#might’ve done better in middle school when I had to have more of them memorized

[phoebe-delia]

For the song prompt, let’s hear your track 5 lol

Lmaooo this made me laugh, thank you. I've already done my 13th track and now I get to do Track 5! (If you don't know why Track 5 is significant, it's because Taylor Swift puts her most emotional songs as the 5th song on every album).

My Track 5 is, fittingly, a Taylor song; not only that, it's "gold rush," which makes me happy because 1. it's a great song and 2. I actually wrote a fic based on it for the first EVER Drarry as Taylor fic--before I knew this would become a series. It's from Draco's POV, and it can be read here.

I'm so glad to take another crack at this song. This will serve as a sequel/companion piece to the original, but it can stand on its own. Enjoy.

For the first time in his life, Harry was too excited to sleep.

Unlike Dudley, he hadn't spent Christmas Eves and the hours before his birthdays anticipating presents and sweets. He'd never had anything to look forward to, nothing to keep him up at night in anxious glee.

But now, as he stared up at the ceiling, his new roommates sleeping soundly around him, he found himself able to calm his exhilarated mind enough to rest.

He knew that the red and gold curtains that hung around his bed meant that he was in Gryffindor, and he mentally thanked the magical hat for not sorting him into Slytherin with that Malfoy git.

Irritation rose in his chest at the memory of Malfoy insulting his new friend, Ron. Harry'd decided then that anyone who could look at Ron and decide to be so rude to him must be someone to avoid. He knew a bully when he saw one, and bullies, in his experience, didn't change.

Harry turned onto his side to stare out the window, marveling at the novelty of sleeping somewhere with a view other than cramped, blank walls.

He curled up into the warm blanket, finally letting the exhaustion of the day lull him to sleep.

________

Third-year Charms, Harry decided, wasn't any more interesting than it had been the first two years.

He sat next to Ron, who was watching Hermione take notes with machine-like speed and precision. While the sight of Hermione in action was entertaining for a minute or so, Harry didn't understand why Ron stared at her all the time.

Not for the first time that class, Harry regretted not sitting toward the back of the room. Malfoy was sat next to Parkinson at the table just behind them, and Harry knew it was unwise to turn one's back to one's enemy. It was much more prudent to stare at one's nemesis for as long as possible, using subtlety and stealth to make sure one's observations went undetected.

Ron stared at Hermione almost as much as Harry stared at Malfoy, but surely Ron didn't think their friend was up to something.

Well, unless you called memorizing every comma of Hogwarts: A History nefarious.

“Remember, class, your homework for tomorrow is seven inches on the history of the Summoning Charm. You are dismissed," Flitwick turned to the board, casting a cleaning charm to erase the notes.

Harry was startled out of his reverie by the sudden announcement, as well as by Ron, who nudged him and gestured to Hermione, whose head was still bent over her desk as she wrote furiously.

"How long d'you reckon she'd stay here and write if no one stopped her?" Ron muttered.

Harry let out a short laugh and opened his mouth to respond when he caught sight of Malfoy darting quickly out of the room.

Harry frowned. But before he could voice his pondering over why Malfoy'd all but sprinted from the classroom, Hermione had finally snapped out of her note-taking daze and joined Harry and Ron.

As they walked along the corridor, Ron and Hermione continued to squabble over whether or not they needed to go to the library during their free period.

"But 'Mione, it's called a free period. A period of freedom. Don't you want to be free?"

"I don't want my mind to be enslaved to ignorance, Ronald! Information is freedom."

"Merlin, fine. But I have to go get my textbook from the dorm first. Harry, you coming?"

Harry nodded. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the two of them before giving them a mollified nod. Clutching her books tightly, Hermione turned on her heel and walked briskly toward the library.

"C'mon mate," Ron said, tugging at Harry's sleeve. "Let's take the long way."

Ron prattled on about quidditch, and Harry tried to listen, he really did. But his thoughts drifted inevitably back to Malfoy. He kicked himself again for not choosing a better surveillance point in class; maybe if he'd been watching he'd have seen why Malfoy'd fled class at the end.

He and Ron ventured outside, through the courtyard and into the open area beside the lake. Harry felt a surge of victory and relief at the sight of Malfoy sitting on the bench, his head tilted back with a soft smile as if enjoying the warmth on his face. His hair glittered golden in the sun.

Without thinking, Harry started walking toward him, an animated Ron following along.

“But Harry, they haven’t got a chance! Look, the Cannons--”

Ron stopped talking as Malfoy turned to sneer at them.

“Can I help you?” Malfoy drawled, “Or do you mind taking your boisterous conversation elsewhere? I was here first.”

Ron glared. “Shut up, Malfoy. We didn’t see you, or we wouldn’t have come any closer in case being a prat is contagious.”

Malfoy smirked. “Unlike you, I wasn’t raised in a barn, so I don’t carry diseases. But we snakes do bite, so mind your place, Weaselbee.”

Ron started toward Draco, his fists clenched, but Harry grabbed his arm, despite the rage swelling in his own chest.

“Ron, he’s not worth it. C’mon.” Harry said, eyes narrowed at Malfoy in a clear warning.

Ron gave Malfoy one last glare before he let Harry steer him away from Malfoy, who widened his smirk in satisfaction. They walked away, Ron continuing his rant as they made their way to Gryffindor Tower. Harry looked over his shoulder, catching one more glimpse of Malfoy basking in the sunshine.

________

“P-Potter,” Malfoy gasped, trapped between the bathroom wall as Harry crowded him, his face inches away. “W-what—?”

Harry shook his head, smiling softly. “You heard me, Malfoy.”

“I-I’m not sure I did, actually. Might you repeat it?”

Harry chuckled. “Why don’t I show you instead?”

Harry lifted a warm hand reached up to cup Malfoy’s cheek, leaned in and—

Harry woke with a gasp, sweat beading on his forehead. A hand scrubbed over his face as he wiped the sleep from his eyes and felt his four-poster ground him to reality.

After the last six years, he was no stranger to waking up in the middle of the night from strange dreams, but his subconscious--or rather Voldemort--usually tortured him with disturbing images and nightmare scenarios.

This time, it seems Voldemort had left Harry's subconscious to its own horny, teenaged devices--and it apparently had a twisted sense of humor.

That moment of blind rage in the bathroom haunted Harry enough during the day that he wasn't surprised that it would make its way into his dreams--but his chest hurt with the knowledge that perhaps it might've gone differently. Might've ended in whispered apologies, explanations, and soft, exploring kisses.

But if Malfoy hadn't hated him before, he certainly did now, and Harry couldn't blame him.

Harry knew a bully when he saw one, and during that moment, he couldn't pretend it had been Malfoy.

He raised a hand to the scar on his forehead and wondered when he'd changed.

________

“Draco Malfoy, you are hereby sentenced to three months house arrest, followed by one year of probation,” Kingsley banged the gavel, the sound reverberating in the large room before chatter rose from the avid audience.

Harry watched with a small smile as Malfoy and his mother sat together, their cool masks wavering with emotion for just a second before shifting back into place.

He decided to give them a moment before approaching Malfoy, but if he didn't get this over with now, he'd never have the courage.

Suddenly, Malfoy rose on shaking legs and walked over to Harry, who quickly stood to meet him in the middle. Harry regarded him with a tight-lipped smile.

Malfoy tipped his head slightly. “Thank you, Potter.”

Harry nodded. “Sure, Malfoy.”

Malfoy nodded before turning away, stopping when Harry, acting on impulse, reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Wait, Malfoy. I have something for you.”

Malfoy looked at him in confusion as Harry reached into his pocket and handed him his wand, stifling a chuckle when Malfoy’s eye widened.

“Thanks for letting me borrow it,” Harry said, his voice quiet.

Malfoy nodded again. He took the wand from Harry’s hand, closing his eyes. Harry let in a sharp breath at the sight of a soft smile on Malfoy's lips as he reunited with his wand. The image was more compelling than Harry imagined, as evidenced by the butterflies that filled his stomach.

Harry cleared his throat. “Well, er, I’ll see you around, Malfoy,” he said, nodding one final time before turning to leave.

He smiled as he heard Malfoy's quiet, "Goodbye, Potter," as he walked away.

________

Harry pressed his lips together in a grimaced smile as a few younger students gathered near him at the table in the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione shot him sympathetic looks, and he gave them an apologetic shrug before turning to sign another autograph for a wide-eyed first year.

If this would be an indication of what his eighth year would be, Harry wasn't sure how much longer he'd last.

After promises to fulfill the fans' requests later, the giggling group left the table to let him eat in relative peace--it was rather hard to enjoy one's dinner while half the school was staring at you.

His eyes flickered to the Slytherin table, where the students ate mechanically, their faces blank. Malfoy, who'd sent surprisingly genuine apology letters over the summer, looked thoughtful; not calculating or analyzing, but pensive.

Lying in bed that evening, Harry remembered the image of Malfoy at the Black Lake with his head tipped back in the sunlight. He thought of the rare smile Malfoy'd had when he held his wand for the first time after his trial, and the feeling that had bubbled up in his own chest at the sight.

Harry looked out the window at the night sky and wondered if happiness would be a constant thrum under his skin, or if it could be found in stolen moments tucked into his heart. The stars glittered in silent answer, shining with anticipation.

[transsergio]

Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 2 - I'm Not Gonna Repeat Myself Chapter 1 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 1747 words in this chapter

As Emily and Penelope grow closer, Hotch becomes more desperate.

Three months. It’s been three months of Penelope in Emily’s apartment, Emily in Penelope’s, of spending every second that they can together. Emily is having a hard time calling Penelope everything but baby in the middle of an investigation, and Penelope’s flirting has grown stiff.

“Why could you say all that stuff before but not now?” Emily asks one night, two glasses of sparkling cider on the coffee table before them. They’re sitting at opposite ends of the couch with their legs entangled.

Penelope rolls her eyes. “I mean, I could, but it feels weird! Like, I flirt with Derek, but that’s just banter between two very, very sexy friends. It’d be like…saying you’re the same.”

“The same as Derek? I hope so. He sees a lot of action,” Emily teases. Penelope kicks her lightly, with love.

“You think you’re so cute, huh? No, not like that. You’re special, and I don’t want to cheapen what we have.”

And Emily crawled her way up Penelope to kiss her.

Still, the team was perceptive. They were picking up on the energy shift between them and pretending not to notice. Emily figured a talk was coming sooner or later, probably led by Rossi. The only one who seemed oblivious was Hotch.

That may have had to do with the texts he continued to send. They were cracked windows into his life post-Haley, and Emily hadn’t responded to most of them. She had no idea what to say, or how to reject a widow, if she was even allowed? And they kept coming in. “Seeing a movie with Jack. Phone will be off,” and “Good morning,” when they were already at their separate desks, and “Our hands touched when you passed files yesterday. Intentional?” and “Do you like champagne?” They buzzed over and over, like a form of slow torture.

The last one, “Do you like champagne?” comes on one of Penelope’s nights at Emily’s. They’re lounging in her bed, Emily flicking through a magazine and Penelope stationed over an old lap desk as she paints her nails. Emily opens the message, sets it down, and tries not to think about it. She glances at Penelope.

“Pink and green?” Emily asks.

“Yeah. I’m embracing spring themes.” Penelope waves her careful manicure. White daisies are studded with a rhinestone overtop each finger. She wiggles them under Emily’s nose. “Blow.”

“Excuse me?” Emily laughs.

“Blow,” Penelope repeats, raising her eyebrows and looking between her girlfriend and her nails. “They’re not dry yet.”

Emily sighs and lowers her magazine. “Anything for you, princess.” She delights in Penelope’s big, perfect smile, and blows a steady stream of air over her work.

“Is that enough?” Emily tugs at Penelope’s wrist so she can kiss the back of her hand. “Penelope?”

Penelope’s gaze is far adrift, and she startles back to the present. “Sorry, I just… I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“I love you.” Penelope declares it with a certainty, a finality, like she’s made her choice.

When Emily freezes in place, Penelope’s hand still in hers, Penelope tacks on, “I know it’s soon. You don’t have to say it. But I know I love you, and back then you said we don’t know how long we have, so I figured I should say it sooner, not later. Are you okay? Em?”

“Uh, yeah,” Emily nods. She lets Penelope go. “Sorry, I have something in my eye.”

Penelope looks at her. She knows better. “Are you crying, Em?”

“Maybe. Shut up.”

They burst into a fit of giggles, and Emily clamors for Penelope. “I love you too,” she says, and takes Penelope’s face in her hands. She memorizes every detail, every crease, every bit of Penelope as she holds her whole world. “I love you so much.”

Before they can take another breath, someone pounds on Emily’s door. Emily wipes her face clean and adjusts her sweatshirt. “I’ll get it. Be- be right back. Stay.”

Penelope smiles through her watering eyes. “Aye aye, captain.”

And Emily swears up and down that this better be good and not some kid on her floor playing ding-dong ditch, or she’ll have to call the building manager and tell them all about how her girlfriend loves her, she actually loves her when Emily loves her too, and these kids interrupted –

“Hotch?”

Fuck. Emily should’ve looked through the peephole. But Penelope loves her, so she forgot.

“Prentiss. May I come in?” he asks. He doesn’t allow her to answer and barrels inside. Okay, so this is worse. If he sees Penelope, it’s over. They’ll have to tell Strauss, and internal affairs, and they could both lose their jobs. Emily herds him into the living room and puts the bedroom out of sight.

“What’s going on?” Emily asks. She crosses her arms over her chest and stands rigid.

Hotch is holding a bottle of wine. He’s wearing sweatpants and a college t-shirt, and he looks hazy. “I know you’ve gotten my texts. Your phone works, I’ve seen it. You answer calls from Garcia, Morgan, Reid – why not me?”

Emily frowns. “I answer you.”

“Do you? Because I asked you a question tonight and still haven’t received a response.”

Emily clarifies, “I answer you when we’re working. I told you. What happened, happened, and I don’t want to do it again.”

Hotch wavers, not in his position, but to the point that he lands on Emily’s couch. His cheeks are bright red. “That’s what was said. But what about the signals you’ve been sending?”

Emily scoffs. “Signals, really? What signals?”

Hotch clinks the bottle onto Emily’s table. He passes over the room’s low lighting, seeming to take in that Emily only has a few lamps and her vanilla candles lit. He makes Emily wait for his answer. “You – you’ve protected me. And you realized I was gone when Foyet came. You care about me, Emily, and you proved it the night we had sex.”

“I was drunk and in a low place. That’s all it was.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hotch says, quiet. His head is bowed, and his elbows rest on his knees as he hunches over. “Haley and I never felt like that.”

“Maybe because you’ve only slept with one person since high school? And, honestly Hotch, you’re not my type. I think you experienced something new and made it more than it was.”

He looks up at her through the dark flop of his hair. “If you honestly have no feelings for me, tell me and I’ll be g—”

“I have no feelings for you.”

Hotch sighs. “You’re not going to let me finish that sentence, are you?”

Emily shakes her head. “I already know the answer.”

He leaves the wine as he stands, and hesitates in the threshold. “You’re good at your job, Prentiss. This won’t impact your position.”

“I didn’t think it would.” Emily purses her lips.

Hotch gives her a curt nod, and the door shuts silently behind him. Which would’ve been the end of it if Emily didn’t have thin walls and good hearing. The sound of someone slumping down the hall, curling into a fetal position, and trying to stifle his weeping permeates her apartment. It tugs Emily towards the doorknob, to comforting her co-worker who she admired before they shared pathetic sex.

Penelope comes to her side, still gingerly avoiding the use of her fingernails. “You and Hotch?”

Emily turns to Penelope, wide-eyed. “I, yeah, once. I was blackout drunk. I don’t remember it, I swear.”

“No, I heard. It’s okay. We hadn’t done anything yet anyway, right?”

“Not…particularly?”

“Oh no, no, no. Elaborate. Now.” Penelope insists. Emily keeps herself moving about the kitchen, making tea while she explains. She tells the whole story, including the way Penelope has always made her feel, how she hated Kevin but he seemed to make her happy, the crush she harbored for years, and the realization that Penelope was never going to return the sentiment. That Penelope didn’t have what she felt. That Penelope went to bed early that night with her boyfriend by her side, who got to make her breakfast and see her with her bedhead and know what she was like before she entered the building and binge reality shows with her late at night when she’d already left the team where they were. And Emily, evidently, lost it.

“Hotch offered me a ride back. He was tipsy, of course, so he called a cab for us. I woke up naked and he was making breakfast.” Emily says. She sips at her mug, though the drink’s gone cold by now.

Penelope waits. “And?”

“And,” Emily tenses, “I was disgusted. It was one of the worst mistakes of my life. I thought about it, and I realized I was trying to punish myself for something. For being too much of a coward to ask you out in the first place, I guess. I had plenty of time before Kevin got there. I could have tried, but I didn’t. That’s when…”

“When you came into my cave,” Penelope finishes. She traces one of the rings stained into Emily’s kitchen table. Emily wants to let her process, to think, but the terror overrides her patience.

“Are you mad?” she asks.

Penelope’s eyes are loving, but wilted. “No,” she says. “I’m sad that I made you feel like that. Before you say it’s not my fault, I get it, but still. Because I liked you too, and I liked being your friend, and I didn’t want to jeopardize us on the slight chance that you were straight as an arrow. Which you should really work on if you want our private life to stay private. You’re like, the gayest agent I’ve ever met.”

Emily snorts. “Thanks, I’ll try.”

Penelope draws Emily’s hands into hers. It’s been long enough that her fingers aren’t even tacky anymore. “I think you might’ve been punishing yourself for something else, too. Maybe you were mad about why you couldn’t have me?”

“…Yeah. Yeah, there’s that.” Emily drags her chair closer to Penelope’s. She leans her cheek against Penelope’s shoulder, and allows Penelope to lay an arm around her back. Emily says, “I would’ve had hurt, angry sex with someone regardless, but the Catholic guilt didn’t help.”

Penelope rests her chin on the top of Emily’s head. Their breathing becomes inseparable. “You know I still love you.”

“I know.” Emily worms her way closer, practically into Penelope’s lap. She doesn’t hear crying anymore.

[writing-radionoises]

afterlife

ship: background terumob and ritshou, implied seirei

genre: angst with a bittersweet ending

prompt: mob tries to cope with death and learns he's really bad at it

notes: autistic mob is canon because im autistic and i said so

--

Reigen was always good at reading people, me particularly.

He was better than Ritsu, who had lived his whole life around me, and better than Teru, who was arguably horrible at the task.

Reigen knew me better than anyone I knew. 

He could tell what percentage I was at before I could even spill the numbers.

Even though he was never as great as he said, and I had known he was a fraud for years, I do believe that somewhere deep down, Reigen did have an ability.

Reigen passed the year after I graduated high school, so I guess we'll never really know.

It was a couple months ago, but I'm still not strong enough to talk about it.

I'm struggling to live as an adult without him.

There's no one who can really understand my situation as much as he did.

Even though I love Ritsu and Teru dearly, and they're working hard to get in the level Reigen was once, they'll never be Reigen.

I'm never going to have a person like that again.

… Probably.

Before he passed, I used to text him when I was starting to get overwhelmed, about to meltdown, and he'd help me ground myself, keep it under wraps.

Sometimes he'd call, he had a comforting voice.

I find myself still texting his old number, I'm sure it goes to some random person now who didn't even know who Reigen was, but that doesn't stop me.

I apologize a lot in those messages.

Partially because it was my fault he passed.

Partially because I feel bad for dumping all my emotional baggage on the person actually receiving these.

I vent about my day, I scroll up and read our old conversations, I take pictures of things that remind me of him and send them.

… Part of me is half expecting him to respond.

Part of me is hoping he's gonna text back and say "Aw, what a cute puppy, Mob! Be sure to give it lots of pets for me!"

And then he doesn't.

I had a meltdown at his funeral, it was embarrassing.

Dimple didn't know what to do with me, Ritsu was trying to get everyone to settle down.

Teru tried to comfort me from afar.

I cried a lot that day.

I couldn't leave the house for weeks.

I got fired from my job because I hadn't come into work so long.

I stayed home alone, constantly at my limit.

100% loneliness.

100% sadness.

100% mourning.

I think the stages of grief work differently for me, I never had a denial, bargaining, or anger stage.

I jumped right into depression, head first.

I'm working my way out of it, though.

Reigen had no living family, but he had put me in his will, so I had gotten most of everything he ever owned. Ritsu tried to get me to get rid of it, but I was already attached to most of it.

So I kept most of his belongings.

Teru wasn't mad when most of our apartment was cluttered with Reigen's stuff, and I was stuck in the middle of the apartment, desperately trying to cope.

He organized it, framed pictures and put away books.

I still couldn't cope. But he insisted that was okay.

I readjusted my routine, trying to keep my lost father figure as far from my mind as possible, but he still forced his way in.

Today, Dimple insisted that I visit Reigen's grave for the first time in months. Ritsu said it was a bad idea, that it would only awaken more grieving, but… Maybe it could be the closure I needed.

The train was loud, so I had worn my ear defenders, and sat close to the window while I waited for my stop.

I felt like a middle schooler again, on my way to the Spirit and Consultation Office after school.

I wasn't, but it was a nice warm feeling to be reminded of. 

My stop came along, and I hopped off the train and headed towards the graveyard. It was autumn, the wind had just gotten chilly and the leaves started to fall. I slipped off my ear defenders and continued walking.

"Dimple," I asked, "Were you ever… Human? Or were you just always a spirit?"

Dimple looked back at me, I'm sure if he had shoulders he would shrug, "Don't really know, Shigeo. I've been like this for as long as I can remember, so I doubt I was ever human. Why?"

I looked down towards the ground, shoving my hands in my pockets, "Maybe… I've been too consumed by grief to think about this before, but I'm wondering if maybe… Reigen is a spirit now."

"Don't get your hopes up."

"I know but… It'd be a nice thought. To actually talk to him again instead of just… texting his old number like he's still there."

"Maybe so, but would it really feel any better to know he's stuck here instead of going into the afterlife?"

I fell silent again, Dimple might've been right, maybe I was selfish for wanting that.

I don't like the idea of him being stuck here forever.

What if he asks me to exorcise him? Would I be able to do it?

Would I… be able to live with killing him twice?

"Don't think about it too much, kid," Dimple reassured, "Think about something else, like… Oh, Serizawa's coming to town soon, isn't he?"

I nodded, "He is, he's going to take over the business, and probably move up here. He left to visit family for awhile… the grief was too much for him."

"And your brother is getting married soon, right?"

"I think so… I hope he and Shou don't feel like Teru and I are pressuring him since we're already married… Teru and I have just been together since middle school."

"Ah, I'm sure he doesn't feel like that, hey look! We're there," Dimple replied.

I looked up at the entry way gate, and headed on in.

I could feel the presence of many spirits, most of which were good meaning, as I moved down the aisles. I remembered which one was Reigen's, I'm not quite sure why I memorized that, as I came across the gravestone.

Reigen Arataka

1993-2025

A father to all,

A lover to one.

I remember Serizawa picking out that inscription, he confronted me about it before confirming it.

It was the first thing to make me smile during the week of Reigen's death.

I took a breath, looking down at the grave, and then getting on my knees.

The ground was cold, and I felt no presence here.

"Reigen…" I started, trying to collect myself, "I'm really sorry. About… everything. About the fight I got you involved in, the people I got you involved in with, not taking over the business like you wanted… I'm really sorry about that one, I should've done it, but it feels so… so… empty without you… Serizawa said he was gonna take it, though. I know he's gonna take good care of it, I'll work under him, too. Maybe someday… I'll let go enough to be able to do it? I don't know…"

I balled up the fabric of my jeans into my hands, trying to keep it together.

"I've been texting your old number, I'm having such a hard time living without you… I love Ritsu, and Teru, and Dimple but… I don't think there's a person in the world who could get me quite as well as you did. You taught me a lot of things, I'm not sure if I'd be the same person without you. Teru, as patient as he is, is probably tired of my mourning and constant depression. I had a meltdown at your funeral, I'm sorry about that, too, it was really embarrassing…"

I fell silent again, biting my tongue.

"I think… I'm happy about the moments we spent together, though. There could've been so much more, you died so young, but the ones we had… they make me pretty happy. A part of me, though, has been thinking about you on the afterlife. Wondering if you're a spirit and wondering… how much damage I can do with my powers. It was my fault you passed, my fault that many people passed and now I'm wondering… am I really a good person? Am I doing good enough? Will I ever… live up to what you thought of me?"

There's silence in the air as I feel the emotions build up once again.

75%.

"I'm really nothing without you, I'm so annoying to everyone because you're all I can talk about. I can't remember the last time I saw my parents, Serizawa left town for awhile, Teru's coping by overworking himself and here I am, crying to someone who isn't here anymore and can't do anything to help. Here I am, texting a dead person and still praying they'll text back and… And… I'm just…"

93%.

"I'm just so… fucking lonely, Reigen, I'm so fucking lonely."

There isn't a response. But I expected that. Nothing but the wind as I still pray to hear a familiar voice.

Just one more time, please.

Just one more hug.

"Hey, Mob!"

I lift my head up, and I'm met with a ghostly figure of someone I once knew.

"Still venting to me from the afterlife, huh?"

[puckinghell]

A Million Different Ways | William Nylander

Summary: Saying the L-word is scary, but luckily, there are a million different ways to say I love you.  Words: 1737 Note: I’m writing to deal with my emotional distress over this playoff loss. 

There were a million different ways to say I love you, and Will was pretty sure he’d gone through them all.

Well, all but one; he hadn’t actually said the words “I love you” out loud. But he had a good reason for that. You were his best friend, and you weren’t interested in him.

But nothing was stopping him from saying I love you in every other way. Sometimes he even thought you were telling him the same thing. But surely that was just in his mind. He didn’t care, though. He would continue to tell you, until you inevitably got with some other guy, who could tell you those three little words. That was a day Will didn’t think he would ever be ready for.

1.

It had been a hard week and on Friday night, you wanted nothing more than to have a movie night with your best friend. You had these nights every Friday night Will wasn’t playing, and when he was, you’d move it to Thursday or Saturday night. You rarely missed a movie night, and you weren’t about to this time.

But boy, you were tired. School had been busy and work had been tough, and when you walked into Will’s apartment, you were too exhausted to even properly greet him, instead flopping down on his couch and instantly pulling a blanket over yourself.

“Good evening, Y/N. I’m great, thanks for asking, Y/N,” Kappy said sarcastically. He shot Will a look. “You’re gonna need the TV, aren’t you?” With a dramatic sigh, he unplugged his controller before Will had even answered.

“I would invite you to stay and watch the movie with us, but I’ve seen enough of your ugly mug for one day,” Will told him instead, then turned to you. “You look tired. Did you get enough sleep last night?”

You would’ve answered him, had it not been for the yawn that escaped your lips, and he simply giggled. “Clearly not. Are you hungry?” His eyes lit up. “We bought chocolate cake earlier today and I saved you the last piece.”

The thought of chocolate had your mouth watering. “If you bring me the cake I won’t question you about your choice to buy chocolate cake in the middle of the season,” you promised him.

Will sat down next to you on the couch, swinging his arm over the back of it.

“Well, then,” he said. “Why don’t you pick the movie?”

2.

“Why are you always late?” you whined when Will finally got into the car. He shot you a look, then pointed to his hair.

“It takes time to look this good,” he joked. You knew he was joking not only cause his laughter-filled voice, but also because his hair currently looked like a bird had tried to nest in it. Usually Will took some time to do his hair after practice, but this time, he’d clearly forgone it, instead opting to be with you as soon as possible.

You might’ve told him that if you missed even the beginning credits of the movie, you’d kill him. You’d wanted to see this movie since it was announced and when it turned out it would only just work out for Will to join you after practice, you’d offered to pick him up and drive straight to the cinema. 

He was wearing sweats and clearly hadn’t brushed his hair after the shower, but he still looked good. It was unfair, really. If you didn’t brush your hair, you looked homeless.

“You’re annoying,” you told him, putting the car into motion, and Will grinned at you.

“Get used to it. I plan on annoying you for the rest of my life.”

The rest of the car ride went as usual, when you two got together. Will yapped on and on about practice, you made fun of him a little, he teased you back, then quickly made sure you knew he didn’t mean it in a bad way. Suddenly, in the middle of one of his sentences, Will’s head shot up and his mouth shut.

“What?” you asked worriedly, trying to catch his eye while also paying attention to the road.

“The song!” he yelled out. “In practice they were playing a song, and it reminded me of you. It was a Carole King song.”

“You were listening to Carole King in practice?” you frowned, but he didn’t even seem to hear you.

Instead, he was manically scrolling through his phone, hooking it up to your car radio, and then, familiar tones filled your car.

As soon as you recognized it, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ve Got A Friend.”

He shot you a smug smile. “Cause I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

“Now that is a true friend.” Then you turned up the radio and you two sang along at the top of your lungs.

You couldn’t even really remember what movie you were going to see.

3.  

Will texting you was not an unusual thing, but Will texting you on 2am on a Tuesday was a bit odd. However, in these circumstances, you should’ve expected it.

You could’ve texted back but it was late and dark in your room and you were still half asleep, so instead, you called him.

“Will?” you mumbled. “Why did you text?”

“Oh.” His voice sounded muffled, and a bit scratchy. He didn’t sound sleepy, but he sounded tired. No, more than that. Exhausted. “Sorry, I didn’t think about the time.” He paused. “It’s just that you’re the one I text when I need to smile.”

Your heart broke at his words. “Oh, Willy, I know it sucks, but there’ll be another playoff series…”

“Not like this.” The words came out too forceful, too fast. You could tell they were ringing in his ears, had been ringing in his ears ever since that final buzzer went off in Boston. “This was all my fault. I should’ve performed better. They were counting on me.”

You’d known that’s what he was thinking. And you knew it hadn’t been his best series, but considering the circumstances, you thought he’d done fine. He’d missed half the season, played a position he didn’t usually play, played with linemates he’d never played with, played third line minutes… and his stats were still fine.

But that’s not what he saw. All he saw was a loss. Again.

“They were counting on all you guys,” you told him softly. “And that’s what happens in hockey, sometimes. They were counting on Tampa and Calgary too. But you know what? You did great, and no matter what, I’m proud of you.” You were quiet for a bit, but there was no response from Will. “How can I help, Willy?”

It was silent on the other end. Then, softly, his voice small: “Can you just take my mind off it? Talk to me about something else. Literally anything else.”

And so that’s what you did. You talked about your annoying professor and your friend, who got back together with her no-good ex-boyfriend. You talked about the weather and your plans for the weekend, which included going on a run, something you hated doing but forced yourself to do anyway. You talked about the latest news on the Kardashians. Anything to make him stop thinking. Anything to make him feel better.

Finally, around 3, Will’s voice came through the phone again. “Thank you for calling me this late.”

You smiled. “I’ll always be there for you, Will. You know that. That’s what best friends are for. ”

4.

Before you’d known Will, summer had been your favorite season. Now, it just meant you wouldn’t see your best friend for two months, and as you stood in the airport hall, surrounded by people, you already couldn’t help but feel incredibly alone.

And he wasn’t even gone yet.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said, his eyes soft. It was hard on him, too, but at least he was going home to see his family.

“Not as much as me,” you told him, and when he shot you a look, you stubbornly crossed your arms. “You know damn well I go nuts without you in my life.”

“I’ll still be in your life, miss drama queen,” he giggled. “Just over the phone, for a little bit.” The smile faded. “You know you can always call me, right?”

You nodded. You knew he’d always be there, always just a phone call away, but it wasn’t the same, and he knew that too.

“Well, goodbye, then, I guess.” You didn’t wanna drag it on any longer, knew it would hurt no matter how long you stood in a crowded airport hall staring at him, trying to memorize the color blue of his eyes or the crinkles around them when he smiled. Every year, you tried to memorize his face, his voice, his smell… but every year, you could feel that memory drift away from you during summer.

“It’s not goodbye, it’s see you later.” Will opened his arms. “Hug me.”

He didn’t need to ask you twice; you jumped forward, throwing yourself into his arms and burying your face in his neck. His skin was warm against yours and you had to swallow away a lump from your throat.

Finally, it was time to let go, and when Will stepped back, there was a strange look on his face.

“I…” But he cut himself off, cut himself off before he could say the full three words.

Maybe one day. But not now.

“Text me when you get home,” he said instead.

“You’ll be in the air, what could you possibly do about anything?” You tried to tease him, but your voice didn’t quite reach the right tone.

He shrugged. “I just wanna know you’re safe.”

Your heart leaped and you forced it down, bit the inside of your cheek. “Okay,” you told him. “I will.”

He reached out, squeezed your hand. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Will.” With those words, you watched him as he walked through the gate. Then turned around and left for your car.

You didn’t see him turn around before he reached security. You didn’t see the movement of his lips, three little words whispered in the air, never to be heard by anyone but himself.

There were a million different ways to say I love you, and now, Will had truly gone through them all.

[myownpersonaldemons]

Self-Tober Prompt 22

Sunshine

US!Sans/Reader

You couldn’t find your husband anywhere. He texted you to let you know that he had arrived home from his trip with Queen Toriel and Ambassador Chara early…but when you got home from your shopping trip, he wasn’t anywhere. Which was surprising. He’d been gone a week, the longest the two of you had gone apart from each other since getting married, and normally during longer trips he’d be darting over to greet you instantly. And smothering you with kisses.

You wanted your kisses.

Thankfully as you walked past the back door, you spotted the flash of blue.

With a relieved sigh, you opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. He turned around at the sound of the creaky screen door swinging shut (you needed to remember to oil that soon), and his eyes brightened.

“YOU’RE HOME!” he said cheerfully, waving you over, “I MADE LUNCH FOR US, MY LOVE.”

You couldn’t help the large grin stretch over your face at the endearing term. He was big on the nicknames to express his love for you, and you enjoyed many of them. It had taken you a while, but you occasionally refer to him by sweet nicknames as well…but you were a lot shyer with your affections than he was.

“We having a picnic?” you asked heading down the small set of steps onto the stepping stones. You hoped along the stepping stones cheerfully until you stood beside him. There was no picnic basket, but he had spread out a blanket over the grass and gestured towards it with a wide grin.

“OF COURSE! THE WEATHER MAN SAID IT WILL MOST LIKELY BE THE LAST WARM DAY OF THE YEAR,” he said, as you sank down onto the blanket and held your hand out towards him. He took it and pressed a kiss to it quickly, “I WILL BE RIGHT BACK. THE FOOD IS IN THE FRIDGE, AS I DIDN’T WANT IT TO GET WARM WHILE YOU WERE SHOPPING.”

You nodded and waited as he jogged quickly back inside. The sun was warm, but there was also a gently breeze chasing away what would’ve been a sweltering day otherwise. It was actually perfect for a picnic. Especially in this backyard. When Sans and you had bought the house together shortly before your marriage, the backyard had been absolutely boring. Yet, with a lot of research, enthusiasm, and hard work, it was now a flourishing garden. There was even a pond that Papyrus had helped install sitting off to the side that you saw multiple birds enjoying and a few ducks!

You’d even convinced Sans to install a hammock between two of the large trees, as he didn’t like the idea of just being lazy. You’d simply mentioned that the two of you could cuddle and watch the stars at night, and he’d gone out and bought one the next week.

Not that he would’ve complained if you had bought it and installed it, he never judged you for your laziness. He encouraged you to do your best, and sometimes that drained you so badly you needed a nap or to be ‘lazy’ for a while. However, you liked to be on the same page with him about purchasing new things for your home because you cared about his opinion…and he gave you the same courtesy.

It was only thirty seconds before Sans was heading back outside with two plates held in his hands as he hummed quietly to himself as he headed back down the steps and over to you.

You accepted the plate with a happy hum, and when he sat down, you kissed his cheek immediately. “Thanks, love.”

He grinned happily at you and nuzzled your face quickly before gesturing towards your lunch. “WHAT IS IT THEY SAY? BONE APPLE TEETH? IS THAT AS WEIRD AS IT SOUNDS?”

You couldn’t help but snort, “no, no..it’s bon appétit, mon charmant mari.”

His face flushed the colour of the sky, he absolutely adored it when you spoke French. As little of it as you knew from taking it throughout elementary and middle school, and then brushing up on it again as an adult. “JE VOUS AIME. DID I SAY THAT RIGHT?”

You smiled at him, kissing his jaw, “I mean…technically I understood it, but it’s je t’aime.”

“JE T’AIME.”

You giggled, “I love you too.”

He grinned and then gestured again to your food. “AFTER YOU’RE DONE EATING, WE CAN CUDDLE IN THE HAMMOCK TOGETHER.”

You smiled and dug into your food. When you had first met Sans, he wasn’t great at cooking…but he’d been determined to get better after giving you food poisoning accidentally. That was not a fun date, but it was…memorable in the least. Thank god Sans was a sweetheart and had felt absolutely rotten about it, or you might’ve broken it off with him. It had been early enough in the relationship that it very well could’ve made or broken it.

The two of you ate relatively silently, with Sans occasionally asking how to say random words in French. You knew basics but some of the words he was asking were just not in your vocabulary. When you asked why, he was just curious.

Then again, you never taught him how to say je t’aime…and he did. So maybe he was learning French on the side.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

You soon found yourself contently full, and offered to run the plates back inside but Sans took them and hurried inside, telling you to get comfy on the hammock. You shrugged, climbed in, and relaxed. The gentle sway was lulling you into complete relaxation when Sans slowed it down so he could climb in and cuddle you against his side.

The two of you chatted quietly as you watched the puffy white clouds over head slowly drift by.

“I…Never Thought I’d Get To See This,” Sans admitted quietly to you, “The Sky.”

You remained silent, picking up the hand that was resting on his chest, and gently started stroking your thumb over his wedding band.

“I Hoped I Would And I Never Let Go Of That…But It Was More Of A Dream. I Have Never Been The Kind Of Monster To Be Naïve,” Sans continued, “But When Papy And I Saw It For The First Time? It Was Breathtaking. There Was A Sunset. All Those Colours. It Was Beautiful.”

You nodded softly, gently craning your head afterwards to look up at him. His head tilted down to return your gaze with a soft one of his own. “I Thought I’d Never See Anything As Beautiful Again, But Here You Are Proving Me Wrong.”

You buried your face into his chest and let out a flustered noise, and he laughed joyfully as he squeezed your hand.

Always getting you with those compliments you never saw coming.

“BUT SERIOUSLY, THE SUNSHINE ON MY BONES FELT AMAZING. AND WHEN WE WERE ALLOWED TO INTEGRATE WITH HUMANS, PAPY AND I WENT STRAIGHT TO THE BEACH TO SOAK UP ALL THE SUN WE COULD HANDLE!” he said, the wistful voice fading into his normal enthused way of speaking.

“We should go up north,” you blurted out, interrupting him before he could continue.

“NORTH? WHY?” he asked, frowning slightly.

“I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights…and I think you’d enjoy them too!” you said, peeking up at him, “and I know you love the night sky…so, it’s a double win.”

“NORTHERN LIGHTS?” he echoed, seeming to think about it. “WHAT ARE THEY?”

“It’s this awesome like…natural phenomenon where the sky lights up with almost ribbony looking light,” you explained excitedly, “I’ve always wanted to see them in real life.”

His eyes shifted to stars and he grinned, “THAT SOUNDS AMAZING!”

The two of you excitedly talked about the northern lights and other natural phenomenon’s until you felt the heat of the sunshine starting to make you feel sleepy. You curled against your husbone, and listened to him chatter away about the bioluminescent caves full of mushrooms and crystals in the Underground. You fell asleep with sunshine behind your eyelids, and the sweet sound of Sans’ voice.

[n00dl3gal]

Someone To Skate For (Voltron Secret Santa)

Hi @lceithkogane! This is my gift for you from the @voltron-ss!! You asked for a hockey au with shance/klance/shallura, so I hope you enjoy. Happy holidays!

Read on AO3 here

If you had asked Lance seven months, two weeks, and three days ago if he’d ever play ice hockey, he’d probably laugh in your face. Lance Fuentes, playing hockey? It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the sport- he’d seen it on TV a couple of times- but actually standing out on the ice, batting around a disk like it offended your mother… yeah, that wasn’t for him.

Of course, seven months, two weeks, and two days ago, Lance saw Takashi Shirogane.

And that’s how it began.

…

He was probably the hottest person Lance had ever seen in his life, regardless of gender. Chiseled chin, sculpted muscles, delicately wind-swept hair, and a scar running across his nose that didn’t detract from the appearance in the slightest. Rather, it added to it.

“W-welcome to the Quiznak Snack Shack, what can I g-get for you today?”

The man smiled, scratching his cheek in thought. “How about a medium lemonade and a fruit cup, please?”

Lance nodded, busying himself with pouring the drink and slicing the fruit. Pidge and Coran were likely in the back, and this guy was their only customer- a little flirting couldn’t hurt, right? “I-I’ve never seen you here before. You new?” he asked in his most casual voice, chopping a strawberry.

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Ah, no. I just haven’t been able to stop by before. I’ve been meaning to, though.” He fished in his back pocket for his wallet. “My name’s Takashi Shirogane.”

“Lance,” he replied, ringing up the food. “That’ll be $5.86.” Takashi paid and dropped the change in the tip jar, prompting another smile from Lance. “Enjoy your food!”

“I plan to,” Takashi said, heading towards the door. He paused just before opening it. “Hey, do you mind if I put up a flier for work on the community board?”

Lance’s gaze flicked over to the corkboard of pamphlets and posters for events around the city. He shrugged. “As long as it’s not for anything illegal, go ahead.” Takashi lifted his lemonade in thanks before tacking a sheet of paper on top of an ad for a tanning salon. Then he left, vanishing into the crowd on the street, leaving the tinkling door chime and a wistful sigh in his wake.

Once his shift ended, Lance took a moment to memorize the address on the flier he had left. The Voltron Ice Arena, huh?

Works for him.

…

“You mean to tell me-” Keith said, pushing the puck away from the goal effortlessly, “that you decided to play hockey to impress a guy you hadn’t even spoken to.”

Lance panted and dribbled the puck back to the neutral zone. “I mean, when you say it like that, it sounds creepy.”

“It is creepy.”

“Alright, alright, so I wasn’t really thinking and I ended up signing up for tryouts. And you remember how that turned out.”

…

It wasn’t that Lance was unfamiliar with ice skating. He’d done it a few times with his family and friends. Wasn’t too shabby at it, either. He knew hockey well enough, too, or at least had seen enough on TV to get the gist of it.

So while he wasn’t expecting much when he tried out. Probably to be rejected outright. But… somehow, he wasn’t. Not that he was pulling off last-minute nosedive saves or cross-rink goals, but he still managed to control the puck well and keep himself upright, which was more than most of the other tryouts were doing.

The woman in charge, a tall, pretty thing named Allura, smiled and patted him on the back once he finished. “You did well, Lance. Have you played before?”

He shook his head. “Never in my life. Don’t know how I did all this.”

“Well, whatever the case, with a bit more training, you could be a valuable member of the Paladins. Tryouts continue for the rest of the weekend, but don’t be surprised to hear from us come Monday,” she said cheerfully. “Once you return your skates, you’re free to go.”

Lance skated over to the penalty box, where a young man about his age sat. For some god-forsaken reason, he had a mullet. “Name’s Lance,” he said, sticking out his hand.

The boy grunted and shook it once before dropping it like it bit him. “Keith. Goalie.”

Well, this guy was easy to talk to. Not. “So, you already tried out, then? I thought results weren’t up until Monday.”

“I’m still on the team from last year. Only replacing a few people.”

Lance pulled off his left skate, shaking his foot loose. “Well, I may be one of those lucky few, which would make us teammates. Should probably get to know each other then, right?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You’re not on the team, yet, so what’s the point?”

OK, now he was just being purposefully difficult. But Lance wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, be it trying out for a sport he’s never played or befriending a jerk. “Just cuz I’m not on the team doesn’t mean we can’t talk. How long have you been playing?” he asked, smile somewhat forced.

“Since I was in middle school. Look, why don’t you just return your rentals and leave? Tryouts are over for the day anyway, I’m just sticking around for my ride,” Keith said, crossing his arms.

“Well if you’re gonna be like that, fine. Maybe I will leave,” Lance countered, picking up the skates. “Don’t even know why I bothered talking to y-” Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something. Something that made Lance shiver.

Takashi Shirogane, dressed in sweats, twirling across the ice. “Oh, holy crow,” he breathed, moving closer to the rink to watch.

Keith stood and glared at Lance all the harder. “Wait, do you know him?”

Lance blinked and turned back to the other boy. “Um, maybe? So what if I do? Can’t I watch him practice his hockey?”

There was a second of silence, and then a snort as Keith doubled over, laughing. “What the hell, man? What’s so funny?”

“Shiro playing hockey, now that’s something I would like to see!”

…

“You seriously thought he played hockey?”

Lance batted the puck out of Keith’s reach and launched it across the ice. Keith blocked it with ease, but Lance chalked it as a victory to even get it away from him. “Well, given his physique and what little information I had to go on, it was a reasonable assumption,” he argued.

Keith huffed and rolled his eyes, smiling. “But still an assumption, and you know the old saying.”

“Yeah, yeah. And then I found out he was taken…”

…

His eyes tracked Shiro as the latter drifted across the ice. Keith sat a few rows behind him, no doubt pouting. In the two weeks since Lance had joined the Paladins, he hadn’t seen Keith smile once. If it wasn’t for them laughing when they met, Lance might’ve thought it was impossible.

Nevertheless, he focused on Shiro and his routine. Once he had seen Lance and they both laughed awkwardly about the misconception, he was happy to let Lance watch him practice. “New source of feedback,” he said, patting Lance’s shoulder.

Lance blushed and mentally made that his favorite shoulder.

Shiro transitioned from a triple lutz to hydroblading, zooming past were Lance stood. Despite the glass, Lance could feel the passion and friction Shiro’s skates were creating. After a quick mohawk turn, Shiro pulled into a lunge before striking his final pose. Lance clapped wildly, slightly muffled by his mittens.

Shiro stood and smiled, waving at Lance. He waved back eagerly. There was a snort from somewhere up in the bleachers- oh yeah, he had forgotten about Keith. Lance spun on his heel and glared at him. “He did fantastic- much better than what you could do!” he snapped.

Keith stretched and walked down to rink level. “Oh, you’re not wrong about that. It’s just how obvious you’re being with that silly crush of yours,” he said.

“S-so? Why would that be a problem?“ Keith pulled a hand out of his pocket and pointed across the ice. There stood Allura, who Shiro was skating towards. “And?” Lance asked. “They’re co-workers, it makes sense for them to-”

And then, in a decidedly NOT co-worker-like fashion, Allura leaned up and kissed Shiro on the lips. Shiro responded by equally unprofessionally wrapping his arms around her waist.

If Keith said anything else, Lance didn’t hear it. He just curled his fists and shook.

…

“You’re not… still mad about that, are you?” Keith asked suddenly, skidding to a stop. Powdered ice shot up in his wake, splattering Lance’s knees. “About him and Allura being engaged.”

Lance sighed but shook his head. “I mean, I was at the time, but I don’t really know why. I barely knew the guy and I was already infatuated with him… it was stupid. I’m glad I found out pretty early, though.”

Keith nodded, skating back to the net. “I guess I’m just surprised you stuck around.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance accused, pointing a gloved finger.

“I mean that you only tried out to get close to Shiro. It wasn’t for a love of the sport or for exercise or anything, it was cuz you were being a stalker,” Keith explained.

“I was not being a stalker!”

Keith shot the puck back towards Lance and rolled his eyes. He lowered his faceguard, saying “we’ve been over this, you were being creepy-”

“Yeah, yeah, just get ready for this shot, Samurai.”

As they practiced, Keith had to admit it- Lance had improved quite a bit since he tried out, and even then he was no slouch. He would never say it out loud, but he was glad Lance had stuck around, even after finding out about Shiro. They still bickered- a lot- but in the past seven months, they formed a strange sort of friendship that Keith wouldn’t trade for anything.

Suddenly, Lance stopped and beckoned Keith closer. Keith wondered for a second if Lance was injured and skated over, dribbling the puck idly. “You alright?”

“You asked me why I stuck around- there’s a couple of reasons. First of all, you’d all be dead without me on the team and you know it,” Lance boasted, grinning.

Keith exhaled. “Whatever lets you sleep at night,” he muttered.

Lance dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “It’s also good exercise and it’s fun and it’s something to do when I don’t have work. But… in regards to Shiro, well…” His voice fell a few decibels as he leaned into Keith’s ear. “I may have found someone else to skate for.”  

He couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his back when Lance said that. Who was it? Hunk? Pidge? Maybe- it couldn’t be him-

Lance took the shot and scored. “HA! I knew that would throw you off!” he laughed. He kicked off and made his way towards the door to the stands.

“B- La- you- I was nowhere near the goal, it doesn’t count!” Keith sputtered, chasing him. “Get back here!”

“Nah man, I wanna get out of this smelly jersey-”

“They are called sweaters and you know it, Lance!”

Lance just chuckled some more. Maybe one day he’d score a real goal against Keith. Maybe he’d score something else with him, too.

[leightaylorwrites]

Leigh Dissects YA Fiction: They All Fall Down (Chapters 9 - 12)

Chapter Nine

Levi certainly wasn’t grieving Olivia’s death…

Of course not. Why would he be grieving his ex-girlfriend? That would imply that he cares about anyone other than you and with this being a YA book, it’s unlikely that a romantic lead would be so complex. 

[...] his open varsity jacket making his shoulders look even broader.

A specific sport isn’t named. Does the author think all varsity athletes get the same jacket? There are emblems, symbols, and other things that are specific to certain sports. This is what happens when you base your YA book on your own nerdy high school experiences and don’t do basic research: you get things wrong.

“Why is everyone so certain Levi Sterling is going to jail?” I demand.

You can’t demand a question that has to be answered by multiple people when you’re only with one person. Also, didn’t you, like recently, say he might’ve been a murderer or rapist?

I nod sympathetically, supposing that’s a legit enough connection for a guy like Josh to shed a few tears.

Because for a masculine boy to cry, it has to be legitimized.

Was he kidding? Girls like Olivia and the rest of them on that list didn’t hang out with nerds like me. But guys don’t always know that.

Okay, even if we’re going with the ridiculous idea that people don’t have friends in different circles, the same would be true for boys. Geeky boys and jocks wouldn’t hang out. Why wouldn’t he know this?

“I missed you last night,” he says right into my ear, with a secret, sexy voice that should have every cell in my body jumping up and down.

You’ve spoken for a total of three minutes.

“I had…” Movie night with mom. “Something else to do.”

Why can’t she just tell him the truth? I get it’s geeky but it’s not like you were committing a crime.

A flicker of distaste crosses his expression as he conciders what could possibly have been more important than his game, and his gaze shifts in the direction where Levi had been. “Out with your parolee?”

Dora doesn’t tell him the truth about her whereabouts as a way for the author to throw in cheap tension. If she had a legit reason or given an explanation (like how I said spending time with her mom is ~geeky~), then it would’ve worked. Without that, this is just lazy writing.

“Good thing, ‘cause they're saying he was there and was having a deep and heated conversation with Olivia before she died.”

Did this book have an editor?

“Good thing you weren’t with him.”

He’s said good thing twice in the past quarter page. Either the author discovered a new phrase while writing this chapter, or someone stans NCT.

“Listen, I know it’s not going to be really fun under the circumstances and all, but a bunch of kids are getting together at my house tonight. Will you come?”

Y’all really about to have a party when someone just died. I get the popular kids are supposed to somewhat suck but there’s sucking then there’s being horrible people.

“We’re changing clothes, you freakazoid!”

Outdated reference is outdated. Most of this author’s demographic does not know that song. Has she ever spoken with an actual teenager? In this century?

“His parents passed away many years ago.”

Please be related to the cult I’m probably totally wrong about.

“I never got into the house but I’ve heard it’s amazing, with an indoor swimming pool and a ten-car garage adjacent to some of the prettiest parts of Nacht Woods.”

Good Lord. First, it annoys me when characters who are loaded go to public school with a bunch of people who are nowhere near as rich. School zoning doesn’t work like that, with only one megarich kid and everyone else being middle class. Second, why are we getting this awkward splooge from Generic BFF’s mom instead of having this description when Dora gets to the party later????? Why is this writing so bad? Where is the editor?

“The grandfather, who’s retired, of course, made a killing on Wall Street, as I understand it.”

What is this SENTENCE?! I suck at grammar and sentence structure and all those technical things but damn, I know I could do a better job at this editor who works for an actual publishing house.

“Really hit it huge in the go-go eighties.”

“Where’d they go-go?” Kayla asks, making everyone laugh.

Not me.

“It’s the idiots who can’t handle the peer pressure. But, okay, you girls use common sense.”

Fucking hell. If they’re pressured into drinking then they’re not idiots. That’s why it’s called PRESSURE. And why are we acting like people with common sense don’t drink? They’re not mutually exclusive.

“(...) I’d love to just sit around that table for house with a family that is so whole and happy. But I only have myself to blame for that.”

Shut your melodramatic ass up.

Chapter Ten

God save me.

(..) what feels like a half-mile-long driveway (...) At least fifty cars are in the drive and along the street.

Driveway. It’s called a driveway. You just used it in the last sentence.

She’s cute - and has to be freezing - but, really, nothing extraordinary to look at.

What a fucking bitch. Honestly, Dora, please die.

“We’re going into the woods.”

Yes, now it’s the point in the book where a Native American burial ground is invaded by drunk suburban white teens who literally have no respect for the land. This includes our protagonist. And if you’re thinking she’s going to mention how wrong and disrespectful this is, bring your expectations of this author down. No, further. FURTHER. Yes, that low.

“We’re at Meesha mound.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Indian burial ground, you know. Cool, huh?”

“Very.”

To be fair, Dora says her “very” is sarcasm but like?? Nothing is done or said about how horrible it is that they’re doing this. Or even the improper and offensive usage of “Indian.”

She misses my sarcasm and takes me down a dark path.

Obviously bad metaphor is obviously bad.

“I like Sisters of the List,” Kylie Leff says, leaning into Amanda. “We’ve been blood sisters since kindergarten.”

Can I return this book and get cult lesbians instead? Side note, if you want to watch something about a cult lesbian, AHS: Cult was AMAZING and its best season since Coven.

She holds up a single knuckle and Amanda meets it with one of her own in the most feminine and lackluster knuckle tap in history.

We get it. Fem = bad, hot fem = bad, weak fem = bad.

Why was Dora expecting some epic knuckle punch when Kylie only used one knuckle? Does she think she has super-strength?

It’s Candace Yardley, number ten, who up to this point has been virtually silent. Once again, I take a second to admire her dark good looks; she is runway perfect.

Why is this book so racist?!! Having the Asian character be silent until Dora is ready to comment on her ~dark good looks~?? And she has to be at the bottom of the list? What IS THIS?!

She smiles at her best friend.

How many times must we be reminded that Kylie and Amanda are gal pals, heteros, and that this book has no room for lesbians? Petition to save Kylie and Amanda from this hetero dumpster fire.

I take the vodka bottle and let a few drops touch my lips, the flavor like bitter grape cough medicine.

One, you can’t taste much with your lips. Two, that’s not what vodka tastes like.

“You bitches cray.” She sings the last word on a laugh. “But I need to get fried.”

Let’s play “spot the Token black character.” I think the usage of the word cray is a testament to how old this book is. Back when white authors thought it was fun to use cringe aave. You gon finna catch me is SHAKING.

“Thank god that chapter is over” - me after every chapter.

Chapter Eleven

“YOLO, baby girl. Which translates into ‘have some fun.’

Petition to have white authors never write black characters again.

I can smell beer, and the sound of rap is barely drowned out by loud boys and girls laughing. Really? On the night after the girl they all planned to vote for class president next year has died? They either don’t care or… they don’t understand death.

You fucking asshole, Dora. Some people have different coping methods. And, how would you know they don’t care or understand death? Do you think you’re the only person in your whole school who has lost someone?

They don’t know how permanent death is. But I do.

Earlier, we learned that Generic Good Boy is a fucking orphan. He lost BOTH parents. You lost ONE brother. Shut up.

“Like I said… YOLO.”

Stop. I’m begging.

“You know what I remember about you in middle school?” (...) “You were hydrogen in our Dress Like an Element Day in science.”

Listen, I like the fact that Dora and GGB have natural chemistry as characters whereas Dora and GBB are forced like hell. But could the author not think of a more interesting element? Why would GGB remember this in particular? Even if he thought Dora was cute, it would make sense for the element to be something less common and therefore more easy for the reader to see why it was so memorable.

“You’re the Latin expert.”

She’s a junior in high school.

“(...) he lives to meet pretty girls.” The way he says it makes me feel like I really am one of those pretty girls.

Because he just told you his grandfather likes pretty girls? An old man? That makes you feel pretty? Really? That?

“Wait--I want to kill her, er, say hi.”

Ignoring this horrible attempt at humor, Dora is upset with her friend for drinking at a party. I’ll point you to Dora’s weird grape cough medicine vodka from her cult meeting in the woods.

“I play on two travel teams--hey, Ryan--and lots of these kids are from all over this side of the state.”

They came all the way out here for one party? Are there no parties in their own neighborhoods?

“Kenzie.” The older man nods in approval. “Of course.” Flashing an easy, wide smile, he looks down--way down--at me. Instantly, I can see where Josh gets his gifts--his height, the build, the sort of raw masculinity mixed with charm that rolls off him. That’s hereditary, I suppose.

I just threw up.

This man is at least sixty, given that his grandson is a high school junior. And Dora just spent a paragraph lowkey lusting after him. I haven’t witnessed something so grossly uncomfortable since Throne of Trash the series we don’t acknowledge.

“You were absolutely correct, Josh. She is a refreshing change.”

Get it? Because she’s not like those other girls.

“You’ve taught me everything, Josh says, a respectful note in his voice. “Including how to pick quality girls.”

Women aren’t avocados.

He pats my hand and shifts in his seat. “Let’s change the subject. I understand you’re on that list that does nothing but objectify lovely teenage girls.”

You can’t call out the list for objectifying them when 1) you’ve done that since you met Dora, 2) you act like a fucking pedophile while you’re touching her, and 3) you follow up the fact that the list is objectifying the girls by calling the girls “lovely.”

“But his legacy lives on, right back in Nacht Woods.” He angles his head toward the back of the house. “He’s buried there, too.”

So not only has this author disrespected Native Americans with using their burial ground for horror aesthetic reasons, but she’s also allowed a white character to be buried there.

“Not him, per se,(...) but the things that mattered to him. I made a place to honor him.”

I know we need exposition but it makes no sense here. They’ve spent half a page talking about this dead dude, rather than the scholarship Dora wants.

“How do I apply?”

“No application necessary, dear. You just have to finish the ropes course Jarvis built in Nacht Woods (...) You look fairly athletic.”

Oh my god. How many ways can this author metaphorically shit on this burial ground?

“Quit hittin’ on my chick, Rex.”

Dora’s next thought is her freaking out about Josh calling her his girl, which okay, I get. But… shouldn’t she be a tad bit concerned about this creepy pedo man who just offered her a scholarship as long as she completes The Hunger Games?

“She’s a total brainiac (...) I think that’s hot.”

“Quite,” his grandfather agrees.

I’M NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP

Chapter Twelve

I haven’t had anything to drink since my one sip of grape vodka, but Molly’s borderline tipsy(.)

We’ve got clarification that her vodka was grape flavored (ew) but what the hell is “borderline tipsy”??? Either she’s tipsy or she’s sober. Tipsy is the full in between of sober and drunk.

“But the weirdest thing of all was the texts disappeared about ten minutes after I got it. I can’t find it in my deleted texts, nothing.”

SHE TRIED TO SEARCH DELETED TEXTS AND WAS SURPRISED WHEN SHE COULDN’T FIND ANYTHING ASHJLDFASHLJL

(...) ready for dark looks from my list sisters(...)

We’re really using this name?

But I won’t tell these girls that. They’re wack.

I love 2001 slang.

Also, you guys don’t know how hard it is for me to not make a Malibu’s Most Wanted reference right now.

Having to post all my notes/opinions means I’m having to read over some of the book again and if you can believe it, these are considered the good chapters compared to what comes later.

Using my irritation as free entertainment? Enjoy my writing as free entertainment, too. I’ve got a freebie book called Epic here.