward about a year and a half later and I discover a small, unfinished animatic to the song Underground by Cody Fry (the new, breathtaking orchestral version). This was the beginning of the end for all other music. And for my sanity, as to this day I have found nothing quite like Cody Fry's recent music. I watched it again and again, quite possibly about fifteen times in a row before immediately searching for it on Spotify.

Ever since then it has been at the top of all of my playlists, frequently with its majestic prequel orchestral piece "Caves". My recieptify on Spotify hasn't changed since early 2021 besides one song moving up one or two ranks. I listen to easily 4 hours of music every day, often more depending on what I'm hyperfixating on at the time. Since discovering it halfway through 2022, Underground is the only song which has reached that top 10 and has sat comfortably as my most listened song for easily a year now. Not only that, but the same song from a different album appears to be creeping up very quickly to join it. Upon checking it appears that it has jumped up to 3rd and will no doubt overtake the second soon. A top 10 that hasn't changed since early 2021 and Underground managed to get on there TWICE. Suffice to say I might like it a little. Anyway, I was listening to Underground in the car with my dad for probably the third or fourth time so far? This was the first time he paid attention besides being somewhat impressed with the big break of the song. I still remember it vividly, he does too. "Wait a minute, did he just get hit by a fucking train?" (Me, laughing delightedly) "Yes!". From there it was over for him as well, poor fool. His attention was finally drawn and suddenly he was in just as much awe as I was over the incredible, indescribable instrumental of Underground (and soon Caves). As well of Cody's voice of course, which is absolutely gorgeous. He was born to sing in our eyes. This started the next stage of massive musical bond between my dad and I. We listened to more Cody Fry, developed more favourites, and became more and more impacted by every song. When we need some familiar music, it's Cody Fry. When dad makes pancakes on weekends, we listen to Cody Fry over the speaker. When we want to test speakers? We got them out to play Underground and we will play Underground (I still vividly remember the incredible experience of dragging out old studio speakers that he got somewhere and booming Underground in such high quality. I think the only thing that could sound better is a live performance which is something both he and I have obsessed with the idea of since discovering him. Unfortunately the shows are inaccessible to us even in our wildest dreams right now. The best we could possibly get is Australia in a few years when the world finally recognizes how truly beyond incredible Cody Fry really is. Perhaps even New Zealand if we wished upon a few thousand shooting stars). When we buy headphones, the test song is Caves and Underground. When my mum bought a new car I forced her to let the first song played be Underground. When my dad and I went on a train trip recently we were playing Underground almost all of the way, amongst other fantastic pieces like Eleanor Rigby, Waltz for Sweatpants, Photograph and Fix You. Every time we have gone on planes since discovering Cody Fry we've listened to Flying on take off and landing. It's habit to make sure the other has Flying downloaded before any flights now. I listened to it the entire flight once and couldn't even bring myself to pause it to watch downloaded YouTube videos or listen to audio books. I frequently hear of dad going out to cafes when he needs a break from things to go out, work, listen to Cody Fry and then, of course, Frody Cry. We're both very affected by music but I don't think I've ever seen him so emotionally affected by any other music pieces. It's actually extremely impressive.

Honestly I don't think I could ever sum up how important our connection over Cody's music is to me. Even this massive emotional brain dump of words doesn't do half of it justice. I think Underground really brought us together again musically after being very much separated on that kind of level.

If you haven't listened to Cody Fry's music, I recommend it more than words can say. His more recent stuff is very heavily orchestral, and not in the cheap way that quite a few artists lately appear to be attempting but in the true, rich way. His dad is an orchestral composer, and that is absolutely zero surprise when you hear his music.

My Recommendations:

- Underground

- Caves

- Photograph

- Fantasietta on a theme from Photograph

- Photograph / Clair de Lune

- Flying

- Fix You

- Eleanor Rigby (also extremely important to my dad and I)

- Waltz for Sweatpants

- God Rest Ye

- From the Cold

- Underground (The original guitar version. While I'm not so passionate about it, it's still brilliant like all of his music)

- More than the day Before

- I hear a Symphony

- Start a Wave

- Interlude: At the edge of a cliff

- If only my heart could speak

- Wander Anymore / Dunes

- Pictures of Mountains

- Want me Back (With Cory Wong)

- Coming Back Around (Also with Cory Wong, definitely my favourite collaboration).

There's many more to explore but these are my dad and I's favourites.

Honestly the only way things could get better right now is for either Underground's instrumental to finally get released (my dream second to only seeing it live), Cody to announce a tour to Australia or even New Zealand (in my dreams, maybe) Or for anyone who is even half as good as Cody to appear who does songs in the style of Underground with such brilliant details (e.g using the doppler effect as the train rushes past or and creating the rhythm of the train going along the track with the orchestra) and has such a stunning voice. Simply so I can consume more of this gorgeous style he seems to have created from nothing (at least nothing that my dad and I can find after a year of searching). He also does amazing videos where he explains details in the songs, shows off the scores, explains his thought processes, etc! And he's really funny too, definitely worth following on Instagram. He also did a beautiful song for big a Disney fountain show!

But really most realistically, my dad and I would kill for an instrumental version of Underground or even better an interactive like the one that was used to introduce Fix You where you could select music elements to turn on and off. THAT I JUST DISCOVERED HASN'T DISAPPEARED AND HAS BEEN INTRODUCED FOR WALTZ FOR SWEATPANTS TOO!

Alright I'm off to Frody Cry thinking about how important these songs are to me now. And also go experiment with the listening experience for Waltz for Sweatpants! (codyfry.com/fixyou/). Thanks for reading the absolute mess if you made it this far, I'm just really passionate about Cody Fry's music and I want to talk about it even though I can't properly formulate my words.

Edit: Now have scrolled down the post on my profile and seen how long it is. If you've honestly made it this far I salute you. You've gone farther than I could go lmao

i have a favour to ask all of you:

i’m writing a speech about how music (of all different genres) can bring people together. so my favour is that you guys either comment, reblog or even message me your music stories (direct or indirect), and how music has helped bring you closer to people. please make sure you mention specific artists and genres when you tell these stories (if you don’t remember that’s okay too). i’m hoping that i can make a collage of stories from all different people of all different backgrounds. i want pop stories, country stories, hip hop, blues, rap, bebop, classical, jazz, give it all to me.

a couple important things: please make sure that if you share that you are willing to have this story be spoken out loud to people (if you are not, please tell me before you give me the story. i’d still like to hear them even if i cannot share them) also, i would like names so it’s easier for me to tell the story, but feel free to give me fake names if you would like :)

it’s not enough to have stories from people i personally know, or people in my family. i need stories from everywhere.

and please, please, spread this around. i want as many stories about music as possible.

so please, let me know :)