#i swear this happens every year or so and i get too embarrassed to reread until the curiosity gets to me

[lazunight]

Me remembering old fanfics i wrote and posted 4 years ago: oh noooo those are so bad why did anyone read those 😫

Me rereading them: nvm theyre fine actually.

[marvel-and-mischief]

Play Me One More Time

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader Words: 3900 Warnings: FLUFF, little bit of angst but it's completely overwhelmed by the FLUFF, a swear word or two Synopsis: Marcus puts out a call for your old band to get back together again. You accept, but how long will it take before old feelings for Marcus get in the way?

Inspired by this gifset

Fic Masterpost

The notification popped up on your phone during your lunch break at work. Where you sat at your classroom desk next to the window you could hear children screaming and laughing. You nearly missed the ping of your phone over the sounds.

Holding your half eaten sandwich in one hand, you curiously swiped down from the top of your phone and clicked on the notification without much thought.

Marcus Pike has sent you a message!

You lost your grip on your sandwich as it plonked down onto your lap, but that was the least of your worries. You frantically tried to exit out of the messaging app before it could open but nothing worked. The conversation opened and the word 'read' stared at you mockingly underneath his message.

You sighed, ignoring the sauce that was seeping through your cotton trousers. You had no choice but to read it now. And then you'd have to reply to whatever he had sent you or he'd think you were ignoring him.

Hey! Long time no speak! I've been in touch with Jo and Tom and was wondering if you wanted to get the old band back together? Maybe have a catch up if you're not too busy? Let me know :)

You chewed on your bottom lip as you reread the message half a dozen times, heart hammering in your chest as you realised Marcus must be back in your hometown. You'd heard through Jo that he'd moved to Washington a couple of years ago, so what had brought him back?

You haven't played in the band since your college days, and your only captive audience since then has been the pre-school kids you teach. But you couldn't pass up the opportunity to see Marcus again, the man you'd been head over heels in love with since you knew what love was.

The school bell rang throughout the building, signalling the end of recess and the beginning of afternoon lessons.

Marcus! So good to hear from you. Would love to catch up, are you free this weekend? x

By the time you cleaned up your trousers you had your reply.

This weekend is great. Want to meet at our old diner? Heard Mr Howells still owns it.

You grinned down at your phone, thinking about the afternoons you used to play hooky with Marcus and hide out at Mr Howells' diner. You were surprised Marcus remembered it.

He does! The burgers haven't changed either. Is Saturday 6pm any good?

You tapped your feet as you waited for his reply. Your children were lining up outside the door and you needed to know if you were having a date with your forever crush before continuing with your day.

When your phone pinged, you breathed out a sigh of relief.

Sounds perfect. Can't wait to see you again! :)

You sent the thumbs up emoji and put your phone away, opening the classroom door with a smile on your face and a pep in your step.

-

You'd been here, at Mr Howells' Diner, a week before Christmas with a couple of teacher friends you worked with but now it felt different. Now you had memories of you and Marcus giggling over overflowing chocolate milkshakes and feeling sick from gorging on too many salty fries floating through your head. You saw Marcus' baby face fading into a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, you'd seen him change from boy to man in this diner, and he'd seen you change from girl to woman.

You bounced from one foot to the other nervously as you peaked through the window of the door in search of your old friend.

"You could've waited inside," came a deep voice from behind you. You spun around and came face to face with Marcus. He glowed yellow and red under the neon sign above you, but he looked beautiful, grin plastered wide on his face as he took you in for the first time in years.

"Hey," you managed to breathe out a welcome without too much embarrassment, "I didn't know if you were already here."

"Shall we?" Marcus stepped closer to reach around you and open the door.

You blinked to readjust your eyes to the bright fluorescent lights inside the diner. You giggled when you realised Marcus was doing the same.

"You weren't lying, it's hardly changed since we were kids," Marcus laughed, eyeing the original furnishings and old menu signs hanging on the walls.

You took a seat in your old booth, the one you and Marcus would automatically flock to when you were younger. It was far enough away from the counter that you had privacy for your teenage musings, but it overlooked the car park so you could watch out for anyone you needed to hide from.

"This takes me back," Marcus mused, shaking off his coat when you did the same.

"Yeah, it brings back so many memories."

"Do they still do the Choc'o'Shock shakes?"

You laughed and pointed towards the milkshake menu above the counter.

"They do!?" Marcus gasped loudly, eyes wide in surprise, "that was my favorite, with the popping candy-"

"- and the cinnamon, yeah, we used to share because it was in the extra large glass."

"Yeah, oh man."

Your laughter died down as soon as the waitress came over and took your orders. Your nerves from earlier had completely disappeared. Even in the silence that followed the waitress leaving the table it was comfortable as you both tried to find the words to start a conversation.

"I've been in Washington for a couple of years," Marcus began.

"For work?"

"Yeah, I needed to go away for a bit. Some things happened and a fresh start was what I needed."

You nodded as you listened. You wanted to ask more but you had to remember your friendship wasn't what it used to be. There was a boundary now, an unspoken line that came with not being in each other's lives for so long.

"Are you back for good?" you asked.

"I hope so. Nothing beats home, y'know?"

"I dunno, I envied you moving to the city whilst I stayed on the outskirts. Felt like you were moving on to bigger and better things and I was staying still." You shrugged it off. You hadn't meant to be that honest but it was what you had felt at the time.

"You're still teaching aren't you?"

"Yeah," you smiled at the waitress as she brought over your drinks, you were glad for the distraction.

"You still like teaching?"

"I wouldn't want to do anything else," you smiled, thinking of the kids you taught, "it's a privilege to get to shape young minds, y'know? Even at pre-school age, they're so inquisitive, and they question everything and I'm the one that gives them the answers."

Marcus smiled as he listened. You suddenly felt shy under his intense gaze, something you'd never felt around him before. But he was listening, really listening to you and it felt so good that he wanted to get to know this different, older version of the person he'd known years ago.

"You look happy," Marcus sighed happily, though you sensed something else in his tone that you couldn't put your finger on.

"I'm happy with my job," you replied, but now there was something in your tone, a comment unspoken, 'I'm happy with my job but not in other aspects of my life'.

"And outside of work?"

Damn you Marcus and your ability to look right through me.

You gave him a smile that didn't reach your eyes, a smile that told him that things weren't as perfect as your job.

"I can't complain."

"You can to me," Marcus pushed his coffee to the side and gave you his full attention. He'd always been good at giving you his full attention, maybe that was why it was so easy to fall in love with him.

"I live on my own, have for a while. It's fine, it's what it is." You couldn't look him in the eye, instead focusing on cars pulling in and out of the parking lot.

"I get it. The older I get the harder it is to find someone special," Marcus said wistfully. You glanced over to him and he showed you a crooked smile. "It is what it is."

Your food was placed down in front of you and thankfully your conversations turned lighthearted.

The hug he gave you on the steps outside the diner was longer than normal but you weren't one to complain. You held him close, breathing in the sweet, smoky scent of his cologne and committing it to memory.

"Band practice."

You sighed dramatically as you pulled away from him.

"I sing to pre-schoolers, I'm not as good as I used to be."

"You had a voice of an angel, that doesn't just go away."

You rolled your eyes at his compliment, but you felt warm inside.

"Just don't laugh at me, okay?"

"I promise," Marcus said, and you believed him.

-

Band practise was at Tom's childhood home, just like the good old days. He had moved into the house when his parent's moved back to their home country of Cuba when they retired five years ago. The white, spiky outer walls reminded you of the time when you fell up the steps and smacked your head against the sharp spikes. You involuntarily cringed.

The garage was nostalgic in every way. It still housed a legless, cracking leather couch (where you used to sit way too close to Marcus on), Tom's 90's television set sat above collections of dusty VHS tapes, bicycle frames decorated the walls and a drum kit was set up on the far side of the wall.

"Please don't tell me the drums have been here since the end of college?"

Tom laughed and shook his head at you.

"Jo helped me get them down from the attic."

You raised your eyebrows at Jo who blushed and quickly looked away in response. There had been this unspoken thing between her and Tom throughout college, just as there had always been something quietly charged between you and Marcus. Except you had your suspicions that Jo and Tom had had the courage to do something about their thing at some point.

Marcus entered through the garage door, rubbing his hands together with a childlike excitement on his face.

"I don't know if it's because I'm getting old but I've been looking forward to this all week."

You laughed and before you knew it you were behind a microphone stand singing late 90's/early 2000's indie anthems with your friends playing behind you.

"Should we play some of our old songs?" Jo asked innocently.

"No."

"Fuck no."

"Absolutely not."

You all burst into fits of giggles.

You thought back to those songs you used to write and sing. "They were all so..."

"Angsty."

You turned to Marcus who had spoken. You nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, what was that about? What was going on in our lives that we had to write like that?"

You were being lighthearted but the way Marcus flashed you a sad smile had you taken aback. What did Marcus write about? You wished you still had your lyric books, maybe that would give a clue as to what teenage Marcus Pike was thinking and feeling.

"Lunch break anyone?" Tom shook you out of your thoughts and you were quick to jump at the chance to change the subject.

-

Over the next few months you all met up for band practice whenever you were all free, which was rare. Eventually the meet ups became less about the music and more about getting to know what was going on in your friend's lives since college.

The summer evenings were getting cooler and you took the opportunity to light a fire pit in Tom's back garden and sit around with beers in hand and Jo's phone hooked up to a small speaker playing background music to your conversations.

"So, the FBI, " Jo took a sip of her beer, "you must have some stories."

Marcus preened under the attention, goofy smile stretched wide as he picked at the label on his beer bottle.

"Yeah, none that I can tell you I'm afraid."

You joined in on the mock 'boos' that echoed around the pit. Marcus laughed.

"I'm sorry! Anyway, I specialised in art, it's not that interesting."

"Any art heists?"

"No, Jo."

"You know I saw a documentary on Netflix about these Rembrandt's..."

Tom's voice seemed to fade away as you caught Marcus' eye over the flames of the fire. You felt content under his gaze, like you'd done this a million times, like you were teenagers again listening to Tom go on about something you weren't interested in, hearing Jo pacify him absentmindedly whilst you and Marcus spoke without speaking.

It reminded you how in sync you always were, and still seemed to be. It hurt that after all these years there was still something between you, but was it enough? Marcus had come back to his hometown but you still weren't sure why.

You smiled a wobbly smile and stood from your camping chair.

"I'm just going to get some water," you announced and made your way towards the kitchen.

You didn't put the light on, instead taking to stand in the darkest corner of the room to catch your breath. You closed your eyes and leant your head back against the wall, not seeing Marcus following you in.

"You okay?"

You jumped in surprise but didn't choose to reply to him just yet. You needed to gather your thoughts together, try and have this conversation without all the emotions you felt bubbling up inside of you spilling out in front of Marcus.

"Why did you come back?"

You opened your eyes to see Marcus leaning back against the kitchen island. He was too far away to touch, but close enough that you could smell the smoke from the fire on his clothes.

"It's home. It's where I'm most comfortable. It's where all my memories are."

Were you satisfied with that answer? It seemed too vague to be completely true, but Marcus was never a liar. He seemed to sense where your head's at and sighed.

"There was someone. I wanted it to be serious. We got engaged, I promised her the world, we were going to fly out to Washington together. But it turned out I wasn't who she wanted."

You don't know what got to you the most, the fact that someone rejected this wonderful man, or that he didn't sound all that sad about it.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it made me realise I didn't want any of it either. I do want all of that, but not with her."

He whispered the last bit but in the silence of the kitchen it was hard to miss. He wanted someone else. And at that realisation you think you felt your heart crack cleanly in two.

You didn't know how to respond without admitting how you've felt for over fifteen years. You leaned away from the corner you had tried to hide yourself in and came to stand in front of Marcus.

"It's her loss. You know that, right?"

Marcus' eyes sparkled in the setting sun, and you realised it was because they were watery. You moved forward quicker than you could think and engulfed him in your arms, holding him tight to your chest as he instantly wrapped his arms around you.

You had done this hundreds of times, but this time it felt special, and you couldn't put your finger on why.

-

Your morning class hadn't even begun when your phone rang in your bag. Glancing at the bright red clock on the wall you had five minutes before the first bell. You frowned, trying to find your phone amongst the mess of tissues, pens and bandaids that had fallen out of their packaging before you saw Marcus' name flashing on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I'm sorry it's so early, I'm just getting into work. I was wondering if you were free tonight?"

You felt your heart jackhammer in your chest and you inwardly cursed at the way Marcus' question had sounded. Like a date. You rolled your eyes at your nonsense.

"I should be free. Why?"

"I wanted to go back to the diner if you're up for it? We didn't order the Choc'o'Shock shake, wanted to see if it tastes exactly like it used to."

You smiled at the thought of sharing a shake like you used to, and found yourself agreeing.

"Sounds good. Meet you there at seven?"

"Seven's great."

You ended the call just as the bell rang. You reminded yourself that you were just two friends, catching up like you have been for months. And you wouldn't let yourself get your hopes up. Because now that you had Marcus back in your life, you wanted to keep it that way. And you weren't going to ruin it by telling him you loved him when he didn't love you back.

-

You got there ten minutes early so you took a seat at yours and Marcus' favored booth and waited. There was hardly anyone in the diner, a couple of families dotted about, two teenagers on a date giggling over milkshakes. It made you smile and hope that things turned out better for them than it did for you and Marcus.

The bell over the door chimed and in walked Marcus, freshly shaved, hair perfectly ruffled. He wore a smart jacket over a casual shirt and jeans. It made you feel a little underdressed, should you have dressed up?

He spotted you, long legs striding over with a purpose before taking the seat across from you, out of breath and cheeks tinged pink.

"I thought I was going to be late. Got a new assistant in the office but he's struggling to get to grips with the way I like things."

You smiled, trying to imagine the gangly, slightly awkward boy in your memories as someone professional, and bossy. You giggled.

"I've only just got here myself."

Marcus threaded his fingers together on top of the black and white checkered table.

"I wanted to talk to you actually, about the other night."

You frowned. Did he mean the night in the kitchen where you comforted him?

"You don't have to feel bad about it. It's normal to let out your emotions."

Marcus smiled gratefully. "I know that, I just want to be honest. I've always been a man who is upfront with the people I care about."

You nodded. Marcus was an honourable, straightforward man. You knew he'd never go behind your back and say something, he was completely trustworthy in that sense. In every sense. He was just a good guy.

"I didn't have to come back here this year. I had choices but after everything that had happened, I realised some things."

You mirrored his posture, hands on the table an inch away from his and gave him your full attention. Despite feeling sick to your stomach about what he was going to say next, you knew he needed you to listen, so you did.

"D'you remember the time I got my drivers license, and I took you for a ride in my dad's old pick up truck?"

"Of course. I warned you you should have driven something smaller so soon after your test."

"Yeah but I was trying to show off and I ended up getting it stuck in mud and I had to call my dad out to free us."

You chuckled at the memory. Marcus had been so embarrassed and you'd calmed him down by holding his shaky hand and plying him with copious amounts of gum to chew on to distract him.

"And when I got my letter to say I'd been accepted into the FBI training program, you were there when I opened it. And when we shared our first sip of alcohol at thirteen, and you got me my first VHS that taught me how to play bass, you remember that?"

"I remember it all, but I don't understand where you're going with this." You weren't opposed to this trip down memory lane, but it was bringing back all these moments in your life that just reminded you that you'd always loved him.

"If I made a movie of my life, all the important parts would have you in them. All the parts that make up the man I am today are filled with you. I never want you out of my life again."

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. You grabbed a paper napkin and quickly patted at the tears falling down your cheeks as you prepared to ask the question that may change your life forever.

"What are you saying, Marcus?"

"I love you."

You let out a shaky breath. Marcus gently took your hands in his.

"I think I always have, but I know for sure I do now. And these past months have confirmed everything. I love you."

"I've loved you since the day I met you. When I grazed my knees in the park by your house and you heard me crying from your garden. And you ran over and pulled me up to my feet and played with me."

Marcus laughed loudly, disturbing the teenagers a few booths over who looked annoyed in your direction. You couldn't care less.

"I remember. My mom told me off for playing with a strange girl but we were inseparable after that."

"We've wasted so much time," you whispered sadly.

"No. How have we? We've spent most of our life together, building memories, having the time of our lives. We've been apart for a bit but has it felt like it?"

You thought about it and realised Marcus was right. You've gotten back into the rhythm of your friendship. It's not once been awkward. Since your last diner date it's like you had never been apart.

"I suppose it hasn't."

"So," Marcus began, clearing his throat and flashing you a cheeky smile, "do we count this as the first date or...?"

You let out a shuddery laugh. "Marcus, we've been here a hundred times."

"I know but, only as friends."

"Were we ever really just friends? We were in this weird, middle-ground where everyone knew we were into each other but we never went further than a kiss on the cheek."

"Ah! There was that one time."

You frowned and crossed your arms. "What are you talking about?"

"Christmas break during the first year of college, I turned too much when you leaned in for a kiss on the cheek and we ended up kissing on the lips."

You laughed, a full belly laugh that had Marcus gently shushing you, though he couldn't contain his chuckling either.

"I completely forgot!"

"That breaks my heart," Marcus said with a wink.

You eventually ordered your Choc'o'Shock shake, sharing it like you used to. Except this time everything was on the table. Your feelings were out in the open, you were happier than you'd ever been and there was hope for you and Marcus to go forward together.

“Would you like a redo on that kiss?” Marcus asked on the steps outside the diner.

You pretended to think about it before taking hold of the lapels of his jackets. “I’d like that very much.”

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @bts17army @phoenixhalliwell @anu-simps @computeringturtle

[adhdeancas]

Dean Winchester (and the script leaks last night) possessed me to write this.

Dean happens upon Chuck's latest book: Carry On. Except it ends differently than it really went, and the ending? It's really fucking bad.

tw: suicide mention, transphobia (quickly shut the fuck down) 

Dean doesn’t make a habit of going to bookstores. Not because he hates books, contrary to what Sam might think; he just prefers to buy used books. There’s something comforting about a book that has already been worn and read over and over, that already shows how much the previous owner loved it. Plus, y’know, big corporations are evil and all that. And Dean only allows himself to overlook that when his stomach or his wallet wins over his hatred of the shitty mass-produced products. 

This time it was Jack who won; he’s obsessed with this new fantasy series and the new book just came out, so there’s no way he can hunt it down on Ebay. He makes his way to the fantasy and sci-fi section, eyes roaming over the displays of new releases, and his eye catches on something that turns his blood cold. 

“Supernatural: Carry On, The Final Book of the Winchesters’ Epic Journey” takes up a whole table, the generic and overly serious cover jeering out at him. 

He storms over to the display, anger covering up for the way his body feels light as a feather and like lead all at once, and picks up a book. “Why is Sam always fucking shirtless?” he mutters, the only thought that allows itself from the mess inside his head to his mouth. 

“Book sales.” A voice behind him says. He turns to see a teenager with their arms crossed over their work polo, pierced lip fixed into a customer-unfriendly frown.

“People want to see that?”

They snort, a small grin turning up the corner of their lips. It reminds Dean of Cas. “No. But that’s what advertisers think all ‘women’ want,” They use air quotes. 

He raises an eyebrow and asks. “Women?”

They shrug and uncross their arms, leaning back against the display table behind them. Their nametag says Jadyn. “Supernatural’s biggest block of readers is queer. I’d go out on a limb and say a lot of those the marketers think of as ‘women’ aren’t, or if they are, they aren’t itching to see Sam’s six pack.” Jadyn smirks. 

Dean takes a second to digest that, then grins down at the book, thinking past Sam’s apparently badly-received nudity now. “So how’d they like it?” he asks, waving the book a bit and looking up at Jadyn. Apparently they know a lot about the fans of the books, and for once, he’s proud of the way the story ended. 

Jadyn’s face sets into all hard lines. “Most people fucking hated it.” they say bluntly, then, probably remembering that he’s a customer, correct. “Sorry. I mean, it got some good reviews, mostly from people who like Wincest, but beyond that, it had some problematic plot points.”

Dean winces at the reminder of the ship between him and his brother, then scrunches his whole face together in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” Why would Wincest fans like it? What was problematic about their end?

Jadyn shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna spoil anything for you-”

“I don’t care about spoilers, just give me the short version.” Dean says quickly. A quiet panic is rising in him, and suddenly he has a horrible feeling that he’s not holding the truth in his hands anymore. 

“Uh, okay… Well, the most obvious thing is the bury-your-gays thing, then there’s the fact that it completely contradicted the rest of the lore. And it was ableist, misogynistic, and messed up, like, every character’s arc.” they take a breath, clearly worked up by it. “Even if they changed any of the details too, it was all built on Dean’s death, and that’s just bullshit. Sorry.” they apologize again, apparently mistaking Dean’s stricken expression to be in reaction to their rant and swearing. 

“No, nah, you’re… you’re okay. Uh, thanks.” he waves a hand and wanders away from them, only remembering Jack’s book when he’s almost to the register. He manages to make his way back and find the damn thing, but he’s still in a fog when he gets to the register. 

“Did anyone help you in the store today?”

“Huh?” he looks up and meets the middle-aged cashier’s gaze for the first time. Brent, from the nametag, looks at him impatiently. “Oh, yeah, uh… Jadyn. Jadyn helped me.” Brent scoffs and starts typing with a shake of the head. “Uh, is there a problem?” Dean asks, a little annoyed at this cashier’s unnecessary attitude. He usually doesn’t care if an employee’s rude, because they have to deal with assholes all the time and honestly Dean isn’t much better, but this one gives him a bad feeling. 

“No, no, sorry. It’s just - “Jadyn’s” got this idea that he’s a girl. Makes everybody call him that name now too. Just-” Brent shakes his head. “I mean, you get it. Their generation, everybody wants to be special.”

Dean glares. “No, I don’t get it, Brent.” He says through gritted teeth. “Seems to me like Jadyn probably deals with enough assholes like you that her asking for a little basic decency is the exact opposite of special. Sounds pretty normal, actually.” He can see the fear creep into Brent’s eyes, and he knows the cashier is reacting to the murderous look in his eyes more than his actual words. 

Brent hands Dean his bag of books with a quiet, “Here you go.”

Dean snatches it away. “Oh, Brent?” he checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and then leans across the counter into Brent’s space. “You should find a new job, one where you don’t have to interact with other people. At least until you learn how to stop being a piece of shit.” He starts to ease away but thinks better about it. “And if you think that’s a suggestion, it’s not. My husband likes this book coming out next month that I’ll need to buy, and if I see you here when I come, well… it would be really embarrassing for you to tell all your little friends that you got your ass beat by a ‘special’ guy, huh?” He pats Brent on the cheek condescendingly and leaves with a huff. 

Damn transphobes. 

He only remembers the book once he’s back in Baby, and he takes the time to drive out of town before he pulls over to read it. It’s an old abandoned church, the cross long since fallen from the roof and the doors hanging off their hinges. He sits on the steps just because being in Baby seems claustrophobic for once in his life, and going back to the bunker to look at this is just… not happening.

Dean only skims the beginning to see that it starts the same. The ground erupting with bodies, hell spitting out its most-conveniently placed nasties, Rowena sacrificing herself, Cas leaving. His throat closes up at that, at Chuck’s description of Cas’s heartbroken expression as he climbs the stairs of the bunker. He clears his throat and skips to the end, right past Cas’s death that he doesn’t have the time to think about right now, past them defeating Chuck and then stops. He goes back a few pages, trying to find the disconnect. 

The story’s different.

After Jack takes on God’s power, in the book, he’s totally fine. Not almost vibrating out of his skin or anything, not crying like the three year old he is because he’s scared. Not like it really happened. He just smiles and leaves him and Sam, and they let him go. 

Dean scoffs, skimming over the story as it just gets more ridiculous. 

In the book, he doesn’t even try to save Cas. They barely even mention him. And they never mention Eileen, either. In fact, Dean notes disbelievingly, practically the only characters in the last few chapters are him and Sam. They’re hunting again.

“What, is Chuck trying to keep the series going?” he whispers to himself, anger flaring through him. They let Chuck live, and he decided to write obnoxious fanfiction about them? He’s gonna kill that shameless little fucker. For real, this time. He deserves it.

In the book, Sam and Dean torture some vampire mime, and they enjoy it. Dean cringes; this is really what Chuck thinks of them. Then they tussle with more vamps in a barn and- 

Dean’s brain stops working. He rereads the scene again and again. 

“There’s something in my… something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.” 

Dean Winchester dies in a dirty barn, on a piece of freaking rebar. 

More than that, Dean realizes on his fourth read-through. This Dean? He tried to drag out his speech, Dean can tell by the way he pauses for fucking drama. He would never do that. He would never talk to Sam for fifteen hellish minutes when he could be trying. Trying to live, so he can actually get his life back on track, get his family back. No, he made that speech stalling. He made that speech so Sam wouldn’t try to save him. 

“You gotta admit, I had one helluva ride.” He was strangely calm.

Chuck made him kill himself.

Dean reads the rest of the book through blurry eyes, reading an ambiguous and nothing-ending, one where he’s somehow happy to be dead and driving around in heaven alone while Sam raises a kid into hunting and cries about Dean decades after he’s died. Eileen isn’t mentioned. Cas is mentioned once, and Bizzarro-Dean doesn’t even think about seeing him, apparently. The whole book ends with a hug between him and Sam, both dead. Both alone. 

Dean rips the ending up. He tears through the stupid paper covering and keeps ripping the pages up until they’re the size of confetti. His lower lip wobbles. He throws the whole thing against the side of the building, and it tumbles through the broken doorway and drops into a pile of dust and dirt. “That isn’t the fucking ending.” he grounds out, knocking his hand against the flimsy handrail. It gives a little under his fist and he kicks at it. “That isn’t the fucking ending!”

He’s having a panic attack. Again. He tries to take deep breaths, but they’re gulping, too big, they’re making him panic more. He scrambles back to Baby and grabs his phone, presses the first number on his favorites list and waits for him to answer on speaker phone.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam sounds like he’s been laughing. There are voices in the background, and Dean tries to convince himself one of them is Eileen. 

“Hey Sammy.” he chokes out, trying to sound normal. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and then the sounds in the background. “Nah, Rowena’s just over.” he says casually. 

“So those voices in the background were-”

“Rowena and Eileen, yeah. They’re trying to convince me we need to go to Mexico. For the beaches.” A smile in his voice. Dean lets out a sigh of relief.  What’s up, Dean? You need something?” The smile drops, and Sam’s worried. 

Sam’s okay. Sam’s okay. “No, nah. Hey, you heard from Donna lately?” Dean just needs to triple-check.

“Uh, no, not since Sunday dinner… Dean, you okay?”

“Yeah, she just- she hasn’t been answering my texts. Just wanted to make sure.” Dean lies quickly. His breathing is still uneven, but his body is settling into uneven shakes. 

Sam sounds skeptical. “Yeah, well, she did tell us it’s been pretty busy at work lately. Y’know, everybody going out for the first time with COVID, getting stupid. Plus, y’know, nowhere’s drowning in EMTs right now.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath, a distant memory of Donna talking about that coming back to him.

“Pretty sure you were setting up a D&D session with Charlie while she was talking about that,” Sam laughs. Dean knows he means it as a subtle jab, but there’s too much relief flooding through him to care. Still, a string is pulled taut in him, and Sam can’t fix that completely.

“Gotta go, Sam,” Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else, and goes to his next contact. It rings for far too long, and Dean’s heartbeat picks back up to thundering.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “Cas, you know I love you, right?” He needs to test all the bounds of this, to make sure, just to make sure. Make sure Chuck isn’t still fucking with him. Because apparently, Chuck won’t let him be queer. Not in his story. Not out loud.

He can hear Cas’s eyebrow raise through the phone, and his chest is overcome with stupid fondness. “I would be a little worried if you didn’t.”

Dean grins widely. “Like, romantically. I’m in love with you. Because you’re the love of my life and I’m bisexual.” He says it all like it’s a checklist, like he expects some cosmic being to slap a hand over his mouth before he gets each next phrase out.

“Yes, Dean. We’ve been married almost two months.” Cas is smiling. It happens everytime he talks about their wedding. Dean adores it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, now it is.” His whole body relaxes, still vibrating with leftover panic, but satisfied. “I got Jack’s book.”

“Oh, good. He’ll be so pleased.” Cas pauses. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean eases off the ground and sends a last look at the dilapidated church before climbing into Baby. “Just- read a bad book. I’ll tell you about it later. When I get home.”

[snapefiction]

Someone who appreciates me Pt. 1 - Snapefiction

A/N: Hey! Thank you to everyone who supports my writing. I just recently reached 200 Followers after not even full two Months of starting this Blog and I couldn't be happier that you enjoy my writing. In hopes that you'll like this one too! x

(I tried to use gender neutral Pronouns and Descriptions at first but sadly lost the track of it so it slipped back to a fem!Reader. I'm sorry, I am trying to learn and do better next time.)

❤️ Please remember that English isn’t my native language and that my Writings will include Mistakes and maybe weird formed sentences. ❤️

Pairing: Severus Snape x Y/N, Severus Snape x fem!Reader

Setting: 3-4 Years after the Battle of Hogwarts

Warnings: Mentions of Insults

Word count: 2871

Y/N - Your Name, Y/L/N - Your Last Name, Y/W/A - Your wished Age, Y/B/M -Your Birthday Month

Someone who appreciates me - Pt. 1

,,Dear Professor, As you may know Minerva can be very consistent of certain things. One of these Certain Things seem to be the fact that we both are (if all my given Informations are correct) not currently in a relationship. I do not want to pressure you to read my letter or even answer it but i´d be very thankful if you’d at least let Minerva know about what your intentions are. Since a long time now- to be exact 7 Months and 3 days - she started to play my personal Matchmaker and I’m very sorry that you seem to be chosen by this fate that she gave us as well. So by Merlins Sake I’m going with her wish in hope Minerva may be Satisfied by it.

My Name is Y/N Y/L/N. I´ m currently working for the Ministry but will be switching to the St. -Mungos Hospital soon to continue to work as a Healer. I am Y/W/A years old and will be turning Y/W/A on Y/B/M. I live near the Diagon Alley. I despite the idea of introducing myself to someone else like I just did. It feels like I am exposing myself.

In my free time -which has gotten very rare over the years - I enjoy reading, drinking tea and going on walks. It’s not very much, actually it’s nothing, but it makes me happy. I’m a simple Woman.

Since this is the most awkward Thing I have done in a while i will end this letter down here. In hopes that you’re well and have a great day.

Yours sincerely Y/N YL/N”

Sighing he turned the Letter to look at the sealing. It must’ve sent directly from their workplace as they even used the official seal from the ministry itself for this use. He had to admit that he was lonely. Very indeed but Minerva was taking it too far by now. She tried to set him up a few times yet but he never really went with it. But now that she persuaded another Person to send him a letter directly to his workplace he was fed up. Pity grew in his stomach as he imagined what Minerva must’ve said about him to the other Person. She was always exaggerating about him, his past life and everything from the present. She  mothered and did everything to fuss over him since he was a Student at Hogwarts himself and yes, he had to admit it, he liked it sometimes. Enjoying their annual Tea each Sunday it was alright having her as a Friend. Especially after the Dark Lord passed and he finally got rid of the pressure of hiding. But her well trained skill to brew a perfect tea won’t make up that she tried to play a constant matchmaker for him. 

A deep Sigh left his throat as he sorted his Thoughts. Whatever he’d try to say would lead to a discussion about why she wants him to meet that Person so dearly. It was always a repeating scheme. Getting up from the wooden Chair which could need a replacement he took the letter in his one hand before heading to her chambers.

The Parchment burned in his Hands. Deciding on how he’d like to drop the bomb that he’d prefer to stay alone he kept walking faster. To be honest, he would never admit that towards Minerva nor anyone else and not even himself, he loved the idea of founding a family. He always imagined it as a great Joy since his own family was rather a decent disaster. But he knew what the Newspaper wrote about him after he survived, he knew what rumours go around at the Ministry, he knew how People still degraded him and how everyone secretly was checking twice if he wasn’t secretly still a death eater. He knew, felt and saw it everyday. So it just wasn’t meant to be for him to become the man he dreamt about in private. Maybe i should go back to Cokeworth, get a dog and dedicate my life to the science.

Before he could continue his daydream of vanishing from his current world he reached the door leading to Minerva´s private rooms. Knocking he already knew she was there because the heat from inside and the smell of tea already reached his nose.

After a few seconds he heard her mumbling and finally opening the shrieking door.

,,Severus, my dear. What is it?“ A warm smile formed on her face. He just tried to keep his cold face as he hoped it’d get him further in the argument that he tried to start to prove his point. Silently holding up the Parchment he pointed the wax seal directly towards her.

,,Is it from Y/N?" Her eyes shined brightly and she was already asking him inside as her hands took the letter and she moved her tall figure aside to let him in.

,,Of course it is." He mumbled while making his way over to his usual seat. Watching her reaction as she read the Letter he wished to vanish. It was simply embarrassing.

,,Oh, she can't be serious. I told her to tell you something about herself."

,,She did!" He pleaded.

,,No she didn't! She just talked about me. Oh! The two of you match perfectly. You both are very self conscious about what you are and what you deserve or in general on how to communicate." She went to the kitchen to get kettle.

,,You're just mad that we don't want to play along with your plans." Mumbling Severus knew that she heard every whisper.

,,No you're just mad that I told her about you." Rolling his eyes he watched her setting down the kettle and filling him a cup of tea.

,,I don't need a Relationship." Stating his Fact he hoped it could bury the Topic finally.

,,I know. But it wouldn't harm you as well." Taking a sip from the still brewing water tea mixture he wondered how she wasn't burning herself.

,,Can you just stop setting those things up?" Now it was her who rolled their eyes. ,,Only if you give it one first and one last try. Y/N is very kind."

,,Kindness isn't everything. Her Letter wasn't very tempting."

,,Merlin, if you start judging people over their Kindness I'll lose my mind. You aren't very charming yourself, you twit."

,,You call me a Twit?"

,,You're clearly a Twit."

,,Stinky Witch." Shrugging her shoulder she hid her smile behind her cup of tea before downing it almost completely. ,,One date and I'll stop for good."

,,Do you promise?"

,,I solemnly swear. If this won't work out then you might be a helpless case." Ignoring her spur he gave in. Again.

,,Fine." And so it came that he drank his tea and they chatted about something else. Their Friendship had their own charm. But before Severus could leave to go back to his own Rooms Minerva put the Parchment in his Hands and told him with a warm smile to write back.

It didn't work out like he planned. Actually it was the opposite. He wanted to burn the Letter and forget that it had happened but if it was the only way to get rid of any unwanted dates, matches etc. he would actually give it a chance. Unbelievable. He'd really write Y/N back.

Since it was almost midnight he decided that it was time to continue his paperwork. He couldn't fall asleep until three A.M. anyways if he was able to fall asleep in general. After answering a lot of Letters, correcting some Works and finally writing down what he had to get from his next visit at Diagonal Alley he couldn't stop his mind from wandering to his new acquaintance living there. Wasn't she repelled by his ruined reputation?

Rereading her Letter he was wondering what a type of person she was. How did she look like? What made Minerva think that they'd be a great Match? In his Mind he was starting to puzzle a picture of someone he'd expect to write to. Of what he'd expect someone nice to be and act like. To his surprise it wasn't anything close to Lily. Not at all. It was almost the completely opposite. Bewildered he laid down his feather. He almost hasn't noticed how he started to mindlessly write all the attributes down that he was hoping to find in Y/N.

Nice but not foolish. Intelligence. A dry sense of humor. Challenging. Special. Complementary. Appreciative. Pretty Eyes. A soothing voice. Someone who appreciates work. Someone who appreciates me?

Eyeing the Clock he noticed that it was already past 4 am. Again he was completely loosing his track of time. Packed by the idea of finding something of those attributes in her he grabbed a paper and his feather.

His enthusiasm quickly faded. What was he supposed to say? What did she knew about him? His wide eyes and his raised eyebrows scaled down a bit. This grew to be more complicated than he anticipated.

,,Y/N, I'm sorry that Minerva grew this Mania about you as well. I have known her for a long time by now and can confirm to you that despite all her promises she won't stop setting things up. It seems like it became one of her dearest ways of passing time.

Not knowing of what she has told you about my person I will just start formally.

My Name is Severus Snape. Currently I am still preoccupied as the head of house of Slytherin at Hogwarts. And due to latest events I won't return to teaching soon or anytime again. Most of my time I look out to keep myself busy with science studies, working and reading.

To be completely honest, I promised Minerva to write back as she promised me in return to stop setting any acquaintance with me. Also I feel uncomfortable introducing myself as well. I prefer Meetings.

Yours faithfully Severus Snape"

After his eyes read the letter multiple times he finally got himself to seal it. Watching the wax cool down he noticed how much he hoped that she could at least fulfil on of the attributes he was looking for. Hope? Don't make a fool out of yourself. She will probably loose her interest soon.

But she didn't. He sent his Letter around 4:50 am and already at 8am after he slept 2 full hours she sent her response. Not truly believing his eyes that Y/N was answering and not someone who would want to mess with him he quickly opened it. This Time the Seal was a different one. One that contained her Initials.

,,Dear Severus, Taking it from your response I anticipate that we are on first name base now? If that's so completely fine with that.

Reading your Letter I had to laugh. Minerva is simply one of a Kind and somehow I feel very reliefed that you're as uncomfortable as I am.

Maybe that's a great opportunity to admit that I already know a lot about you. Minerva is very chatty and as you probably already are aware of your Name is very well known and greatly appreciated. And by that I don't mean that that's the Reason why I decided to write you but I mean that I'm impressed by you. I actually chose to follow Minerva's will to contact you because she introduced you as a very kind, intelligent and somewhat funny Man. And despite the fact that I am happy by being alone I can't deny that the idea of meeting someone like you was interesting me. Someone who Minerva introduced as a great Friend. This may sound cheesy but you deserved to get known to my intentions.

You mentioned that you prefer Meetings. What about a Meeting at the Three Broomsticks? I bet you know a lot funny stories about Minerva which I'm not aware of yet. Name a Time and Day and I'll be there. And if it makes you more comfortable- you can decide if it's as friends or if you want to call it a date. As I already said I'm mainly interested in getting known to you.

I hope you'll have a successful Morning and i'm expecting your Owl.

Yours sincerely Y/N YL/N"

That wasn't like anything he expected. She wasn't disgusted by everything he did? She wanted to meet him? He thought that she'd politely decline and he'd get rid of all the fuss but she actually sounded nice. Should he give in?

Some time has passed since he received her letter. To be exact four days and nights. Severus told himself that he had gotten busy in hopes this could ease his guilty Feelings. But Minervas Questions wouldn’t stop and he had to make the decision he was shoving back for too long. He just wanted to end that Matchmaking Service and now it had gotten him to the point where he was too nervous to answer a simple letter after the Person openly admitted their interest in him.

Hoping for someone to take the Decision which now laid heavy on his shoulders he wandered around the corridors. His duties for the day have been already done by now and he was just looking for a task to get his mind of the Woman’s Name. He was too nervous to answer, way to nervous. It was nice to get known to someone, yes. But it was too early for him. He hasn’t recovered yet and still felt hurt from his past. Who could blame him? No one. Right? Slowly he started to feel better. Like it was a great opportunity to back off and make this another awkward Memory he had in one of his many brain cells. He won’t answer her. That’s it.

Feeling some Weight flowing off his shoulders he reached his Chambers. He should at least answer Harry. Since he had graduated two and a half years ago he still checked up on him. It simply was his promised duty to do so. Thinking of Questions to ask Harry about his new Life as a Auror and about his Girlfriends Ginny Weaslys as a Professional Quidditch Player he grabbed some Parchment and took his Feather. Dipping it into the small ink Pot he had to notice it was empty. Annoyed he took the List he had put in his drawer in his hands. Diagon Alley, was written on it. Tea, Ink, a new Book and some Parchment.

,,Dunderhead.“ He called himself as he again rolled his eyes. He had forgot to get his supplies. That one Task had slipped off his mind. Annoyed and grumpy as always he gritted his teeth while grabbing his Coat and using his Cabin to reach named Diagon Alley. Slighty coughing he scrunched his nose. As Years have passed he grew to hate using Floo Power. 

Diagon Alley was shining. Lights from every Window invited Passengers into their Shops. But Severus wasn’t the Man to just go shopping and buying random Things. He was organised. So Organised that a simple Woman who showed slight interest in him could get him off his tracks. Ironic. He worked Years as a spy and now a simple Letter did this to him.

His Feet lead his set route to the Shop where he got the Parchment and some ink and afterwards to the Teashop. The last station was the Book Shop. It was the only stage where he was spending an unknown amount of time each time he got there. Words always had a big impact on him. Of course Actions were important too but it are words who seduce him easily.

That’s why he was carrying his now heavy bag through the huge aisles of Books trying to find a new object of Desire. He was very fond of almost every Herbalism, Potion and Healing Book so it had to be something new. His Position as Head of house was boring him. He needed something to do. So he decided to focus his energy on Books and as already mentioned Science.

Opening a smaragd green book he followed some lines about Muggles. Even though he never found himself very intertwined in this Topic he gave it a chance. The fact of how well written and even advanced it was was interesting him. Putting it in his little Basket he continued to decipher the Book Titles. Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst is Coming. Taking it in his Hands he way eyeing it closely.

,,I hope you aren’t expecting anything bad, Professor Snape. That's a dangerous Book.“ Caught he quickly looked to his side. A young Woman was smiling nervously at him. Confused he tried to remember her. Was she a Student? A former Death eater? Merlin, no. She was too young to be a death eater.

,,Y/N.“ Her cheeks blushed now and she lowered her glance shortly. ,,Y/N Y/L/N. I thought it might be not very polite if I wouldn’t even say hello since we somehow know each other.“ Getting lost in her eyes he quickly forgot his Plan on to stop thinking about her and not writing her back.  

to be continued. last update 30.jan.21

Taglist: @deepperplexity  , @monstreviolet , @wow-life-love4 , @lizlil , @once-upon-an-imagine , @darkthought15 , @elizabeth-baelish , @looseheartedlady , @ithinkweallsing , @simpforsnape

Let me know if you want to be added to my Taglist. :)

[winterhawk-olympic-bang]

Emotive Writing

Guest Poster: @thepartyresponsible​

Emotive writing is about making people Feel Things. People use this all the time to sell you stuff, but we’re out here giving emotions away for free. Here are a few tips and tricks I’ve found to make people feel the most emotions.

Word choice:

This is the most straightforward part of emotive writing. Your word choices add an extra layer of complexity to your message. You aren’t just telling readers what happened; you’re signaling to them how they should feel. Most writers do this unconsciously, but being deliberate can make it especially effective.

Here’s a non-emotive, just-the-facts sentence: The soldier lifted his weapon and turned toward the enemy.

Here’s the same sentence reworked to make you care a bit more: The exhausted soldier raised his broken shield and faced the invading army.

The actions here are fundamentally the same, but exhausted and broken invoke sympathy while invading skews negative.

The words you choose are sign posts for the reader. They indicate how to interpret the story and help your readers orient themselves and form expectations. Subtly building expectation is important because, while surprise can be effective, shock is generally numbing and confusion tends to be irritating, so word choice helps you frame things and guide your reader along.

One of the keys here is to attempt some subtlety. If every sentence about your protagonist reads like an ad campaign (effervescent, brilliant, impervious) and every sentence about your antagonist reads like a political diatribe (cruel, spineless, malicious), you’re probably overusing your sign posts. People want to know who to root for, but too much emotive language can make them feel manipulated.

Think of word choice like adding spices to food. If you put oats in boiling water, you’re making oatmeal, and the spices you use won’t change that. But if you throw in some honey and cinnamon, I know we’re headed somewhere wholesome. If you sprinkle in little discordant notes of garlic powder and cayenne, what we’re cooking is a tragedy. And if you upend an entire bottle of cinnamon, a quarter cup of nutmeg, and toss in seventeen whole cloves, I am not staying for breakfast.

Narrative distance:

Narrative or psychic distance is the space between the reader and the character, usually navigated by the intermediary figure of the narrator. Your narrator can be an omniscient figure that knows the thoughts, feelings, and intentions of every character in the world. Or your narrator could be sitting on the shoulder of your main character, close enough to hear their thoughts and know their story but not so close that they speak with the character’s voice. Or your narrator could be your character.

If you want to ramp up emotion, you usually want a narrator who is very close to one character (or, alternatively, to separate characters in turn). But you don’t have to stay at one distance for the whole story, and, just like word choice, shifts in narrative distance can be helpful indicators to your reader about the story and the characters.

A sudden, dramatic shift in narrative distance is quite jarring, like a sudden zoom-in during a movie. It can be effective, but it’ll lose its punch if it’s overused. Generally, if you want to shift narrative distance, you should build to it slowly. Here’s an example of shifting from a distant third person to a closer third person:

They wake the Soldier because the archer is missing. He has a habit of slipping his lead, disappearing post-mission. The chase grew tedious years ago, but the Soldier runs it just the same. He’ll do as he’s told. But it bothers him, when he lets it. The why.

Why does he do this? the Soldier wonders, when he shouldn’t, when it isn’t his place. Where is he going? he thinks, when he can’t stop himself. Who is he running to? But he tries to think nothing at all.

Another trick of narrative distance is to suddenly pull back to show a character who’s been compromised, shocked, or deeply hurt by something. Imagine spending a long time in a close Bucky perspective, hearing his thoughts, and then being abruptly walloped across the face with: The machine went quiet, and the Soldier opened his eyes. Zooming out can emphasize what’s been lost. Because you aren’t just taking the soul of Bucky Barnes right out of him, you’re also taking that closeness away from the reader. You’re silencing the voice they’ve been listening to.

Whether you zoom in or out during highly emotional moments depends on what you’re trying to accomplish and also on who’s involved.  Some characters have loud, messy emotions that will get louder when they’re hurt. Some characters will freeze over and push a narrator further away. You can use narrative distance to show a character slowly opening up or suddenly slamming a door. But you need the reader to have a solid understanding of the character in order to follow what the shift means, which leads to the next component.

Know your characters:

So, here’s the thing. You gotta Velveteen Rabbit this. Every character is Tinker Bell. If you stop believing, they die.

If you want people to care about these characters, you have to treat them like living, breathing, fully feeling people. They have favorite colors. They have phobias. They have Friday night plans and blisters from new shoes and sesame seeds stuck in their teeth. They have superstitions and secrets. You don’t need to know all of these facts, but you should try to give the impression that someone could know them. The more real your characters are, the more we’re going to care about them.

Since this is fanfiction, you start with a receptive audience. Your readers are fond of these characters. Figure out why. Figure out which parts of the character you can relate to and dig in until you feel like you can understand the parts of them you can’t relate to.

Try to collect things that make you feel close to that character. I always have music playing when I’m writing, so I make playlists for characters and playlists for stories. If I feel like I’m losing a character, I’ll go back to their playlist. But you could also use Pinterest boards, reread favorite fics or comics, rewatch movies or fanvids, or spend an unreasonable amount of time researching bows and tactical knives. Whatever works!

Also, remember, your characters don’t know what story they’re in. They don’t know it’s going to end well (or terribly). Maintain that tension, because that’s where the emotions are. When you watch a good horror movie, you’re not really scared of the monster. You’re scared for the characters, because they don’t know if they’re going to survive.

Emotions come from the characters. That’s why it’s still sad that Tony Stark dies, no matter how many times you watch it happen. Tony Stark was brave and flawed and usually right and often sarcastic, and it hurts to watch him die because that’s a full, unique human we’re losing. We know him well enough to know he’s choosing to sacrifice himself and why he made that choice and who will mourn him.

Know your characters, and let them be messy and weird and wrong and hopeful and cantankerous and unique. Fear is relatable, flaws are relatable, and awkward, ungainly, stubborn progress is relatable. Just remember what it is that makes their progress their progress because, if you can swap Dominic Toretto in for Ted Lasso and have the exact same story, you’ve probably lost your characters.

Plan your emotional trajectory:

Okay, time to get a bit technical. This is for people who like to plan. For those terrifying, godlike writers who just sit down and write, this might not be helpful. For my fellow planners:

There’s a theory (which you can get a general overview about here or, if you’re very into data, right here) that there are six core emotional trajectories in narratives:

1)      Rags to riches (rise)

2)      Riches to rags (fall)

3)      Man in a hole (fall then rise)

4)      Icarus (rise then fall)

5)      Cinderella (rise then fall then rise)

6)      Oedipus (fall then rise then fall)

Since rise and fall can mean different things, I find it helpful to combine these building blocks with emotional axes, which you can find some examples of here.

So, basically, for my winterhawk baseball au Got a Heart in Me, I Swear, I planned to follow the “man in a hole” trajectory (fall then rise) along the anxiety-confidence emotional axis with some bleedover from the humiliation-pride axis. Which basically means Clint started comfortable enough, nosedived deep into anxiety and humiliation, and then slowly built his way to confidence over the rest of the fic.

If the listed axes don’t appeal to you, you can very easily create your own. Just think of an emotion, identify what links it to its inverse, and then list the related emotions between the two opposites. Disgust and adoration are opposites, but they’re linked by attention, right? You can’t ignore something you find disgusting or adorable. So, here’s an example emotional axis you could follow: Disgust – Resentment – Obsession – Fascination – Reverence – Adoration. Enemies to lovers, anyone?

Emotional axes help provide a natural framework for your character’s emotional trajectory. They can be subtle; you don’t have to start on one end of the spectrum and go all the way to the other. A story that moves just a step or two on an emotional axis can be incredibly compelling. That small progress from discomfort to hope can hit really hard if the progress feels fought-for and earned and real.

Tips for writing emotions:

·         Get physical: If you want to show an emotion instead of telling it, describe its impacts on the body. Most characters won’t think I’m embarrassed. They’ll feel a drop in their stomach like someone cut the elevator cables and a hot stinging in their face like they’ve been slapped by some disappointed version of themselves. The more visceral your descriptions, the more the reader will feel them. If you want your reader to feast on feelings, you have to set the table.

·         Dramatic zoom: When something very intense happens, shift the narrative distance. In or out is fine, but a sudden, dramatic event should result in a sudden, dramatic change in focus. Characters might hyperfocus on their physical bodies (the mechanics of breathing, the ringing in their ears, the mad animal urge toward flight) or they might be kicked so far out of their own heads that they feel like they’re dreaming or watching the scene play out from overhead. This distance is useful for two reasons: it feels real, and it allows readers to absorb the situation in pieces, without being overwhelmed by it.

·         Unreliable narrator: Some emotions can be so charged that people don’t want to own them, like grief, shame, jealousy, rage, lust, and guilt. Characters might unconsciously misrepresent these to themselves as something else. A grieving mother might insist she’s tired. A rehabilitated assassin who’s fallen in love with an absolute dork might tell himself he’s just tracking a target. Everyone knows what it’s like to lie to themselves, so this makes characters relatable. And, also, everyone likes being in on a secret, so, sometimes, this is just fun.

·         Face the monsters: We’re often conditioned not to dwell on unpleasant things, which is part of why it can be powerful to examine them in stories. From small things like inglorious emotional states (envy, cowardice, resentment) to character flaws (recklessness, withdrawal, arrogance) to personal tragedies (loss, betrayal, abandonment), the negative parts of human emotional life pack quite a punch. Acknowledge them. Not only are they relatable experiences, but redemption and recovery arcs are some of the most compelling stories we have.

[fanfictionaries]

The Seduction of Sirius Black - Part 1

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Sirius Black

Summary:

Hermione loves her boyfriend, but there’s just one little problem -- she’s hopelessly attracted to Sirius Black. 

Warnings: Swearing, Smut/18+ NSFW, Angst, Ron bashing (sorry) 

Author’s Note: Posting some old stuff! Honestly, editing it has been a nice lead back into really writing. Very cathartic! 

Also, apologies for the Ron bashing in this story. I know it’s a stupid trope and to a certain extent I really enjoy Ron as a character, buuuuut I’m using it as a cheap way to move plot. 

ALSO, this is obviously a AU where Sirius didn’t die in the Department of Mysteries. 

ALSO (and this is the last one I swear), I AM a big fan of Wolfstar but I also have daddy issues and find Sirius Black extremely attractive and this is my tumblr so I can write the stories I want I guess. Haha Not to mention, Sirius Black gives BIG bisexual energy.  

MASTERLIST

*** 

Hermione didn’t really know when it had happened – this attraction to Sirius Black. It wasn’t as if she had woken up one day with the sudden urge to jump across the table and shag the older wizard into the next life. The whole thing had occurred much more gradually than that, she supposed. However, despite all of the trivial aspects of her…situation, Hermione chose instead to focus purely on the fact that he was entirely off limits. For many reasons. There was no way anyone in her close-knit circle of friends would be okay with her becoming entangled with a man more than twice her age and who also happened to be her best friend’s god father. It would be unacceptable. It would be impractical. Most of all it would be highly inappropriate as she was currently dating her other best friend, Ronald Weasley.

She supposed the attraction was inevitable to a certain degree. At the beginning, nearly a year and half ago, things like physical attraction were far from her mind. She’d just started her new position at the Ministry, Harry and Ron were training to be Aurors, the war had just come to an end and thus her life was a whirlwind of people and places. But over time things slowed down. Ronald was stationed away on official Auror business more and more often, leaving very little time for him to visit her and when he did come back, he had to split his time between her and his large family. Harry, having waited for Ginny to finish her final year at Hogwarts, had gone and married her the summer after and for all intents and purposes abandoned her. Harry…

It was really all Harry’s fault. Or at least that’s what Hermione liked to think whenever she felt her heart skip and her pulse slip between her thighs in Sirius Black’s presence. It had been Harry’s idea for Hermione to move into Grimmauld Place with him and Sirius after the war. Family, it seemed, had taken an important role in everyone’s lives when Lord Voldemort fell for the final time. All of the Weasley children had moved back to their childhood home of the Burrow – even Charlie much to everyone’s great surprise and delight. Tonks and Remus moved in with her mother and father, Andromeda and Theodore, to bask in the cheer of their newborn baby Teddy. And Harry had moved in with Sirius. Everyone had felt the need to be closer than ever to the ones that they loved, and Hermione completely understood that need. In fact, if she had had a family to go to, she would have moved in with them as well. But her parents were still in Australia somewhere, the location even unknown to herself as she’d designed it that way. Harry, being fully aware of this fact, insisted that she move in with him and Sirius. Hermione had been fully prepared to get her own flat in London. But after a bit of prodding she’d accepted Harry’s offer, secretly grateful that her best friend was so kind and thoughtful. Now, she probably cursed him name at least five times a day.

Hermione had been happy for him and Ginny when they announced their engagement. She’d cried not only when Ginny asked her to be her maid of honor, but also when the two had said their ‘I do’s. However, Harry moved out of Grimmauld Place following their marriage and subsequently left her to live with Sirius Black all by herself. So now she sat in the quaint little kitchen of the Black home, sipping her morning tea, and trying incredibly hard to keep her attention on her book rather than glance up at the rugged wizard sitting across from her.

“Hmpf” Sirius let out the little sound of surprise before continuing, “Would you look at that. Sources say that while Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, announces no final decisions have been made in regard to the recent Magical Creature Equality Act proposed last month, there are certain voices in the Ministry that are persuading not only the members of the Wizengamot, but the Minister himself to vote yes for magical creature equality.” He read the words aloud, peaking over his paper at her and raising his eyebrows. “I wonder who those certain voices or voice is…” he mused humorously.

It was no secret that shortly after being appointed a position in the Ministry department of Magical Creatures, Hermione had gone about being a personal activist for Magical Creature rights. Merlin, she had written almost the entire Act herself. Her hand still cramped at the thought of the hours she spent in her office and the library at Grimmauld Place scribbling away with her quill.

“No idea,” Hermione responded, feigning ignorance but blushing all the same in embarrassment. She kept her eyes on the pages of her book but found no matter how many times she read and reread the same paragraph she couldn’t retain it. Slowly her eyes shifted to the man in front of her. His gaze was fixed on the paper and so she was free to take him in. He had just showered, his wavy brown hair hanging damp to his shoulders. It made him look, in her opinion, especially delectable that morning. Hermione felt herself blush even deeper at the lewd thoughts threatening to enter her mind before looking back down at her book and scolding herself.

“So, when is Ronald coming for a visit again? Need me to clear off any time soon?” Sirius asked, sparking up conversation after the long bout of silence.

“Unfortunately, he won’t be back till next month,” she sighed, ignoring the second half of Sirius’s question.

“Well that’s not too bad I suppose—” Sirius smiled warmly and set down his paper as he stood up “—It gives you plenty of time to focus on getting the Ministry on board with your Act before you’re…distracted.” Sirius added the last part with a teasing implication not lost on Hermione.

“My Act?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow jokingly as she stood up as well and took her teacup to the sink. She grabbed the sponge to begin washing up when Sirius took it from her hand.

“I can do the washing up. You’re going to be late for work. Besides, it’s not like I work or anything. Might as well do something productive today,” he stated dryly, turning on the tap.

“Hmm, yes. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You’ve become quite the lay-about. When are you going to get a job and start contributing to the household?” Hermione asked cheekily.

“Lay-about? Need I remind you that this is my house that you live in, rent free. You’re lucky a kind old man like me has taken a liking to you, or you’d be on the streets, kitten,” Sirius said, flicking some water off his fingertips in her direction.

“More like taken pity on me—” Hermione shook her head “—and you’re far from an old man, Sirius. I swear, you’d like people to think you’re closer to eighty than twenty!” She exited the kitchen and slipped into her heels next to the front door.

“Mind picking up some milk on your way home, kitten? We’re almost out!” Sirius called out to her, ignoring her statement on his age. Hermione tried not to focus on the way her stomach flipped in response to Sirius using his nickname for her for a second time that morning.

“Sure thing!” she called back before exiting the front door and apparating the moment she hit the sidewalk.

Hermione found it very difficult to work that day. The summer heat had become abysmal, proving to be quite the sticky, humid season, and of course that meant the Ministry’s cooling charms were on the fritz. By the time the day was over, Hermione’s hair had grown three times its size. Catching her reflection in a Ministry window, Hermione had gasped at its state. Even she hadn’t known it could get that big. In addition, her silk blouse that she had tucked into a polyester pencil skirt had become damp and uncomfortable from the sweat that accumulated on her body throughout the day.  And even after casting multiple drying spells to herself and her clothes, there was still nothing she could do about her hair. To add to her physical discomfort, she also struggled with a mental discomfort as well. Ron had been plaguing her mind all day long.

Ronald Weasley. Her oldest friend, now boyfriend. It hadn’t been a shock to anyone when they had gotten together after the war had ended. It had almost been expected in fact. She’d liked him since third year and aside from his short tryst with Lavender Brown, it had been obvious they would be together. Hermione loved Ron, she really did, but he was gone so often. Gone often and when he was home things felt…off. His affection seemed to have waned and Hermione was left thinking that perhaps it had something to do with her. Every time he chose to kiss her cheek as opposed to her lips or pat her leg friendly instead of holding her hand Hermione felt a little blow to her confidence. Bitterly she thought of how he and Lavender had been all over each other sixth year. She certainly wouldn’t enjoy having Ron’s tongue shoved down her throat in broad daylight, but surely, it’d be nice to have him show a bit of affection. In the beginning he’d been much more enthusiastic. They would often sneak off for a cheeky snog and hands often lingered under tables. They’d even gone all the way. It had been romantic and sweet, and Ron had certainly enjoyed himself. Or at least she thought he had. But now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe she’d been rubbish at it and he didn’t know how to tell her. Maybe he just didn’t find her attractive anymore. She had put on a bit of weight in the past year and a half. Hermione figured it was for the best as she was no longer starving to death on the run from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But now when she looked in the mirror her eyes focused for too long on the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the thickness of her thighs, and the softness of her stomach.

Despite this possibility, Hermione couldn’t help but feel guilty about her lustful thoughts involving Sirius. She often tried to reason with herself that it was perfectly normal to feel such base emotions. Everyone had them and as long as she didn’t act on them, she was fine. She was just lonely, and Sirius was there.

Resolving to speak with Ron about her concerns when he returned in a week, Hermione shook the troubling thoughts from her head and continued down Diagon Alley, intending to just pop by the small corner store at the end for some milk and maybe some ice-cream for later. She needed a small pick-me-up after the day she’d had. Jogging the last few steps to the corner store, Hermione pulled open the heavy door and sighed happily as the cooling charms inside enveloped her. She wiped her forehead with her arm and headed to the back of the store where the freezer section was. The store was practically deserted aside from a single witch staring at the ice pops with a heavy look of concentration. Hermione walked up next to her to stare at the ice-cream choices and smiled when she spotted the Rocky Road. It was Ron’s favorite.

“It’s a scorcher out there, innit?” commented the witch, her thick London accent coming through endearingly sweet. Hermione looked to her left and took in the girl. She was thin and tan with beautiful golden hair tied up into a long ponytail. She had a friendly, heart-shaped face and sparkly green eyes. Something about her seemed familiar – Hermione must have seen her somewhere before.

“I’m practically melting,” agreed Hermione, shaking her head, and grabbing the Rocky Road, thinking she would have that tonight rather than her usual Mint Chocolate-Chip.

“Any fun plans for the heat?” the pretty blonde asked casually, grabbing a box of grape ice pops and a carton of Rocky Road ice-cream as well.

“Not really. Probably just go home and cast as many cooling charms as possible—” Hermione crinkled her nose and quirked the corner of her mouth in a wry grin “—Yourself?”

“Me and my boyfriend are planning a nice night in. He’s just got back from assignment with the Ministry. He’s an Auror, so we’re doing a bit of celebrating before he has to go back.” The girl smiled, her voice heavy with adoration.

“How nice! My boyfriend’s an Auror as well.”

“Really?” the girl asked, eyes lighting up.

“Yes, he’s actually away on assignment right now. I wonder if they know—” Hermione had been about to ask if perhaps their respective partners were familiar with each other when a voice called out from the end of the aisle.

“Babe, they didn’t have the crisps you like, but—” Basket hanging from one hand and a bag of Salt and Vinegar crisps in the other, Ron stopped dead in his tracts at the sight of Hermione. His eyes grew wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “’Mione?”

Hermione stared back too, but unlike Ron she was unable to find her voice. Instead she just stared. Ron was back from assignment? Why hadn’t he told her? What was he doing there? Why was he calling this girl babe when—

“Wait—‘Mione? As in Hermione Granger?” the witch asked, taking a step back from Hermione and towards Ron. She looked at Hermione with wide, incredulous eyes. “Oh my gosh, I feel so foolish. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.”

Hermione looked on in confusion as she watched the witch hook her arm in Ron’s and smile politely back at her.

“Hermione,” Ron said her name again, but Hermione was too busy taking the two of them in. She felt like an absolute fool. The carton of Rocky Road slipped from her fingers and landed on the linoleum floor of the shop with a dull thud. Then, in a panic, Hermione turned on the spot and fled, hearing Ron’s call after her mix with a small ‘Oh my’ from the pretty blonde witch.

There were a million places Hermione could have gone. There were a million places Hermione should have gone. All of them much better choices than the seedy little muggle bar she found just outside of Diagon Alley. She should have gone home. Or to Harry. Or to Ginny. The smart choice was to tell someone what had happened and to talk it out. But instead, she spent the next four hours doing her best to get well and truly pissed. Drinking wasn’t like Hermione and certainly the first glass of whiskey had been hard to get down. But she found after the first two, she hardly tasted the biting liquid anymore and the dulling effect of the alcohol was just so nice.

It was just past ten in the evening when Hermione left the bar, tipping this way and that way in her heels and feeling exceptionally light-headed. The night had cooled down and the sun had just set, allowing Hermione to feel some semblance of relief as she walked down the street to a nearby alleyway. It probably wasn’t the best idea to apparate when she was so inebriated, but Hermione wasn’t really thinking in that moment. She just knew she didn’t want to walk. Thankfully, she managed to land, although very ungracefully, in front of Grimmauld Place without splinching herself.

“Shit,” Hermione whispered followed by a snort of laughter when she tripped over the threshold after finally getting her key in the keyhole. The world had gone all wobbly it had taken her ages to find the right key and get it in the lock. Closing the front door as quietly behind her as possible Hermione found herself overtaken by the strong urge to laugh again. Hermione Granger was well and truly sloshed and for some reason she found that to be very funny.

“Hermione?”

Hermione jumped at her name, letting out a little shriek as she turned around and found Sirius standing in the hall. The hall was dark, but light streamed out through the doorway to the kitchen illuminating him in long shadows where he stood, arms crossed.

“Sirius—” Hermione held a hand to her heart, feeling it beat wildly in her chest. “I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

“It’s past eleven, where have you been?” There was a strange tone to his voice, like he was angry with her but also like he was speaking to a small, frightened animal.

Past eleven? How long had it taken her to unlock the front door?

“I was—” Hermione tripped on the rug, catching herself on the wall and letting out another little laugh “—I stopped and had a little post-work drink.” Her words were slurred, even to her own ears and she laughed again, holding a hand over mouth in embarrassment. “Well, maybe one or two post-work drinks.”

“Are you drunk, kitten?” Sirius asked, sounding amused now.

Hermione continued down the hall, getting closer and closer to Sirius. Each step was a new struggle. A trip here, a wobble there. But Hermione didn’t care. In fact, she felt…good. Free almost. “Maaaaybe,” she drawled, giggling like a small child as she closed the last bit of distance and swayed before Sirius.

He stared down at her, arms now uncrossed as he seemed to be trying to figure out whether he should be amused or concerned. Hermione’s mouth went dry. Now that she was closer, she could see him more clearly and Merlin did she see him. There was a shadow of facial hair across his square jaw, and down his neck. Hermione found herself wondering what it felt like – whether it was soft or rough. Gaze traveling down the thickness of his neck she found his upperhalf bare, the only thing covering his torso, an open robe revealing the inky black of his tattoos. She loved his tattoos. They made him look dangerous. Mysterious. Hot. His chest was free of hair, the lean muscles dipping low and high like delicious hills and valleys she’d so like to explore. In fact…she reached out a hand, her body working opposite of a clear head as her fingertips tentatively touched the smooth planes of Sirius’ chest. He was warm.

He went sort of rigid under her touch, but Hermione barely noticed. Instead she was too entranced by the feel of him. Had she ever touched him before? She didn’t think she had. Her gazed traveled further south and with it, so did her fingertips. Ghosting down the center of his chest from sternum to bellybutton, she blushed furiously at the sight of thick dark hair starting at his navel and disappearing below a pair of pajama pants that sat dangerously low on his hips. She swallowed thickly, her breath coming in thick hot puffs as her hand traveled further, barely brushing the thick hair before a hand shot out and grasped her wrist.

Hermione gasped, looking up suddenly into the stormy eyes of Sirius Black before her. He lifted her wrist to shoulder height, pulling her forward slightly as he did it. The distance between them closed even more.

“Kitten.” It was a warning. Hermione knew it. But for some reason her whiskey-idled brain didn’t care. She liked the risk behind his tone. Her body practically purred at the sound of his special nickname just for her – the irony of that sentiment lost on her in the moment.

“Yes, Sirius?” she responded, her voice coming out deep and breathy and dare she say seductive? Hermione had never sounded like that before. She kind of liked it. Looking up at him with her best attempt at innocent eyes, she waited for him to say something.

Sirius stared down at her, his face a stony mask, but a war was raging behind his eyes. Hermione’s gaze flickered from the stormy grey of his eyes to the fullness of his lips and back up. With a deep breath and a long swallow that made his Adam’s apple bob in a mouth-watering way, Sirius finally spoke.

“You should go to bed.”

Hermione huffed, a bit like a petulant child but not quite as bratty. “What if I don’t want to?”

“It wasn’t really a suggestion.” His tone was dark, and it sent a surprising thrill through Hermione’s body. Her center throbbed. Her breath hitched. Maybe it was all in her head – this thick tension between them. Or maybe it wasn’t. It was certainly taboo, this…energy radiating between them. But Hermione didn’t really care because in that moment she made the sudden realization that she could have this. She could have this and not be the bad guy. Ron was the bad guy. All those months of guilt for feeling basic human attraction and he was off shagging some beautiful, leggy blonde. But now…she didn’t have to feel guilty anymore.

Before she could stop herself, Hermione lifted up onto her toes and closed the distance between them. Their lips pressed together for a moment, firm and warm. When Sirius failed to respond, Hermione’s stomach dropped, and she made the mortifying realization that he didn’t want to kiss her. She was just beginning to pull away, an apology poised on her lips when the grip on her wrist vanished and reappeared around her waist, pulling her in tightly as Sirius’s lips claimed her own.

It all happened very quickly. A meshing of lips and teeth and tongue that left her hot, sticky, and out of breath. Before she knew it, she was being pushed up against the wall of the hallway, her back and head hitting the plaster hard, but she did not care. The only thing she could focus on was the feeling of Sirius’s lips on her own and the hot cloud of their shared breath.

His hands remained wrapped tightly around her torso, gripping the material of her blouse in his fists, but Hermione’s hands were everywhere. She wanted to touch all of him, and she was determined to do so. It wasn’t until her hands wound themselves around his neck and threaded up into his hair, gripping the strands vice-like, that Sirius broke. He let out a ragged groan before moving his hands from around her waist to her front. Grabbing the material of her blouse in each hand, he gave a great tug, not even bothering to try and unbutton it. Hermione gasped at the sound of ripping fabric and the pop of her blouse buttons. Cool air brushing her sensitive skin and the hitch in his breath made Hermione acutely aware that she was now bare to him from the waist up. She remembered the bra she’d chosen to wear that day – a thin and see-through number that cupped her breasts perfectly but left little to the imagination. He was kissing her neck then, sucking and biting in ways that left her breathless and needy. His hands covered her breasts, kneading and stroking in a gentle way that contrasted so strikingly with how he was attacking her neck.

The only thing Hermione could do in that moment was hold on for dear life. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest and when Sirius’s mouth traveled south to envelope of her nipples, she thought that actually had. She let out a low, needy moan and arched into him. Feeling bold, she slid a hand from his hair, down the firm planes of his chest and to the front of his pajama bottoms. At the feel of his hard length she whined, high and breathy. Her hand had been there for barely a moment before Sirius tore away from her, distancing himself the width of the hallway. Hermione leaned against the wall behind her, needing the stability of it to stay upright due to her still drunk nature and the shaky state of her legs.

“What?” she asked, looking at the panting man across from her with confusion.

Sirius stared at her for a moment, chest falling up and down as pieces of his thick dark hair hung in his face. Hermione tried to focus but the only thing she could think of was how much she wanted to brush that hair from his gorgeous features so she could see him more clearly.

“You’re drunk. You should go to bed,” said Sirius, his voice low and gravely and filled with an edge of regret.

“But—” Hermione hesitated, confused at his response “—I don’t understand.” She crossed the distance between them, kissing up the older wizard’s neck. Did he think she didn’t want this?

“Kitten.” Sirius’s voice was strained, but he still managed to grab Hermione’s wandering hands and push her away again. Hermione gasped at his rough touch as he pulled her off of him. “I said you should go to bed.”

Hermione stared up at him in shock for a moment before a surprising rage filled her. Was she not good enough for him? Was she not pretty enough? Did he not enjoy what they’d been doing? The hot sting of angry tears reached the inner corners of her eyes and she tore out of Sirius’s grip before stomping up the stairs towards her room with a huff.

Part 2

[codevassie]

Superpower TS Fic Recs

[***Let me know if I’ve missed anything on the Content Warnings!]

[**Do Not Ask Authors for Updates!]

[*Leave these authors Comments, please and thank you!]

What You Can Stand by manyfandomsonelog

Status: Incomplete, Work In Progress

Summary:  Virgil tried so, so hard to avoid becoming a supervillain. He really did. But when your superpower is literally manifesting a person's worst fears, it's a hard thing to avoid. Still, he really, really tried. Even when his own parents feared him. Even when the whole school feared him. Even when he hated himself and his Propensity so much that he wanted to give in. He might've succeeded, if he hadn't met him- Roman Reyes, AKA Roman Spectacular, AKA The Prince, AKA the worst thing that has ever happened to him (which is saying something).

Relationships: Prinxiety, Logicality 

CW: Psychological stuff, nightmares, bullying, physical harm, spiders, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, brief discussion of racism, self-hatred,  bomb, explosion, blood, injury, bad/abusive parenting, imprisonment, fire,  homophobia, pedophilia mention, discussion of child abuse, evidence of physical abuse, sexual innuendo, anxious thoughts, death, funeral, flashback, reference to sex, fairly aggressive arguing and yelling, public speaking, secondhand embarrassment

My thoughts: My quarantine savior!!! I started the fic like a week into quarantine, so I really mean that literally. The characterization is absolutely fantastic--I love seeing all of them interact. It’s so natural and fun and interesting. The plot is also just wonderful--one thing keeps happening after another and these guys just cannot seem to get a break. The pacing is awesome, and whether it’s a character or plot chapter, you just can’t look away. Log is such a fantastic writer and a wonderful person, so if you like awesome prinxiety, superpowers and secret identities, trust and betrayal, humor and angst, you really need to read this one! 

Rewind by ravenclawicecream 

Status: Incomplete, Work In Progress

Summary: When a group of superheroes show up to kill him, it's just another Wednesday for Virgil Messana. After five years of being on the run, he's used to the idea people want him dead. That fact is just an unfortunate side effect of having the power to destroy everything you touch. What does surprise him, however, is when he finds himself agreeing to join those superheros and become part of the team. It's not long until Virgil learns that all the heroes have chapters of their lives they'd rather keep unpublished, along with events they'd rather not relive. And, as he spends more time with the team, he realizes that he may know certain members much better than he'd originally thought. Virgil longs for a moment to figure everything out but by then it's too late. He's already caught up in a bigger scheme; one where they no longer have the power to control their own destinies. With every movement monitored and every action proven to be calculated, the lines between allies and enemies blur, leaving Virgil caught in between. When the stakes are inevitably raised, the remaining heroes must do all they can to change the future of the world. But time has always been a cruel master, and sometimes the only answer is to rewind.

Relationships: Loceit, Logicality, Prinxiety, Remile

CW: Major Character Death, Murder

My thoughts: Gosh, I wish this one got more love. It’s probably the MCD tag, so understandable, but also take into consideration the time travel tag and perhaps give it a chance? I feel like this fic is setting up for so much, and I cannot wait to see how it all goes down. I have so many questions for this fic which is always a good sign (so many that I may have freaked the author out with my WALL of questions on chapter three don’t worry about it /j). Please. Read. This. 

Powerless by patentpending 

Status: Complete

Summary: “People like us,” Logan had once remarked to Virgil. “Are statistical anomalies.”(Almost) Everyone in the world has powers. As for those who don’t, well, they’re such a small part of the population - only 0.04% - why would anyone care about them?Ever since he realized what people mean when they call him Powerless, Virgil Sanders has tried to fight back against the system that oppresses people like him, Patton, and Logan. When Patton’s bakery is targeted in a hate crime, he finally snaps. With the help of a mysterious sponsor, Virgil becomes a villain, ready to remake a broken society. The only thing standing in his way is the world’s most Powerful (and infuriatingly charming) superhero: The Prince, who is hiding the fact that his gilded life isn’t as perfect as it may seem.

Relationships: Prinxiety, Logicality, Roman/Female Fanon Character 

CW: Classism, Unreliable Narrator, Thinly Veiled Criticism of Society,  emetophobia, violence, gun mention,  implied suicide attempt, dub-con, mentions of blood, graphic depictions of a riot, non-graphic description of a wound, possessive and abusive behavior, kid being kicked out of the house by parent, kidnapping, kinda torture (?), body horror, gore, graphic descriptions of injuries, emotional abuse, police brutality, pain and injury, burning building, swearing, vomiting, murder, panic attack, dysphoria, misgendering, minor character death, major character death, self deprecating talk, mentions of suicide

My thoughts: Well, doing a TS superhero rec without Powerless is just treason. I don’t know--I’m trying to figure out a way to describe it and instead launching up to pace around the room with an instant replay of different scenes in my head. I mean, the grocery store chapter?!?! This stuff lives in my head rent free. The characterization, the banter, the tension, the motives--I can’t describe it y’all. Just, if you love yourselves (love yourselves, please <3) then just go read it. Or reread it. Do that for yourselves. 

Waterspout by Greenninjagal

Status: Complete

Summary: "Hail!” The boy says all smug smiles that Virgil immediately hates. “You’re Recluse aren’t you?”As if there was some other spider themed weirdo who clung to buildings in their free time.“No,” Virgil says, because he can. *** Virgil finds himself stuck on the side of a building in a rainstorm and is helped by an annoying-admittedly attractive-guy.

Relationships: Prinxiety

CW: Mild cursing, storms

My thoughts: This one is very cute. Virgil is a spiderman-like hero who went up a waterspout, and down comes some rain trying to wash him out. Roman comes to help, they banter a bit, and, maybe, there’s a little surprise at the end. I would not mind more of this AU. In fact, I would love it. But that should not discount how wonderfully made a oneshot it is either. The author wrote it perfectly for the length it is, presenting the charm of the characters, great plot and symbolism, and left me wanting more at the same time. Definitely go check this one out. 

Technically. It’s A Secret by supervillain 

Status: Incomplete, Work In Progress

Summary: Virgil Storm, the adopted son of a reality TV star with telekinesis was born without a power. That's been a problem for him all his life. His only friend is Patton Vega, his only chance at romance the irritating Cros Corson--until he gets a job at a top-secret facility, playing babysitter to a bunch of kids with dangerous powers and even more dangerous minds. Kids who happen to be exactly his age.Yeah, this is going to be a piece of cake, especially when the enigmatic villain Believe (aka Roman Torres) takes a liking to Virgil. And even worse, when Virgil starts to more than like him back. Pull in some evil mad scientists, a plague created to decimate the world, a murderous villain, an obnoxious stalker, and the greatest Kinetic the world has ever known, and you're in for a hell of a ride.

Relationships: Prinxiety, Logicality 

CW:  Anxiety attacks, arson, murder, minor character death, blood, spiders, being eaten alive, falling, death, sleeping, fighting, cop mention 

My thoughts: I’m behind on this one, and I wanted to catch up on it before I posted this rec list. Today is the last Friday of the year though, so I decided to just go ahead and do it. I love this fic a ton so far, and I can’t wait to read more. I can tell the author put a lot of thought into writing the world and characters, and that the plot is interesting and deliberate. There’s mysteries unfolding which intrigues me So Bad. It’s a super interesting one, so I’d say go read it!

[thephantomofthe-internet]

A Fool for Love| Steve Harrington x Reader

MASTERLIST

Words: 7,354 OOF

Warnings: swearing, Shakespearean English, general fluff

Author’s Note: So I got inspired by @jxnehxpper‘s headcanon on Steve being a secret theatre lover and set to giving us what we deserve-Steve being a little theatre kid. And then I told her about it. And then I reread it. And now I’m doubtful of what this even is and how long it is. Good luck I guess

Tag List: @marvelslut16 @shinydixon @jxnehxpper 

The laces were too tight. You couldn’t breathe. You were going to faint once you got up there. And your sleeves were too tight. You were already sweating through the long sleeves. Damn your overconfidence and crappy old patterns. And damn the seventies for making their bodices too tight and tan suede lacing so pretty over rouge coloured linen. And your shoes were too loose; they were going to fall off the second you took a step. Stupid Tammy Thompson and her stupid wide feet. You weren’t even supposed to be here.

Mrs. Blackburn loved to plan out a big spring show without thinking about how many students would be there on auditions. She chose these bombastic plays without thinking about who was actually going to be there. The drama club was made up of about ten members, who’d all be there on audition day, and that was usually it. And Mrs. Blackburn would throw a fit about it to you, her trusted right hand man with a plan. Then she’d spend her classes kissing ass to get students to come out for promised roles after stroking their egos enough to get them to bother with extracurricular theatre. Most kids took the class for an easy A, a quick passing grade that would boost their GPAs without making them want to claw their eyes out. Only a certain type of student would go through with this sort of embarrassment.

So when Mrs. Blackburn announced the spring show to be an abridged version of Twelfth Night, a choice you thought was decent enough. Cutting down the b-plot with Malvolio and the servants made the story run smoother and cut a metric crap ton of roles. Unfortunately, Mrs. Blackburn didn’t have the heart to cut the fool, which meant that she needed another guy to be in the show. And your little crew of nerds only had two boys. If only cross dressing was something she deigned to allow, alas Mrs. Blackburn believed firmly in women playing women and men playing men, which made it even harder to cast anything. It was ironic, knowing the actual plot of the play she’d chosen. Still, now she had a little challenge to hum and ha over for a month before casting the thing.

It was during this casting point that you heard quite possibly the worst idea you’d ever heard.

You often ate lunch in Mrs. Blackburn’s classroom. The entire drama club did. It was a nice, quiet place where no screaming teens or bullies could attack a boy for trotting around in a kilt from costume cupboard and kick a girl for her looks if they didn’t conform to what was considered pretty by the rest of the school. A hodgepodge of personalities grew in there like bacteria. Usually, there shining saviour would eat in the teacher’s lounge with the rest of the staff, but as shows got closer, she’d make sporadic appearances.

“Y/N!” the door slammed open, Mrs. Blackburn standing in the doorway, her wild red curls bouncing wildly around her tiny face, her thin pointed glasses slipping off her nose. “I’ve done it!”

“You’ve done what?” you looked up from your sack lunch. Mrs. Blackburn looked a mess. Her olive green paisley skirt was stained with coffee and her raggedy cream blouse was flashing her bra to the world. She looked as if she’d gotten dressed in her donation bag. You had a sort of love-hate relationship with the woman. She was like a second mother to you, which meant that you loved her unconditionally but hated her in the moment.

“I’ve found us a diamond in the rough,” she marched over to the desk. As always, you’d taken over the teacher’s desk. You were the only person she trusted to sit there with her unmarked tests and unopened lipsticks gifted to her by Lisa Gardner’s Avon selling mother. Her hands slapped the fake wood “I’ve found our Duke Orsino.”

You watched from behind her as both Gordon Fisher and Dale Michaels deflated behind you. The only boys in the club would kill for a leading role. They shouldn’t have to kill, there were only two of them; there shouldn’t be a fight at all. But Mrs. Blackburn liked to do a bit of stunt casting within the Hawkins High School student body.

“No one has been chosen yet!” you turned you attention directly to them. Of course, that was a blatant lie. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn already had pretty much the entire show cast before auditions had even been announced. Dale would play the jester, who Mrs. Blackburn had flagrantly rewritten as a sort of narrator, believing herself capable of rewriting Shakespeare, and Gordon would play Sebastian. He was fundamentally much more attractive than Dale, and much less mockable. Dale was the kid hiding in the classroom in a kilt from Tommy H, which he was wearing because he ripped his pants and didn’t want to walk around with his stained tighty whities.

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Blackburn, a small excited smile spreading across your face. “Who is it?” you asked.

“Oh he’s simply marvellous! He’s in our afternoon class, a Mr. Harrington!” Mrs. Blackburn had a dreamy grin spread across her face, her hands linked together in front of her chest.

Your smile dropped “Steve? Really?” This had to be a joke. Steve was in your drama class so to speak, he was never there. He skipped every class and only showed up for tests and to do graded performances. And his performances were shit. He was never off script and even with the script in front of his face he couldn’t keep the lines straight. He was useless!

“Oh yes yes! We had a very interesting conversation just a few moments ago and he’s very intrigued by our production and I think that he’ll make an interesting, dynamic choice for the role!” Mrs. Blackburn mused, her arms floating around as she spoke as if she was performing Swan Lake instead of properly explaining her decision.

“So, he’s coming into audition?” you asked slowly, leaning on your elbows. Mrs. Blackburn nodded. That was a surprise. The great king of Hawkins high bothering to join the unwashed, artistic masses? That was a shock. You expected him to just demand the role to be his. Not that you thought he’d read the play. You doubted he’d even skimmed the Cliff’s Notes.

“Yes, I’ve already signed him up. By the looks of it, if all the auditions go well we’ll have a full cast without call backs.” She turned her attention to the cowering masses behind her, all staring up in awe. Well, all except Robin Buckley. She wasn’t really a part of the collective though; she was just there for Tammy Thompson.

“Alright, then I can’t wait to see what he does…” you replied with a small smirk. Everyone else in the room was thinking the same thing: Steve Harrington was going to choke. The second Mrs. Blackburn left the room, everyone began their muttering and musing. The only person who seemed to sympathize with the kid was Tammy, who kept whining about poor, poor Steve and how he was going to make a fool of himself. Everyone had seen Steve’s failings with performance, most of the room either spent their free period in your drama class or had taken drama with him in freshman year. His misgivings were known throughout the little crew, even Robin seemed to understand that the kid just wasn’t talented.

And when auditions rolled around, you except the worst. As always, you were playing stage manager slash costumer for the production, your chosen role, and you sat at the back of the classroom with a clipboard and red pen in hand. You had the audition list copied on a few sheets of paper with the role presumed to fit them best. You’d seen most of the room audition a million times before. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn had a clear idea of what was going to happen. And, for the most part, it all fell into place. Tammy, despite her pleas to be Viola, was much more suited to the prissy and rich Olivia; Dale actually wanted to be the fool, which made your life easier, now you wouldn’t have to crush him dreams; Heather Holloway would happily play Viola, which you were more than happy to give her; and sweet little Nicole Chandler would play the nursemaid Maria.

Then, there was Steve Harrington and Gordon Fisher. Gordon had come in and bashed all of your notions of him being fabulously brash and boisterous Sebastian by auditioning instead for the powerful and yet underwhelming awkward Duke Orsino. And he was great! He was better than great!

And then there was Steve. He was terrible. Just plain awful. He didn’t look up once from the crumpled photocopied pages he held in his fist and he didn’t seem to know what he was saying. No, scratch that he had no idea what he was saying. He wasn’t so much playing a character but instead just trying to pronounce the words on the page and string them together in complete sentences. It was painful. But, to Mrs. Blackburn, it was perfect. She clapped when he finished, smiling far too wide as she egged him on. She kicked you under the table to follow suit and you added in a few slow claps. With a hefty dose of praise hefted on him like whipped cream, she sent Steve off and turned her attention to you.

“He’s perfect,” she said. You almost expected her to let out a dreamy sigh, like a love struck teenager instead of a married middle aged woman. She just looked so happy about the whole thing. You took a bit of secret joy in popping her bubble.

“Gordon was much better for the part.” You slipped your pen behind your ear and crossed your arms over your chest. Mrs. Blackburn’s thin mouth dropped open into a tiny ‘o’, only really defined by her cherry red lipstick.

“What?” she cried before composing herself “No, no Gordon was fine, he’ll make a fabulous Sebastian, but Steve is what I want for the Duke.”

“Are you sure I mean-” You couldn’t help but try to argue the point. You knew in your heart that the little shows you helped put on weren’t award worthy by any means but you still took great care in making them as good as possible, if only as a self-serving move to make them watchable from the booth.

Mrs. Blackburn shook her head, her tiny mouth pulling into a stern frown. “The decision is made. You cannot change my mind, Y/N.�� she said flippantly, turning away from her to collect her papers. “We’ll have the list up by Monday, yes?”

You swallowed and nodded once. Mrs. Blackburn swept out of the room, her silver bracelets clattering together as she left. Once the door shut, you let out a heavy sigh and put away your clipboard. You’d type up the temporary list and deal with your temperamental director. First, you had to find Steve.

You found him hunched over at his locker. If you didn’t know him better, you’d say that he was ashamed. But he was too much of a cocky shit to ever feel ashamed of his own showboating. And what you just saw was showboating. There was no other way to explain it. He didn’t care about the show, or the play, he only cared about himself and showing off.

You tapped him hard on the shoulder. Steve turned his head. He wasn’t certain of your name but he recognized you from only a few minutes prior. He wanted to disappear. He’d just made a complete fool of himself and now had to atone to his butchering of words he didn’t quite get.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you’re just signing onto this thing to fuck around and make fun of people, I suggest you back the fuck down. Fisher and Michaels might stand down to your asshole buddies but I won’t.” you sneered, planting your hands on your hips and straightening your back to reach your fullest height. You had never been in a fight before, at least not one that wasn’t staged and within a classroom setting, but you’d stand up for those kids. Anyone who volunteered themselves for theatrical productions were doing something vulnerable, and vulnerability wasn’t something that could be taught or captured in a bottle, it was something given that should be protected. And you vowed to protect them from someone with ill will, if only to make your show better.

“Look,” Steve swallowed hard, looking away from you. Your gaze was searing into him and he was already embarrassed as is. He didn’t think he could blush any harder. “I’m not bullshitting. Mrs. Blackburn offered and I said yes, that’s all. No buddy’s gonna find out about this.”

You watched him squirm like a worm on a hook. He looked genuine. His eyes spoke more volumes than his words. You nodded, letting out a sharp breath through your nose. “Alright…” you turned on your heel and walked off without a goodbye to the thoroughly embarrassed boy.

Once the work started, it was a wash of a production. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Tammy was over the moon that Steve Harrington was joining them to play pretend and thrilled to explain to him that his character was in love with hers. He seemed horrified by the idea but dutifully played along. Gordon was beyond pissed, having to watch Steve stumble through lines and direction given by Mrs. Blackburn while he waited for his shot to do any acting at all. Robin was pissed too. Mrs. Blackburn had roped her into the production to do a few flute solos in pivotal scenes, which meant her having to watch the scenes she’d be playing in and you’d have to make her a little costume to wear. You’d been given your budget and some ancient patterns from Mrs. Blackburn’s collection, a 1970s renaissance faire dress pattern that didn’t fit in at all with the period. You bit back complaints about how little money you had to make anything nice.

You silently thanked god for Heather Holloway and her rich parents. They would pay to have her costumes done separately from your handiwork and all you’d have to do was make some decent things for the rest of the cast. You’d be sewing until your fingers bled. You were just thankful that you had made patterns for men’s pants in the same style of the dresses. You wouldn’t have to draft different sizes off a thin parchment pattern for them. Nicole, Tammy, and Heather were all around the same size so you’d only need to two different sizes of pattern. The project would be fairly simple.

Which meant that Mrs. Blackburn had to throw a wrench in everything.

She asked you to speak with her after your afternoon class one month into rehearsals. You stood awkwardly in front of her desk, your trapper keeper clutched tight to your chest, a few fingers bandaged from pricks and pokes from rouge pins and needles. You’d spent the night before alternating between putting blocking notes into your script and hemming the skirt of Tammy Thompson’s pale yellow dress. You’d bought a very pretty pale yellow brocade fabric with thin gold laurel patterns over the material and it was heavier than expected but it looked rightfully rich enough for a duchess to wear.

“Now, I might have overestimated Mr. Harrington’s acting abilities,” she said quietly, looking between you and the door. Steve was the first out of the room when the bell rang, he wasn’t lurking by the door waiting to hear you shit talk him. “He’s not performing well.”

“Well yes, I tried to tell you that when we auditioned him.” You replied, trying to hold back an eye roll.

“There’s no need to be bitter, he’s salvageable.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to erasing the board. She had a freshman year drama class after this and the smelly youths would burst through the door at any moment. “What we’ll do is simply give him some extra help, less time working with the others and have him focus on really working on his lines. He’s not off book anyway.”

You nodded “So, what do you need me to do here?” Mrs. Blackburn reached into her desk and pulled out her pads of excused late slips, pulling out a pen and scribbling out your student information.

“Well, I can’t very well stop blocking the performance and we need to start heading over to the theatre soon. So you’ll handle helping Mr. Harrington from here on out.” She said nonchalantly. Her hoard her stinky children burst into the room, taking over the class with sound and fury, signifying nothing but an assault on your eardrums.

“So, and just for clarification here, you want me to make all the costume, stage manage the production, and teach Steve his lines?” you asked, taking the green slip she dangled out in front of you.

“Well yes of course that’s what you signed on to do and we always come through on what we choose to do.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to her classroom, clapping twice to grab their attention. You knew that this was your cue to leave and you slinked away with your tail betwixt your legs, put back in your place by the older woman. You could’ve screamed. Teaching lines was not what you signed up for. Working with Steve was not what you signed up for. You signed on for making costumes and stage managing. Steve was not a part of the equation. He wasn’t even associated with the equation. He was a whole separate equation that you weren’t supposed to be tasked with solving.

And yet when Mrs. Blackburn announced that the rest of the cast would be heading to the theatre and you’d be staying behind with Steve to run lines, you didn’t complain. Steve did, he wanted to see the theatre, but you stayed silent, waving them goodbye as they left the cramped classroom. You and Steve stared at each other for a moment, silent and awkward, before you reached down and picked up the paper grocery bag you’d brought along with you and pulled out the pretty rouge pink linen you’d bought to make Nicole’s dress. You lay it flat on the desks and unfolded your newspaper patterns.

“Alright, sit.” You pointed to the desk in front of you and opened your patterning kit, pulling out your white tailor’s chalk and sewing scissors. Steve obeyed, tucking himself into the desk. You looked up with a forced smile “Alright, this is how we’re doing to do this. You are going to perform the lines without your script. When you need a line, say line and I’ll give it to you. Repeat it and then start again from the top. We’ll do that until you can say the whole thing without stuttering or calling line. Got it?”

Steve swallowed hard “Got it.”

“Alright, we’ll start from the first scene.” You pulled out your copy of the abridged play. Steve looked at you for a moment, confused and you summoned him to begin.

He took a heaving breath and you began pinning your pattern pieces to the material. “If music be the food of love, play on, give me…” Steve began, already stuttering. He went silent before shamefully asking “Line?”

You looked up with a raised eyebrow. You were hoping for at least a few lines to be known before he needed help. Mrs. Blackburn underestimated how little he knew. “Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting the appetite may sicken, and so die…that strain again!” you read out, monotone before turning your attention to Steve “Start again.”

He spouted out the dialogue, just a nervous as before and stuttering all the while. You managed to get through pinning the skirt piece down before he called line again. He only got through a line of dialogue past your last prompting. Steve looked utterly defeated and small in his seat. “I can’t think like this…” he muttered.

“The stand up. Or pace. Whatever you need to do. Just get through the speech here,” you said with a sigh “Do you need the line?” Steve nodded sadly and you read out the next line and Steve started again.

“If music be the food of love; play on, give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die…that strain again! It had a dying fall: o’ it came o’er my ear like the sweet south that breathes upon a bank of violets; stealing odour…enough, no more!” he took a heaving breath. He was halfway across the room now and staring at the wall. You had turned your attention to him and were watching almost in awe. He knew the lines. He knew the whole speech. When he finished, he looked to you as if for the next line. You didn’t give it, instead you stepped out from the desk.

“You know the lines…” you breathed. It wasn’t a good performance, but he was off book. He was putting in work. You were impressed. Surprised, but impressed.

“When I’m walking around the room I do…” Steve chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with a small smile.

“But you have no idea what you’re saying…” you breathed, watching as Steve deflated, giving a small nod.

“Why can’t he just write what he means, I get it’s supposed to be like poetry or whatever, but it makes no sense.” He pushed himself up onto the desk, crossing his legs under him.

“It helps to think about the character as a whole. What do you know about the duke?” you asked, taking a step back to approach the scene with script in hand.

“I mean…he’s a duke, which is an important person with a lot of people who work under him, and he’s in love with Olivia, who’s a rich duchess,” he counted them off with his fingers, chewing on his lower lip as he thought.

“Exactly!” you stopped him mid-sentence, pointing excitedly “He’s in love with Olivia and Olivia doesn’t love him back, right?”

“Right?” he had a right to be confused; Mrs. Blackburn had given Tammy the note to stop playing Olivia so moony eyed over Orsino for weeks now. She hadn’t stopped, despite swearing up and down that she wasn’t trying.

“She doesn’t, and so when he’s talking about love and music, do you think he’s happy to hear the music or not?” you asked.

“I mean…I guess yes and no?” you raised an eyebrow at him. That wasn’t the exact answer you expected. He continued “Cause he’s love sick, and being love sick is fun and terrible at the same time. He talks about being sick in the speech.”

You nodded “Yes! And when he says that he wants to surfeit, that means to like overdose. He wants to die from all the love. He’s overwhelmed by it all.” Steve’s smile grew. For the first time, he felt like he was getting it now. When you explained it, the scene made sense.

You reached for your scissors and picked up the material, taking a deep breath before making the first cut in the fabric. “Alright, now I want you to take all that stuff I told you and try to put it on the words.” You said, gesturing with your finger for him to start again.

And he did. He did the scene over and over again, pacing the room while trying to feel different things. It was easy to be overwhelmed-he was overwhelmed. Everything he was doing overwhelmed him. It didn’t help that you were watching him. He didn’t like being watched. And you kept smiling at some parts and frowning at others. He wanted you to smile all the way through it. That meant that it was good, that he was doing good. And he liked your smile. This was the first time he’d seen it directed at him.

“Alright,” you stopped him mid sentence, holding out a flat palm out “Enough pacing. The blocking has you seat in like this big chair.” You stepped out from behind the desks and pulled out a chair, placing it in the centre of the room. “Sit down, we’re going to put it altogether.”

Steve gingerly sat in the chair, positioning himself the way Mrs. Blackburn had instructed with his legs splayed wide and his right elbow propped on his knee, holding his head up. With a heavy breath he started again “If music be the food of love, play on…fuck!” you looked up from your work curiously “I forgot the line already! I keep thinking about the words and the meaning and the emotions and the meter-I can’t do it all.”

You nodded, pulling the pins out of the pattern and marking the pieces numerically. “Tap your foot to the beat of the words, one less thing to think about.” You said, capping the pin box. “Do it one more time and then we’re done. They’re finishing up at the theatre now, we have to vacate ASAP.”

Steve tried your trick. It worked. He was shocked. You knew so much about this stuff. He didn’t know anything about any of this. He felt like a doofus. But you helped him through. He thought it was a onetime thing, but every rehearsal you’d take him aside and work on the words. Mrs. Blackburn had cut the thing down to about two acts, still longer than most parents wanted to sit through, but better than five acts and two intermissions. He didn’t know how he was going to do this at all. Still, he felt safe with you watching. He could perform to you instead of the audience.

For your part, you liked working with Steve. You didn’t think that you would, but he was pretty self sufficient with the piece after you gave him your Cliff’s Notes version of the text to help him understand the scenes he had to do and the context of the play as a whole. And he was funny. You didn’t know that he was funny. And he hated Tammy. Anyone who hated Tammy was a friend of yours. She was brutally annoying in rehearsals and at this point was refusing to kiss Gordon. And poor Gordon was more than over having Steve there, he swore that the guy was doing something to distract Tammy. Of course he was, he was existing in her world for the first time, but you were quick to defend him, because he was trying. It wasn’t his fault that Tammy couldn’t keep it in her pants or that Heather was more focused on her costumes than her performance. Still, nobody understood why he was there.

Sat with Steve at the back of the Hawkins Community Playhouse, you decided to ask him. “Hey,” you asked quietly. Gordon and Tammy were doing their little love scene on the stage below and Mrs. Blackburn would kill you if she could hear you talking. “Can I ask you something?” Steve nodded, looking up from his script.

“Why are you doing this show?” Steve frowned and you backtracked quickly “I mean, this isn’t your bag I just was curious…”

“Honestly?” Steve asked. You gave a half nod, trying not to appear too curious. “Mrs. Blackburn promised me that if I did this, she’d pass me for the year and that I can skip out on the final.” Your eyes blew wide. You were pissed. Not because he was only doing the show for a decent grade, but because you still had to prepare a monologue performance to perform for your final on top of all this work.

“That bitch…” you murmured “I wanna skip out on the final!”

Steve laughed “Ask! She was only gonna pass me, I haggled for the final.”

“She’d never. She wants to work me to death, I swear.” You chuckled darkly. You flipped up the tan suede Bodice you built, the lace dangling loosely from the eyelets. It looked good. It would look better on Nicole, for now it would have to look good on the floor.

Steve was called up to the stage and you returned to Mrs. Blackburn’s side, watching the ending go down, as Viola’s true nature is revealed and Sebastian is reunited with his sister. It was a messy scene, with the Malvolio plotline cut there wasn’t a scheme to reveal or a villain to unmask, so the scene became instead a bit of a wedding. You still wished you’d done A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream, you would’ve actually auditioned for that show. Still, Twelfth Night was turning into a half decent show. You hadn’t expected Steve to bring anything, but he played the duke like a sort of well meaning dunce, a loveable yet hopeless fool. He just seemed to have fun, especially when Nicole and Dale were acting silly behind him. He just seemed to have fun with them, unlike Tammy and Heather who had no interest in playing and seemed to be fighting for who could look the most bored. It had been a long day, it was nearly eight o’clock at night and Mrs. Blackburn had sent her husband to go pick up pizza for the cast an hour ago. Everyone was exhausted, but you were supposed to do a full fitting for the cast after they were done.

Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn ended the torture. “Alright,” she clapped once, calling an end to the scene “Let’s call it quits there. Y/N has brought all the costumes for the show with her today, let’s have a try on and then we’ll take our pizza to go. Sound good?” the whole room let out an exhausted half cheer and you picked up the massive duffel bag you’d brought from home.

“I hope everyone remembered their shoes,” you said, pulling out the first hanger, holding the intense yellow brocade with the golden Bodice for Tammy to take. “Heather, your stuff is here, right?” Heather scoffed, taking the three off the stage and picking up her own bag. You handed Nicole her dress and passed out the brown faux burlap pants and white puffy shirts. You’d made separate vests for each character-Steve’s a rich navy blue, Dale’s a jaunty royal purple with a matching jester cap from the prop closet, and Gordon a dull olive green. Their colours would have to do to differentiate them to the audience. Everyone left to do their try on and when they returned you were transported to the ren faire.

You stepped off the stage, joining Mrs. Blackburn in the fifth row. You smiled; the brocade looked lovely under the lights, as did the silver buttons you’d put on Steve’s vest. It was a bit wide. “Alright, Tammy you’re good to change, Steve stay put.” You jumped back onto the stage, stepping behind him. Up close, it was hard to look at him. He was too attractive. You were stunned that any man could look sexy in a stupid puffy shirt, but there Steve was, ruining your work relationship with him.

“Stay still, I’m putting pins in your vest, I don’t want to poke you.” You whispered, pulling a couple pins from your cushion. You felt Steve suck in a deep breath as your fingers grazed his lower back, tingles running up his spine. You pulled the material in a bit, pinning it flat. You noted that you’d have to add a couple darts to each side to make it fit better. It only took a few moments, but when you came back around to look over Steve he looked as if he might faint. “Steve,” he looked to you with blown out eyes “Breathe.” He nodded twice and you stepped off the stage. It was only a week until performances. He must have been scared shitless.

Steve was scared shitless. Of you. He didn’t know how to act when you were watching him. Well, he knew how to act, you’d trained him to play Orsino, but he didn’t know how Steve fit into your relationship. All he knew was that when he had to kiss Heather at the end of the show, he only had you on his mind. He couldn’t even look at you when it was over, he felt like he’d cheated on you. Which was insane, but the feeling stuck in his gut.

When the day of performances came around, Steve was shaken. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t told any of his friends about what he was doing and yet word had gone around the school. All of his friends were coming opening night, he swore with pitchforks and rotten fruit to throw. When he got the theatre at four o’clock that afternoon, however, the whole cast was in a tizzy.

Heather was an hour late. And, according to Nicole, she wasn’t coming. “Her father’s hosting a benefit at the Carmel Country Club tonight, there’s no way that she’s showing.” She moaned. Mrs. Blackburn was already in the phone book, looking up the number of the club. She left to make a call, promising that Heather would never do such a thing.

Tammy was crying off her makeup in the corner, with Robin consoling her while trying to not get blackened tears on her white shirt. “She’s going to ruin my show! She’s ruining it!” she sobbed.

You were stood in the corner, unsure where to place yourself. Luckily, Mrs. Blackburn returned quickly. “I’ve just spoken to Heather,” she announced. The room fell into a hush.

“And?” you asked, looking up from the hot rollers you were putting in Nicole’s hair.

“And she’s not coming. She told me about this and I said it was okay. I guess I forgot.” Mrs. Blackburn replied. You knew that was bullshit, but you held your tongue.

“What’re we going to do???” Tammy cried out. That sent the room into an uproar, everyone talking over one another. Steve stayed silent. In truth, he was a bit glad to be rid of Heather. Maybe they wouldn’t have to perform.

“Now, now as we know in the theatre the show must go on!” Mrs. Blackburn cried. “Y/N, as stage manager, has been learning the blocking and pacing for the show. She will go on as Viola and I will make a speech before we go on! It’s all we can do!”

Everyone turned to look at you. You turned your attention to Mrs. Blackburn, walking over to her and whispering in her ear. “If I do this, I don’t have to do the final. You grade on this.” She looked you over and then turned once. You turned to the cast and sighed softly, nodding “The show will go on.” You shrugged, heaving up your trapper keeper.

“She doesn’t look right. She doesn’t have a costume.” Tammy whined.

“I will go to the school and get what we have left. I’m sure we have a pair of trousers and a puffed shirt for her to wear.” Mrs. Blackburn grabbed her purse off the makeup counter “Girls, work your magic on her.”

You put the last roller in Nicole’s hair and she grabbed your arm, pulling her into the chair next to her. “Grab that green skirt from last year!” Nicole called after her teacher “You’re gonna wear this dress for the opening. I’ll wear the skirt and whatever else she brings back, now let’s make you Viola.”

You were poked and prodded and burned until you were as close to looking like Heather as you were going to get. Then, you were stuffed into Nicole’s dress. Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn had found two leftover puffy white shirts and a bodice, and the decision was made that you’d wear the rouge dress and she’d wear the green skirt from last year. It was a nice enough gesture, as was Tammy being forced to give up her extra pair of character shoes, which she did begrudgingly at the behest of Robin.

And then, you were stood offstage. And you were terrified. You’d never done this before. In your four years of stage managing, no one had ever called out of a performance, you’d never had to take over a role last minute. Your mind kept focusing on the discomfort of the costume. Nicole had tied your bodice too tight. Tammy’s shoes were too big. The skirt was too long. You were too wrong for this. You wanted to run. And then, the lights came up on Steve. Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke the opening lines so well and Robin began her first flute solo. Steve was doing wonderfully. With his left foot tapping lightly on the wooden stage floor, he knew what he was saying, even with distraction surrounding him. Internally, he felt as close to someone else as he’d ever felt in his life. Steve didn’t like that you weren’t in the audience to watch him, but he couldn’t see anyone with the lights on anyway. The audience clapped as he finished his scene and left with Dale, the lights going out fully as Robin cleared her chair and music stand and Gordon carried off the throne. Steve reached out and squeeze your shoulder with a kind smile.

“You have this,” he said softly. You heaved out a breath and stepped on the stage. You went right to the centre and right up to the edge, sitting down so your legs dangled off. You had no idea how Heather did this. You were too close to the audience. As the lights came up, you looked down at the lines in front of you. Dale stepped onto the stage in a sailor’s cap. He really had to play everyone in this stupid show. He nodded to you with a smile.

“What…” you voice came out in a whisper. No one could hear you. You took a breath, closing your eyes before trying again. “What country, friends, is this?” you asked loudly.

Dale’s smile grew. The scene was actually happening. “This is Illyria, lady.” He said, doing his best to sound like an old man.

The first scene was bumpy. Dale wanted to show off a bit and make the audience laugh, even though the scene was an info dump, which meant that you could just read the lines back to him and follow the blocking. You were more comfortable moving than you were speaking. But it got easier. Once you were dressed as Ceserio and working with Steve, things went smoother. You knew those scenes very well, the lines were almost memorized on your part from playing scene partner to him. Steve was fun to work with, he constantly made you smile.

It wasn’t hard for you to pretend to be in love with Steve. You felt like you were. Well, maybe not love. But like. Like a whole lot. And you were sure that he liked you to. Or maybe he was just that good of an actor.

The show went so fast. It was refreshing. Sat in the booth, it was a slog to get through, but onstage it went quick. You were nervous over the ending. You knew Heather’s last scene was a kiss with Steve. It wasn’t the passionate, intense kiss that Tammy and Gordon would do a scene before, but it was still a kiss. No matter how he felt about you, this was going to change your friendship forever.

You joined the cast last on stage, the who’s who of the plot being broken down, Steve was supposed to be mad when you came onstage, but he smiled like he’d seen what heaven looked like. You smiled up at Steve as the changed scene began, cutting the duel that leads the group into their explanations of the mix ups. Mrs. Blackwell hadn’t had the heart to cut a bit of Viola’s dialogue, so it lead the group into the explanations instead.

“After him I love, more than I love these eyes, more than my life, more by all the mores than e’er I shall love my wife.” You had no direction for what to do with the line. Heather had said it dramatically towards the audience. You turned your attention to Steve, caressing his face with your thumb. It was greedy, you were using the scene to get a bit of affection from the boy. You knew you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help it. Steve seemed bewildered but happy, he fit the moment perfectly.

The scene continued as planned, with all the reveals shown to the characters and couples happily coupled off. Sebastian and Olivia were revealed to be married and that all was okay between Viola and Olivia once her gender was revealed.

Steve turned to you, smiling ear to ear “Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times thou never shouldst love woman like me.” He took your hands in his squeezing them tight.

“And all those sayings will I over-swear, and all those swearing keep me as true in soul as doth orbed continent the fire that severs day from night.” You replied, matching his giddy grin. The kiss was coming soon, he had one more line and then he’d plant one on you.

“Give me thy hand,” you both looked down at your still clasped together hands. The audience chuckled. Steve pressed on “And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.” You and Nicole rushed offstage and quickly changed you into the dress again. You were all butterflies and pins and needles, shaking in your loose heels. Nicole brushed out your skirt and smiled, escorting you back onstage.

The audience clapped politely on your return, you tried your best to smile although was hard to breath with Steve looking at you like that. He scooped you up in his arms and kissed you quickly before you had a moment to react. You swore that he had a line before this happened but you didn’t care. Your script was out of your hands anyway, he’d knocked it out of your hands when he lifted you off the ground. You swore you were flying.

And then you were on the ground. Steve cleared his throat. He was blushing madly. He remembered his line. He turned to Tammy, who was holding back a laugh before turning back to you.

“Cesario, come! For so you shall be, while you are a man; but, when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen.” He announced, grabbing your hand and sweeping you off the stage, Gordon and Tammy in close pursuit. Dale and Nicole still had a scene, which Mrs. Blackburn had changed for them to share. You weren’t paying attention to them though.

“Nice work,” Steve breathed, squeezing your hand in his.

“You surprised the hell outta me,” you chuckled “Made me lose my script.”

“You look really pretty like this,” Steve said. You looked at him carefully. He was sweaty and shy, his eye barely met yours.

You smiled “Thank you, you look good in cheap period costumes.” You knocked your hip into his, making him stumble just a bit. He grabbed your hip, pulling them parallel to his.

“Yeah?” he asked, bring his left hand to grab your chin.

You smiled “Oh yeah, definitely,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again as Tammy and Gordon ran to grab you for curtain call. You didn’t care. Looking into Steve’s eyes, you knew he wasn’t a good enough actor to fake the way he looked at you. And you swore the world went silent in that moment, nothing standing between you and the swirling stars and hearts in his eyes.

[wwitbeyondmeasure]

Summer At The Burrow - r.w. fan fiction

Previous Chapters

Introduction / Author’s Note / Chapter 1: The Journey to the Burrow / Chapter 2: Hidden Letters / Chapter 3: Ron’s Return

Chapter 4: Nighttime Conversations 

You awoke to the sound of quiet shuffling in the corner of the room. You opened your eyes but didn't dare move. The wizarding world had become increasingly dangerous lately so you were terrified that there could be some dark wizard lurking in the darkness, ready to kidnap you. Then, you heard someone stub their toe and the sound of a muffled swear eased your fear.

"Ron?" you asked, no longer afraid of the mysterious noises in the room. You flipped over in bed so now you were facing him.

Your cheeks immediately flushed a deep shade of red. Whatever it was you were expecting to see when you turned around, it definitely wasn't a shirtless Ron.

"H-Hi. Sorry I, er, thought you were asleep," he stammered, standing frozen as if he was paralyzed.

Your brain was having an intense argument with your eyes to prevent them from dropping from Ron's face to his bare torso. Unfortunately, you were weak, so your gaze fell ever so slightly and your face got even redder. The years of Quidditch seemed to really have paid off because Ron's chest was toned. Freckles littered his shoulders and chest like constellations and you fought the urge to run your fingers over every single one of then. You tried your very best not to notice his prominent v-line leading to the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

Ron's face was the same color as his hair as he hastily threw a shirt on, to your great disappointment.

"I couldn't sleep well in normal clothes so I came up to get some pajamas...didn't mean to wake you," he muttered quietly, his eyes locked in a staring contest with the floor.

It took a second for you to snap your attention to his words when all your brain was thinking about was him half naked only a moment ago.

"S'okay," you said, matching his soft tone.

An odd silence filled the room, a silence that usually wasn't present in conversations with your best friend.

You scooted over closer to the wall, making as much room as you could in the small bed.

Ron took your silent cue and laid down next to you, folding his arms behind his neck as he leaned against the bed frame.

"Couch not treating you well?" you asked, keeping your tone light in hopes he hadn't noticed how you were ogling at him a minute ago.

He groaned, "I don't know how old that couch is, but I think my mum got it before her and Dad were even married. It's like sleeping on rocks."

"I can sleep down there if you want," you offered, feeling guilty for taking his room.

Ron was shaking his head before you even finished your sentence.

"No way, I'm a gentleman. I can't do that," he told you.

You snorted at his choice of words. "You're the furthest thing from it," you joked.

He playfully slapped your shoulder.

"It's true!" you defended yourself. "I don't think we've had one conversation at the dining hall where you're not talking with your mouth full."

His shoulders, clad in his red Chudley Cannons pajama shirt, jostled up and down with quiet laughter. You noticed there was a small hole in the middle of the shirt and you could see his pale skin moving underneath the cloth.

Forcing your eyes back up to meet his, you tried to change the subject.

"So why were you in Diagon Alley for so long?" you asked nervously, praying he hadn't noticed your eyes betraying your better judgment once again.

At this question, Ron beamed.

"They really kept the secret?" he asked, excitedly hopping out of the bed. "Nobody told you? Not even Ginny?"

Confused, you shook your head.

"I got you a present," Ron explained as he walked to the window and opened it, letting in the fresh nighttime summer air. "I asked the family to not tell you what it was, but I half expect them to anyways. But I'm glad they didn't, I wanted it to be a surprise."

You followed him out of bed, sitting next to him on the windowsill. You watched as he leaned out of the window, put his fingers to his lips, and let out a short whistle. Nothing happened, and you craned your head out the window to see what he was calling for.

The night was empty, all you could see were the rolling fields outside of the Burrow and the garden gnomes throwing rocks at one another.

You were about to pull your head back into the room, when you saw a small pink blur soaring through the air. It looked like it was getting closer and closer to the window.

"What is that?" you asked, looking to Ron for answers but were met with only his large grin.

Suddenly, the pink blur shot into the bedroom. You turned around, stunned as you saw Ron cradling it. Taking a step forward, you were delighted to see it was a creature.

"An owl?" you asked excitedly, as you stood next to Ron to see the creature closer.

It was miniature, about the size of Ron's owl Pigwidgeon, but a million times more adorable. Pink feathers surrounded large blue eyes and you noticed a black heart shaped marking on the top of its head.

"Her name's Aphrodite. I call her Dite though," Ron told you, glancing up at you from under his lashes to see your reaction.

You were beaming from ear to ear.

"She's amazing," you said.

Ron grinned. "Good, because she's yours," he said, moving closer so he could set the small creature into your hands. She reluctantly stepped off of Ron's palms, but once you gave her a small pat on the head, she nuzzled into your hands.

"I know how upset you were about Celeste, so I wanted to cheer you up. I spent days in Eeylops Owl Emporium looking for the perfect one and then one day Dite showed up. She's pretty affectionate and a fast flyer, a bit annoying really, but I thought you'd like her," Ron said. He looked at you again, biting his lip in hopes that you appreciated your gift.

Dite flew onto your shoulder as you lunged forward and wrapped Ron into a tight hug. He let out a little gasp of surprise but then wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

"Thank you, I love her," you said while hugging him.

"I'm glad. Now when we write letters to each other, you'll have an owl too so Pig won't get so tired making so many trips," he said.

At the mention of your letters, guilt knocked the smile off your face. You quickly pushed away from Ron.

"Ikindasortamaybelookedthroughyourpersonalbelongingsandsawtheletters," you said in one quick breath.

Ron stared at you confused. "Y/n, I didn't understand one word of that."

You swallowed nervously before stating slower, "I, er, I was curious about that box under your nightstand so I kinda...opened it. It had my name on it and I saw all my letters you kept," you said nervously. Dite reflected your emotions and shifted awkwardly from talon to talon on your shoulder.

Ron's facial expression changed slightly, and you were afraid he was going to be mad at you. Here he was, offering you a place to stay over the summer, buying you an owl, and letting you sleep in his room and how did you repay him? Oh yeah, by snooping into his personal items.

Instead of the anger you were expecting, Ron looked deeply embarrassed.

"Oh," he sighed, lowering his head and scratching the back of his neck. "Bet you think I'm weird for saving all your letters right? I dunno why I did, I just sometimes liked to reread them when I hadn't seen you in a while. I guess cause I missed you. I dunno," he said.

Again, a silence filled the room. He missed you. He missed you. Of course you missed him over the summer, both as a friend misses a friend and as someone misses their crush. You wondered which kind of missing he felt.

"I keep your letters too," you told him.

Ron finally looked back up at you. "Yeah?" he asked with a hopeful smile.

You nodded, "I reread them when you take a while to reply, sort of as a way to hold me over until the next letter. Or I reread them because your handwriting is so damn awful it takes a couple reads to actually figure out what you wrote."

He laughed, and just like that the tension was gone.

You spent the next hour or so chatting and playing with Dite. Even though Ron's watch read 2am, neither of you really cared, you just missed talking to each other. Back at Hogwarts, you would take walks along the Black Lake once a week and time seemed to matter less when you were together. You would stroll around the lake numerous times, your conversation flowing easily, and not even notice how long you had been gone until the sun would set. The same flow came into place now, and before long it was 5am.

By now, you and Ron were laying on his bed, your head leaning against his shoulder. Dite took it upon herself to sit with Pig in his cage, drinking some of the water from his water bottle as he unknowingly snoozed in the back of the cage.

A yawn escaped you as Ron sleepily spoke about the newest broomstick he saw on sale at Diagon Alley.

"It's late," he said, glancing at his watch with tired eyes

You nodded, too comfortable to move.

"Is it alright if I stay up here tonight? That couch is bloody awful," he said.

Heart soaring, you nodded again and scooted closer to the wall to give him more room. He got under the covers with you, slowly wrapping his arm around your back. Now you were cuddling next to Ron, your head on his chest as his fingers drew lazy circles on your back. People who were just friends didn't lay like this together, right?

Before long, he was snoring. You closed your eyes too. For the first time since you came to The Burrow, you drifted to sleep peaceful and warm. With Ron's arm wrapped around you, you were more comfortable than you had ever been before.

[imagination-is-key-in-my-world]

Chime

Authors Note: I am 100% a big fan of A Cinderella Story which is what had inspired me to write this piece. I know it has been a long time since I had written anything but a lot has been going on in my life. This story is inspired by my own mental health issues as well as my ultimate dream that Tom Holland would sweep me off my feet. [Do not tell my Fiancé that I told you guys that!] Also, I got a brand-new laptop that has made writing so much more efficient than my iPad. Hopefully, I will be more active on my page. Please feel free to contact me to share your thoughts.

Summary: So, you are currently struggling with anxiety which is not easy as a high school student. Things are not getting easier now that your best friend is leaving to go to another school, leaving you behind to deal with your senior year alone. That is how you feel every day – alone. But your life suddenly changes when you stumble across an app that allows people to chat anonymously with people who share similar interests without sharing too much. Only you did not expect that this new app would take over your life and provide you with someone who you no longer think you could cope without. But who is on the other end of the phone?

Warning: Possible swearing and mental health triggers.

Pairing: Reader x Tom Holland 

Word Count: 6,758

Counting the dew drops on the window was getting completely tedious at this point. There you sat in complete silence for what must have been a couple of minutes. But to you, it had felt like hours, if not days. Not that you were being dramatic at all.

You are not exactly the type of person who many people would typically associate with the nature of popularity. You did not have that many followers on your social media accounts. Therefore, it should not have been that surprising that your phone was not “blowing” up with notifications at this time of day.

Your best friend Cleo always told you that if you wanted to make something of your life, you needed to leave the house for more than just school.

“But!” You would always protest, “everything I need is right here.” Cleo was one member of a small social group that you bothered with both in and outside of school. When it came to forming groups in class, all your teachers knew that you needed to be put with a friend or you would be catastrophically unresponsive with a slight hint of a mini meltdown beginning to form.

The thing is you suffer with a high level of anxiety when it comes to meeting and conversing with people outside of your friendship circle. To make matters worse, the whole school was aware of this problem and would constantly tease and mimic the blubbering mess you turned into when you had to answer a question in the middle of class. There would be pointing as well as laughing as you would literally shake and break a sweat in front of everyone. Let us just say, this may have been one of the many reasons that your group only had 5 members and that includes you and queen Cleo.

The phone chimed and it shook you from your thoughts. When you finally unlocked it, you noticed that it was only Cleo cancelling on you yet again. Earlier that evening you had asked Cleo to come over and discuss the nature of Cleo moving schools in the fall. Both of you were meant to discuss how you personally were going to cope with the everyday torment and painful endeavours that was a big part of school life. But from that disappointed look on your face, it was obvious that Cleo was only blowing you off to spend more time with her new boyfriend.

“Knock knock” Your mother stated as she blatantly barged into your room. “Hey baby, I’m going to the store do you need anything at all?” As per usual you would shake your head and try not to make any eye contact with your mother at all. “Okay, well make sure that you feed the dog for me while I am gone and try and get some sun, you’re looking a little pale, baby.”

It was typical of your mother to attempt to force you out of your comfort zone. It was getting quite embarrassing for her at the teacher/parent evenings when she was called in to discuss another “issue.” It is not like you do not want to make more of an effort in class and with people, it just does not come as easy to you as it may for everyone else. The idea of people hearing you call out an answer in class and have it been wrong is absolutely devastating and crucifying for you.

You picked up your phone and decided that Facebook was worth one last scroll through before you decide that it was worthless and throw your phone back onto the bed for the 14th time that day. You were scrolling away half-heartedly, not really reading through the posts that people had shared as it was probably the same drama that it always was. It was as you thought, but suddenly your mind decided to switch back on when it reached a pop up that you would typically ignore. “Attention all Introverts.” Obviously, this caught your attention, it was in freaking bold print. You cannot ignore anything when it is in bold print! Clicking on the link, you decided to curiously read on.

“Attention all Introverts,

Have you ever felt lonely and isolated? Well this is the app for you. Become anyone you want to be, talk to anyone you would like – with total anonymity.

[This app gives you the confidence to express yourself to total strangers without the fear of judgements. If you are terrified of being vulnerable around other people while being your true self, then this is the app for you]”

Of course, you were sceptical at first but that was when you remembered how difficult it was to be your friend, relative and even teacher. Then before you could even stop yourself, you clicked onto the app and the download began. Nothing happened at all, other than the app appearing onto your phone’s home screen amongst other apps like Tumblr and Facebook. But you just thought there was going to be a sudden flash of lightning and you would be overwhelmed with confidence like you see in the movies. However, this was not the movies, this was your life and there you sat on the edge of your bed still shaking like a leaf.

It took you about half an hour to install all of your relevant information into the app. Mostly because you were trying to convince yourself that it was a stupid idea and that you should just delete it straight away. Although there was a faint voice in the back of your head telling you to do it. Part of it sounded like Cleo, while another part of the voice sounded like a stranger to you.

Once you had finished setting up the app, you left your phone on your dresser and walked into the lounge to watch that new episode of Ru Paul’s drag race that you had missed on Netflix. You managed to get through two episodes, a giant bag of Cheetos and a litre of Dr Pepper before crashing out on the sofa.

A loud chime from the bedroom woke you from your slumber. Your mother was sat on the edge of the sofa watching one of her true crime documentaries when she noticed you becoming startled.

“You okay honey?” You wipe your eyes and nod. “Do you want anything to eat or are you all set for bed?”

“Bed.” You mumble as you pick up the rubbish that had surrounded you on your makeshift bed for the afternoon.

“Okay, love you honey.” She called back as you threw away the rubbish into the trash and made your way into your bedroom. You practically fell onto your bed before you remembered the chime that had woken you in the first place. Grasping your phone, you unlocked it hesitantly, shielding your eyes from the brightness behind it to reveal a message from an unknown number. One word, one syllable and one emotion, fear.

‘Hey’

In your head these words kept rolling through your mind. What do I do now? Do I message back or do I leave it alone? Will they think I am ignoring them if I do not reply? Well of course they would, the app has probably notified them that it has been read. You started pacing in your bedroom chanting the words over and over in your head ‘What do I do? What do I do?’

It was almost like a reflex after a while as your fingers typed away.

‘HEY’ Too eager

‘Hiya’ Too girly

‘Hi’ Too blunt

Sup’ Too weird

Each message you typed your anxiety took over and criticised it, controlling your fingers to delete and retype.

‘Hey’ Was the message that you had settled for. It had been almost an hour and a half since you had received the message from Lonerboy101 and you had not even pressed send yet. The message was still sitting in your text box with the curser bouncing away at the end of the sentence.

There was a knock at your door which startled you, causing your fingers to slide across the phone’s screen. “I’m going to bed now Hun, goodnight.”

“Night.” You tried hard to sound cheery but as per usual failed to do so as your mother closed your bedroom door. ‘No, no, no’ you repeated in a small murmur. Fear washed over you as you regretted every minute that it took to write that message and the one milli second that it took to get sent out through the universe to reach this Lonerboy101.

You dropped the phone into your duvet and grabbed the pillow next to you. Bringing the plush cushion up to your face, burying it to let out a light scream.

*Chime*

Lonerboy101 - ‘How long did it take you to write that message. Mine took about 2 hours.’

You reread the message a couple of times because you couldn’t believe that although this person knew you were somewhat ignoring him off when you had initially received his message, he still replied to yours. Not only that but he had made a joke about how long it had taken to send a reply.

It took you a couple of minutes to decide whether you were going to go through with it and message this person back. Or whether you should just back out now and forget that this ever happened.

But that was your phone in your hand and those were your fingers typing a reply.

Hidingintheshadows - ‘About an hour and a half.’

You sent the reply off and almost felt a sudden pang of relief. That this was not as bad as you had originally perceived it to be. That it was almost the same as talking to Cleo or any of the other girls.

*Chime*

Lonerboy101 - ‘So, this is weird right?’

Before you knew it, the delays between the messages decreased quite significantly. There was the standard 3 minutes to think of a response and then another 5 to send the message but the conversation had felt a little less risky compared to how it did at the very start.

Hidingintheshadows - ‘It is a bit weird, I guess.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘So, are you an old creepy guy like me?

Hidingintheshadows - ‘That is a joke, right?’

Lonerboy101 - ‘Yeah it is a joke, sorry very dry sense of humour. Don’t have that many people to try my jokes out on.’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘That’s a relief.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘It’s a relief that I do not have many friends?’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘No! I did not mean that! I am so sorry.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘Another joke. Sorry when I am nervous, I tell bad jokes. I forget that I am not really good at them and text form is really hard to tell tone.’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘Sorry for not being able to tell when you’re joking.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be the first. Although you probably are, I only just downloaded this app today.’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘Same.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘You don’t say [type] much do you?’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘Not really, sorry.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘You know you don’t have to keep apologising to me all the time, right?’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘Oh sorry.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘[insert face palm emoji]’

The last message made you smile. Cleo had always been telling you that you apologise way too much and that it can get annoying. It would get to the point where you would apologise for things you did not do just because it sounded like the right thing to say.

Hidingintheshadows - ‘I will work on it.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘So what brings you to Introverted Conversions?’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘Fear of the world and everyone in it, basically.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘Oh my gosh same!’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘Really?’

Lonerboy101 - ‘No, but I am touched that you still cannot sense my sarcasm.’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘I’ll work on that too.’

Lonerboy101 - ‘Promise?’

Hidingintheshadows - ‘Promise!’

It had almost become a routine for you and Lonerboy101 to talk during the late afternoon and evening. Occasionally, you would get notified in the middle of the day, but he knew that you were not ignoring him and that you had school obligations. No one really knows about him at all, you have done well at keeping this away from Cleo as you knew she would only judge you for it.

‘You’re talking to a stranger online who had admitted he was an old creepy man.’ Even the thought made you laugh. Since the first night, you had discovered a lot about Lonerboy101. Nothing like names and addresses. But more personal stuff like how it feels having crippling anxiety and not having someone who really understands.

***

It was the last day before Cleo left for her new school and you woke up feeling quite comfortable for the first time in a long time. It was almost as if your body has finally gotten used to the idea that the day was going to come that you would need to stand up on your own. It was not a good feeling per say, but it was slightly empowering to know that you could become your own person, instead of being Cleo’s weird friend.

*Chime*

Your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest as you practically dove for the phone on your bed. Only to have it violently shoot back down when the name on your lock screen did not read Lonerboy101.

Cleo – ‘Hey, I am downstairs! Snag me a piece of toast considering you are not exactly going to eat it!’

Every morning your mum would make pancakes, French toast, and scrambled eggs that you could choose from to snack on during your walk to school. Only you are not exactly a French toast and scrambled eggs kind of person and she knows that. It is just her way of trying to make a connection with you early in the day.

You – ‘Be right down, pancakes or French toast?’

You replied as you waved to your mum who was sliding through her emails while nursing a hot mug of coffee. “Hey, Baby! Have a great day at school, okay?” The last part of this routine she does every morning always feels like she is questioning you, making sure that you are aware that a ‘great day at school’ depends 100% on you alone.

*Chime*

Lonerboy101 – ‘Pancakes please. Although, I don’t think they will be any good by the time I receive them!’

‘Oh no!’ You thought. You did not think really think to check the contact that you were on when you sent the message out. You had simply read the lock screen and the most recent person you were chatting to was the person that appeared on the screen.

Quickly you grabbed a pancake and your bags and sulked out the door.

Hidingintheshadows – ‘I am so sorry, that was meant for my friend.’

Lonerboy101 – ‘Are we not friends? I am offended’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘Wait no I mean yes you are, but I do not really know you. God I am sorry…’

Lonerboy101 – ‘Wow! What did I say about the apologising? And what about the whole sarcasm thing? You should now know when I am pulling your chain.’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘Sorry’

Lonerboy101 – ‘No. More. Sorry.’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘Damn, I didn’t mean to I swear.’

Lonerboy101 – ‘Calm, it is okay. Chain. Pulling. But going back to this pancake…’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘What about it?’

Lonerboy101 – ‘You have made me hungry. And now I need to go out and find me a pancake to soothe this carb craving I have going on.’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘Good luck with that.’

Lonerboy101 – ‘Good Luck with school today! Speak to you later! X’

What the heck is that? Fear washed over your face as you met Cleo at the bottom of the stairs to your apartment building.

“Y/N? Are you okay? You look a little pale?” It took everything you had to not blurt out every little secret that you had been keeping about Lonerboy101 to Cleo. To almost get some advice on how to handle this newfound “boy drama” in your life. You open your mouth to begin to spill the beans. “Oh, I know!” Cleo interrupted, “it is because today is my last day and you have no idea how you will survive without me!”

Not quite on the nose but nice to see that your friend really does care about you, while she makes every drama about herself. This was just another typical response from Cleo. One you have put up with for an exceptionally long time. Instead of arguing with your best friend on the beginning of her last day, you decide to just bite your lip and nod.

“It will be okay, sunshine!” A little nickname she gave you when you were both little and in Kindergarten. “We will still have Facetime and we can still meet up during the holidays.” Suddenly you were pulled into a tight embrace as an overexaggerated sigh left her lips. “Now come on mopey.” Yet another nickname that you were given because of your constant state of enthusiasm caused by your mental condition. “Let’s get to school before people forget that they will never see this face walk those halls again.”

Meanwhile in your head the little “X” at the end of Lonerboy101’s latest reply repeatedly flashed across your mind as Cleo droned on about how annoying packing up her extensive collection of shoes and makeup has been for her.

***

It did not matter what lesson you were in, if you were having “a moment” as your mother likes to call it, everything just seems to become pointless. Science was one of your favourite subjects mainly because of the unpredictable experiments that you can perform. But today it just seemed as though someone had placed a weighted scarf on top of your shoulders and told you to “deal with it.”

“Can anyone tell me their findings from their group’s chemical reaction?” All eyes went to you as everyone in the class knew that you were Mr King’s favourite pupil. Mr King was the only teacher that managed to get a response out of you in class. But today, he might as well have been talking to a brick wall.

“Y/N?” This would later be explained to you after class that it was the fifth attempt Mr King had made to pry your attention away from your notebook where you had been filling in the margins with your pen.

When you looked up, there were people gossiping and snickering about what they had just witnessed. “Can I see you after class?” Mr King had asked once he regained the focus of the class.

This was not the first time that a teacher had asked to speak with you after class. Especially Mr King. Not that he made a habit to discipline you outside of lesson, but because he was always concerned about how you were feeling after you had one of you “moments.”

“What is going on, Y/N? Do I need to call your mother?” He did not say it in a stern way that other teachers would have. But for him, it was more of a genuine question for your own personal well-being. “Some of the other teacher’s approached me today in the teacher’s lounge to discuss you. They said that you have been unresponsive all day. I heard that Cleo is leaving today, does that have anything to do with how you’re coping with today?”

You shook your head. “Cleo has nothing to do with it!” You snapped, and you never snap which startled Mr King. “I’m sorry.” You whispered when you saw how set back, he was from your reply. “I just do not know what to do anymore.”

“With what?” He perched on the edge of his desk. Holding his hand up to stop the next class from entering the classroom. “What is getting to you? I can see if I can help?” While most teachers would just shrug you off, Mr King tried to get down to the root problem to help you resolve any issue that you may be having during the day. This was because Mr King had made you aware that his daughter too suffers from major anxiety issues as well.

“It’s stupid, I should not have said anything. I will be okay, Mr King.” You gathered your books from the table and stuffed them into the oversized backpack that was now slung over your shoulder. “Can you quickly write me a note for Mrs Bateman? I do not want the teachers to have more of a reason to talk about me.”

Mr King picked up a pad and pen and began to write a note excusing you for your lateness. “It will get better, Y/N. I am here whenever you need a chat, okay?” He handed you the note and you basically bolted out of the room.

Although you felt bad for being short with Mr King, you could not quite help it. It was not as if you could simply come out and tell him that you were not upset because your best friend for 16 years was now leaving you behind. But it was all down to an “X” placed on the end of a text message from a boy you have not met but have been talking to for 3 weeks non-stop!

***

You slowly approached the lunch table that you and your friends sat at during every lunch since you had started at the school. They were all laughing and joking which did slightly lift your spirits. Cleo had turned to look over her shoulder and noticed your arrival. The smile on her face had sank and the laughing at the table had died along with it.

“Hey Y/N!” Cleo tried to sound pleased to see you but you knew something was up. Since when was Cleo being false with you? She normally reserved that type of “hey” for the girls that talk about how amazing they are.

Sinking down into the spare chair that has been yours for years at the table you tried to force a smile. “So, we were all thinking…” Instantly you hated where this was going. “That it would be really fun to all go to the dance tonight as a final farewell to Cleo!” The girls shrieked as Hannah finished her sentence. A dance was the last place you wanted to be. Today of all days.

The girls all looked at you for your response. “A dance?” The girls all squealed again in unison, practically bouncing in their seats.

“Don’t you think it would be fun.” Hannah stated rather than asked.

“Dances aren’t really my thing.” You said hesitantly. The last thing you wanted to do was to annoy any of the friends that you had left. Especially considering how they were going to be the ones you would now have to rely on once Cleo had left.

“Nothing is really your thing!” Elizabeth snickered. Cleo’s death stare shot over to Liz and her head instantly fell. So that’s why Cleo was so weird when you came over. It was because she knew that you were not exactly going to be over the moon with the new plan for Cleo’s last day celebration. Before lunch, the plan was to go bowling and then get pizza. A less daunting but still hard to stomach plan. This new plan involved dressing up and trying to socialise with people who were not exactly the nicest to you.

“Y/N, it is completely up to you. We can go to the dance and party it up like it is the last day we are going to be alive. Or we can just go and get pizza and knock over a couple of pins with an over weighted bowling ball.” When Cleo said it like that, neither sounded appealing. But it was obvious the way that she laid it out that the dance was the one event she was going to be happy attending tonight.

“Can I think about it?” The girls all sighed and Callum shook you by the shoulders. Literally shook you as if physically moving your body was somehow going to make you change your mind. “Ow!”

“Callum! Do not do that!” Cleo yelled at her boyfriend. At least she was still defending you even if she was trying to push you to do something that made you uncomfortable. It was almost as if she defended you to make you reconsider. “Just one little dance? We can go whenever you want and stay however long you want.” Her puppy dog eyes were out and her hands were clasped in front of her.

Along with your crippling fear of being around other people, your anxiety also made you hate disappointing those that you care about. “Fine.” Was all you managed to say before all the girls and Callum began to cheer. At least he did not try to shake you again otherwise you thought you may physically puke from excessive unwanted physical contact.  

While all the others were discussing what they were going to wear, you reached for your phone and began to contact the only person on the planet who didn’t make you feel like you were wrong for feeling this type of way.

Hidingintheshadows – ‘Have you ever been forced to do something you don’t really want do because your friends want you to?’

You debated for a couple of seconds before adding your own “X” onto the end of your text.

Your phone vibrated in your hand. Thank God you had turned the volume off when you got to school. Cleo would not have left you alone for one second if she knew you were texting a guy.

Lonerboy101 – ‘Who is making you do something? What something? Is it illegal? X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘1. Nothing illegal. 2. Friends and 3. Go to a stupid high school dance where I will be uncomfortable for the entire evening. X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘That wasn’t the order that I put my questions in. X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘I thought I would start with the one that could get me in a jail cell! X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘I’ve got this feeling that you’d rock an orange jumpsuit so you would be fine. Although the lack of our communication would be quite unsettling. X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘I think I will cope. X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘I was talking about me! I look forward to my Chime every day. X’

You could not help but blush when you read that last part of his message. You could not bring yourself to message him back stating that it was also your highlight of the day too. Lonerboy101 has become a big part of your life and that was quite hard to admit considering you did not know his name or what he even looked like. You barely even knew the boy and yet it felt as though you knew everything there was to know about him.

Lonerboy101 – ‘Sorry was that weird? Let us get back to the problem at hand… A party was not it? X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘No and my friend is leaving and I do not want to be mean and not turn up to her “leaving do” but I do not think I will be able to cope with that many people. Especially because they all think that I am a freak. X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘When is the party? You are not a freak by the way. Might I just add that is the longest text you have ever sent. X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘Tonight, at school. I do not want to go and be the joke of the party. X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘This is a tough one. I can be there if you want. For moral support. X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘You can’t obviously turn up to a school that you don’t go to just to attend a stupid dance. X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘I’ll be a virtual guest. You can text me whenever you think that it is getting too much and I will use my powers of persuasion to lift those spirits and put a smile on your beautiful face. X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘How can you say I am beautiful. You have never even seen me? X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘I see the beauty in everything. But you, you are something much more. X’

***

“You cannot wear that!” Cleo snapped when she saw the outdated and over worn outfit that you were wearing on your body. “No this will not do.” Lucky enough for her, your mother and Cleo are quite close. Closer than you are to your own mother. “Leanne! Come and tell your daughter that this is terrible and that she cannot wear this to a school dance.”

Within seconds your mother was in your room judging the clothes that she paid for that you were wearing. “No baby girl, this is your first dance. There is no way in hell I am going to let you leave this apartment building wearing that.”

Your mother’s hand was now grasped around your wrist and you were being dragged into your mother’s bedroom. “Now try this on.” In her hand she was holding a long black dress with a sequin detail at the top of the bust. She could tell that you were resistant so she pulled you in front of the wall length mirror and placed the garment up to your neck.

You could not deny that it was a very pretty dress. One that you would love to wear in a different circumstance. The whole idea of you attending a dance had still not sunk in yet. “Mum I couldn’t pull this off!” You exclaimed. Jeans and a tea shirt were more your speed.

“No Sunshine, you are most definitely wearing this now that I have seen it.” Cleo was practically foaming at the mouth the minute she saw this dress. You were sure that if your mother had not offered it to you first that she would have snagged the dress up for herself. “Right now, hair and makeup.” She slapped her hands together and both your mother and best friend stared at you with excitement in their eyes. Which only put the fear of God into yours.

***

The dance was as horrible as you thought it was going to be. There was loads of people staring at you. One of the girls from your English class even asked a friend of hers if you were a new student at the school. Shows how invisible you were before your boobs were pushed up to your neck and eyeliner was thickly applied to your eyes.

Although this was a new experience for you, to have all eyes on you for a different reason that being the weird girl from school. It was not an experience that you enjoyed at all. High school was nothing but a gossip forum where girls pick on other girls for being themselves or for being slightly different than them. For caring less about how much their bag cost and caring more about why their grade in English was lower than French.

Your friends were all on the dance floor which sadly left you on your lonesome at the back of the decked-out gym.

*Chime*

Lonerboy101 – ‘Please tell me you are having fun now? X’

You smiled. Seeing his name pop up on your screen was possibly the only thing that made you smile tonight.

Hidingintheshadows – ‘Nope. Everyone is staring at me. X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘They are only staring because they are jealous. X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘What could they possibly be jealous of? X’

Lonerboy101 – ‘Well I bet you look absolutely beautiful tonight. X’

Hidingintheshadows – ‘You couldn’t possibly know that? X’

There had been a couple of minutes since Lonerboy101 had messaged back and that smile you had previously been wearing was starting to fade. You glanced down to look at the time on your phone, 22:14. You let out a relieved sigh, at least you stuck around for over 2 hours.

Grabbing your bag, you began to sculk about the dance floor to try and find Cleo and the other girls to deliver the “bad news.” Cleo was locked onto Callum as they shared a slow dance to one of the most upbeat songs you have ever heard. This immediately made finding Cleo a hell of a lot easier.

“I am going to head off now.” You detached Cleo from her boyfriend which left him both grumpy and a little annoyed at you. Cleo gave you a less than enthusiastic hug before quickly turning back to Callum. “Bye then.” You said when she did not say anything back to you.

It was cold outside which instantly made you regret the dress and the heels made the idea of walking all the way home even more thrilling than you could imagine. Glancing down to check the time once again, you noticed a message featuring on your lock screen. You must have not heard it with all the music when you were saying goodbye to Cleo and the girls.

Lonerboy101 – ‘Wanna bet? X’

Everyone outside the gym began to suddenly gasp. All of them were looking in a similar direction. For once all the eyes were off you and that made you feel a hell of a lot better than you had all night.

Hidingintheshadows – ‘I will take that bet. You cannot comment on something you cannot see. X’

“Then maybe you should step out of the shadows and see what I can see right now.” This voice was strangely familiar but not familiar in a way that you had heard Mr King’s voice almost every day. It was familiar because you had heard it from somewhere, but you were unsure of where. “Because what I see is 100% beautiful just like I had predicted.”

The crowd of people started to open as the voice got nearer and nearer. There were girls practically peeing their pants with excitement. Cleo had appeared with the girls and practically everyone from whom were inside the gym. Suddenly, this voice had become the talk of the whole dance and now all the attention was right back on you again.

There was now a stunning familiar face to match the familiar voice standing right in front of you. One that you would never have believed to have been stood there. It was his smile that you caught first when he looked at you in that long black dress. His eyes lingered on you for a while before you both realised that it had been quite some time that slipped away since either one of you had spoken. 

“Lonerboy101?” You asked quietly. Not really wanting anyone to hear how speechless you really were.

“Guilty.” There in front of you stood the one and only Tom Holland. The freaking man who brought you Spiderman, Ian Lightfoot, and Lucas in the movie The Impossible. He was Lonerboy101, how was that even possible?

It suddenly dawned on you that everyone and that honestly was everyone was now staring at the pair of you who were staring at one another. “Maybe we should go over there?” Tom had suggested to get away from prying eyes.

Once you were both certain that there were not any lingering eyes, your protection walls started to drop ever so slightly. “You’re the person I have been talking to for 3 weeks? You’re Lonerboy101?”

“Yes. I am Lonerboy101, but if I am being quite honest, Tom will do fine.” He joked which did make you feel only a small degree better. For all this time you had been talking to Tom Holland and you had no inclination that it was happening. “I wanted to tell you who I was, but it was so amazing to have someone to talk to who didn’t see me as this guy who acts for a living and attends red carpet events, you know?”

You did not know of course. “I am not mad. But why would you tell me you have anxiety issues when you do not?” You sighed and started to look at the shine from the diamonds reflecting from your heels. “Was it a way to make fun of me?”

Quickly Tom grasped your hands without thinking. “No!” He spoke urgently but delicately as if he did not want to put his foot in his mouth and make the situation worse. Truth be told Tom was expecting this whole revelation to go a little differently. The sombre look on your face was not the result that he had wanted from showing up at your school. “I never did it to make fun of you or anyone who suffers with anxiety. Truth be told I do suffer with it. Not as bad as most people, but I have days where I wonder if my friends are my true friends because they like me or because they like what I can give them.”

“I want you to know that every message that I ever sent you, I was being the real me. None of it was an act or fake for me.” Tom’s head was not facing down, almost defeated. “From talking to you I knew that you were the most honest and kindest person that I could possibly ever get to know.”

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice was soft and shaky as if you were afraid of the response that you were going to receive.

“Anything.” He was almost pleading. His voice as shaky as your own.

“How did you know who I was and what I looked like?” Tom looked you dead in the eyes. You could see the sincerity in his eyes and how much he wanted this to go right. “You knew to come right up to me, out of all the girls in the world. You knew to come to my school and then up to me, how?”

Tom let out a little smile. “Well, you know that section on the app right at the beginning?” You nod keeping eye contact as he continued to speak. “Well when it asks you for a name, you can keep it blank and then put in a username instead. You actually put in all of your details and made them public.”

“Oh!” You stated feeling stupid for doing so. This entire time he knew exactly who you were while you had no clue that you were talking to a celebrity.

“No, it was a good thing.”

“How?” You question. Doubting that knowing who you were was ever a “good thing.”

“Because, I felt really lucky to be talking to you. I saw how beautiful you were and how smart you are as well as how kind you can be.” You were quiet. You were not used to guys calling you beautiful, and here he was saying it for what must have been the 3rd time since you met him. “If it makes you feel any better, I only looked you up yesterday. I was worried when you did not answer my message and temptation got the best of me and I peaked. Are you mad?”

“No. I am not mad.”

“Would it help if I said sorry?”

“What did you say about saying sorry?” You smiled which made the flash of panic rush from his face. The corners of his mouth started to turn up and his eyes sparkled.

“Yeah but on me it looks cute.” Both of you allow yourselves to laugh at the situation. Remembering some of your earlier messages. “Would it be too much to ask for a hug?” He looked down at your hands which were no longer scrunched into fists which proved that you were no longer as uncomfortable as you may have been from the first encounter.

You allow yourself to smile as he pulls you into his arms. “It is exactly how I imagined it.” Tom said into your hair as he held you close to him.

“What is?” You questioned

“That I would be only just taller than you when you’re wearing heels.” Both of you let out a controlled laugh at his terrible attempt at a joke. “You don’t actually want to go back in there do you?” Tom gestured towards the gym that probably did not hold any students inside due to his arrival.

“I am not going back inside there! But thanks for wearing a suit for me.” You pull away slightly to admire the suit that Tom was pulling off handsomely.

“Anything for my girl.”

[thestarkerisobvious]

The Thing That Lives Under The Bed

   art by @starker-sorbet​          a snugglefic for @mrstarksbaby​                   

                              Chapter Two:  Fifteen

3:  The Author Of All Your Misery

The next night he was back on the floor, of course.  Tony spoke to him from the blackness underneath the bed and soon was emerging from the darkness like an inkblack cloud.  Peter steadfastly closed his eyes until he looked like Tony again, and then Tony was beside him on the floor, clutching Peter’s arm with both hands like a drowning man and sucking vigorously at the veins on his wrist.

From there they crept into Peter’s bed, moving under the covers and keeping their foreheads together, whispering.  Peter lay on Tony’s left, leaving his right arm lying between them to give Tony better access to the ring finger on his left hand.  Sometimes Tony sucked the last two fingers into his mouth, sometimes he only suckled at the fingertip.  It gave Peter a very strange feeling, but he was getting used to it.

“Are you really a demon?”

 Peter asked when he was brave enough.

Tony looked into his eyes for a moment before he answered. “’Spheres’ are now called ‘stars’ and ‘planets.’  The ‘sun’ is now called ‘star’.  The college is now called “High School.”  I do not yet know what I am called now.  

“My novice magician,” he said gently, stroking Peter’s lips with the tips of his fingers.  “You have yet to tell me.”

“I told you I am not a magician.”

Tony smiled wryly.  “You also told me of the alchemy you used compel your make-seem volcano to erupt for a scholar’s prize, but lost the prize because your volcano erupted too violently and created a catastrophe…”  

“That was not… that was just science… that was so embarrassing.  You can drink all of that embarrassment. I don’t want to remember it.”

Peter turned in Tony’s arms, pressing his back to Tony’s chest, and was silent for a moment, thinking.  Tony’s hand played idly with the sleeve of Peter’s pajamas, sometimes slipping beneath it, and did not speak.

Peter had spent the day searching his memories, and then his journal, for the story Tony had told of a classmate named Wager.  Peter knew one boy named Martin Wagner, but he was one year older and never really talked to Peter.  And Peter couldn’t remember the last time he was told he couldn’t make a long distance phone call was too expensive – he was allowed one half-hour phone call a month to Ned as part of his allowance.

But in his pile of letters to and from Ned he found it.  He spent hours rereading the letters that Ned had written to him, and the copies of letters he had written to Ned.  And there it was.  Buried in the reports of the students at Devil’s Hollow High, including every student in Peter’s grade (there weren’t many.  Ned was fascinated at the idea of knowing the name of EVERY student in your grade.)  A description of Martin Wagner was there too, even though he was in a grade above.  The memories were there – the memories that no longer resided in Peter’s brain.  

Martin, the older boy who had been to Peter’s favorite museum in New York City and brought the postcard he had bought there for Peter to see.

Martin, who was in the 4H but knew plenty of science when it came to animal husbandry, and thus just enough to hold a decent conversation.

Martin who “said crude things about girls” but also was good for a lengthy conversation/argument about what MIGHT happen in the last Star Wars movie.

Peter pieced the rest together from what little facts stood out in his memory.  Martin was coming over to spend the night.  Peter was excited because he hadn’t had a sleepover since New York City. The phone ringing and Uncle Ben being told that Martin wasn’t coming, Martin’s father giving the flimsiest of excuses.  Uncle Ben swearing and stomping (a horror in itself, Uncle Ben rarely swore) and ranting about the ignorant, superstitious people of the town.  “They really give credit to those tall tales about Evan Post and that witch nonsense?  We live in a farmhouse, not a ghost story.”

Peter, slipping in quietly (timid because there were raised voices in that room, he was always timid around raised voices) and meekly asking if he could just call Ned on the phone instead, but being told that wasn’t possible. “You know long distance is too damn expensive.”

Had Peter cried?  Had he talked back, or actually raised his voice?  Had he scolded Ben and May for moving him away from New York City, away from all his friends (and all the decent libraries!) and a school with an actual science club?  Away to a notorious haunted-house that made him a pariah at school?  

Had the damn broke?  Had he actually yelled at them, finally after bottling up his feelings in silence for so long?  Something must have happened, because he was sent to his room so very rarely.  He had thrown himself on the floor by the bed and cried, he remembered that.  He remembered it, because he remembered the Thing That Lived Under The Bed had come and licked away his tears.

It was too alarming to watch as it emerged from under the bed, so Peter had closed his eyes.  The tongue that licked his face clean was small and sandpapery, and Peter quickly concluded that one of the cats had actually come inside and hidden under his bed with Tony. A cat that smelled of burned incense and earth.

He remembered that cat-tongue against the pulse in his wrist, too, although he couldn’t remember putting his entire hand under the bed.  It licked against his wrist for so long, he remembered, waking up and falling asleep again while he lay on the floor.  May had found him the next day, asleep with one hand under the bed.

That much he remembered.  That much was clear.  What came before?  was impossible to tell.  Each memory felt like something pretend, like a book he had read a long time ago and never really believed.  Tony claimed he had been punished by being “sent to his room” which meant he must have said something wrong to his Aunt and Uncle, but he couldn’t tell what was memory and what was imagination.  He didn’t remember a single conversation with Martin.  

Tony had taken it all.

“I am the author of all your misery,” Tony murmured, combing his long fingers through Peter’s hair.

“No, not really,” Peter assured him, thinking of all the reasons he had been so miserable since moving from New York City to Devil’s Hollow.  It wasn’t Tony’s fault Peter read so fast, or that the library in this town was so small, or that the librarian was so hateful.  It wasn’t his fault Peter only wanted to talk about theoretical physics or science fiction and now lived in a town where neither seemed to matter.  It wasn’t Tony’s fault the boys at school wanted nothing to do with him, any more than it was Peter’s fault he didn’t know a lot of dirty jokes and didn’t enjoy passing around stolen Playboys behind the school.

Tony propped himself up on ones elbow and began stroking Peter’s face with gentle fingertips.

“Your schoolmates shun you because of me.”

“No, they do that because they think I live in a haunted house.”

Tony used two fingers to turn Peter’s head toward him, looking into his face.

“You do live in a haunted house, Peter.  I am haunting it.  I am the author of your sorrows.”

“So… it’s true?  But… are you a ghost?” Peter said, turning around again.  He rested one hand on Tony’s forearm, feeling the muscle through the fabric of his billowy white shirt.  It seemed very thin, certainly it was thinner than Peter’s arm, but it was thicker than it had been the night before, in the dream.   In the dream, there had been nothing but skin and bone.

“Are you dead?”

“I am not dead,” Tony answered, caressing Peter’s arms as well. “I do not die.  I sleep.  I can sleep for a very long time.”  

“You’re not Evan Post?”

“Evan Post is dead.”

“Was he a witch?”

“No.”

“What was he?”

“He was a nothing,” Tony said as he stroked a lock of Peter’s hair behind one ear, then stroked it again to keep it in place.  They lay very close together, forehead to forehead as he spoke. Sometimes Peter reached out to stroke Tony’s chin, running his fingertips against the short-cropped beard.

He still wasn’t brave enough to do more.

“His forefathers had been apprentices of low rank in an order that has no name.  That order had stolen books from another order.  There were many books, Hector Post had only taught his son to read one. Of that book, Evan Post could read little.  The Patriarch of the Post clan had summoned me.  I was tasked to take messages to the city, when it was called New Amsterdam.  But it is difficult to recall.  I was sent into the ground to sleep for long periods of time. “

“Wait, there are books about you?  Where are they?”

“They are burned.  The staff that he said did give the Patriarch power, he bade me drown in the lake.  I cannot retrieve it.  I am forbidden.”

“Is it true, the story of the dead pigs?”

Tony gave a crooked smile.  “Evan Post despised his neighbors.  Sent me to destroy their swine.  I was to devour them.  I was hungry enough of the first night.  And on the second.  But on the third I was too sated and could eat no more.  Too many carcasses.  I could not consume the bodies. I tried to tell him.  He would never listen.”

Peter swallowed hard and thought carefully before asking the next question.

“Tony, did… did Mr. Post task to you to kill his neighbors?”

Tony’s eyes had drifted closed as he told the story of the swine, but they opened slowly when Peter whispered his question.

Tony sat up a little on his elbow, reached out and combed his fingers through Peter’s hair again, then ran one firm hand down Peter’s spine until it rested in the small of his back.  He used that hand to move Peter forward slightly, bringing their mouths close together.

“Why do you ask me questions that vex you?”

“Did you?”

“Should I answer you, and bring you pain?”

“Does that mean you did?”

Gently Tony brought the fingers of Peter’s left hand to his mouth and kissed the tips softly, as if kissing them goodbye.  He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again.

Then he nodded.

“How many?” Peter asked, his voice breaking.

“Eight.  Nine. Maybe a dozen.  I do not recall.  Oh sweet one…”

Tony reached for him as Peter pulled away, but then let go.  As Peter curled into a tight ball under the sheets Tony only stroked Peter’s shoulder blade with his knuckles and waited.

“How?” Peter managed through his tears.  He had decided when they first moved to the house that Evan Post had been a good person after all, just a very lucky many who also liked living by himself.  The prettiest parts of the house had been built by Evan Post, or so they had been told, including the beautiful massive dining room table that Aunt May loved so much, and the chest of drawers in her room.  Evan Post had built the large empty barn where Peter had spent so much time reading and watching the barn owls.  The dead man had become like an invisible friend in Peter’s imagination.  He didn’t want to know that his invisible friend had been a murderer.  

“And now I am the author of more pain,” Tony whispered, leaning over to kiss Peter on the shoulder.  “Please ask me no more.”

“Just tell me.”

As Tony told the story Peter couldn’t help himself.  He missed Tony’s arms the moment he left them.  Slowly he pushed himself back, inch by inch, until he was back in Tony’s embrace again.  He pulled Tony’s arms around him and played with the long, pail, tapered fingers as the man spoke.  

“Evan Post despised other people.  All people.  He left his home so rarely.  When he went into the village he was filled with hate and loathing and mortal terror. He would return here and I would drink it all from him.  Then he would forget all his fear of people and behold!  Off he would venture into the village again!  More for me to feast upon.

“But more than once he would remember his hatred for his fellow man and send me out to slay them.  Some had scorned him, others had mocked him.  Some simply enraged him because they insisted on engaging him in conversation.  One old biddie and merely asked him when he would marry.  He despised all humankind.  I was sent into their beds so that they would not rise again.”

Peter scrubbed the tears away from his face.  He knew it was ridiculous to mourn these people who would have been long-dead anyway.  Aunt May had explained what had happened in Devil’s Hollow when Evan Post had lived there. But World War 1 had just ended, and many people died in their homes, especially in the winter.  It was just that way back then.

“I have caused you so many sorrows.  Let me take them from you, I can make you forget.”  Tony said, nuzzling his ear.  He reached for Peter’s arm, pulling Peter’s wrist to his mouth, but Peter snatched it away.

“No.  No, I’m not going to forget this.  It’s important that I remember this.  It’s important to remember that it’s wrong.  It’s wrong to kill people, Tony.  You can never do it again.”

“Very well,” Tony said calmly.  He did not react to Peter’s sudden movement, nor the order Peter had hissed at him.  He settled his head back against the pillow and held Peter close.  He didn’t seem particularly concerned at all.

“Did Ev… did Mr. Post make you do other bad things?”

“My tender-hearted scholar.  He bade me kill the venomous snakes.  I devoured them by the score, convinced those I could not eat to dwell in other places. There were wolves in those days, though very few.  I was tasked to guard the animals.  Will you weep for the wolves and the serpents, too, sweet one?

“I’ll try not to.  Did Mr. Post know you were a demon?”

“The books he burned called me a demon.  Although his grandfather’s brother insisted I was a pagan god.  I enjoyed him.  The neighbors, when there were neighbors, called me Fae.  They left me milk and bread at the crossroads on their holy days. Evan’s grandmother called me the muse.  In New Amsterdam there were still natives at times, the Delaware, the Mohawk.  They called me Wendigo, when I was still allowed to consume the deer of the forest. But when the natives told stories of me, I was confined to the farm.”  

“Are you still keeping the rattlesnakes away?”

“I have not been tasked to in some time.  I convinced many generations of snakes to dwell elsewhere.  It seems they still remember.  Would you like them to return?  They are quite tasty.”

“No thanks.  Did you poison the wells?”

“I was never tasked to.  But I could tell him pure water from ill.  I protected the buildings from lightening.  I built many things for him.  He would build furniture but grow tired of it, and I was tasked to finish it.  He enjoyed building large things, I was left with the fine work.  Most often I was tasked to bring him news from the village so he need not venture there.  

“I protected the land, the pond and the forest beyond it.  I was given that task by his grandfather.  

“But as the years passed he created so very little.  Enjoyed very little.  There was so little to eat.  When I begged him to feed me he sent me into the forest to eat, or else cast me into the ground until he needed me again.  He lived for one hundred and twenty years.  Then when he died he burned his books and tried to cast me out.”  

Tony chuckled.  “But how does he cast without his spellbook?  His foolishness was always his undoing.  He tried to banish me back into the infernal realms, but why should I return there?  I have dwelt in the realms of men for so long.  I fought him.  He was unskilled.  He tried cast me into darkness, and so I sought out the darkness under the bed. He had no power to cast me further. It thought I had bested him.

“But then he was gone, and no one else came.  I could not consume his body, I had been forbidden.  No other magicians inherited me. I was all alone. I could not cast myself back to the infernal realms, and soon I was too weak to leave the darkness under the bed. I was trapped.

“Others came.  I made them fear.  I drank their fear.  But I could not touch them, so I could not take it all, not enough to make them forget what made them afraid.  They would become too afraid, and then I would be left alone again.  Time and time again it happened.  Unable to leave from under the bed I could not even venture into the forest to eat, only consume what poor fair found its way into the house. I feared I would be trapped forever.

“But Evan Post left a house that men would covet for generations.  Like a gingerbread house, drawing in little children for the witch to consume,” he said with a grin, kissing the side of Peter’s face.  “Wealthy men came to inspect it, I fed from their dreams of a quiet life of contemplation. Women would come to praise the art of the wainscoting, the furniture.  I fed from their admiration.  Workers would come, I would frighten them, then feed from their fear.  Wealthy families came to dwell here.  They were happy.  I could have fed from their happiness and left them plenty to spare. They had animals, I could have found enough strength to creep out on stormy nights and feed from them.  But I had feasted on fear for far too long.  I wanted nothing else.  I was so greedy.  I made them fear.  Frightening sounds, frightening words, frightening dreams.  So much fear to consume.  Then frightening images as well!  So much horror, so much terror to feast upon.  I made them fear too much.  Too many feasts.  They became too afraid, and so they left me.  My greed was my undoing.  I was left alone.  I cannot say for how long.  I have forgotten so much.  

“Then you came.”

He used one firm hand to pull at Peter’s arm until Peter turned in his arms.  Tony tilted Peter’s chin up with one crooked finger and brought their mouths close, and Peter found himself unable to look away from those dark eyes.

“You came, and I thought you would surely starve me.  You had no fear.  But you had a light the which I had not tasted since I was summoned to New Amsterdam.  Not since Simeon the Elder have I tasted so many questions.  My library-pilgrim.  My novice magician.  My Master Doctor.”

“I told you, Tony,” Peter whispered, suddenly nervous with Tony’s mouth so close to his own.  “I’m don’t have a Masters OR a Doctorate.  I’m still in high school.”  

“You know more now about the heaven above than any Master Doctor I ever served.  My scholar.”

“Tony…”    Peter’s mouth had gone completely dry, but the question burning in his brain was too big to ignore, so he dared himself to ask it out loud.

“Did you… drink my tears that night?”

“Of course, it is a form of your light.”

“And if you did drink by blood, literally, would that also be light?”

“No, that would be substance, and it would harm you.  But the sweat that forms at your brow,” he said gently, kissing Peter’s forehead again.   “If it were from fear or frustration, it would be light.”

“So… you’re saying that body fluids…”

He blushed and ducked his head.  Turned out he wasn’t brave enough to ask the question after all.

Tender tapered fingers lifted his chin and Tony leaned in to press their lips together, lapping gently into Peter’s mouth with the tip of his tongue.

He pulled away for a moment and Peter looked up into his face. Shyly, he smiled.  Tony smiled as well and repeated the action.  Peter stayed very still and let it happen, with one hand firmly gripping Tony’s shoulder, keeping him in place.  

Finally the action became too wet and Peter had to pull away, giggling as he scrubbed his face dry with his sleeves.  “Eww… that was worse than sucking on my fingers.”

Tony grinned and pulled him closer, holding him in strong arms until he fell asleep.

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

The Master (Post)

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ONE MORE - THE END OF CHAPTER TWO - TOMORROW

Questions, comments and constructive crit should be addressed to @witchwayisright​ where the story is being discussed.  

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MY FEELS:

@starkerprince – @starkeristheendgame – @dizziestofdaydreams – @twokinkybeans – @flush-styx – @silentsunplays​ – @statansterio -- @fleet-of-ships​ -- @castiruth​ -- @statansterio  -- @starkerthanreality​

If you would like to be added to the dinner menu please send me a note.  This list is being updated constantly.  Tony may need to be conjured to make all these links work.

[imaginesofeverykind]

Uncharted: Forged [Re-Write]

y’all the Sam Drake feels are hitting HARD, im replaying all the games atm and I reread my old fic from 2017 and decided I love Melissa so much so we’ll give this a red hot crack! <3 xx Majority of the fic is the same, i’ve mainly updated wording and layout, but of course some lines and inner thoughts have been changed to add more to the fic if you’ve already read the original! <3

OC x Sam Drake

Summary: It always went without saying that where you found the Drake brothers, Melissa Bridges wasn't far behind. More correctly, wherever you found Samuel Drake; Melissa Bridges wasn't far behind. The pair were quite literally as thick as thieves, partners in crime, their very own Bonnie and Clyde. It was short lived between the two of them. Sam's death struck a chord with Melissa, what she chose to do with the grief is the question. Better yet, what does Melissa do when straight from the 'grave' fifteen years later she is reunited with the oldest Drake brother?

Warnings: Swearing(?) Dorky as fuck Sam Drake,

Word Count: somewhere in the high 2000’s

|PART 2| PART 3||

Samuel Morgan had a reputation. Not only exclusive to the Orphanage he grew up in, but also to the sister Orphanage several blocks away; Sister Margaret's. He caused fights, disrupted the peace and was caught doing illicit activities on the building grounds. But believe it or not; he never truly used to be as much of a delinquent. In fact, his behavioural changes can be traced back to ten months ago when he met Melissa Bridges. As innocent she may seem, her bad influence on Sam caused quite a turn of events in his life, some good, some bad, some ugly. But when it came down to it, Samuel and Melissa were always there for each other.

[1] Boston: A Bad Influence

Every day like clockwork, Samuel Morgan would peer out his window, looking beyond the gates of the Orphanage to catch a glimpse of her as she walked by. Her hands always seemingly shoved into a denim vest that looked miles too big for her as it covered what appeared to be a faded pink dress.

On the days he managed to see her while he was out in the courtyard, he spotted smaller nuances and details missed from afar. The boots she wore looked as though they had stopped fitting several years ago, long exceeding their lifespan judging by the soles flapping with every careless step she took. Her hair was always tied up neatly in a ponytail to gather her long dark locks.

Some days — he noted — she was accompanied by groups of girls. Most days she would stride on her lonesome but regardless, alone or not; every day at Midday, Melissa Bridges would pass by the Orphanage in a direction that didn’t quite add up.

It confused Sam, considering Sister Margaret's was in the opposite direction and there was evidently nothing in the direction she was headed. If he wasn't so chicken shit to do so, he would find a way out just to talk with her for even five minutes, maybe even a polite ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’

He spent an embarrassing amount of time watching her, understanding her routine to the point he questioned if his motives were borderline criminal. His curiosity and infatuation with the mystery that shrouded the peculiar girl always kept him from pulling away from her. When he told himself; let it go for today, he’d catch himself looking out the window at just the right time, like it was a habitual instinct he somehow developed.

On weekends she would walk by not just at midday but once more, later in the evening between seven and nine. The few times he mustered up the courage to finally leave, he got as far as opening the window before deciding against it. Despite slight behavioural issues, he was top of the class, rarely did anything out of line despite the occasional fistfight between other boys in the home.

One night in particular, however, Sam decided he was finally going to do it. Go beyond the gates and finally speak to Melissa, a girl he only knew from the distant affections via observation. Did he know her name? No. Did he know anything about her? Aside from her being in an Orphanage, no. Did he know her eye colour? Not at all, but he would like to.

Despite knowing less than the bare minimum about her, his infatuation with curiosity constantly drove him to the brink of madness, urging himself to find the answers he sought out. He wanted to know why she would walk so braisingly confident, in clear sight of St. Francis undeterred by the Nun’s there and where she was heading that was apparently so important she ditched her classes. What was she doing at said place— if she was even going to a destination. Most importantly, he wanted to know how she managed to pull a fast one on the Nuns, knowing how their eagle eyed scrutinous gazes fell on the boys here.

His watch beeped, displaying the time as seven o’clock. It’s time, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath before opening the window. The frosty Saturday night breeze spilling into the room, the chill bite prickling his cheeks. The boys would be attending dinner in the hall at this time of night which is why he decided now was the time to make a break for it.

Sam had a clean record...ish... He had high hopes that in the event he was caught out, he would only merely get off with a warning and maybe forced to write some convoluted, meaningless essay.

He vaulted out of the window and dangled over the ledge, recollecting the plan he had rehearsed in the forefront of his mind. It wasn't a special night or anything, simply the night Sam decided to finally 'grow a pair' and talk to her, this marking the first night he even got as far as dangling out of the window.

Sucking in a breath, he released his tight grip from the ledge and dropped down a few feet, hitting the brick roof of the lower level. The loose brick slates cracked under the sudden strain, however, absorbing most of the sound which came as a pleasant surprise. His heartbeat quickened as he chuckled to himself, "I'm actually doing this," the thrill of potentially being caught hung in the back of his mind as he scaled the side of the building. Reaching the front chapel and administration block, he stopped momentarily, his arms burning from the sudden intense activity.

On the streets below — like every Friday and Saturday evening — Melissa walked along the dirty streets, keeping her head down and hands jammed into her pockets as she strayed in relative proximity to the street lights. Leaves crunched under her boots, accompanied by the sounds of the loose soles slapping the sidewalk. She hummed to herself a leisurely tune — having listened to the beastie boys most of the day — she rounded the familiar corner where Saint Francis Orphanage stood.

It was always much more peaceful to pass it in the evening given that similarly to Sister Margarets; Dinner was around this time.

This night, however, as she finally strode by the fenced-off Orphanage she couldn't shake the feeling of being followed. Something lingered behind her, more so, someone. She cursed under her breath, not wanting to turn to see the figure on the principle of merely acknowledging it. If she didn’t look, it wasn’t there right?

Many scenarios crossed her mind, perhaps it was a Nun that had followed her out of the Orphanage, they were always watching her like she was on the brink of committing a major felony. Nevermind that their concern wasn’t an underreaction by any means. But if it were a Nun, they’d have her by the ear and on their way back now.

It could perhaps be a drunken stray from the pub she passed a block ago, this occurrence was regular more often than not. Of course, in her experience, the drunkards were quite lovely and just wanted some quaint company on their journey home.

Or... it could definitely be someone not as kind as the drunken strays and not as merciful as the Nuns. That thought crossed her mind too, it often did. Being a young woman, regardless of looks and attire, she was on her lonesome which made her an incredibly vulnerable target.

Or so many people thought.

She was positive someone was tailing her, their footsteps would stop every time she did and would start back up again when she proceeded. Around the corner she rounded, there would be fewer street lights, instantly darkening the streets actively causing them to look far more menacing. This hadn’t deterred her, though, she was hardly bothered by a lot. But the prospect of someone snatching her up from the street was something that bore into her mind and chipped away the panic that simmered inside of her.

Stopping just shy of the safe glow emitting from under the streetlamp, she waited in anticipation, counting quietly to herself before whipping her hands out her pockets. In a swift motion, she spun around, connecting her fist with the lurking figure behind her in an impressively powerful sucker punch. They groaned, stumbling backwards into the light. "Oh shit," She uttered, apologetically after catching a glimpse of the person she punched. Just a kid from Saint Francis.

Despite being punched by her, Sam couldn't deny she was as attractive close up as she was at a distance. Being even prettier than he imagined her to be, glancing through his eyelashes to look at her bright green eyes, tanned skin and plump lips. He had seen a lot of girls in his time, but none that took to him quite like Melissa had.

Samuel Morgan had just been sucker-punched by a girl, that would be quite the story to tell his younger brother Nathan. He was stunned as he held the side of his face in a dazed state, did that actually just happen to him, or was it a dream? Both fortunately and unfortunately for his ego, yes indeed it did happen.

"Crap. I’m so sorry, my bad..." Melissa's face softened as she stepped slowly toward Sam, outstretching a hand to touch his shoulder comfortingly, "I thought you were following me." she stated, a panicked chuckle falling through her lips, the sound was music to his ears.

"Uh-uh, I mean... Yeah, I was — well no, not like that! I mean — just put me out of my misery and hit me again." He stumbled on his words making Melissa laugh, squeezing her hand on his shoulder, offering yet another apologetic smile at the welt forming on the side of his sun-kissed face.

She clicked her fingers once recognising his features in better detail, once the light hit it at the right angle, "you're uh, that kid from Saint Francis, yeah?" They hadn’t met prior but he looked so familiar to her, perhaps they had sat near each other when both Sister Margarets and St. Francis’ homes came together twice a month for communal mass.

He stood upright at her question. Having always imagined what it would be like to finally meet the strange girl surrounded by a unsolvable paradox, none of the scenarios he thought of began with her sucker punching him in the middle of the street. He caught his bottom lip in between his teeth to stifle the minor laugh, scratching the back of his neck nervously, "there's a lot of kids at Saint Francis you're gonna have to be more specific." His tone was laced with a hint of sarcasm, a trait he was blessed with after years of dealing with the Nuns dull and humourless personalities.

Melissa rolled her eyes subtly as a smile ghosted her lips, the way he spoke was seemingly more familiar to her. Then it hit her. She recalled the last communal mass just a little over a week ago where the boy was dragged away by the Nuns for misbehaving during silent prayer. His name passing their holy lips as if it was a curse word while they dealt with him.

"Uh... Samuel something, right?" She tilted her head on the side and shrugged, her memory wasn’t all that great but she did recollect thinking how amateur it was of him to get caught like that. The fact that he got caught at all was amateur in itself.

"Samuel something?" He repeated, a smile pulling on the sides of his lips as his heart fluttered. She knew him. After thinking for quite some time she had no idea who the hell he was, this was a revelation that couldn’t help but make him giddy. His grin appearing more genuine as the palms of his hands began to perspire.

With a nod and a smirk, she quirked her eyebrow at him, "you got kicked out of church last week, yeah? I know because I was thinking how funny it was that you got caught… Rookie mistake,” Her tone was purely in challenge of his efforts, he too recalled being whisked away by the Nun’s and forced to write an essay on something he’d long forgotten.

He mustered up a laugh, bashfully nodding. His mind fixated on the thought of him getting her attention completely unintentionally, but thankful that it happened in the first place. What did she think of me? Was the question that flooded his mind, almost like it was flashing in neon lighting to keep his attention on it. “Clearly we’re not all good at getting away with everything — or does that come naturally to only you?”

The minute the words left his lips, he regretted them. Overthinking the tone of his voice, cringing at how much more sarcastic and blunt it came across than intended. When she merely scoffed at him, he felt relieved that she quite clearly had more tolerance to sarcasm than he originally anticipated, taking up the opportunity to feebly point to himself, “I’m Uh… Sam, Sam Morgan.”

She clicked her fingers yet again, instantly recognising the name, “Samuel Morgan, that’s right… I know you — our history papers get graded together and I know for a fact that you almost got a higher mark than me." She raised her eyebrows, a mischievous smirk on her lips. She drew out the ‘almost’ as it taunted him with her acute sense of pride.

Sam looked at her, in awe almost. He spent many of his waking hours thinking about what she would be like, she was much more confident than he imagined and that factor alone seemed to make her all the more desirable. A history buff and confident, not to mention the way her frame was highlighted by the street lamp behind her made it look like she was otherworldly. He was convinced she was merely a figment of his imagination, but the bruising on his cheek and slight blood nose stated otherwise.

"You must know a thing or two about history to beat me," he chuckled, shifting awkwardly once he found himself staring at her for too long, this night was not panning out like he had planned or visualized. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

"Only a little bit." She smiled, gesturing with her pointer finger and thumb, attempting to repair the boys already significantly damaged ego. Although she knew based off the report she snatched from one of the Nun’s offices; she had beat him by a landslide.

"What's your name, sorry?" Sam asked, clearing his throat. He ignored the proud smirk she wore as she kept her thoughts to herself, he knew she was a lot smarter than she admitted at the expense of keeping his hubris intact. The fact she hadn’t been caught sneaking out yet also lent itself to her sharp awareness and intelligence.

Melissa perked up, dismissively apologising as she gestured to herself, "Melissa, but you can call me Mel... Follow me, I know somewhere to get your face all cleaned up pretty boy — once again... Sorry."

Pretty boy. His gut twirled in a nauseating fleeting motion, something he hadn’t felt before but he knew it wasn’t a bad feeling. She waves her hand, indicating for him to follow her as she slinked into the darkness of the street they were on.

Sam was stunned— albeit, incredibly intrigued and infatuated with the idea of her. Eager to savour the rest of the evening in her presence, he shook his head but followed her, "So...." He trailed off, walking in sync beside her, "where are we going?" Was all he could think of, wanting to hit himself for asking such a basic question in comparison to the myriad of ones he kept stored away, why was he so mundane? "I uh... I watch you— I mean, I see you...sometimes walking past the Orphanage..."

Melissa looked to her odd new companion, a smile tugging on her lips. "You've never been outside the gates before have you?" Her smile gradually turning into a grin, everything about Sam screamed goody two shoes yet here he was, outside against the strict rules the Nuns abided by.

Sam frowned and put his hands up defensively, "Of course I've been outside the gates before—."

She cut him off, shaking her head, "no, I mean outside the gates without supervision and outside of curfew." Her eyebrows were raised as she waited to get an answer from her newfound friend, he merely shook his head coyly, her grin grew wider and she had a bounce in her step. "Well, pretty boy… when we get you cleaned up, are you ready to have the most fun you’ll ever have living in this shit hole?”

Sam thought for a moment, the nagging at the back of his head, the rules he was currently breaking would have severe consequences, but the rush and thrill of it all was so appealing. Melissa was appealing. And his insatiable need to fulfil his curiosity often always bettered his own moral compass. "Hell yeah." He commented enthused, kicking himself for being a little too enthused. She quickened her pace and motioned for Sam to pick up the pace as well.

Melissa was an addict, a thrill addict. Although she went to Sunday Church every week with the other Orphaned girls and went on bible retreats; it was a facade. She craved adventure, close encounters and thrill-seeking. On this particular night was the night Samuel Morgan's addiction to adventure had begun. Awakening that feeling deep within him, reminding him of the stories their mother would tell them before bed, the artefacts and trips they went on. He was aching to break free, and finally, he did.

And there was no turning back for him.

[bnha-mha-imagines]

12 Days of Christmas! 2019 Special

Bakugo x Reader

Prompt #6: Grinch 

Word Count: 1290

Warnings: Swearing

Oops, I only just reached halfway through these and I have two days to finish ahaha! 

It wasn’t that Bakugo hated winter holidays so to say, only that he hated how mushy everyone got around that time of year. Not only would everyone be more annoying than usual, but they always expected him to act differently. Anytime he’d yell, there would be five times as many people telling him to calm down. He’d get a ‘cheer up’ if he even so much as let his face relax, and of course that always soured his mood. It wasn’t his fault that everyone acted nicer during the holidays, so why should he have to change himself to fit their expectations around this time every year?

Even his group of idiot friends were more insufferable than usual, though Bakugo would put up with it since they seemed to be the only ones who weren’t harping on him for lacking ‘holiday spirit.’ Even now, they were leaving him alone for the most part while they planned some stupid winter thing.

“Alright, so Sero, you’re getting the candies and drinks. Kaminari, you’re decorating the place, and Kirishima, you’re setting up games. Bakugo, you’ll man the popcorn and I’ll take the photos! Sound good?” Mina clarified, and everyone except Bakugo let out a noise of confirmation.

Bakugo, instead, crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. This whole idea was stupid; he didn’t see why it was their responsibilty to set this whole thing up, especially when it was just going to be the five of them there. Why were they going all out for some game and movie night anyways? Couldn’t they just as easily watch a movie without all the hassle of extravagance?

“This is dumb,” Bakugo complained for the umpteenth time, though it went ignored by most as they went off to complete their assigned jobs. Mina, on the other hand, shot him a smile. “Oh come on, Bakugo, you’ve got the easy job!” 

Bakugo glared at her, grabbing the popcorn kernels roughly. “It’s the dumbest job! What, you think I couldn’t handle anything harder than popcorn?” he argued, though it was more for the sake of arguing than anything.

Mina rolled her eyes. “No, I just knew that any other job would piss you off more than this one.” Leaving Bakugo to grumble at the truth of her words, Mina turned to go make sure the camera was set up for the night. 

For the most part, Kaminari had already set up the decorations and lights, and Kirishima was almost done with the game system. Sero already bought the snacks, and was helping himself to some butterscotch candies. Bakugo looked at the kernels in his hands, his annoyance only growing as he stomped his way over to the microwave. 

Grabbing one of the packets, he threw it into the open microwave and slammed it shut, punching in the minutes to cook. Sighing, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. This was stupid, and there was nothing that could convince him otherwise. In the spare minutes that he had while waiting for the first bag to cook, he glared at his friends as they laughed and finished their jobs. 

Grumbling as the timer went off, Bakugo turned to open the microwave and grab the burning bag of popcorn. Tossing it onto the counter, he grabbed the rest of the uncooked bags, rereading the heating instructions. Why did they buy bags anyways? He knew a great recipe for stovetop popcorn, and he could guarantee that it would taste ten times better than this greasy shit. 

Stirring him from his grouchy thoughts, Bakugo heard Mina squeal as the door opened. A new voice caught his attention, and his eyebrows furrowed. They invited an extra guest? Mina’s next words, however, was what really set him off. “(Y/n)! Good to see you, glad you could make it!” 

Startled by the sound of your name, his hands accidentally spark off in a miniature explosion, the popcorn kernels completely going off from the heat. The bags themselves burst open, showering Bakugo and the counters in bright hot popcorn as a series of pops sounded. The sudden display earned Bakugo a few startled gasps, and he couldn’t bring himself to turn around.

Shoulders raised, Bakugo felt his whole body freeze in a tense position. His idiot friends invited you here without even telling him? No wonder they planned such a big display, they were trying to set some shit up because you were here! His anger at his friends continued to bubble up, and he felt his fists tremble slightly. “Bakugo?” he heard you call his name. “You good over there?”

A few pieces of popcorn fell from his head as he whirled around to look at you. His face was a blazing red color, half from anger and half from embarrassment. “Oh piss off,” he shouted, stopping over to the couch in a fuming rage. Plopping down, he stared at the floor with a burning gaze, ignoring his friends as they mended the awkward situation.

“Just ignore him, (Y/n), he’s in a bad mood,” Sero laughed nervously. Bakugo felt his eye twitch in annoyance at Sero’s words. Geez, it wasn’t like he wanted to snap at you, you just happened to come in at the wrong place wrong time. It was Mina and those idiots he was annoyed with. They kept pestering him about some crush he had on you, and now they planned some dumb party and invited you here without even telling him? And now HE looked like the asshole for yelling at you. God, why was he like this…

“It’s okay, Sero,” you said, and Bakugo could hear the patience in your voice. “Some people just like to be a grinch.” At this, Bakugo leapt from the couch, exasperated. He couldn’t help it, and he shouted before he could even think things through.

“I’m not a grinch, I’m the most festive person here compared to you losers!” Bakugo hissed, arms tight at his sides. Though he was still in a hot mood, he would practically feel the amusement radiating off you. God, why did you have to smirk like that…

“Oh?” you challenged. “Prove it!” Too proud to turn you down and too enamored with you to miss a chance to impress you, Bakugo grunted in agreement. He didn’t miss the concerned look Kirishima shot Kaminari, but the electric boy was beaming.

“Dope,” Kaminari answered for you. “Put this on then, popcorn boy!” Reaching from the table next to him, he threw a reindeer headband to Bakugo, which he caught begrudgingly. Choosing to ignore the ‘popcorn boy’ comment, Bakugo grumpily place the headband on his head.

Despite how idiotic he felt wearing it, he felt his heart flutter at the look you shot him. “Aww, look at you now!” You gushed, stepping forward to straighten it on his head. Bakugo felt his breath hitch at how close you were. “Guess I was wrong in calling you a grinch, Bakugo. You look much better as a Max!” 

Bakugo felt his face redden, and he snapped at you lowly. “You saying I’m a dog?!” The way that he growled out the words nearly convinced him that he was. 

“Hmm, no, of course not, never,” you teased, turning away from him. “So Mina, the popcorn is done, so let's get that movie rolling!” Seeing you shift your attention away from him, Bakugo tsked slightly. At least you weren’t messing with him anymore...though, he kinda liked how you gave him a hard time. You never reacted poorly to his piss-attitude, and you even played off it in a way that was charming. Nah, he liked you for sure, though he still had a ways to go in showing it.

[yuthoe]

To-Go: 2+1 (PENTAGON: Yan An)

or “The Two times Yanan Tries to Ask You Out and The One Time He Succeeds.”

So this was requested a while ago, and at first I thought they were asking for baker!reader, but I reread the ask and saw it was actually the opposite so I had to rework the plot in my brain. Regardless, in both versions, Yanan is adorably awkward.

This turned out so long and I swear I didn’t mean for it to get to 2k words lol, it just happened. Also it seems that i HAVE to add a dash of mild angst whenever i write my fluff. apologies if this turns out bad--i’ve been out of it lately, and i guess exploring my writing style. also i’ve been busy trying to become a #contentcreator on youtube lmao.

hope you guys like it!

WARNING: a dash of angst. WORD COUNT: 2,223.

Master List

---

Yanan pulls his head up from putting freshly baked strawberry and chocolate Danishes in the display rack at the jingle of bells. The “welcome” dies on his lips at the sight of you, and he quickly makes to straighten up, only to bang his head on the underside of the top shelf. He rubs his slightly throbbing head as he wobbles to the kitchen.

Depositing the empty tray and tongs on a table, he desperately says, “Help! She’s here!”

“Ooohh,” his friend Changgu says, closing the oven door on a new batch of baguettes before turning fully to Yanan. “So what are you doing here, then? Shouldn’t you be out there at the counter?” he asks, one eyebrow raised and a playful smile on his flour-dusted face.

Yanan just groans. “Yeah, but I don’t know what to say!”

Changgu shrugs, takes the rag from the belt of his apron and wipes his hands with it. “The usual, maybe? ‘Is this all, or would you like a coffee with that? Will you have these to go?’ Come on, you’ve said it tons of times before--,”

“Not that, Changgu!” the taller man said, waving a hand in front of his face, as if swatting a fly away. “I meant about asking her out! I have no idea how to ask her! I’m not exactly the most suave person out there.”

The baker laughs, hearty and clearly amused. “Just be yourself, Yanan, what’s the harm in that?” Changgu takes the few steps to the refrigerator to get another batch of dough. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some bagels to make.”

Yanan lets out a pained sigh before turning and exiting the kitchen, mentally thanking his friend for that unhelpful advice.

Just in time too, as you’re stepping up to the register with a tray of goods. You smile at him and wave as you set the tray on the counter.

“‘Afternoon, Y/N,” Yanan asks, quickly punching in the codes for three chocolate-filled croissants, two lemon curd Danishes, a pack of miniature cookies, and a baguette loaf; two years working at a bakery as the frontman leaves him no choice but to memorize product codes even for the least popular baked good. “Would you like a coffee with these?”

You hum, already scanning your prospects at the menu board above him before he asked. You squint, pursing your lips in concentration and Yanan thinks it’s the most adorable thing. And then you smile and turn back to him. “Yep, a medium caramel macchiato, please!”

“All righty,” he says, punching it in. “To go as always, I’m assuming?” he asks, smiling shyly.

“You know me so well, Yanan,” you reply, smiling back. “I’ve got a few friends coming by tonight, so I’m doing some shopping.”

“Ah, hence the baguette?” Yanan asks, before rattling off the price for everything.

You root into your bag for your wallet and hand him a bill before saying, “Yep, gots to have that bread for the cheese board.” Yanan gently puts the change into your upturned palm before turning to the coffee machine behind him.

“Don’t cheese boards usually have crackers?” The whir of the coffee grinder almost drowns out his voice, but thankfully you can still hear him.

“Yeah, but sometimes you just need more carbs.” Yanan sputters a laugh as he presses the shot button on the machine and turns back to see you smiling at the joke.

And then Yanan just decides to go for it. “Does this wine and cheese party have room for one more?” he says as he turns his attention to making your coffee. He feels his ears burn--from embarrassment or dread, he’s not sure.

You’re unable to bite back a smile, and then a loud laugh. “Mm, sorry, Yanan, I’m afraid it’s girls’ night tonight. But you know, sometimes one of our guy friends tags along too, just for the cheesy rom-coms, so I can ask. If you want.”

Yanan sets the hot paper cup in front of you and waves a hand. “Ah, no, you don’t have to; I was just joking.” He hopes the laugh he lets out is believable.

“Oh,” you say, taking the cup and the paper bag in both hands. “Well, let me know if you change your mind about that, ‘kay?” You turn for the door. “Thanks for this, Yanan! I’ll see you!” you say, and you disappear once again with the jingle of bells.

Yanan stares at the closed door, then sighs and deflates until he’s crouching behind the register, resisting the urge to just bang his head into it.

***

You reappear the next Monday, just as Yanan finishes putting up freshly packaged dinner bread on a shelf. The bells’ chimes welcome in a gust of wind from the chilly morning, and Yanan shivers, just a tad, and rolls down the sweater sleeves he wears under the bakery’s navy blue linen apron. He takes the empty tray he’d brought in and retreats once again behind the counter, sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.

He doesn’t mean to be creepy, and he hopes he doesn’t come off as too chummy when he asked if he could join your get-together the previous Friday. He doesn’t usually do that, nor does he even usually have a need to ask someone out; he spends all his free time in the bakery and all the customers, while nice and respectful (except of course, for the one-in-ten nasty ones), are more like family to him.

And then you came along one summer afternoon for a mocha iced coffee and a bagel, and after taking a sip said, “Is the mocha iced coffee this good usually, or is it just because you made it?” Yanan’s face turned as pink as his hair back then and stuttered through the rest of the transaction. 

The next time you came in a few days later, you made no mention of the iced coffee thing, but still managed to strike up a conversation with the introverted boy. Yanan was grateful for it--he was too flustered to reply properly, after all--and from that short exchange about strawberry jam blossomed a casual acquaintanceship.

Everything was going fine and dandy until one closing time when Changgu said, “So when are you going to ask Y/N out?” At Yanan’s expression of incredulous surprise, the baker continued, “What? She comes by the bakery more than once every week and talks to you everytime. She even asked the part-timer once if it was your day off when she came in and you weren’t there. All signs point to her liking you, man.”

Yanan had been helping put away trays and bolts, but at his friends words he froze, party scared of the idea that someone might be interested in him and he had no idea how to go about it, and partly excited that someone might be interested in him and that hadn’t really happened or been brought to his attention since elementary school.

And he does suppose it’s time he puts himself out there since Changgu has been pestering him about taking less shifts because he’s getting sick of seeing him all the time. Plus, he needs to get out more anyway. Two birds with one stone, right?

“Thanks, Yanan,” your voice snaps him out of his reverie. “I’ll see you later!” He registers your goodbye too late, tries to make words come out of his mouth, raises a hand at the door swinging closed behind you.

He really just went on autopilot while being consumed by his thoughts, huh? Yanan groans inwardly, deciding to make himself an espresso to distract him from his abysmal flirting skills.

***

You push the heavy door open and inhale the distinct smell of freshly baked bread. It’s been a few days since you stopped by--work had been demanding lately and required you to clock in earlier and punch out later, so your routine got disrupted. But yesterday you submitted that finance report and could finally take your time getting that good, good coffee. And yeah, maybe a snack for later.

There are a couple of people milling about, trays full of bread, or holding a bag of rolls. You make a beeline towards the display case of confections; if you could, you’d spend all day here, just looking at the golden-brown baked dough, some lightly glazed with sugar, colorful from the fruit fillings you know they make in-store. The chocolate chip cookies are a crowd favorite--big and chunky and guaranteed to have an ample amount of chocolate in every bite. You however, are partial to their oatmeal cranberry cookies.

The way this bakery makes them gives the cookies a crunch (you suspect they put rock salt in there or something, but you aren’t a baker so what would you know?), the tartness of dried cranberries gets dialed down by the oatmeal, and the cinnamon adds a depth to the fruity flavor. It’s your favorite to-go item here, and you immediately take a medium-sized bag. You tell yourself to save these and not just devour them in one sitting this time.

A customer is getting his items rung up when you get to the counter, already seeing Yanan’s head bob up and down as he reaches for the baked goods. “Sometimes being tall is tiring,” he told you once. “Like here, I have to bend a bit to ring up the food because the counter is too low for me. But don’t tell Changgu I told you that, he’d hold it over me forever.” You both laughed at that.

“Thank you for your patronage,” you hear Yanan say now, handing the paper bag of food to the man in front of you. “Take care, and come again!” He waves to the man before turning to you.

“‘Morning, Yanan,” you say, handing him the bag of cookies. “Are you feeling okay today?” You noticed when you last came in that he was oddly quiet and subdued. You weren’t quite sure why he was so down, so you didn’t attempt to make conversation; your mouth is sometimes too fast for your brain and you didn’t want to end up saying something to accidentally offend him.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, greets you with a soft smile, but you see he’s trying to avoid looking at you. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can I get you a coffee?”

“Yeah, a large hot mochaccino, please.” You hand him a bill and he returns your change. “I’m glad,” you say, fiddling with your wallet as Yanan works the coffee machine. “You seemed kinda down last week.”

You see him start, then press the button on the machine before turning to you. “Did I?” He bites his lip. “Sorry, I… I was just thinking.” He taps his long fingers on the wooden counter, the whirring of the machine and soft jazz emanating from the speakers the only sounds for a moment, before Yanan speaks again. “About last Friday… I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep, I just thought it would be a funny joke, but I actually half-meant it, but I wasn’t really expecting you to say yes to me, and even if you did I didn’t want to trouble you, but I just thought it would be kinda nice to hang out with you, you know, outside the shop, I mean, ‘cause like, you’re really fun to talk to, and I’d like to--,”

“Woah, woah, wait, Yanan, wait a minute,” you say, interrupting his rambling, an amused smile on your face. Yanan clamps his mouth shut and busies himself with making your coffee. You think you see a sweep of pink on his cheeks. “I… was actually serious about that--inviting you to hang out, I mean. I think you’re great to talk to, and I. I wanna get to know you more, too.” You can feel your face heat up as you fix your eyes on the grains of the countertop.

You hear a soft tap in front of you, just as the fragrance of espresso and chocolate assault your nose. The green paper cup sits in front of you, and you raise your eyes slowly--up Yanan’s clasped hands, to the linen apron stamped with the bakery’s logo, and landing on his eyes, shy and worried but hopeful.

“So,” he says, almost too softly that if you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have caught it. Yanan takes a deep breath. “Do you… want to have dinner sometime?”

You think you must have misheard it. But you saw his lips moving, heard the sound come out of his mouth, so it must be real. 

You’re nodding before you realize it, smiling before you notice your cheeks are hurting. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.” A relieved smile breaks out on Yanan’s face, and you briefly wonder how you didn’t realize he’s beautiful when he smiles.

He lets out the breath he’s holding as he pushes the cup of coffee to you. “Here’s your coffee, to go.” You reach out to take it, and make sure to brush your fingers against his. Electricity rushes up your hand, and you feel it buzzing as you say your goodbyes. as you exit the shop and step out into the chilly morning. as you remember him everytime you take a sip of the delicious coffee.

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 14

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing

Words: 2,673

After breakfast and some passionate necking in the doorway, Arthur had left. As he’d disappeared into the elevator, he gave a playful but modest wave and smiled. Coincidentally, the next door neighbor had popped out to get her paper. When Y/N had greeted her, the woman had kept her eyes averted, muttered a quick, "Morning," then hurriedly went back inside.

At first Y/N had found it odd, but then it’d dawned on her. Maybe she needed to learn to keep her voice down.

Chuckling, she’d gone back into the apartment and the bedroom, considering changing the sheets. But, blushing happily, she’d left them alone. He would be over again that night; she’d been sure they'd wind up between them. Then she’d checked the sofa. She hated trying to launder upholstery and wasn't particularly good at it. Luckily, she hadn't seen anything that would have given away their activities - her robe had been in the way.

From the moment he was gone, she knew she was head over heels. Her eighty-seven percent certainty had increased to ninety-six over the course of their morning. He hadn't said much after they'd gotten up, but his actions touched her. After a little prompting, he'd poured coffee for them, then asked how she liked hers. He'd made it with one sugar and a shot of milk. (Seemingly nervous that he'd make it too white, he'd kept asking, "Is that enough?") Then he'd hovered next to her while she cooked. It'd already felt like he belonged there.

The speed with which the comfort of routine had developed between them was startling. In her past relationships, she'd taken things slowly. Jeff, her ex-husband, was someone she'd met as a sophomore in high school. He'd been a college freshman, studying pre-law. It had taken five months before they started dating. He was a good man - they exchanged Christmas cards every year, letting each other know they were  still alive. But they'd gotten married only a month after she'd graduated, before she’d had a chance to develop her own identity.

Y/N decided the biggest distinction between then and the present was that she'd grown-up. Taking care of her father had forced her to mature quickly. She hadn't had time for other people's bullshit and had to figure out how to clearly say yes and no, something she'd struggled with until her late-twenties. She'd had to learn what she did and did not want.

Arthur, even the Arthur who'd been trembling and biting his nails on the couch with his Gotham Department of Health notebook, was what she wanted. It was surprisingly easy to like and love him, not only because he was handsome, kind, and most of what she’d experienced of him had been great. But also because she now knew herself.

Picturing him, while sitting at her desk and trying to work, made the corners of her lips turn up. Nervous excitement and plain happiness caused her to laugh quietly. She felt foolish. She hadn’t giggled like that since she’d been a teenager, lip-syncing badly to the radio with her sister.

She truly was trying to act professionally that morning. But at their usual mid-week meeting with Matt, Patricia passed her a note with the words, “You can’t stop smiling!” written on it. Y/N gave it back, feeling like a girl trying not to get caught by the teacher, with a heart, followed by two questions marks and an exclamation point.

Once the meeting ended, Patricia arched a brow at her. Y/N put her palm to her face, groaning. The note had been terribly out of character. “I just wanted to know what it was like to be girly. Once.” Her embarrassment had quickly faded, though, and she said, “I promise I’ll tell you everything tonight.”

The rest of work went by uneventfully, with her back to preparing the firm's family cases. They were a gallery of dysfunction. There had been a rise in children being taken from their parents due to substance abuse disorder after budget cuts had stopped their treatment. And there was a stack of protection from abuse orders, including pictures of bruises and other injuries. The occasional petty divorce filings were a nice break. She would sometimes reread the best complaints when she needed a chuckle. Though the work wasn’t difficult, by early afternoon she was exhausted and trying not to nod off at her desk.

She left early, then, and made her way to the Gotham Bureau of Corporations to try to find more information on Renew Corp. It turned out it had been registered as a limited liability corporation. As a result, their annual reports and registered agents were openly available. The photocopies she made cost her $2.35 at five cents a page. Sitting on the floor at her coffee table, she reviewed the reports. Most of them were about profits and projects, which didn't interest her. She already knew the addresses they were after. The list of registered agents intrigued her, though. She'd have to go over her plan with Patricia.

But first she had to figure out how to explain what she thought was happening in a way that didn't make her sound crazy. Who would believe that Gotham's largest philanthropic organization was responsible for a third-party harassing poor people instead of helping them? She'd find it hard to believe herself if she hadn't taken a closer look. But she was at a loss as to what other conclusion could be drawn.

~~~~~

When Y/N told Patricia her general theory, she'd been skeptical. But once the shoe boxes of letters tenants were getting were pulled out, Patricia's eyes widened. "You coming over here with the file was a risk," Y/N told her, putting the folder on the table. "It means a lot. I don't want you to do anything else that could get you in trouble."

Patricia shook her head. "I've been there forever. Matt won't ask questions. The only reason you got caught was your big mouth and bad luck."

Taking out a plate for the scones she’d picked up, Y/N smirked in response.

Patricia grabbed one of the pastries and took a bite. "Before we start work, I need to know what on earth is going on with you and this guy you're dating." Despite the exasperation in her voice, she looked amused. "You're glowing."

After putting on the kettle, Y/N boosted herself up on the counter next to the stove. She crossed her ankles. "His name's Arthur Fleck. He's a performer - he's sometimes a clown at the children's hospital. He’s an aspiring stand-up. I think he's a little older than me. Early to mid-forties?"

"This is the-" Patricia made air quotes "'-good looking pie guy,' right?" she asked. "How did you meet?"

Grinning, Y/N went into how they'd kept meeting serendipitously. That he was gentle with her, something she hadn't experienced much in her life. (Given her assertive personality, most people appeared to think she never wanted or needed it.) She flushed at the memories. "I think he's the last gentleman in Gotham. He holds the door open for me. He helps me with my coat." She wished he was there, right now, with his arm slung about her waist, hearing all the compliments she was giving him.

"We talk on the phone every night," Y/N continued, "and I look forward to those few minutes the whole day. He tells me jokes. Even when they're terrible, I love them." Shaking her head, she said, "He sometimes misunderstands what I say and doesn't know how to respond.” Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed the rest. “He seems a little left footed with the world. But I’ve fallen in love with him, anyways."

It took a few seconds before Patricia spoke. "Already?"

Y/N folded her arms over her chest. "How long did it take before you knew you loved Robert?"

"I knew Robert and I were going to get married after our first date thirty years ago." Patricia stood and stretched her arms. "But sometimes I regret accepting his second invitation."

That prompted a snort from Y/N. "On our second date, I got wine-drunk and had a mini-breakdown on the sofa. Arthur didn't try to take advantage or leave. He just listened and tried to make me feel better."

The tea kettle started whistling, interrupting her train of thought. She hopped off the counter and started filling their cups. "I think the biggest thing we have in common is taking care of ailing parents - he cares for his mother." After sitting at the table, she dunked the teabag a few times. "It's rare to find someone who understands how hard that can be." A smile appeared on her face. "He gets it. He gets me. And I think I get him."

"Tell me three negative things about him," Patricia said.

Y/N cocked her head. "He smokes like a chimney - I don't know how he hasn't gotten cancer already. He's too unsure of himself." She scrunched up her face, remembering how he'd told her to leave after his mother had wounded him. "And he's too self-reliant. He thinks I don't notice, but I do."

Before asking her next question, Patricia took a long sip. "Have you slept with him?"

"Last night,” Y/N answered without hesitation. “This morning," She smirked. "I’m bone-tired, but hopefully tonight."

Patricia stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Jesus, Y/N."

Y/N cracked-up at her reaction, playfully smacking her arm. "Hey, I'm turning forty in April. If I see something I want, I'm going to grab it." She pointed at Patricia to emphasize what she said next. "And I can tell you, in his own words, he did not mind."

"Does he know how you feel?"

Y/N put down her teacup. "It's hard for me to open myself up. I'd shut that off for so long.” A sigh left her as she leaned back against the chair. “I know it doesn't make sense, but going to bed with him is easier than saying anything."

"He sounds like a decent man," Patricia said. "There aren't many in Gotham."

"There aren't many anywhere." After some silence, Y/N furrowed her brow. "He’s wonderful. But I can tell he has difficulties. Or at least he has in the past."

Patricia's eyebrows knit together. "Legal trouble?"

"No, nothing like that." Y/N adjusted her legs. How much information could she share without crossing a line? Maybe disclosing his affliction would be all right - he did have laminated cards he handed out. "He has a neurological condition that makes him laugh. It doesn't happen often, but I've seen it when he's nervous. It's been hard for him." She studied her tea, thinking of his notebook and all his medication.

And she felt shame, remembering how she'd shut him down like a coward when it'd seemed he was going to tell her everything.

"Do you want me to do a background check on him?" Patricia spoke quietly, her concern obvious.

Y/N waved the idea away. "No. There’s no reason.” Then she blushed. “I don’t even know why I told you. But," she smiled, "I appreciate you caring enough to ask." Pointing at the nearby folder, she said, “Now let’s get this over with so I can call him.”

They started on the file, then, sorting through the motions, writing down the day each one was filed with the court. Opening all the letters was a pain in the ass - Y/N was relieved she only got a couple of paper cuts. The dates on those were analyzed, too, and put onto a parallel list next to those of the filings. When they were finished, an hour or so later, they were able to confirm the motions and letters had started during the same time period.

Patricia sipped her tea, shrugging. "It could be a coincidence."

"Of course it could. That's why I got the list of registered agents with Renew Corp." Y/N got up and grabbed the reports she'd copied from the counter next to the stove. "I'm supposed to have the Wayne Foundation tax returns on Friday. I'll see if Renew Corp. is listed anywhere on there."

"Actually, I have a better idea." Patricia crossed her legs and indicated the reports with her pen. "The tax filings will have all the Wayne Foundation employees listed on one of the schedules. You can see if any of the names match the agents on the Renew reports."

Y/N leaned back against the counter. "I can't believe I didn't think of that." Frowning, she mentally went over the dates they’d written. “Did I see that a new motion was filed on Monday? Do you have it?”

“Yeah, we got our copy today. Why?” Patricia dug through the file until finding it, then handed it to her.

“When I looked through the file, nothing indicated a new motion was needed.” She started to scan it. It was a motion to amend the original filing, which meant addresses could either be added or taken off. This one added a few in order to, according to the summary, allow the building of an additional medical clinic wing. She didn’t recognize most of them: a residential building on Cortelyou Road, an empty lot on Sutter Avenue, a commercial area on Rockaway Boulevard. An apartment complex at 225a Anderson Avenue.

Her breath halted. 225a Anderson Avenue.

It made sense. Despite the heaviness forming in her stomach, and her inability to take in any air, it was perfectly logical. Ms. McPhee’s building was on the same block as Arthur’s, on a perpendicular street. Y/N closed her eyes, reaching back to grasp the counter.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Heat rose from Y/N’s shoulders, through her neck, to her face. “Arthur… Arthur’s address is included.” She held out the paper to Patricia. “How am I supposed to tell him?”

Standing, Patricia put her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “This is going to take months and months. And you’re trying to stop it.”

“I know, but-” Y/N started.

“Does he know the details of what you’re working on?” After Y/N shook her head, Patricia continued. “It’s not going to do any good to say anything.”

“I just told you I love him. How can I-”

The blaring sound of the phone interrupted her. After another couple rings, she went to grab the beige receiver from the wall next to the kitchen entrance. "Hello?"

"Hi. It's Arthur."

Y/N checked the clock - it was after seven. He'd probably expected her to call by now. Pointing at the receiver, she turned around and looked at Patricia. "Arthur, I'm sorry I haven't called yet. I was just talking about you." She took a breath, trying to keep her voice from reflecting the anger simmering inside her. "Why don't you come over now? You can meet Patricia before she-"

His voice was strained when he interrupted her. "No. I can't. Is there anyway you can come to the hospital?"

That was unexpected. She felt worry cross her face. "Are you all right?"

"It's my mother. We just got here. I don't know what's wrong. There was an ambulance when I got home from..." His tone lowered, sounding a little embarrassed. "Can you please come? I don't understand all the paperwork." A pause, then. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

"You’re never a bother. I'll be right there. Which hospital?" Y/N watched as Patricia rose from her chair and started packing up the file she'd brought.

"Gotham General. In the emergency room," he answered.

"I'm on my way." She grabbed her coat and purse as she hung up. "Arthur's mother's in the ER. I gotta grab a cab."

Patricia took her jacket. "I brought my car. I'll take you."

Y/N gave Patricia a good, long hug, something she rarely did. "I owe you. Thank you for helping me."

"Anytime. Arthur's not the only one who's too self-reliant."

Y/N rolled her eyes at Patricia and squeezed her arm as she lead them both into the hallway, then locked the door.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss​

[ironwoman18]

We found love in a hopeless place part 7.

Chapter 7: The Brenner Family

After that date, Spencer and Max did not have time to see each other again. She will start at her work in a week so she had to go to school to decorate her classroom and helped her co-workers with a banner for the first day of school.

They wanted something fun and colorful so she was the right one for it. Meanwhile Spencer spent his days reading and learning about the phone Max gave him.

At night they talked on the phone and she even asked for some advice about some activities she wanted to do.

"What are you going to do tomorrow?" She asked while cleaning her dishes.

"I have an appointment with the phycologist. I still have to go for a few more sessions before they say I can return to work"

"Oh, I understand. But don't worry everything will be alright and she will send then a good review about you"

"Thank you" he smiled at that "I'm feeling better and my mind is relaxed so I think the experience I had to deal with didn't affect me as deeply as I thought"

"Good. And I know it must be from your work but I hope I can earn your thrust and know what happened"

"You are earning it but it's something I prefer to keep to myself for now" he looked down at the book he was rereading for the thousandth time.

"Of course and it's ok to keep things to ourselves" she turned off the water and dried her hands "hey... Um... Spencer... I was wondering if you would like to watch a movie? My dad brought an old movie, I can't remember it's name but he said it's pretty cool" she bit her lip "and he said we can invite someone to go to watch it and I thought you might like it..." Max continue to ramble about the movie which made him to held a laugh.

"Max?" She continued to talk without listening "Max..." He said a little louder but she didn't stop it "Maxine!" She stopped and he could swear she was blushing either because she was ashamed for her rambling or because of anger for her full name "I would love to go"

"Oh I underst... Wait did you said...?"

He laughed "I said yes Max. I will go" she laughed softly "when? And where?"

"This Friday at his house" she said sitting on her couch "we can meet somewhere else and go to his house"

"Sounds good. Maybe after my appointment we can meet" said Spencer to her.

"Ok see you tomorrow" he smiled.

"See you" and they hung up then she texted her father to let him know she will bring Spencer, which made him smile.

He knew Max and she was keeping her dates in secret so maybe something changed or she just wanted to introduce him to her family.

The next day Spencer went to the phycologist's office and wait there until it was his turn.

When he walked in she could see something different in him and she made mental connections with Max, who never asked for a second appointment.

She had must found what she was looking for and apparently it was with Spencer.

"Hello Spencer. Nice to see you again" she said kindly at him.

"Same doctor. I'm glad to see you again" he said back politely.

She smiled "Tell me how was your week?"

"It was great. I saw my godsons again and I met someone who is becoming someone special" she smiled and nodded.

"That's amazing. As a fellow phycologist you must know that having someone close helps us to heal quickly, right?" He nodded and was about to ramble about it but she spoke first "ok Spencer tell me the reason you are here. Why the FBI sent you with me"

He told her everything, since the problems with his mother to him going to Mexico and how Catherine Adams planned to sent him to jail to try to make him a bad person like her.

The doctor took notes and let him talk. Then he told her his experience in jail and his voice cracked a little talking about it, especially when he talked about Luis.

The things he did to survive in there and when he figured out his mother was with a hitwoman and how his team managed to get him out of jail.

"You managed to survive and that's what matter. Sadly this experiences may cause a good man to broke but you seem good"

"I think it's because I'm getting someone who help me move on" she nodded and smiled.

"Ok continue" he kept telling her about that day when he got out of jail and how he had to face Cat "wait you were just out of jail and they put you in that situation?'

"Yes... She just drop information with me and she just wanted me"

"I understand but you were in a wrong state of mind"

"And it was shown with my reactions when I thought her partner killed my mom" he looked down "I almost choked her and she was pregnant at that moment" the doctor showed a poke face but he still managed to read a micro expression of shock.

"I see. But you stopped"

"JJ, my best friend and coworker, stopped me" she nodded and took notes, then let him to continue. He told her how they finally find out her plan and they stopped her partner before she killed his mother.

Then he started to what Mr. Scratch did to his team and the anger he felt, the blurred vision and that his mind was not working as it used to.

"You had the beginning of a Post traumatic stress desorder, which is normal" he nodded "what happened?" He told her they found their lastly most wanted criminal.

He told her how he wanted to kill him himself but Emily, his boss, asked him to stay while Luke and Matt ran after him.

"Maybe in her mind she could see your tension and asked you to stay. Her intrusion told her to keep you there" he nodded looking down.

"Maybe. Emily knows me very well, just like JJ" he smiled.

"That's good because there's always someone to lean on after this kind of troubles"

"True" he smiled at her.

"Spencer it's almost time to finish this session but I would like to see you next week. I think you are better but still need to come one more time" he nodded "but I think this "someone" is helping you so keep talking to this person"

"Do you really think it's helping?"

"Of course. Your eyes are brighter and you smiles more" he blushed softly and thought that if the doctor who just saw him twice noticed it then maybe JJ noticed that too.

"See you next week Spencer" he nodded and stood up shaking her hand softly and left the office.

He walked out of the building and went to the coffee shop they decided to meet after his appointment and her work.

He walked in and saw her drinking a coffee so he walked to her "hey Max" she looked up and smiled then hugged him softly.

"Hey you. I just arrived" she said smiling "want something? Maybe we can eat something before we go to my dad's house"

"Sure I would like it" he nodded "I'm starving" she laughed and they walked to the counter to order something. This time Max did not accept him to pay. She paid for everything and he just let her.

They ate and she told him about her day. And how they designed the banner, the next day they will paint it and wait until it dried for the beginning of the school year.

Then they walked to her car and she drove to her father's house. She told him about her family "ok I have two sisters as I told you. The older is Michelle and the younger is Eloise. Michelle has a kid called Samuel but we all call him Sammy" he nodded "he is almost ten and I'm sure you will like him. He is curious and I'm sure he will ask you awkward things"

He laughed "like most kids"

"Oh he's more curious than most kids" she laughed "and make awkward comments about you" he nodded "just be prepared"

"Ok" he looked at her then they arrived to her dad's house and she parked the car next to another car. Maybe one of her sister's.

They got out and walked to the door when they arrived there were all her family. Her sister Eloise with her best friend Andrea, Michelle with her family and their father with a few friends drinking a whiskey.

"Max! You are here" said her father walking to then "And you are...?" Asked the old man to Spencer.

"I'm Spencer Reid sir. Nice to meet you"

"Nice to meet you kid. I'm Dominic Brenner" he shook his hand gently "you are dating my daughter right?"

"Dad!" Said Max blushing deeply.

"Um... Well we had some dates... Nothing too serious" he said blushing too.

The sisters of Max held a laugh watching the awkward situation and Michelle said "Dad stop it. You will make them die of embarrassment"

"Fine fine... I was just asking" he patted his shoulder "welcome to my house kid. I'm glad Max met a nice guy like you"

Then let them walk in the living room and sat down after Max introduced them to Spencer, when she asked about Sammy, her sister said that he had a sleepover at his best friend before classes started.

Then her father asked her to help him with the snacks. She looked at him like saying 'are you serious?' but still went with him.

She gave Spencer a last look and walked in the kitchen. Immediately the two sisters jumped to him and started to ask him about his relationship with her, about him, where they met and Michelle took the opportunity to show some photos of her as a kid.

Spencer smiled and then the two men that were with Max's dad walked to him "Spencer, right?" He nodded "do you play poker?"

"Yes" said he looking at them.

"Good cause Michelle's husband doesn't and our friend Santiago can't play this Saturday so why don't you come?"

"Yeah and don't worry Johnny, a professional poker player will go easy on you" said him pointing at the other man.

Spencer raised an eyebrow and nodded "I'm sure I can handle him" Spencer said with confidence.

The other man smirked "I like that attitude. Hope you can keep it up this Saturday" Spencer smirked and Max and Dom walked towards them.

"Andrew and Johnny what are you talking about with Spencer?" She instinctively held his arm.

"Relax Maxie. I was asking him if he plays poker and invited him to play with us" he said and Max looked at Spencer.

"And what did you say?"

"I accepted. I like to play poker" he said looking at her in a way that made her understand to not mention he is from Vegas or was banned from every casino.

She just smirked and looked at them "good I'm glad you both got along with him. You will have fun with them Spence"

"Ok everyone let's go... We will watch Casablanca" said Dom calling then to go to take a seat. The younger girls made an annoyed sound.

"Oh come on...." Dom continue to talking with them about the wonderful things this movie had.

Spencer and Max walked far behind them and took the furthest seats from the others.

"Are you sure?" She asked him in a whisper as they sat down.

"Yeah. I could bet anything they bullied your dad" she nodded "so it's their time to lose" Max does not know why, maybe his confidence or just their proximity as they speak but she felt the need to kiss him but she held herself. It was too soon for them. She was not an easy woman but Spencer was different than her other dates.

They watched movie and had a good time. They laughed and Spencer suddenly held her hand almost at the end. She smiled but did not say anything.

After that they ate dinner and commented the movie like a forum. The girls liked it but still did not like it in black and white.

Spencer rambled about details of the production, the actors and fin facts of it. Dom was impressed and winked at Max which made her blushed.

After that all the people in his house left to their houses. Dom confirmed Spencer for the poker night and he promised to be there.

Then she drove him to his apartment. He gave her the address and she just followed it on with her GPS.

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes I did. I loved that movie and I'm glad your dad found it"

"He is an old movies lover" she laughed "so maybe he will invite you more often"

"I would love to" he smiled and she smiled back.

"Good. I will let you know when he has another movie night" she laughed as they arrived to the building when he lived "ok you reached your home safe" he laughed.

"Good I'm happy you brought me safe" he smiled "I hope we can see again" she smiled.

"Of course you won't get me out of your life so easily" she smirked.

"I wouldn't try to" he looked at her and smirked back.

She felt that need to kiss him again but she held herself again repeating in her mind that it was too soon.

"I will call you" he held her hand softly and kissed her cheek.

"Ok I will wait" he got out and walked to the building. She looked at him until he walked in and sighed.

"Jeez Max.... You just met him and you want to kiss him..." She said to herself as she ran her hand through her hair and drove to her apartment.

OOooOOooOO

Hope you enjoyed this one. It's long and I need to set an specific day to force me to update more regularly. Maybe every Wednesday? Sounds good.

What do you think? Should Max and Spencer kiss at the next date or wait?

Thank you for read.