#these are middle school books and I’m treating them like they’re lit class books

[miscomm]

somehow somehow the hyperfixation has gotten to a point that i’m highlighting the body language of these kids around their godly parent.

[raleighcarrera]

circles

platinum | shane parker x mc (cadence dorian)

shane and cadence have been best friends their entire lives. so why do things feel so different when she comes to visit him at college? set pre-book. (for @platinumweekend ❤️)

tags: @choicesarehard ; @empressazura; @zigtheeortega ; @pixeljazzy ; @withbeautyandrage 

~3.1k words | T

“it’s not like that.” it feels like at least the fourth or fifth time he’s said as much since he first casually mentioned that cadence would be coming to visit this weekend, much to the delight of his friends. “we’ve been best friends our whole lives. that’s it.”

“sure,” angelica grins, looking just about as far from angelic as any one person can get. “if you say so.”

devon takes a less patronizing approach. she shrugs, not looking up from where she’s filing her nails. “i don’t buy it. you don’t go through puberty with someone without having at least a little sexual tension with them.”

“oh my god,” shane groans, “will you guys stop? we’ve never -- i don’t -- we’re just friends.”

evan, his roommate, hums. “just let me know if you need me to clear out tonight, okay? casey said i could bunk with him.”

“if you guys don’t shut up, i swear to god --”

there’s a chorus of protests from around the table, several whispered exhalations of touchy, i see and hands being raised placatingly. he rolls his eyes, picking up his empty plate. it’s time to go pick cadence up from the bus stop, like -- now. “just please be normal when she gets here, okay?”

“we will if you will!” angelica calls out after him. laughter follows him as he exits the dining hall, and he only exhales once he’s halfway to his car, shaking his head. 

his college friends are far from the first group of people to assume that there’s something more than just friendship between he and cadence. his own parents have implied a number of times that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if they got together, and that’s about a girl that’s slept over at his house more times than he can count, a girl who he went through his power rangers phase with, a girl who saw him through middle school and high school and still somehow liked him enough to call him her best friend.

he’s gotten very good at ignoring comments from people who don’t understand their relationship or even think it’s weird how close they are, so being teased by his friends doesn’t bother him as much as it makes him roll his eyes.

shane’s used to the judgments others cast on what’s always been nothing more than a mutually supportive and wholly enjoyable friendship. still, for some reason, it’s a little tougher to shake off this time than in the past, and he finds that some of their comments have poked at certain sore spots he didn’t even know he had.

he’s uneasy, as he ducks his head and jogs across campus.

it’s probably going to be a very long and very strange weekend.

*

true to form, cadence is beaming when she hops off the bus, the last person to exit the doors that swing open at the campus stop. she’s looking around at everything wide-eyed, like she’s never seen a college campus before, which is hilarious, given that she’s just come from one.

but the tiny performing arts school she attends a few states away is surely at least a little bit different than their hometown state college, a giant university with nearly one-hundred thousand students in attendance.

she rushes over with her duffel and he feels himself grinning back at her as soon as she’s close enough for him to see how bright her eyes are, behind her glasses.

she really is very pretty.

shaking his head, he folds her into the biggest hug he has, making a little oof sound when cadence squeezes him so tightly it leaves him short of breath.

“oh my god, hi,” she squeals into his ear, bouncing up and down on her tip-toes. “i missed you so much. it’s been forever!”

it’s been just about three months, since they said goodbye at her grandma’s house in august the night before they both had to leave to go move in. and while in some ways it feels like they were just together, especially given how they’re constantly in contact, he knows exactly what she means. it definitely also feels like it’s been way too long since he last held her exactly like this.

“i’m so glad you’re here,” he murmurs in return, pulling away to reach for her bag for her. “there’s so much i want to show you.”

“i know!” cadence exclaims, back to smiling at everything again. “i can’t wait to meet all your friends. but -- come on, i’m freezing. first let me see your dorm.”

right. his room. where she’ll be sleeping... with him.

it wasn’t like that’d never happened before. of course it had. you didn’t get to be lifelong best friends without squeezing into a few strange sleeping arrangements. he and cadence had shared a bed, a couch and the same stretch of floor before without even an ounce of weirdness affecting their relationship.

so he can only assume that the reason why it feels suddenly strange, this time, is because of the way his friends had just been teasing him and how uncomfortably close to home some of their comments had landed. 

devon’s voice in particular flashes through his mind again as he does his best not to stare at cadence and her leggings and the sweater that’s slipping off her shoulder: you don’t go through puberty with someone without having at least a little sexual tension with them.

shaking his head to dispel the unwelcome flipping of his stomach, shane jerks his thumbs at the far side of campus with a grin. “right this way.”

*

like always, he finds himself waiting around for her to finish getting ready.

they’re not due at the pregame for another hour, so he’s free to catch up with her (alone, thank god -- evan is meeting them out) while she gets her makeup on, his eyes lingering on the precise movement of her dainty hands applying eyeshadow while she talks a mile a minute about her bus trip earlier that day.

“-- and there was this little girl making bracelets at the terminal, she was so cute. i gave her five dollars and she made me this keychain for my bag on the bus. isn’t it so good?” she sets down her concealer to reach for the beaded lizard hanging off the edge of her duffel. “so cute, right?”

“have you ever gone anywhere without making friends with someone?” shane asks instead of answering, smiling fondly at her. “i swear you could hold a conversation with a brick wall.”

cadence laughs, turning back to the tiny compact mirror balanced on her knees. despite the less-than-ideal environment of his very bare and very poorly lit dorm room, she still looks flawless, brushing highlighter on her cheek until it’s glittering. 

he realizes he’s staring again and averts his eyes guiltily. why does he feel guilty? it’s just cadence. have a few simple months apart made him completely forget how to act around her?

“well, the drive would’ve been boring without anyone to talk to,” she answers finally, “and you were in class.”

“i’m surprised you didn’t bring something to read,” he muses. there’ve been plenty of times he’s had to rip a book out of her hands so she’d pay attention to him and the movie he was trying to show her, after all. 

“god, i just wanted a break from anything academic,” cadence groans, “midterms ruined my life. do you feel like college is a thousand times harder than high school, or is it just me? most of the time i thought everyone had to be exaggerating, but -- i don’t know.” she fidgets on the rug, flicking her eyes up to his. “it’s not like how i thought it’d be.”

shane holds her gaze quietly. college isn’t like how he thought it’d be, either -- it’s actually a little bit better. but it’d be impossible to say so now that she’s admitted she’s struggling.

one thing is exactly like he’d imagined it, though: he misses her just as much as he’d expected to. it’s not easy at all to be so far away from his best friend.

“yeah, i know what you mean,” he says finally, keeping his eyes locked on her even when cadence turns back to her makeup to gloss her lips. “it is hard. and it’s definitely important to take those breaks. don’t worry, we’ll get your mind off of school this weekend.”

cadence laughs, snapping her compact shut and stuffing her makeup back into her bag. “i hope i can keep up with you guys. my school is definitely not a party school.”

“we’ll catch you up,” he promises, grinning at the thought of the evening ahead of them. he’s going to show cadence a good time if it’s the last thing he does. and she has no idea what she’s in for. “don’t worry.”

*

surprisingly, everyone is perfectly nice and normal when they arrive at the pregame. his friends treat cadence like an instant member of the group, like she’s someone they’ve known for years. they welcome her with open arms and start pouring shots down her throat like they’ve done to him so many times before completely effortlessly.

it’s what happens when they get to the party that’s troublesome. 

he’s admittedly a few drinks deep when cadence drags him onto the dance floor. he should’ve known that’d be the first place she’d want to go; all of cadence’s shy little wallflower moments fly straight out the window whenever she’s had so much as a sip of alcohol. 

it’s not his fault he doesn’t manage to stop her. shane’s own head is swimming from the shots he’s had and he figures there’s not much harm in indulging her, but it’s only when they all crowd onto the dance floor and he sees the way his friends are looking at him that he realizes the position they’re in.

“this is awesome!” cadence chirps, angling her head to be near his ear. her arms loop around his neck as she swings her hips to the music. “i’ve never been to a party like this before.”

true, in high school, there were parties like this, but the two of them were never invited to them. they’d gone to prom alone together, and stayed up all night afterwards sneaking sips of alcohol at cadence’s grandma’s while she pointedly went to bed early.

“i’m glad you’re having fun,” he calls back, shuffling awkwardly on his feet in front of her. “do you need a water?”

“no!” cadence’s eyes are bright in the low light of the random living room they’re in, bopping along to the beat. she bounces up and down on her feet, dragging him closer. “you need another drink.”

to say the least. he could probably stand to put some distance between them, too -- get himself a moment of air. shane nods, ducking out from the circle of her arms. “yeah, i’ll be right back.”

he groans as he steps into the kitchen, almost turning around and heading back the way he came; casey and devon are standing in front of the counter. they both give him a pointed look as he slows to a stop in front of them.

“don’t,” he mutters, suddenly feeling very warm from the drinks he’s had and absolutely nothing else. 

“dude,” casey sighs, shaking his head at him, “you guys should probably just hook up and get it over with.”

“okay, that is not helpful,” shane answers, leaning around him to reach for a beer, cracking the tab on the can and taking a big swig in the hopes that it’ll calm him down. unfortunately, his head just spins harder as soon as he swallows. “it’s not a big deal. we’re just excited to see each other.”

there’s a beat before devon answers, eyebrows arched from behind the plastic cup in her hands. “sure.”

admittedly -- the rest of the party is kind of a blur. there’s more drinks and more dancing, and his friends drag he and cadence up on the roof to play some drinking game he doesn’t understand. the thing is... it’s fun, in a way he hasn’t experienced since the summer. sure, he’s been to plenty of parties since the semester started and gone out and gotten drunk and stayed up all night, but...

time with cadence was a different kind of fun. 

having her around, with him at school, filled a void he hadn’t realized he was lacking until she arrived, like he’d simply grown accustomed to a new full-body ache and had only noticed it once it was suddenly removed.

it’d be impossible to pretend not to be endeared by the way she stumbles out of the party and how she hums to herself in the street on the walk home, so he doesn’t bother, slinging his arm around her shoulders to lead her back to the dorm.

while everyone else is arguing about what type of pizza to order, they slip away, and then they’re alone in his room again.

cadence toes out of her shoes and twirls around barefoot across the rug between his and evan’s beds on her way back to her bag. “okay, that was so fun,” she sighs, dropping down onto the floor. “i wish i went to school here.”

“me too,” shane murmurs, watching her pull out her makeup wipes and tie back her hair. his eyes drift over to the twin bed sitting inconspicuously on his side of the room. when he’d invited her up here, he’d assumed they’d both just cram into it like they had so many other times before, in his twin bed at home. now...

now cadence is getting changed into her pajamas with her back to him, and he coughs and does the same, averting his eyes in the dark where he’d never flicked the light on when they got back to the room.

he’s saved from having to think of something to say by the way she crawls straight into his bed and leaves the blanket flipped open for him to join her.

maybe it’s the beer’s fault, that he gets in -- or maybe he has the beer to thank for giving him the courage to get into bed with her, but either way, he does, and within moments he’s nose-to-nose with cadence in the smallest space they’ve ever been in together, and she smiles at him in a way that’s almost unfairly beautiful, for someone who knows him as well as she does.

that’s the thing that’s so unlawful about this: she’s his best friend. she’s been by his side for every single up and down of his life, every moment he was happy or sad or angry. cadence picked him up when he doubted himself, comforted him when he needed it, made him laugh when the world felt ugly and hopeless. 

if he did something wrong now, all of that would go away.

it doesn’t stop her from staring at him, though. cadence keeps her eyes locked on his, and smiles at him through the dark, and evidently he’s the world’s biggest idiot, so he stares back. of course he smiles, too.

“thank you,” she murmurs after a moment, breaking the still silence between them. “i’m glad we did this. i needed this.”

shane swallows, resisting the urge to reach out for her. “you should’ve told me you were struggling. i would’ve had you out sooner. or -- came home, or something.”

she shakes her head. “nah,” cadence whispers, “i could tell you were having too much fun.”

he sighs, giving in and tucking his arm around her back. cadence wiggles closer under the sheets until their knees are touching. “it doesn’t matter how much fun i’m having,” he reminds her, voice as serious as he’s ever heard it before, “because you’re the most important thing in my life. always. and there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you.”

cadence blinks at him. her face splits into a beautiful, dazzling smile and then, quickly enough to make his head spin, she leans in and kisses him, closing the last inch of space between their faces.

his palm spreads out over her back and he tilts her in closer, kissing back slowly. part of him knows it’s a mistake, but a larger part of him has thought about this before -- too much, probably, for someone who calls himself her best friend. part of him has imagined it a million times, in a million ways, though none of them compare to this -- the real thing.

in none of his fantasies did he ever think it would feel like it does, comforting and familiar but new and exciting all at once. he’d never assumed kissing cadence would feel as natural as breathing -- but it does.

it feels like something they’ve done a thousand times before, and there’s no denying it’s something he’d like to do at least a thousand times more. his exhale is shaky when they break apart, his eyes sweeping her expression for a sign of regret on her beautiful face.

cadence’s eyes blink open slowly, her smile reappearing as soon as they do. “shane...” she murmurs, and something in his chest twists and then cracks wide open, a swarm of butterflies invading his stomach.

“yeah.” this is insane. what are they doing? they shouldn’t be -- he shouldn’t, really, because cadence is his best friend and he needs her and she is...

she is asleep, suddenly, breathing even and deep with her eyes closed again. the lips he’d just been kissing are parted with a little hitch in her exhales.

he relaxes, slumping back against the mattress.

fuck.

is she even going to remember this in the morning?

studying his best friend, curled in towards his chest and fast asleep without a care in the world, like the entire planet hasn’t somehow just shifted on its axis, he can only hope that she will -- because he knows that tonight, and its many revelations, is going to be impossible for him to ever forget.

not that he’d ever try to. a palm scrubs across his face, and he lays down, resting carefully on the other half of the pillow cadence’s hair is taking up the majority of.

well -- at least they’re together on this one, shane muses, as he stares up at the ceiling and tries to calm down enough to go to sleep. 

no matter what madness tomorrow brings, at least he’ll still be sorting through it with his best friend.

[theluckiestwitchatblackwell]

Winter Love

HELLO hi @coffeecomicsgalore this is my @mlsecretsanta fic for you! I had so much fun writing this one, happy holidays! Massive thank you to @adrienettes-hamster for beta-ing!

Also on FFnet and AO3!

Mid-November is when the chill of the impending winter started to set in. Not cold enough for snow, but cold enough that Ladybug had begun to notice her kitty shivering while on patrols. Granted, she was quite cold herself, but she was handling it better than Chat Noir.

“Do you need to stop, Chat?”

“No, I’m fine,” he stuttered out between chattering teeth.

“Chat, go home and get warm. We can patrol again tomorrow night.” Her voice was soft but commanding, and his ears drooped. “I’ll bring some hot chocolate, okay?” His ears perked up a bit at the mention of that.

“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied with a small smile, turning and bounding away with his staff.

She watched him for a moment before turning herself, luckily only needing to travel a few blocks to her own home. The dull light of the lamp she had left on before heading out cut into the darkness. It was still relatively early in the night, only around 9 o’ clock, but she knew that her parents would already be in bed, ready for next morning’s early rise.

Marinette landed on her balcony and hopped down through the skylight onto her bed before calling off her transformation. When Tikki swirled out of the earrings and into her hands, she was also shivering.

“Yeah, it is a bit too cold tonight,” Marinette mumbled to her as she cupped her hands around her kwami. “Let me grab us some hot chocolate, okay?” Tikki nodded, her little head bobbing up and down as vigorously as Chat’s jaw was. Marinette gently slid her onto her pillow then climbed down the ladder to the rest of her room, then the ladder to the rest of the apartment. Finding her favourite mug clean and ready to be used, she ducked down and grabbed the teacup she had hidden for Tikki. It was almost matching with her favourite design, covered with florals over a white background, and it had belonged to one of the dolls from her childhood doll house.

Marinette hummed while she filled the mugs with the still-steaming hot chocolate from the flask her mother had left out for her. She wondered whether or not it would snow soon, and if it would shut the school down. Would the snow mean Hawkmoth would slow down on attacks? Or would he send out more akumas?

She wondered about her friends. Alya would probably spend most of the time babysitting her sisters, Marinette by her side of course. Nora might be home for the winter. Nino would probably be glued to his computer, creating new tracks and networking with other DJs. Adrien…

Adrien would keep up his studies with Nathalie. Marinette knew how tough his dad was on him based on how detailed his schedule was. Mandarin lessons, fencing, piano, modelling and school? And she thought she was busy between school, sewing and saving Paris. Then again, saving Paris was never on a set schedule. She supposed she and Adrien weren’t too different in that aspect.

Adrien had been shivering a bit in class recently. While everyone else bundled up in their warmest sweaters and thermals, Adrien’s outfits didn’t seem to hold the same temperature. Did Gabriel favour style over comfort? The very thought burned Marinette.

She stopped pouring as she realised it was about to overflow her mug, and set the flask down with a hardened resolve. This Christmas, she was going to knit something warm for her two favourite people. The gears in her mind began ticking over as she thought of what to give each of them. She still had Adrien’s head measurements from when she created the hat for the contest a year or two back, and his body’s measurements from the designs she had made for her website... maybe a sweater? Or a beanie?

She didn’t have Chat’s measurements though. She supposed if she worked hard and fast enough she might be able to squeeze in a blanket. Now she had to think of patterns for both...

Marinette made her way back up to her room, carefully balancing the mugs in one hand as she pushed the trap door up then set them down on the floor to climb inside.

“Tikki?” She called out gently. “Hot chocolate has arrived.”

She set them down on the bench by her computer as she opened up her sketchbook. Knowing it would take longer, she began working on the blanket’s design, but stopped short as she realised that while she knew her partner, she didn’t really know him. She vaguely remembered his favourite colour was green, and funnily enough was a cat person, both literally and figuratively. Marinette began to worry that what she makes wouldn’t be good enough for him, or that he wouldn’t like it.

“What are you working on, Marinette?” Tikki asked sleepily while sipping her hot chocolate.

“Both Adrien and Chat Noir haven’t been dealing with the cold well, so I figured I’d knit them both something warm for Christmas,” Marinette replied as she began writing in some notes. Tikki peered over the book and looked back at Marinette.

“A blanket? Will you have time to make that? Christmas is only a month away.”

“I know, but I figured if I work on it in all of my spare time then I might be able to get it done in time. Hopefully there’s a few snow days in the next few weeks,” Marinette said as she glanced out the window. The window stubbornly continued to show no sign of snow, though there was the twinkling of stars between the clouds.

Tikki took another sip of her drink. “Who’s the blanket for?”

“Chat Noir. I have Adrien’s measurements, so I was thinking either a beanie or a sweater, but I’m not sure of Chat’s. What do you think?” Marinette picked up a green pencil and began to shade in the sketch. In each corner there was a small, blocky cat face with light whiskers.

“He does tend to wear that short sleeved top a lot. I think sweater.”

Marinette hummed and nodded in agreement. “I think you’re right. What about the middle of this?” She held the page up to Tikki, who had ditched the now empty cup and was snuggled into her neck. “I was thinking maybe the initials C.N. but that might be too obvious.”

“What about a Yin Yang symbol, but a ladybug as the white dot and whiskers on the black dot?”

“Tikki, you’re a genius!”

And so Marinette got to work, having most of the yarn colours she required already. Quite a few rows in, she started to nod off and, seeing that it was now well past her bedtime, climbed the ladder to her bed and whispered goodnight to Tikki.

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

“That’s… a lot of yarn, Marinette,” Alya said with mild concern. “You surely haven’t gotten this low by now?

Marinette shrugged, or at least shrugged the best she could with her arms piled up with rolls of yarn. “I’ve got a few commissions and wanted to be sure. I can use what’s left to make some gifts as well.”

Marinette had dragged Alya on a shopping trip for materials after school the next day. She had some pocket money saved up from chores and her birthday. Half an hour later, they emerged from the fabric store with a lot of yarn and some new shearing scissors, an early gift from Alya.

“Ooh, who’s commissioned you? It must be a big project!”

Marinette almost stumbled, unsure if she should tell Alya, even if she did have the perfect cover up for it. But then again, she knew her best friend.

“Uh, Ladybug commissioned a blanket as a gift for Chat Noir. Apparently they’re having a tough time on their night patrols with the chill.”

Alya’s eyes bugged out of her head and she squealed, “Oh my god, that is so cute! She’s totally in love with him!”

This time Marinette did really stop. “No way! She did not give off that vibe at all when she came around! It’s just really cold at night!”

“Babe, you don’t just commission a whole BLANKET for your friend!” Alya shook her by her shoulders, a few rolls threatening to fall out of Marinette’s arms, who gasped a loud “careful!”

“They’re friends, Alya, and friends can share a blanket when it’s cold. Can we please drop it?”

Alya huffed and rolled her eyes. “Sure, but you know I’m right!”

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

Later that night, Marinette was zooming through rows of knitting on her balcony. She barely stopped for a few bites of the dinner that her mother had brought up earlier. When her hands began cramping, she turned back to her sketchbook to work on the design for Adrien’s sweater. She figured it best to keep it simple, and made it light green in shade with darker green and black accents. When the cramping had lessened, she picked up the needles again and started knitting furiously again.

Around 8 o’ clock, Tikki nudged her and reminded her that she needs to meet up with Chat Noir. Marinette thanked her and transformed, grabbed the bag of treats she had snuck up earlier, then leapt off the balcony with her yoyo flying off into the distance.

She found Chat Noir on their rooftop an arrondissement away, huddled next to the chimney for warmth.

“Chaton, look what I brought!”

His ears perked up and his lips curved into a wide smile. “That doesn’t just smell like hot chocolate, m’lady. Is that…” his eyes lit up as she lifted the Dupain-Cheng bakery box out of the bag after the flasks, “croissants? And macarons?”

She matched his smile and replied, “all of the above, plus pain au chocolat. Only the best for the cat hero of Paris!” She had to set down the box quickly as he crushed her in a hug. She wrapped her arms around him as well, happy that he was happy. She didn’t miss his murmur of “what did I do to deserve you?” and simply hugged him tighter, almost shielding him from the cool wind. He let go after a few more moments, diving for the flask of hot chocolate and sitting against the chimney.

“Half hour of snacking before we make the rounds?”

“Works for me,” Chat Noir replied in between sips, visibly settling down as the drink warmed him up from the inside. “How did you get the Dupain-Cheng goods? Aren’t they closed by now?”

“They are, but I picked them up just before they closed for the day, so they’re pretty fresh.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, she did get them from the last batch her father made for the day.

Chat Noir hummed as he bit into a macaron, savouring the taste. “They are the best in town, no competition.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Ladybug took this moment of comfortable silence to take the top off of her flask and have a long drink of her hot chocolate. They sat together, shoulder to shoulder against the chimney and the wind started to settle down.

The sun had well and truly set by now, the moon as bright as ever with the stars shining like the streetlights below them. Tonight, there were no clouds, and nothing above them but the open sky. Ladybug loved the sight, and found it to be the second best perk of being a superhero, the first being partnered with Chat Noir. Her friend, Chat Noir, she thought, thinking back to Alya’s words earlier in the day. She was in love with Adrien and absolutely, definitely, totally had no such feelings for Chat Noir.

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

Marinette was exhausted, to say the least.

It was now the beginning of December, and the blanket was just over half done. She had resorted to bringing in her spare needles and knitting before and after class to start on Adrien’s sweater, and ignored anyone and everyone that asked about it with a small blush.

She also resorted to ignoring any pressing by Alya on Ladybug’s “commission” of the blanket, which had not died out as time had gone on. Alya wanted to know everything from the words Ladybug said to her expression and body language as she spoke about Chat Noir. Marinette now highly regretted giving in and telling her anything.

Thinking of the blanket, she thought about the surprise she was given when Chat Noir dropped in a few nights before.

A gentle rapping on the window shook Marinette from her concentration as she began a new colour for the Yin Yang. She looked around as she heard the telltale swoosh of Tikki hiding and saw Chat Noir waving from her balcony with a sheepish look on her face. She set down the blanket, laying it flat on the floor, and climbed up her ladder to open it.

“Chat Noir? What are you doing here?”

“Forgive me, but I saw your light on while I was out for a run. It’s getting very cold and my own place is a bit too far for me right now. Do you mind if I warm up in here for a few minutes?”

She wasn’t aware of any patrol they had planned. She double checked the day it was in her head and confirmed yes, it was their night off.

“O-Of course you can, would you like anything to eat or drink?” She moved aside for him to jump in, and watched as he looked around the room in wonder.

“Some hot chocolate, if you have any, please,” he replied, eyes moving from the chaise to the various mannequins and designs strewn about the room.

Marinette dearly hoped he wouldn’t know it was the same he had had just a few weeks ago, and a few times since as the temperature continued to drop.

“S-Sure thing, I’ll be right back.”

She climbed down after him, throwing a panicked glance to where Tikki was hiding and subtly gestured for her to follow. She climbed down the trapdoor to the kitchen and turned to Tikki.

“What is he doing here?” Tikki asked.

“I don’t know! It’s not patrol night! He’s going to recognise my recipe for sure!” She began to pace the kitchen.

“Calm down Marinette, he might just think you sell it here. You said you bought the treats from here didn’t you?”

“I mean yeah, but what if his civilian identity comes here often enough to know it’s not sold?” Marinette could not keep calm, but she kept her voice quiet. No need to freak out both her parents and her unexpected guest.

“New product for winter?”

That stopped Marinette in her tracks. “That could work.” Her nerves stilled, she grabbed two mugs and the flask, filling them and turning back to Tikki again with a smile. “You always know how to calm me down.”

Tikki giggled, “Kwami of luck and maybe logic as well. You best get back to him, we’ve been down here for a while now.”

As if on cue, they heard a soft knock on the door, and an even softer, “You okay down there?”

Marinette took the mugs by the handles, calling back, “Can you please open the door?”

The trapdoor opened as Marinette climbed up, and Chat Noir hastened to take one from her hand, and helped her up with his other one. Claws brushed her wrist as his grip tightened on her hand and while she shouldn’t have been surprised, his strength as he pulled her up caught her off guard slightly.

“I just couldn’t find my mug, I always have hot chocolate in it,” she raised her mug as she spoke.

“That’s a nice one. And this is really good,” he said, taking a sip. Marinette watched his eyes as a hint of recognition flickered over them, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“It’s a… family recipe. We just began selling it in the bakery for the winter.”

His face relaxed, and Marinette let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“What are you knitting?”

Man, if this cat didn’t stop. Sure, it’s an innocent question on his part, but Marinette was getting increasingly worried about hiding the truth.

“Oh! Uh, it’s a blanket for a friend of mine. They’re a… big fan of you and Ladybug.”

“And the other needles? I like the different shades of green on it.”

“That’s going to be a sweater, for another friend. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of warm clothes so I’m hoping this will help him.”

“That’s a really lovely gesture, Marinette. One of my friends is into fashion as well, you would get on great with her.”

Marinette hummed in agreement, then said, “I hope you don’t mind me returning to it, I’m trying to get them both done by Christmas.” “Of course not. I should get going now though,” he tipped his mug towards her, empty already, “Thank you very much for the drink, Princess.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped slightly and almost dropped her needles as well. “I-I… you’re welcome, a-any time.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” he replied suavely, adding a wink. Marinette waited until he was safely back out onto her balcony before rolling her eyes with a smile, and got back to her knitting. Stupid cat and his flirting.

Seeing that Madame Bustier was running late, she took Adrien’s sweater out of her bag and began to knit. She had switched out her small clutch for a larger, water-proof bag once she realised she’d need to bring the yarn and needles to class in order to finish it in time. Most of the class had been asking about it so far, including Nino and Alya, but Adrien had been quiet about it until now, when he walked in right as Marinette started another row.

“Hey Marinette, you’re early. What are you making?”

“Oh! Adrien, sweater- hi, uh, I mean-”

“It looks great so far. Green would look nice on you.”

Marinette squeaked and went bright red. “O-oh, uh, thank you, but it’s for a friend,” she giggled nervously.

“Well then, they’re a lucky friend!” Adrien smiled as he began unpacking his notebook and pencil case, and turned to the front. Madam Bustier walked in a moment later, gesturing for Marinette to put away the needles. Marinette didn’t miss the slight shiver that Adrien had to his frame, nor the goosebumps beginning to raise on his arms and the back of his neck.

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

“Chat Noir!”

It was the week before Christmas, and Marinette was in the home stretch of finishing this blanket. She was knitting on her balcony, hot chocolate by her side and just sheltered from the light snowfall. But now, she could just see the silhouette of the cat hero a few roofs away. He turned his head in surprise and as a result, almost fell off of his staff. She waved her hand, gesturing for him to come over to her.

As he got closer, she called out, “What are you doing out in the snow? It’s way too cold for someone in a skin-tight suit to be out here!”

“But Princess, you’re out here too!” he called back, now standing in front of her.

“I am wrapped up in sweaters and fuzzy pants, with a blanket over me, not a skin-tight suit, as I said! You should be at home, as warm and wrapped up as I am,” she finished on a gentler note as his ears drooped.

“I… don’t want to be home right now. I got into a fight with my father. Can I stay here for a bit?”

Her heart dropped and her eyes filled with sympathy for him. She knew it was a bad situation, but not leave-the-house-in-the-middle-of-winter bad. “Of course you can.”

She opened the skylight, carefully plopping down her almost-finished blanket and needles, then climbed in after it. He shook the snow from his hair, passed her half-empty mug of hot chocolate to her and hopped down onto the bed. She put the mug on a ledge next to her bed and said, “Do you need a hug?”

Almost immediately, he wrapped her in a bear hug not unlike the one he gave Ladybug a few weeks prior. She raised her arms just in time and curled them around his neck and if she happened to feel a tear or two slide onto her shoulders, she didn’t mention it.

Her hands weaved themselves into his wild hair, holding him close. She stayed silent, knowing words couldn’t convey the comfort she tried to give him. His arms were so long, they almost doubled back to himself. Together, they shivered, as he cried onto her shoulder silently and the wind blew through the skylight above. She untangled one of her hands to reach up and close it, but Chat Noir took this as a sign to let go and step back. Her other hand still tangled, she lost balance and they fell, Chat Noir landing on top of her as she hit the bed with an “oof!”

Marinette drew in a sharp breath as Chat Noir’s head hit her collarbone. That’s going to leave a bruise, she thought with a wince.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

“Yeah, just knocked the breath out of me,” she replied, finally removing her hand from his hair. She sat up as he hurried to get off of her and sat at the end of her bed, both of their eyes wide open.

“So, um-”

“I-”

They both tried to speak at once, giggling when they stopped. Chat Noir gestured for her to speak first, so she did.

“Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“Please,” he replied gratefully, moving aside so she could climb down the ladder, following after her. She returned after a few minutes, setting their mugs down next to her computer. “Can you pass me down the blanket, please? I’m so close to finishing,” she asked as she held out her arms for it to be dropped into. She stumbled when it landed; it felt heavier than she expected it to be. Oh well, she thought, this means it should be extra warm.

She got settled in her desk chair, the blanket flowing down past her feet as Chat Noir settled on her chaise with his mug. They sat in a comfortable quiet, the only sounds in the room coming from the whirring of her computer, the clacking of the needles and a sip from Chat Noir every once in a while. She’d look up from time to time, and see his bright eyes staring back at her with a shy interest. There were hints of dried tears on his face, and she subtly elbowed the tissue box beside her towards him.

At last, she finished the last row of the blanket. She cast off, spreading it out on the floor and stepped back to look at her work. Chat Noir joined her, looking over it in wonder.

“How long did this take you?”

“Just under a month. I’ve been knitting as fast as I can and spent almost every waking moment on it. Except for when I’ve been at school, which I spent working on this,” she said as she pulled out the sweater for Adrien. “It’s for my friend Adrien. His father doesn’t really let him wear clothes that would give him comfort. I mean, I get that as a model he’s always representing the brand, but what kind of father chooses style over comfort for his own son? I’m surprised he hasn’t frozen to death already,” she tried to lighten the end of her rant as she realised she was getting angry.

He took a gentle hold on her elbow, and she looked up to face him. He had an odd look on his face, like he was embarrassed, though he had no reason to be.

“You’re an amazing friend, Marinette, and I’m sure he is going to love yo- it.”

She beamed at his praise and set it down on the chair, hugging him again with her whole body, his own arms wrapping tightly around her.

“Thank you for the hot chocolate, but I think I should go before my father realises I’m gone.”

She squeezed him tighter for a moment and whispered, “Will you be okay there? You know you’re welcome at any time, okay?”

He squeezed her back and replied, “I think I’ll be okay, but I will let you know,” and stepped back, taking care to not step on the blanket. She watched as he climbed the ladder and up onto the balcony, only looking back to wave her goodbye. She waved in reply then folded the blanket up, putting it into the bag she had reserved for patrols.

With only half a sleeve to go, she picked up the needles and set herself back down on the chair, continuing her work on Adrien’s sweater.

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

Conveniently enough, the next morning was announced to be the last school day before holiday break, as the weather predicted heavy snowfall for the coming days. Unfortunately though, it gave Marinette only today to give the now-completed sweater to Adrien. It was wrapped and labelled to and from (both Marinette and Alya made sure of it) but Marinette was frozen when she reached the classroom, causing Alya to bump into her back.

“Marinette! You can do this,” she heard her hiss, but she just couldn’t. There Adrien was, sitting and laughing at something Nino had said. She squeaked, almost losing her balance trying to step forward, which caught Adrien’s attention.

“Hey Marinette! What’s that you have there?”

Alya nudged her, and this time she did start to slip. This is how I die, she thought with a great internal sigh.

Quick as lightning, Adrien was in front of her, keeping her steady with concern masking his face.

“You okay?”

Marinette couldn’t do anything but stammer. “U-uh, you, I- gift! For you!”

“F-For me?”

He looked down to her hands, which were now shaking with the present between them.

“I-I mean…” Marinette looked helplessly back to Alya, who gave her a gentle nod, then looked back to Adrien and took a deep breath. “Yes, it’s for you. Merry Christmas, Adrien.”

The whole class was silent now, watching the two. Even Chloe watched, clearly fuming with a glare in Marinette’s direction.

He took it from her gently, their hands brushing for a moment. Marinette could swear she felt a spark, something warm in the cold room when they touched, but it disappeared as the package left her hands. She didn’t expect for him to set it down and sweep her into a hug so loving it reminded her of Chat N- no. No feelings for Chat Noir, only Adrien.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear with a squeeze.

In the middle of winter, Marinette felt like she was on fire. She tentatively raised her arms to hug him back, only for him to step back at the same moment and suddenly she was cold again.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back as he turned away to open the gift. His eyes lit up with happiness as he unfolded the sweater, gushing, “I’m the lucky friend?!”

Marinette giggled, “You have my lucky charm, remember?”

That made Adrien snort, “Marinette, I think you are my lucky charm.”

The class dissolved into a chorus of “aww’s” and the two suddenly remembered where they were, both blushing furiously. Fortunately for them, Madame Bustier walked in to start seconds later.

He wore the sweater proudly for the rest of the day, and home, as far as Marinette saw.

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

“Tikki, spots on!”

Later that night, Marinette transformed once again into Ladybug. She made sure the lamp was on and her goodie bag was secured around her body before launching off of the balcony towards their meeting place for patrols. The snow was falling lightly, looking magical in the night. Chat Noir was already there, holding his own bag that fell by the side of the swea- sweater?

Her jaw dropped and she almost missed her target with the yoyo. Chat Noir caught on evidently as his face dropped with fear and he reached out for her.

“Ladybug, are you okay? What happened there?”

“Where did you get that sweater?”

His face split into a grin as he ran his claws along the accents. “Oh, isn’t it so cool? A friend gave it to me for Christmas!”

The pieces both fell together and shattered at the same time. Her face dropped in shock. “But I… y-you… I mean… Adrien?”

His mouth fell open and he stuttered back, “M-Marinette?”

They stared at each other in shock for a few moments before Chat Noir snorted, which made Ladybug break and they both just burst into laughter. It felt unbelievable, but made so much sense to the pair. The two who always got everyone to safety so they could be alone; they felt like idiots. Finally their laughter died down, but as Ladybug brought out the Dupain-Cheng box, they started up again. More things began making sense and they couldn’t help themselves.

They found their way to each other, holding on like they’ve been separated for years.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Ladybug mumbled. Chat Noir’s body shielded her from the oncoming snow as they held each other.

“I can’t believe it either. We thought we were smart,” he laughed, and she could hear his smile.

“You’re gonna love this then,” she stepped back and opened her back, pulling out the blanket. She actually thought he might cry then and there. She held it towards him, who took it with such soft hands.

“You made this, for me?”

“I didn’t know your measurements- well, as it turns out I do, but I figured it would be something for us to keep warm under before patrols.”

“Marinette, I love you.”

They both paused, the phrase seemingly slipped out on its own, but she couldn’t help but reply, “I love you too.”

Winter patrols suddenly became a lot warmer.

[allisonxmoynihan]

always be my baby ~ p. moynihan

Request: could you write something with any of the boys moynihan where you see him after a really bad break up and memories come flooding back in and you end up talking and he says if he could go back and do it all over again with you he would

Word Count: 7391

Note: This was previously posted on my old account but with a different title. After posting I thought this title was better suited. But I wanted to repost this because I got a lot of requests for a part two, so that will be in the works soon!

You were sitting on your bed with your dad’s gift sprawled out in front of you: a picture collage of you and him throughout your 18 years of life, your baby photo smack dab in the middle; the picture frame was decorated in vintage buttons, something you knew your dad would appreciate. You were trying to figure out how to wrap it as you were on a facetime call with your best friends Kelsie and Olivia.

“Yeah, I don’t know Kels, it’s really weird that he asked for your opinion on what to wear if he was only going to ask Jenna out like three hours later,” you say finally selecting on the wrapping paper that says ‘super dad’ and ‘my number one hero’ all over it. 

“That’s what I’m saying, girl we’re gonna find you someone though because no one is gonna treat one of my girls like that,” Olivia sasses.

“Thanks girls. Hey, y/n what time is the barbeque? Your mom just said to come today, but like when? Because I don’t wanna be late, but I gotta get ready so I look good. Oh! Lemme show you the dress I’m gonna wear!” Kelsie exclaims, running over to her closet.

You laugh, “you can come whenever, I’m going down to help my mom cook in a little bit anyway. My dad’s fishing with the little troublemakers right now, so it’s going to be a surprise.”

You pick out a blue and green braided ribbon to compliment the wrapping paper as the girls explain that they’re going to get ready and head over right away to help you and your mom. Grabbing your dad’s gift, you walk downstairs to the kitchen where your mom stands fumbling over a recipe book.

“I don’t know why they make the print so small when older people are the ones that cook!” she exclaims, “y/n, get over here. Can you read this for me? Does it say ¾ tbs.?”

You crinkle up your face, “mom, what the heck, it says ½ a teaspoon.”

“You know, one day you’re going to be just like me needing your kids to read recipes to you.” She pauses when she looks up, her face softening when she sees you in your white floral dress with your hair curled and held back in a half up half down style. A wide smile blossoms on her face, “oh, sweetie, you’re so beautiful,”

Your face grows red in embarrassment at your mom’s compliment, “mooommm,” you whine causing her to smile back at you.

“Come on, are you helping or what? We have almost fifty people coming in two hours, and where are Liv and Kels?”

As if on cue Olivia and Kelsie come in through the front door and into the kitchen, gift bags in hand.

“Hello!” They sing together.

You smile at your best friends as your mom directs them on how to help prepare various dishes for the party. 

By the time the food tables are neatly organized by appetizers, main dishes, and desserts, guests come flooding into your backyard and find themselves preoccupied with cornhole, chit chatting, or gossiping about the neighborhood kids.

Your little brothers Luke and Nate come running into the backyard, “He’s coming!” they squeal, hiding behind the slide so that they can scare your dad.

When your dad rounds the corner and sees everyone he starts laughing as everyone yells a big, “surprise!” 

Your brothers come up to you and your friends asking if you guys can go to the front yard to play basketball, and you happily oblige to their request. The three of you let the six year old boys outrun you and score over and over again as they giggle and boast about how great they are. The moment is cut short when you look up to see the Moynihan clan approaching your driveway. You feel your throat begin to tighten as you turn around and run inside to the bathroom. 

Your family and the Moynihans were close, so you knew it was inevitable that you would eventually see him again. You’ve been dreaming up the different ways this exact moment would happen, but nothing could prepare you for this. You cuss at yourself for thinking you were actually over the only boy you had ever really loved. It’s easy to think you’re over someone when you don’t have to see them every day, but seeing Patrick getting out of the backseat of his mom’s car had everything come flooding back in. And that’s when it finally hit you: you were still madly in love with him.

~*~

It was the first weekend of December, a light snowfall dusting the grounds of Millis that you and Patty found yourselves downtown Boston for the annual tree lighting ceremony. The cold winter breeze caused your body to go numb, but you were thankful for the hot coco patrick had bought that was keeping you warm. 

You were standing in front of him with your back pressed against his torso towards the front of the crowd, his hands wrapped loosely around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. He was gently swaying you back and forth as dusk was fast approaching.

“Do you wanna come over and help decorate sugar cookies after the ceremony?” patty asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

You feel a blush creep onto your cheeks. Knowing you didn’t want this night to end you accepted his offer. Baking with patrick was something you always wanted to do but never really had the guts to ask to do. It’s not that you thought he wouldn’t do it with you, because you had him wrapped so tightly around your finger, the boy would do absolutely anything for you if you asked. 

“Awesome,” he grins, “we just have to stop at the grocery store on our way home then. Mom said we need frosting and food coloring.” you nod, a shiver coming over you. “You cold?” he asks, and without waiting for an answer he takes off his scarf and wraps it around your neck smiling at you, “looks way better on you,”

You roll your eyes playfully at him, “you’re such a loser, you know that right?”

He chuckles, “oh yeah? A loser that you love”

The two of you stand in silence as the stars become visible and the skyline becomes illuminated in the shadows of the night. You and patty stare up at the enormous tree in the middle of Boston Common, the mayor starting a countdown and everyone eagerly joining in. And before you know it the tree is sparkling and the ornaments radiate and reflect the light. An older couple offers to take your photo with Patrick in front of the lit tree, and you couldn’t be any happier than right here in this moment with your boyfriend.

On the car ride to Shaw’s you and Patty are blasting Luke Combs and singing along. Patrick turns up the volume when Beautiful Crazy comes on, “Alright ladies and gents, this song is dedicated to the one and only love of my life,  y/n y/l/n, my beautiful girlfriend that I love more than anything in this world.” You laugh at his pretending of giving a concert as he starts to belt out the lyrics, “She's unpredictable, unforgettable, It's unusual, unbelievable, How I'm such a fool, yeah, I'm such a fool for her…” Pat scream sings, closing his eyes and tilting his head back on the headrest. 

You giggle at the sight, taking over the next line, “The way that she dances, ain't afraid to take chances”

“And wears her heart on her sleeve”

“Yeah, she's crazy, she's crazy, she's crazy”

The two of you look each other in the eyes, smiling widely as Patrick finishes off the song, “But her crazy's beautiful to me”

Back at the Moynihan household Mrs. Moynihan takes out a container of six cookies for you two to decorate, “you’re lucky the girls saved some for you two,” she smiles, starting to mix different food colorings into separate bowls of frosting. “Let me know when you kiddos are done and I’ll clean up while you take y/n home, okay?” Mrs. Moynihan says as she pats Patrick on the back before walking into the family room to join her husband. 

“Thanks mama,” Patty calls out after her.

You grab a cookie and some light blue frosting, getting ready to make a snowflake and accent it with the white pearl sprinkles Mrs. Moynihan took down for you. Patty starts singing holiday tunes as he’s bopping his head up and down to the beat of the songs, “y/n don’t be a grinch! Join in!” he laughs, throwing a handful of sprinkles at you.

“Patrick!” you hiss, as he starts singing Jingle Bells.

“Come on y/n, I know you know this one!” you shake your head but join in anyway.

You finish your snowflake cookie, glad that it actually turned out and wasn’t ugly. You go to show Patrick, but in the process you see his creation. “Uhh, what is that?”

He looks up at you confused, “A hockey stick, what else does it look like?” he scoffs.

You raise your eyebrows looking at the crooked black lines that are scribbled on his cookie as he works on filling it in, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, clearly in deep concentration. 

“I don’t know, it kind of looks like a mangled spider leg.”

He looks at you with a hurt expression on his face, “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

You smile, “Yeah, well at least you’re good at something, Patty… but it’s definitely not this.”

~*~

You walk out to your backyard to see your mom waving you over to her and some of the book club moms.

“y/n why don’t you tell everyone about your plan to go to New York,” she smiles encouragingly.

You hate the attention your mom brings to your project all the time, but you’re also thankful that she’s supportive and proud of your hard work and dedication.

“Oh, it’s nothing really. I’m in a film class at school so I’m going to New York in a couple of weeks with Kelsie and Olivia to make a short film to bring attention to the homeless and ways we can fight it together.”

The moms look at you all impressed, “Oh wow, that’s very nice. And where do you go to school again honey?” one of the moms asks you.

“Tufts,”

“Oh, how impressive,” the moms turn back to your own mom and begin gossiping about the next thing that comes across their mind. 

You turn on your heel to go look for Liv and Kels to save you from all the parents boasting about their kids’ accomplishments and gossiping about the rebellious neighborhood kids. And that’s when you see it, and your heart sinks all over again. At the table you see Patrick and your dad talking. Patty says something that must have made your dad laugh because your dad throws his head back, slapping his knee, as Patrick chuckles softly to himself. You feel hot tears sting your eyes and threaten to spill as you try and fight them back.

You try to ignore the memories of the weekly disney marathons at your house that Patrick would come to, but to no avail the memories come flooding in all over again. The two of you snuggled up on the couch, him rubbing soft circles on your back and kissing the top of your head. How he wasn’t afraid to cry at the sad and ugly parts, but how’d he laugh and make jokes at the other parts. The way he’d run to cover Luke and Nate’s eyes when a kiss scene would appear on the screen. You would give everything back for just one more night like that, to be back in his toned arms where it felt like home.

You feel tears start to slide down your cheeks, as you zone back into reality, your dad and Patty still conversing with each other. and before you know it Olivia and Kelsie are guiding you up to your room, away from the party and guests outside. 

“y/n, come on, you know you can talk to us,” Kelsie coos rubbing your back as silent tears stroll down your cheeks.

“I just d-didn’t think seeing h-him would be this h-hard,” you hiccup, a loud sob escaping your mouth.

Olivia pulls you into a hug, “oh honey,” Kelsie joins in, rubbing your tears away.

“I don’t know why, but I just really miss him still,” you cry out, finally letting all your built up emotions pour out as you bury your face in Olivia's shoulder, your two best friends just holding you close and wiping your tears as they fall. 

~*~

Patty 🥰

I’ll come pick u up after practice

y/n

What time?

Patty 🥰

7 i’ll see u soon baby i love you sm

y/n

I love you too patty

You put your phone down on the counter, trying to hide the inevitable smile that was occupying your face.

“Why are you so happy?” Your mom asks coming into the kitchen, “Something with Pat, huh?” she asks, laughing to herself as she goes over to wash some dishes.

You open the refrigerator to get some orange juice, “we’re going on a picnic tonight for our two year anniversary.” 

“Oh, how sweet, do we need to get anything for your picnic?”

“No, he said he’s got everything taken care of”

Your mom nods, going over to the stove to dry her hands on the towel that hangs off the oven door. “And what did we get lover boy for your anniversary?”

You take a sip of your orange juice, “I made him a scrapbook of everything that’s happened in the last two years between us and at the back i wrote him a letter,” you explain to your mom how you made sure to include all the cringey parts from the beginning of your relationship, like the time you tried to impress him at the eighth grade dance by wearing heels you could not walk in to save your life. 

She smiles, “I’m sure he’s going to love that, it sounds very sweet y/n.”

“Thanks mama,” you say, leaning into her side as she presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What are we wearing tonight?” she asks, fashion was always your mom’s favorite thing and she was ecstatic when she found out she was having a baby girl so that she could dress you up all cute and do your hair. 

You shrug your shoulders, “I haven’t really figured that out yet,”

Your mom glances at the clock on the wall, “Well his practice is over soon, so why don’t we go look at some outfit options.” you follow your mom up to your room and she instantly goes to your closet searching through the thousands and thousands of clothes that occupied the hangers and shelves.

You sigh, “I don’t know what he’s wearing though, like I don’t want to be too dressed up but I don’t want to look like a slob either,”

Your mom nods, “Well, a little birdie told me what he packed in his bag to wear, and I think this dress would be just darling on you tonight,” your mom says holding up your long sleeve yellow dress with the pink and white little daisies printed on it. “And wear it with those brown slide on sandals, you know, the ones we got last month.”

You smile up at her, “thanks mom,” you say getting off your bed and grabbing the dress from her and heading into your bathroom to change. You smooth the dress over your body and start straightening your hair. By the time you’re done getting ready you hear the doorbell ring and you feel the butterflies in your stomach take off. You run into your room and slide your shoes on before grabbing Patty’s gift and running downstairs.

Patrick is standing in the foyer talking to your dad. You’re happy to see that Patty is also dressed nicely for the occasion.

“Luke, Nate, and I are making nachos and watching some baseball, Mrs. y/l/n has book club tonight so we’re having a boys night,”

Pat smiles, “Ah nice, yeah my dad and I definitely had our fair share of those when the girls all left,” He laughs, glancing up at the stairs before looking back over at your dad. His eyes dart back over to you as his jaw drops, a light blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

 Your dad pats his shoulder, “Be safe tonight, okay, and don’t do anything stupid. Make good choices, alright?” He points his finger at Pat before planting a kiss on the top of your head and walking into the living room where your brothers are. 

Pat smiles down at you, “you look absolutely stunning,” 

You blush smacking his shoulder playfully, “you don’t look too bad yourself moynihan,”

He laughs, grabbing your hand and leading you out to his car. On the car ride Pat is telling you about his last practice with Nobles, how their last game is coming up on Tuesday, and how you totally have to be there for it.

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you say reassuringly

He smiles, pulling into a parking spot, “So, the spot i found for us is a little bit of a walk, but uh, it’s not too far.”

You nod, “okie dokie,”

Pat grabs the picnic basket and grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers with his, as he guides you down the paved path towards the little pond in the nature preserve. Patty lays out the picnic blanket in front of the pond, and the two of you find yourselves smiling and talking about everything and anything over your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and strawberries. You slide the scrapbook you made over to him, and you see a wide smile, the one you’ve come to love so much, spread upon his face. He opens it up and starts looking at all the pages, documenting your love story from eighth grade to now. 

“Thank you, baby,” he smiles, closing the scrapbook and digging deep into his pocket. “Here, give me your arm,” he says as you hold your arm out to him. He takes out a bracelet that he clasps around your wrist. You look down and smile at the infinity chain bracelet that now adorned your wrist.

“You have my heart forever and always baby,” he says, putting his hand on top of yours.

You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so lucky to have you in my life.” 

You find yourselves lying on your backs, hand in hand, looking up at the sky, the sun almost disappearing, as the sky was a canvas of pinks, blues, and oranges. This night was everything you asked for and more, you felt like you were on top of the world, and to top it all off you had the best guy in the entire world by your side. Hours pass by and you and Pat find yourselves snuggled up, looking at the night sky and stargazing.

“Look it’s the big dipper,” he laughs, lifting his arm up and pointing at a constellation.

You giggle, hiding your face in his chest, “Pattt, that’s orion’s belt, oh my gosh,” 

He laughs, looking down at you with adoration filled in his eyes. His eyes flick down to your lips and back up to your e/c eyes before leaning in and placing a soft and slow kiss to your lips. You smile into the kiss, readjusting so you’re straddled over his hips. Patty’s lips trail down your skin, peppering your neck with kisses as he nips at the skin just above your collarbone. Your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, tugging loosely at the ends. Pat’s hands slide up your dress and rest on your bare skin as he kisses back up your neck before pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. 

Patrick turns you over as he lifts your dress up and over your head, before reconnecting his lips to yours. You feel him growing hard above your throbbing core, you grind your hips against him and he lets out a throaty groan, letting his hands roam your body. You two separate for a moment, your forehead pressed against his, your breathing hard and heavy.

“You’re sure this is okay?” he asks, sincerity filling his voice.

You nod your head, “I love you patrick,” you say as you pull his shirt off, pulling him into a deep kiss. His hands move down to kick off his khakis as he trails kisses down your skin, “I love you too baby girl,” he hums against your skin. The small, quiet whimpers leaving your mouth causing Patty to smile against your skin. He presses a final kiss to your abdomen before sliding your underwear down to your legs and inserting two fingers into you. You let out a soft moan, digging your nails into his biceps as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, quickening his pace. You feel a knot forming in your stomach as you squint your eyes shut. Patty removes his fingers before sucking on them. 

“Patty,” you whine

He smiles at your desperation as he nonchalantly removes himself from his boxers before lining up with your entrance and thrusting in. He sucks on the skin of your neck as he continues his thrusts, tiny grunts escaping his mouth as you moan out his name. 

“Patty, harder,” you grumble as you tug on his hair.

He’s biting down particularly hard as he pushes harder. You start lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts making it easier for him. 

“You’re so good baby,” he mumbles against your skin, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier, “I know you’re almost there, baby girl.” The knot in your stomach tightens, as you release, a throaty moan leaving your lips. Patty smiles, kissing up your neck and kissing you on the lips once more. His pace continues until he’s releasing into you, planting kisses all over your skin. 

“Happy two years y/n, I can’t wait to spend the next eighty with you by my side,”

~*~

Olivia and Kelsie convince you to leave your room after you’ve calmed down a little.  “Come on, you need to eat, okay? It’ll make you feel better.”

“And we’ll be there the whole time to keep you distracted!” Kelsie pipes in, the two girls guiding you back outside. 

You grab a plate of some of your mom’s famous mashed potatoes and a cheeseburger heading over to the seat at the table in between Liv and Kels.

“Oh my gosh, did I show you the dress my sister picked for her wedding?” Kelsie squeals, grabbing her phone and scrolling through her text messages. You and Liv share a knowing look before hovering over Kelsie’s screen.

“Oh my gosh, that’s beautiful!” you and Liv say in unison. 

Kelsie locks her screen, “42 dresses later, right?” she laughs, continuing to fill you two in on all the wedding details. You hear your little brothers squeal and you whip your head around on instinct. Upon doing so you lock eyes with him for the first time since he turned around, walked out, and never came back. You feel everything around you freeze, your breath hitches in your throat, and the cup of water in your hand falls to the table and spills. All the hurt and pain comes creeping back into your life as you lose yourself in his clear blue eyes. You feel a tear slide down your cheek as you remember the beginning of the end, where everything started to fall apart. And once again, you begin to wonder how you could have saved your relationship with the only man you ever wanted to be with.

~*~

After months of begging, your parents finally agreed to let you fly out to Michigan on your fall break so that you could see Patrick. It was his final year with the ntdp before leaving for college, and you and some of his teammates were at a diner grabbing some food after one of their games. It’s all fun and games, his teammates and their girlfriends quickly growing fond of you and including you in all the jokes. 

Next to you Chelsea taps Fran’s shoulder, “look who it is,” she says, rolling her eyes at the group of beautiful, tall, skinny, blondes that come strolling into the diner. You turn and look at her, “Who are those girls?” 

Fran laughs, shaking her head, “They’re the popular group at school, think they own the place.” you wrinkle up your nose, knowing a handful of girls like that at your own school. 

You go to tell Patty something and that’s when you notice him checking out one of the girls, his eyes following her as she bends down to pick up her dropped phone. You swallow the lump that formed in your throat, blinking away the tears, as you shove a fork full of mac-n-cheese into your mouth. You couldn’t understand how every other guy at the table couldn’t care less about the group of stunning blondes that strolled in, but your boyfriend of four years couldn’t get enough of them. 

Back at his billet house the two of you are alone up in his room, scrolling through netflix to find something to watch.

“y/n what’s wrong? You’ve barely said a word to me all night.”

You shrug, scrolling through instagram on your phone.

He throws himself down on his bed, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek but you turn away from him.

“What the fuck, babe, what’s going on?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that my boyfriend paid more attention to the stuck up blonde bitch at the diner than me all night” you retort

He looks taken aback, “what the hell are you even talking about?” his tone getting defensive.

You give him an ‘oh come on’ face, “really pat? You had googly eyes, motherfucking googly eyes at her and she winked at you. Winked. Did you think I wouldn't notice?”

Patrick scoffs beside you, “oh and you’re just a saint, right? You never look at any guys because you’re innocent and you’re totally committed to me”

“Are you seriously trying to turn this on me right now?”

“Don’t think I don’t know about aaron the infamous soccer player,”

“Jesus christ, I was failing biology and he was my tutor, there was nothing ever going on between us” you huff.

“I don’t get why you’re getting so upset right now, so what i checked out another girl?”

“You don’t get why i’m getting upset? Patrick, you promised me you would stay loyal to me and the minute I get here you’re looking at any other girl you can find. Am i that big of a joke to you?” the tears come streaming down your cheeks and Patty pulls you into a hug, you sobbing into his chest. 

“Baby, i’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

~*~

You, Olivia, and Kelsie are gathered at the fire pit, roasting some marshmallows for s’mores when you look over to find Luke and Nate playing cornhole with Patty. You smile softly, knowing how much your brothers adored him and looked up to him. You swear, the amount of times you heard one of them say they want to be just like Patty when they grow up was too many to count. 

Kelsie starts talking about her dorm assignment for the following school year and how she got the bad dorm, and Olivia sympathizes with her. The three of you bounce around your favorite high school memories, sometimes gossiping about random kids in your grade.

“Oh my god, did you guys see Marty and Miranda had a baby and now they’re engaged?” 

“What the actual fuck” olivia laughs, smushing her marshmallow between chocolate and graham crackers. 

You steal another look at Patty and see your brothers dangling from his arms, a wide grin on his face. 

“Higher Patty,” they cheer as Patrick lifts his arms higher and higher, giggles and screams flooding from their mouths. Patrick drops his arms suddenly and the two young boys squeal, as he begins to lift his arms up once again. 

He lifts his head up, seeing you watching him, and offers a smile your way. You nod your head, turning back to Kelsie and Olivia who are now talking about the vacation the three of you have planned in late July.

“y/n, did you find a cute swimsuit yet for our Bora Bora trip?”

You shake your head, “no, we’ll have to go to the mall and get one. I need your opinion anyway”

Your eyes wander back over to Patty and your brothers who are now playing a game of tag.

“Oh my god,” olivia gushes.

“What” you and Kelsie ask impatiently,

Olivia goes red, “uh, nothing” she says going to toast another marshmallow.

“No, tell us!” you laugh

Kelsie smiles, “wait, awww”

“What,” you groan

“y/n, he’s stealing glances at you as he’s playing with Luke and Nate”

~*~

You and Patrick were sprawled across his family room couch watching Marley and Me with his sisters. You and Pat couldn’t help the uncontrollable laughter that escaped your lips.

“Would you two quit it?” Cayley hisses, throwing a pillow at the two of you.

“Sorry,” you giggle, handing your phone to Patty who chuckles and throws his head back at the picture on your screen.

“Shut up,” Ciara shouts, whipping her slipper at him.

“Stop, they’re in love” Corey says

“God, they make me sick,” Ciara groans.

You and Patty ignore them, “want to go back up to my room?”

Ciara gags, “ew, please don’t be too loud”

“Use protection, I’m too young to be an aunt” Cayley calls out.

Patty flips them off as he snakes his arm around your waist, guiding you up to his room.

Once you’re up there you jump onto his bed sprawling out in the middle of it. Patty lies down on top of you, “did you bring the goods?”

You laugh, “yes, they’re in my bag” 

He rolls over and grabs your bag, pulling it into his lap and sifting through the contents. He smiles pulling out your one direction t-shirt, a head band, and a denim skirt. “Oh yes,” he smiles.

“Okay, but where’s mine?” you say, sitting up excitedly. 

Patty leans over the side of his bed and grabs a pile of his clothes, throwing it up to you.

You smile, “your Nobles hockey sweatshirt, your nike sweatpants, and a bruins hat? Perfect!” 

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon talking about how excited you are for the halloween party at one of his teammate’s houses while watching Mulan on the tv that stood on his dresser. 

“Mulan saved china,” he mumbles,

You smile, poking his cheek, “yeah, and you can’t even score a goal against the easiest team in the conference”

He squeezes your sides and you squeal, “i’m kidding, you definitely did score a goal that the ref decided was off of a penalty so they took it away”

“That’s right, but holy shit she saved china”

You laugh, shaking your head, snuggling into his chest.

You wake from your nap to Patty shaking you lightly. 

“Good evening sleeping beauty,” he jokes,

You smile, rubbing at your eyes and sitting up, “hi,”

Pat stands up, “we should probably get our costumes on so we can head over to the party,”

You stand up, replacing your clothes with patty’s clothes he picked out for you and he does the same. He laughs looking at you, “aren’t we just the cutest couple”

You smile as if you’re a five year old on her birthday, “no one will know who is who! This is the best costume idea ever!”

When you two burst through the door of his teammate’s house, Patty is strutting, shaking his hips side to side as you attempt to walk, shaking your shoulders like you see all the boys at school do. 

“would you look at the golden couple” someone shouts as all eyes fall onto you and Patty.

~*~

When Patty told you that he was able to be home for your prom, you were beyond excited. All of your friends had dates and you really didn’t want to be the only one that didn’t have a guy to go with. 

You, Liv, and Kelsie were in Olivia’s room, curling your hair, doing make-up, and painting nails. The three of you had had a sleepover the previous night to make today easier. 

“I can’t wait for pictures,” Kelsie says, pulling out her tube of mascara

Olivia starts fanning her hand over her toe nails, “I can’t wait to see the guys,” she laughs

You smile, “I’m just happy to see Patty again,”

“See, this is why I want a boyfriend. That’s cute, and what? I’m going to prom with the senior quarterback and I’ll never hear from him again!” Kelsie laughs.

The three of you finish fine tuning your look before going and getting your dresses on. You have Olivia zip up your blush pink ball gown prom dress that’s decorated with a silver beaded sash around your waist. You smile as you slip on your heels, and look in the mirror at the three of you, “wow, we look so good” Kelsie smiles, snapping a photo.

The three of you walk outside to the waterfall fountain in Olivia’s backyard. Your heart skips a beat when you see Patrick, his hair was longer than you remember, but he still looked as charming as ever. Patrick looks up and sees you fast approaching and his face grows soft, a deep red brushing his cheeks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He pecks your lips, “you look beautiful y/n”

You, Pat, Liv, Kels, and their dates are dancing on the dance floor, laughing and having the time of your lives when Perfect by ed sheeran starts to play. You and Patty freeze, as he places his hands on your hips, your arms going up and wrapping around his neck. The two of you gently sway to the music and he presses his forehead to yours.

“I’m so happy you were able to come tonight Patty,”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,”

“You’ve really made me feel like a princess tonight” you laugh, suddenly feeling goofy for saying that.

He laughs, “good, you deserve to feel like a princess every day” 

You tilt your head up and kiss him gently. There’s nothing more that you could ever want than to be here in his arms, on this perfect night.

“I can’t wait for our wedding night,”

~*~

You once again found yourself in Michigan visiting Patty for spring break. After one of his home games the two of you find yourselves sitting in his car in the parking lot of the hotel you were staying at. You weren’t sure what it was, but there was some sort of tension between the two of you that made you worried.

“Patty, i know you lost the game and you’re upset, but come on, what’s wrong?”

“I hate when you fucking call me that” he snaps, his voice cold and sharp.

You look at him confused, “o-oh, sorry,”

He pulls out his phone, tilting the screen away from you as he types out a fast text message and puts his phone away again.

“Why do you keep coming out here to visit?”

“What do you mean? You’re my boyfriend and I miss you, of course i’d come and visit you,” you notice him flinch at the word boyfriend and you place your hand on his, “Patt-” he pulls his hand away and tears sting your eyes, “wh-what’s going on?”

He scratches his head looking out his window, mumbling something under his breath.

“I can’t hear you,”

“I said I fucking cheated, what do you want me to go and scream it to the world,” he rolls down his window leaning his head out of it, “HEY EVERYONE I CHEATED ON Y/N” he yells. In that moment it feels like someone is suffocating you, and you can’t breathe.

You feel hot tears spill down your cheeks, “why?” you somehow manage croak out

He turns to look at you, his eyes watering up at the sight of you for an instant before he goes back to suppressing his emotions, “I don’t know,” 

“You. don’t. Know.” you say hitting him hard on the chest after each word, “how can you not know? What’d you do? You didn’t go all the way, did you? You didn’t kiss her, did you?”

His lack of an answer is enough for you to know that he betrayed you and went against everything he ever promised you.

“What the hell patrick, how could you? You promised me forever”

“I never loved you, you know that right?”

“Do you even hear yourself right now”

“You know the funny thing y/n? You sit there and act like you’re so perfect, like you have everything together, that no matter what happens in this world you’re going to come out on top.”

“I-is that r-really what you think of me?” you cry out.

He holds up his finger, “But I know what you’re really like. You act like such a saint because you’re scared people are going to find out how big of a slut you really are.”

“Excuse me? You’re the one that fucking slept with someone else while I was back home in Millis 100% devoted to you Patrick.” you scream,

“Yeah, well at least i don’t act like everyone is in love with me. After this, you’ll have no one. No one.”

“Shut the fuck up patrick”

“I can’t believe I wasted all this time on you”

You sit there in disbelief, your cheeks stained with tears, anger boiling inside you. “So what, we’re together for four and a half years and you’re just going to throw it all away? You don’t even want to try and fix it?”

“Jesus christ y/n get it through your head, there’s nothing worthwhile to fix”

You cry out ugly sobs, “Patrick, please, no, please don’t do this. Please don’t go. I’m sorry, please tell me what i did wrong, i promise i’ll make it better.”

He shakes his head, starting the car, “it’s over, okay? I don’t love you.”

Your hand is shaky as you place it on the door handle, “patty, i’m so sorry,” you say before getting out of the car and running into the hotel, not even bothering to look back at him.

Watching the best part of his life walk away, Patty drops his head into his hands, finally letting out his own tears fall as loud sobs fall from his mouth. “Mom, i really need you right now,” he cries into the phone.

~*~

“y/n,” a familiar voice sings, “y/n? Earth to y/n” you turn your head and see patrick. 

“Oh. um, hi?” 

He smiles, “hey, uh, can we go inside and talk?” 

You look over at Olivia and Kelsie who nod at you encouragingly. “Sure, I guess,” you say, standing up and walking back up to your house. Patrick follows close behind and when you stop in the middle of your living room and stare at him expectantly he just stands there.

“Well, what did you want?”

“I miss you” he blurts out and you’re instantly shocked.

You regain your composure, “It’s a little too late for that,” you go to walk past him, back outside, but he’s quick to grab your arm. “y/n, wait, please just hear me out”

You stand there and wait for him to go on. He takes a shaky breath before continuing, “y/n i love you, i still do, hell i always have. I treated you like crap and i’m sorry, but i know it’s me and you in the end, just like we always said. And we’ll have kids and grow old together, like we talked about, and we’ll travel all over europe like we planned-”

You interrupt him, “Patrick, stop.”

“Baby, please,” he begs, “you know if i could go back and do it all over again with you, i would in a heartbeat.”

~*~

Back in Millis, you felt more alone than ever even though you were surrounded by your family and friends. You just felt so broken, and you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, love isn’t real. If patty could get up and walk out on you after everything, you knew love couldn’t be real. 

y/n 

Hey, how are you? It’s been a while…

Your mom comes up and knocks on your door, “hey honey,” she says, coming in and sitting beside you on your bed.

You start sobbing hysterically, “mom, i really miss him”

She rubs your back, “i know you do sweetie, i know you do. But if it’s meant to be you guys will get back together,”

“Mom we were going to get married, you know that right? We talked about it, we made plans to stay in Millis and raise a family, we even picked out the house we wanted,”

“Oh honey”

“And when I looked in his eyes I saw the next eighty years of my life. I don’t want to be with anyone if it’s not him.”

“y/n, you’re young, you’re only 18. There are going to be so many other guys out there, and you’re going to Tufts in the fall. Honey, Patty isn’t the whole world”

“Mom, he’s my whole world though”

Your mom wipes away some of your tears, “honey, he’s just one guy, and there are going to be so many other guys out there. You are beautiful, talented, smart, and extremely kind. Any boy would be beyond lucky to have you, do you hear me?”

You nod your head as your mom kisses the top of your head, “i’m going to go cook some dinner, okay, i’ll call you when it’s ready.”

y/n

Patrick, please. I just feel so alone. And you’re right, i have no one. Please can we try and fix it?

You wipe more tears away as you wait for a text back. When nothing happens you try calling him, “hey it’s pat, sorry i missed you but if you leave a message i’ll call you back”

You break down at the sound of his voice, remembering all the nights you heard that same voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear, goosebumps crawling all over your skin. 

y/n

Patty please, i’m so broken

y/n

I miss you

y/n

Please come back, i need you here with me

y/n

Please, i love you

Patty 🥰

y/n stop contacting me.

You chuck your phone across your room, falling into your pillow to muffle the loud sobs that were escaping your body, and that’s when it finally hits you: Patrick Moynihan was gone and out of your life for good.

~*~

“Patty, I’m sorry. You know i love you, i always have and i always will. But i just can’t do this again.”

“y/n, please, just give me a second chance. I’ve changed, I can be the guy you’ve always deserved to be with. I can be that guy, just, please, give me a chance.”

“Patty, we both agreed I wasn’t good enough for you, remember?”

His eyes start to water up, but he’s quick to shrug it off, “baby, please...”

The tears start falling down your cheeks and he goes to wipe them away but you turn from his touch, “Patty, I’m sorry. But it’s better this way,” you go to walk back out to the backyard, leaving Patrick in the middle of your family room realizing he really messed up and he didn’t know how to get you back, but all he knew was that he needed you in his life.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Favorite Human

BTS

Jeon Jungkook/Reader [F]

Genre: Hybrid AU, Childhood Friends,  Fluff

Words: 3.1k

sum. Jungkook was the adopted hybrid pup of the new family who had just moved into the second unit of the duplex your family lived in. The moment they brought him home as a kid, he was attached to you and you to him.  Growing up, you thought he’d change, but even as highschoolers, he’s still as attached as ever. 

a/n: Really, just a blurb that got way longer than I indented it to (this was supposed to be a drabble mmk) of Dog Hyrbid Kook being adorable bc @kpopgirlbtssvt​ forced my hand (this isn’t proofread, oops)

“Y/n! come out here and meet the new neighbors!” You perked your head up from your small, plastic desk that you sat out, a plethora of crayons littered across it with scribbles of colors that absolutely didn’t stay in the lines of the coloring book picture you were busy filling in. Your hair pulled back- courtesy of your father and his love of hairdressing- as you sat in your favorite, yellow t-shirt and blue overalls.  

Hopping up, you ran outside to your mother.  The springtime was the perfect time to keep the front door open and open the window of the storm door, and that’s exactly what your mother did was she was out satisfying her green thumb for gardening. Pushing open the storm door latch that you could just barely reach, you pushed the door open and ran to your mother down the few steps of your porch. 

Your family lived in one half of the two-unit duplex in the middle of the city. 

You had often complained that you had no kids to play within the neighborhood unless you went to the park- which was too far to go to daily.  You were a bit of a tomboy, always climbing trees, getting down in the dirt and even fascinated with bugs of some kind. It was hard to connect with other little girls sometimes and the boys would tease you, so you often pouted as you scribbled at your desk or was out in the garden with your mother. 

Finally, at your mother’s side, you clung to her long skirt she wore, burying your face into it with a giggle before you looked around her leg when she pets your head.  You looked at the middle-aged couple in front of you.  Two women stood there as they interlocked their fingers, and smiled down at the adorable 5-year-old that was you, decked out in yellow and denim. 

“Y/n, this is Sheryl and Lidia. They’re going to be our new neighbors starting today.” Your mother told you as she pats your back, encouraging you to let go and face them properly.  “What do you say to them?” 

You shyly opened your mouth, hands still clutched in your mother’s skirt fabric. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you all but whispered as the three women all giggled at your wavering, shy voice. 

One woman came and knelt close to you as you tried your best to make eye contact with her.  She was very pretty- not as pretty as your mom, but a close second you decided.  Tanned skin and big brown eyes with hair more frizzier than yours when you roughly towel-dried it. 

“My name is Sheryl, it’s nice to meet you Y/n.” You only nodded back before she was looking over her shoulder to the moving van in the driveway.  “Jungkook! Come over here and say hello!” She called.  

You watched as the van door slid open and a little boy jumped out.  Placing his sneaker covered feet on the pavement, he kicked forward until he ran face-first into Sheryl’s back. Pushing his face into her back and giggling lightly- he seemed no older than you.  Just a small little kid.  

“Jungkook,” Sheryl called, making the young boy pop his head up and peek around his first mother’s shoulder. You lightly gasped in a fit of silent awe when you saw the small, triangular dog ears perked upon his head. You had hybrid kids at your school, but they were all kept in separate classes from you and your peers, something you whined about but you wanted a hybrid friend really bad.

His face dusted in rose as he saw a little girl staring at him.  

“This is Y/n, she’s going to be living next to us, so you’ve got to be nice and friendly to her.  Okay?”  Jungkook nodded as he looked at you.  He was always shy around girls, not comfortable around them enough.  When he was adopted by his mothers’, it took him over a week to open start acting like their son.  They treated him like any other son- hybrid or not.  

Eventually, the women migrated inside so your mother could introduce the two ladies to your father.  You were awkwardly stood in the front yard with Jungkook as he looked at his toes and kicked at nothing, fiddling with his thumbs. You watched his small, black tall sway slightly back and forth as his ears dropped to a curl.  

“Sooo,” you started, startling the poor pup as he jumped.  “What kind of dog are you?” You asked, trying to remember what your mother taught you about being polite and asking things delicately. 

“I-I’m a Kelpie,” he mumbled.  Your eyes lit up, delighted he even replied to you. 

“What do you do for fun? Do you like playing outside?” You asked carefully.  If he didn’t, you wouldn’t push the issue.  You really wanted to play though and what better play partner than your new little boy neighbor? 

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I like to play tag a lot.”  

“Then, lets play!” Your voice spiked to a shout.  You quickly covered your mouth with your palm when you watched Jungkook jump and back away from you slightly.  “Sorry,” you apologized.  “We don’t have to.” Your voice lowered in dejections, figuring you came on too strong like you normally did.  You watched as Jungkook slowly came closer to you and grabbed a hold of your overalls at the side.  

He was looking at his feet, face red as his ears folded in anxiety and his tail swished. 

“You’re it,” he told you before you laughed and the chase was on. 

“Y/n! Can you do me a favor!” You heard your mother call from the bottom floor of the duplex you’ve lived in your entire 18-year life.  Pushing up from your desk and gleefully abandoning the physics textbook you had been studying before, you called back. 

“Coming!” Running down the stairs, staring at your feet the whole way to avoid any chance of falling down them, you rounded the corning and waltzed into the kitchen.  Passing your father in the living room on the way.  Your mother was busy cooking away at dinner, a pot a pasta boiling and chicken baking in the oven to crumb covered perfection. “What’s up?” 

“I think I forgot something over at Lidia’s the other day.  Some seasoning when we were making that new chicken parmesan dish; I cannot find it for the life of me.  Would you run over and see if she’s got it?” You nodded. 

“Sure thing. I’ll be like 5 minutes,” you told her.  Heading to the front door, you slipped on a pair of slippers with dog ears on them before you left.  Walking down and around the yard to the unit front door directly next to yours.  

Knocking, the door opened to show Lidia herself.  More aged than all those years ago, but still rocking for her age.  You lightly waved to her. 

“Hello, Y/n.  What can I do for you?” She asked. 

“Mom said she may have left some seasoning her the other day.  She asked me to see if you still had it.  She’s cooking up a storm and you know how picky she is when it comes to seasoning,” you chuckled.  

“Oh, darling I know.  Sheryl and I never get tired of teasing her.  Come on in, I’ll go check my cabinets.” She invited you in as you stepped through the door and inside.  “Jungkook is up in his room if you want to say hello,” she offered.  

You didn’t say no.  Jungkook was your longest-standing friend- dare you say your best friend.  Although you’ve both grown up and are in your last year of high school, some things haven’t changed.  You still had a problem with connecting to some people, but the opposite was in his case.  He couldn’t be more of a people magnet if he tried.  Ever the smooth talker and with his charisma and unfair good looks, his popularity skyrocketed after middle school. 

Bounding up the stairs, you weren’t even able to knock on his door when it swung open revealing the bubbly boy himself.  

“Y/n!” He sang as he flung into your chest, koala latching himself onto you.  That was also something that hadn’t changed.  When he would get comfortable with someone, all personal space boundaries vanished.  He literally didn’t understand personal space- but you didn’t particularly mind.  

He always smelt so nice and he was warm when he hugged you. Not to mention, he was just the best damn hugger. The small crush you had on him definitely didn’t help matters.  Though, you never let it get to your head.  He was cuddly by nature, being spoiled by his mothers and his K9 instincts telling him that people weren’t the enemy unless they did something just plain awful. 

He pushed his nose into your neck before he pulled away from you, smiling as he held one of your hands. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asked. 

“Mom forgot something here the other day, so I’m picking it up.  I figured I should say hi while I’m here since someone doesn’t have time to visit me anymore.” You teased. He’s been wrapped up in the choir club recently.  They have a competition coming up soon and he’s been practicing for it nearly every day with his instructor. He pouted. “I’m joking!” You laughed. 

“You know I miss you.  I tell you every day,” he told you with a pout.  It was true.  He’d literally facetime you everyday whining that he was too busy to see you.  It was a sentiment you appreciated and you assumed he did with all his close friends.  His best friend in the art club always whined that Jungkook called you more than him, a complaint you didn’t really believe. 

“Y/n!” You heard Lidia call.  “I found that seasoning dear!” 

“Alright, I’m coming!” You called back before looking at the now pathetic looking Jungkook who stood in a slouched pout.  You reached up and scratched at his ears that he had grown into so well.  His tail swishing behind him. “Don’t pout.  You’ll see me tomorrow at school.” 

“But you take the bus to school! I get there so early in comparison.” 

“That’s a you problem,” you laughed as you pulled your hand away from him and started back down the stairs, waving him off.  Taking the seasoning and thanking the woman, you returned home.  

The next morning you sat at the bus stop, headphones plugged into your ears as you waited.  Someone plopped down beside you- nothing unusual- before they yanked one of your earbuds out.  Ready to bit the head off of whoever dared, you stopped yourself before you started. Beside you sat Jungkook- the same Jungkook who absolutely hated the bus. 

“Good morning!” He sang. “I wanted to go to school with you today.” He chirped as he yawned and put his head on your shoulder.  You just rolled your eyes as you continued scrolling on your phone.  

When the bus came and you loaded onto it, Jungkook plopped himself down next to you and replaced his head back on your shoulder, even slinging his arm over your lap to keep you closer to him as the bus jostled you both around. Dozing off and on, he watched as you read something other another on your phone screen. 

“Hey,” he whispered lightly you barely heard it.  You hummed at him. “You’re going to come to the competition this weekend, right? For choir?” 

“Well, that depends,” you put your phone down, patting at the hand that sat in your lap.  “Do you want me to, Pup?” He giggled lightly, the older than thou nickname of his youth only you were allowed to call him making him giddy. He nodded against your shoulder, snuggling into it more- not giving two flying acorns at who may be scoffing at his display of public affection for his favorite human. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Then, I’ll be there.” 

The school day went as it always did as you hung around Jungkook and his group of 6 other guy pals. All strange, all different and all equally as crazy as him.  The most ‘normal’ boy being a self-proclaimed genius who couldn’t spell out the word ‘necessary’ without having an aneurysm because of the unnecessarily large number of s’s needed. 

They were good guys at least.  You were happy Jungkook had people to really connect to and he always made sure you were always included- so you never felt left out. You currently sat on a bench in the halls during lunch as Hoseok, one of his friends, sat on the floor with a thermos of water at his side.  Talking about how the dance recital he had coming up in a month was wearing him out. 

You let out a small ‘oof’ when Jungkook had appeared from seemingly nowhere and threw himself across your lap and the bench.  His back on your legs as he stared up at you as you popped a piece of the sandwich you ate into your mouth. 

“Can you get off me?” You asked. 

“Jungkook, you know you’re not a lap dog, right?” Hoseok asked from the floor with a hint of amusement in his voice. Jungkook just looked offended at Hoseok as he curled into you, wrapping his arms around your midsection. 

“Jungkook!” You whined as he held you with an iron grip.  Working out being his second favorite hobby besides singing.  “Go cling to Hoseok instead!” 

“He won’t cuddle us,” Hoseok told you.  You stopped your micro-shoves on his shoulders as you started talking to the dancer again.  Jungkook cuddling deeper into your stomach. “Well, I guess I could say he does, but he certainly does whine a lot.  No one quite satisfies the affection-craving dog like you do, girly.” He broke out into a fit of laughs before speaking again. “One time, he kept whining because he wanted to cuddle you, but you were in gym, so Jimin tried to help but Jungkook just growled at him.” 

“Jungkook!” You scolded as he just whined. 

“I don’t wanna hug anyone else anymore!” He complained. “Only you,” he solidified. You just sighed, letting him once again get away with his childish needs as he practically napped on your lap the entire lunchtime. 

It was then like that day after day.  Even when he was at his competition, dressed in his black slacks and white dress shirt, his hair neatly parted and brushed, he hugged you.  He’d lean on your back as he hugged your waist or push his cheek on your shoulder when he had a chance to sit down beside you. 

As you sat among the audience of the people listening to the choir, you had to keep your heart from beating out of your chest because you swore he stared at you the entire time. 

The evening after the competition, he practically begged you to stay over at his house. You gave in pretty quickly and Jungkook worshiped your mom for letting you. Normally, you’d just put down a sleeping bag on the floor, but tonight Jungkook was adamant you sleep beside him. 

“I- I don’t think we have to,” you weakly battled.  

“No.  You smell nice, you’re warm and you’re my favorite so you need to sleep next to me so I can sleep well.” 

You flailed around, unable to take all the heart papulations he probably wasn’t aware he was causing.  In the end- as per usual- he got his way as he clung to you at midnight when you both settled down for bed. 

Laying behind you, he held you around your waist and pushed his face into your hair.  Slipping his leg between yours and pulling you as close to his chest as possible. He cracked his closed eyes open not long after the two of you had gotten comfortable. 

“You don't mind me holding you, do you?” 

“Now you’re worried about your clinginess?” You chuckled. 

“Well, it’s just-” he cut himself off with a whine as he pushed his nose down into your neck.  “It’s complicated,” he told you. 

“Complicated how? Not like you haven’t hugged me before.” 

“It’s just different now.” 

“No?” You questioned.  You tapped at his arms, telling him to loosen them as you twisted around to face him.  His face was lowered as he looked a tad sad. “Hey,” you whispered, caressing his cheek, “what’s wrong, Pup?” 

“You’re my favorite human,” he told you.  You’d heard him tell you that before. You nodded at him.  

“I know,” you told him softly. 

“No, I mean-” he shut his eyes as he pushed his face into his pillow. He groaned into it.  “Y/n?” He asked when he lifted his face back up. “S-someone told me that you liked, Hoseok.  Is that... true?” 

You pulled away from him, shock painted on your face. 

“Who told you that?!” 

“W-well, you’ve been spending a lot of time with him recently!” Jungkook seemed panicked like he was trying to cover something up. 

“He’s been asking advice on how to ask out this girl in my Korean class who happens to be my deskmate,” you told him with a light laugh. “I, in no way, like Hoseok like that.  He’s a swell guy, but I’d probably never date him.” Jungkook relaxed as he smiled. 

“So, you don’t like him?” 

“No,” you answered with a smile. “What a silly thing to be anxious about.” You pet at his head as he shut his eyes.  

“It’s not silly,” he told you. “Not when I thought I’d have to compete with my friend for you. I was stressed, okay?” 

“Huh?” Your brain seemed to have shut off.  “What does Hoseok have to do with me? And compete?” 

“You’re my favorite human,” he told you again. “The one human I wanna hug and hold and I wanna kiss you too.  I wanna hold your hand and walk around in public.  I want to talk about the future with your mom and win over your dad.  I want you to stay my favorite human forever, and I want you to think of me as your favorite hybrid.” He snuggled into your chest, hiding his burning face.  “I really like you, Y/n.” 

You froze for a moment, making the dog’s stomach turn.  He eased in instant relaxation when you pet at the back of his head and scratched his ears. He took in your scent he loved so much as you just pet him. 

“You were right, it wasn’t silly. Sorry for calling it that,” you told him as he just shook his head. “I really like you too, Jungkook. Honestly, I’m shocked Jimin didn’t spill his gut when I told him about my crush on you.” You laughed lightly, making the dog-boy hold you closer.  “Let’s just sleep for now, and we can talk about all this in the morning.” He nodded silently.  

Before falling asleep, he smiled when he felt you kiss the top of his head, his tail wagging across the mattress. 

[mediaeval-muse]

I’ve gotten a couple of notes about this bit in the article I posted the other day: 

But rather than decreasing Ph.D. admissions to accommodate this reality, many have increased the size of their Ph.D. cohorts. Why?

The ugly truth is that departments refuse to reduce admits because their tenured and tenure-track professors want to teach graduate seminars on their topics of interest rather than teaching core and introductory courses to large classes of undergraduates.

It seems like some people were alarmed at the prospect of making PhD programs more restrictive, and I agree, making PhD programs more competitive and “elite” isn’t the answer. That opens up a whole host of problems, like universities denying admission to those who can’t pay (which would negatively impact underrepresented groups like racial minorities, lgbt+ people, first-gen college students, people from lower economic backgrounds, etc).

BUT

I think it is a university's responsibility to take a hard look at their programs and what kind of future they’re preparing their students for. Many programs are designed with the explicit goal of turning their students into academics, and while I do not advocate for relaxing academic standards, if graduate programs insist on business-as-usual and don’t account for a changing job market, I think that’s highly irresponsible. I think it’s immoral to pretend that grad school is a nice way to spend one’s time, as an opportunity to do something just for the passion and that it has no impact on students’ futures. Grad school is demanding; students have to teach and do original research, often participate in professional groups and do administrative work, and while it’s nice if students enjoy those things, grad school is first and foremost a professionalization program (regardless if you think it should be or not). Grad school isn’t a medieval book club or history fan club; even if you’re there because you love learning, you don’t get to skip the requirements that are meant to professionalize you as an academic, and even if you think it should be more tailored to passion, the system isn’t going to change overnight. Grad school - especially in the humanities - just looks more “fun” and open to “pursuing passion” because the professionalization process involves things our society as a whole doesn’t value as marketable (how many jokes about “you’ll never get a job” have you heard about English degrees? History degrees? Art degrees?). If you’re fortunate enough to go to a school where you get a lot of teaching experience, that will also demand a lot of you; teaching and research are often dismissed as not “real work” and people insist that school isn’t part of the “real world,” as if teaching young adults how to communicate isn’t a “real job” that involves a lot of time and energy, not to mention that you’re literally affecting your students’ lives through instruction. Teaching can be a “passion,” but again, it’s irresponsible to think that you aren’t having an impact on your students. Thus, grads need to learn how to market the skills they acquire in grad school to organizations outside academia. At the very least, grad programs should provide seminars and advising on alt-ac careers. If they are not going to support their students who need to find jobs outside of academia, then I do think grad programs should restrict their PhD cohorts.

Moreover, there’s also a problem in that universities are admitting more PhDs, but not providing them with adequate resources. If a program doubles the number of grad students they admit every year, but doesn’t hire new faculty to compensate for larger class sizes, the number of students who need advisers, or the amount of funding needed to support those students financially, etc. then there’s a serious ethical question to ask regarding quality of education and the motives for admitting so many students. Are programs trying to democratize higher education? Maybe, but I doubt it. Grad students are cheaper than non-tenure faculty, so admitting more to help teach undergrad courses takes advantage of a cheap labor pool. On top of that, universities are saving money by not replacing tenured faculty who retire. When I started my PhD program, we had 4 medievalists in our English department, and maybe 6 or 7 grad students between them. Now, we have 2 medievalists and 8 grad students, and 2 more are coming in next year. (10 students sounds low until you realize that they need individual advising and compete with students in other disciplines like American lit and Victorian lit for funding.) We are not allowed to have NTTs on our committees if we want to meet the requirements for dissertation completion, despite the fact that many of them have the same credentials as tenured faculty and would love to mentor younger students in their fields. We’re also facing problems when faulty leave and no one replaces them to teach courses required for the degree (and the requirements don’t change!). So, the question becomes how are students affected when there are more of them, but less resources to meet academic requirements that, frankly, no one is changing because they like the “academic rigor.”

Something that I think is smart about our medieval studies program is that our 2 medievalists have been working on removing specializations in Old and Middle English. Because academics jobs are increasingly requiring medievalists to teach everything from the classical period to Shakespeare, having a single specialization doesn’t prepare them for this job market. People may say, “they shouldn’t do that! What about the people who just want to study Middle English?” (or Old English). But remember: the department’s primary goal is to pump out qualified academics for the current landscape, not be medieval book clubs or history fan clubs. Even if you think grad school should primarily cater to passion and enthusiasm for learning, the system won’t change overnight (many tenured profs love the current model and refuse to change it) and you’re already going to be treated as a working professional if you teach or publish your research.

Feel free to disagree with me or add your own thoughts. I’m probably missing a lot of stuff, and I’m speaking mostly from personal experience. Higher education is in a real tough spot right now, and while it’s admirable to want to open your doors to as many grad students as possible, we can’t pretend that our actions aren’t having an effect on their lives. I support restricting PhD cohorts if universities do nothing to change their current education model, which is overwhelmingly tailored to the academic landscape of 15, 20+ years ago. If programs are honest about the job market and are genuine in their efforts to support students while they’re in school and after they graduate, then by all means, admit as many as you have the resources for.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

every book i had to read for english and why i didn't like any of them

i woke up thinking about this and decided to make this post. for context, i went to public school and was on the honors/ap track for english. i am a firm believer that english teachers ruin books for their students inadvertently. this is my experience:

6th grade language arts

we read three books during 6th grade, bridge to terabithia, the cay, and where the red fern grows. and i had to read a wrinkle in time over the summer which i didn't understand like at all so I'm just gonna skip that one honors english was not a thing until 8th grade where i went to middle school so this was a regular english class and i hated it. it was also a double period class for some reason, so i had an hour and a half of language arts every day. 

it took us half the year to read bridge to terabithia. i am not kidding. that book is like maybe 100 pages and it took us a good 4-5 months. this is because our teacher stopped us every time we got to a pice of figurative language and made us analyze it. every. single. piece. i got so bored that i read ahead and then got in trouble for reading ahead. needless to say, i absolutely detested bridge to terabithia and would not touch it to this day if my life depended on it. 

after bridge to terabithia we read the cay. this took us the rest of the year. the cay is a relatively short book as well so i got bored with this one quickly as well. i really dont remember much about the discussions, but i remember a long one about how the cover was “inaccurate,” which, yes, it was but i dont know if a bunch of 11 and 12 year olds need to spend a week debating that. i think i hated it mostly because, again, we read it for 5 months. 

the last three weeks of the school year, our teacher gave us a book and said “here read this before school ends because we have to read three books a year and we only read 2″ (for context, the other language arts class had read about 5-7 books that year and found it insane that we were “still reading bridge to terabithia”) so i read where the red fern grows. all in all it wasn't a bad book, i did kind of enjoy it, but since i was rushed reading it on top of all my other homework and because it was definitely ahead of my reading comprehension level, it wasn't my favorite.

7th grade language arts

now, a bit of a disclaimer here, this was the year that i was in language arts with the guy i had a crush on and one of my close friends at the time. so, i didn't really pay that much attention to begin with. we read quite a few books in this class, but I'm not sure if i remember all of them. again, this was a double period. 

i think the first book we read was freak the mighty. i remember not liking this book because i felt like i was missing something. there was definitely some kind of metaphor or something in there that i was supposed to get but because i was literally twelve i didn't get it and i didn't find the meaning in it. theres nothing more frustrating than reading a book that you dont understand.

after that I'm pretty sure we read the wave. it was explained to us that the wave is supposed to symbolize how the n*zis came to power and all that stuff, and while we all knew this, i dont think we really Understood it. (probably because we were 12). we all kinda saw it as a joke and thought it was funny. i think that if i read it now i would be like. “well shit this is really interesting” but 12 year old me wanted to make fun of it with the rest of my class. 

i think we read seed folks next. this was another book that just went over all of our heads. its about how a garden changes a whole bunch of peoples lives which is like, super interesting. but none of us got it and were like “lol this is stupid” so much so that we actually stopped reading it. like my teacher stopped having us read it.

I'm fairly certain the last book we read was the miracle worker. a lot of us had had to read parts of it before that class so we were all kinda familiar with it already. i vaguely remember some kind of obnoxious class joke about the book that was probably rude. i remember finding it interesting, but there were so many activities we did about the book that i lost interest. 

8th grade honors reading

this class was A Trip. i liked the teacher, but she was a little out there. its unclear whether she got fired or just didn't come back after that year. i had a lot of fun in her class but it was usually because we all bonded over hating the assigned reading.

i dont remember what order we read the books in and i dont remember if this was all of them, but to the best of my recollection this is what we read

we definitely read romeo and juliet. by the time you're in 8th grade, everyone knows the story of romeo and juliet, so it wasn't like that suspenseful or a surprise or anything. but we had to act the reading out. yes we had to act out romeo and juliet. with burger king crowns. and wrapping paper swords. clearly the teacher was trying to have fun with us, and it was fun fun for awhile but it got old. especially when you got participation points taken off your grade if you didn't read for once of the characters (which is massively unfair because not everyone wants to get up in front of a class in a paper crown holding a wrapping paper tube and read in old english when you're 13 but whatever). 

we also definitely read animal farm. it was another book that went right over our heads (or, mine at least). i didn't actually really understand it until i had to read the communist manifesto for ap euro senior year. and our teacher talked in a bad russain accent the entire time? i could barely keep the characters straight, let alone analyze the underlying message and all that. now i might actually like it since I'm a history major and have a decent background on the russian revolution, but at 13? no thanks.

the one book that everyone hated (including the teacher herself) was farewell to manzanar. it was a memoir about a young girl growing up in the japanese internment camps and looking back on her life and stuff like that. the story itself was very interesting and we all learned a lot from it. but the person who wrote it did not know how to write. it was confusing, some chapters made no sense, and none of us generally knew what was going on. we had to finish the book because we were the honors class, but the regular class got to stop after chapter 6. 

i think we only read 4 books that year and the fourth one was the outsiders. this was one of two books that i actually liked the entirely of my public school education. i kinda vibed with it when we were reading it and then i vibes with it more once i got to high school and rediscovered it. it was just a good book, pretty solid, good themes, fantastic. 

9th grade honors english

i absolutely hated this class. hands down the worst teacher i ever had. she was one of those that should have retired 20 years ago but was still teaching for some reason. and she hated kids. legitimately. that was the first time i got a c and it took my parents a long time to realize that it wasn't because of me, it was because the teacher was absolute shit. the only thing that made that class bearable was the fact that my friend was in there and so was this guy that totally like her so he would flirt with her pretty incessantly and it was Hilarious. 

we read so many books that year and i hated all of them. a lot of them were like greek dramas and plays? like we read oedipus rex and julius caesar and antigone. and i hated all of them because the teacher made me hate reading and made it seem like a chore. 

by far the worst was the old man and the sea. i hated that book, hemingway was terrible. i struggled to find any kind of meaning in it and connected all of my responses to the bible because my teacher loved it when people did that.

we read inherit the wind and to kill a mockingbird and all quiet on the western front which were the only books i found remotely interesting. but i still hated them because i knew that we would have to do her reading quizzes which were impossible so it was pointless to read the book anyway. 

and we also read a raisin in the sun. i dont remember what this was even about except that there was some kind of insurance money involved. but by this point we were all really done with our teachers shit and my one friend legitimately said during class “but, ms. [name] if you put a raisin in the sun, doesn't it just get more raisiny?”

10th grade ap english language and composition (american lit)

i loved this class and the teacher but i hated all the assigned reading because we read it for the ap test. everything you read was in the context of having to find themes and shit to write about on the ap. so i didn't really get any of the books for that reason. i think we only read three and they were the scarlet letter, the crucible, and the great gatsby. i kind wish i paid more attention to gatsby and i think i would like it more now but at the time i detested it. we also had to read grapes of wrath over the summer and i hated that. i wanna read books to read them, not to come into school and write essays on them. also the ending was weird and i hated it.

11th grade honors (british lit)

another bad year of english, not quite as bad as freshman year, but still bad. still hated it. i outlined many fics in that class. the teacher did not like me and i did not like her. she also talked in this weird fake almost british but not quite accent that sometimes still haunts my nightmares. she was also one of those backwards feminists who claims they're a feminist but still was sexist in her favorites and the way that she treated people in the class?? after english i had math and my friend (the same girl who said the thing about raisins freshman year) and some others would complain to our math teacher about our english teacher. math was essentially a support group for english where we would discuss answers to reading checks. 

over the summer we read 1984, which, cool concept (esp right now) but i hated knowing that i had to find some kind of deep meaning in it because i was going to have to write an essay on it as soon as i came back to school.

from there i think we read beowulf which was interesting. i dont know if we actually read the whole thing or just excerpts but again, i hated looking for meaning.

we read a tale of two cities which was like the one book i actually wanted to read because i am a huge fan of the shadow hunters book serieses and will and tessa quote that book all the time. i think if i had read it to read it it would have been better but first, dickens is wordy and weird and second i dont really wanna have to search out symbolism while I'm reading because its required.

we read macbeth, which i just didn't like. idk why. i just kinda thought it was stupid. i dont really have an explanation for this one. i think it was because we read it in the old english and that confused me a lot of the time.

and we read jane eyre. the only thing i remember from jane eyre was “pathetic fallacy” which is where the mood of the scene is reflected in the weather. i dont wanna dissect a book like that. and also my teacher referred to the book as “jane” but she said it “jAAYYneeE” which was annoying. 

12th grade ap lit

dear god. this class. i had issues with this class. our teacher was something. everyone was afraid of him. e v e r y o n e. he ran detention and didn't know how to match his clothes and wore skinny ties. he had three swell bottles the he would bring with him to school every day. people claimed he used to be in a rock band and that was why his voice was so high pitched and weird. some said his wife left him, others said he had a kid. we were genuinely confused by him. he didn't teach, he yelled at you for doing things wrong without giving any instructions on how he actually wanted it done. he made college out to be some big scary thing where we would all be trampled. but mostly, he was an existentialist. 

we had to read song of solomon over the summer. i hated it. i didn't hate it because of the messages and all that stuff, no the book itself was good and toni morrison is a great author. i just hated the fact that there was graphic description of incest, necrophilia, or sex at least once every 5-10 pages. i didn't wanna read that. and it turned me off the book. so when he asked us if we liked the book when the year started i said no and i argued with him about it. and he hated me for the entire year. 

next i think we read waiting for godot. which was absolutely terrible. its literally a play where nothing happens. it would have been funny except that i knew i was gonna have to write an essay on it. how do you write an essay on a play where nothing happens? literally all of our discussions about it were about existentialism and it was terrible. 

we read the metamorphosis, which everyone hated cause it could have been written in like 4 sentences. and our teacher thought he was So Clever for assigning it to us. he thought it was the biggest joke. and he went on and on about how its about existentialism and blah blah. the book would have been funny had he not only discussed it in regards to existentialism. 

i think next was hamlet. i would have like hamlet had we not discussed it only through the lens of existentialism. its a good play, but i hated it because of the way he talked about it. even now, i only like it to make fun of the way he liked it. my friend and i send hamlet memes to each other all the time but only cause they remind us of our teacher.

one flew over the cuckoos nest. the second and final book that i actually liked my entirety of school. i dont know why i liked it, but it was just a good book. our teacher also had some kind of weird cowboy trope thing that he thought mcmurphy fell under which i thought was hilarious. the essay i wrote on that book was the only one he wrote “nice job” on and i still have it somewhere

my friend claims that we also read the stranger. i dont really remember what that book was about except some guy shot some people. there was definitely something in it that i didnt get. 

anyway in conclusion required reading ruins books. when i told my creative writing advisor that i out of all the books i read for school i only like the outsiders and one flew over the cuckoos nest she was like “yeah, english teachers really ruin books for students”

[lovelylogans]

where you lead, i will follow

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warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism, deceit 

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 8,974

here’s how they fell in love:

so, patton’s always been at least fond of virgil, because virgil was the first person he met in sideshire and the first person since he’d given birth to logan to treat him like he knew what he was doing and to offer comfort without being disdainful about it, but logan’s first three years of life were crowded with colic and teething and learning how to walk and talk and all the stuff a baby and then a toddler does, and working extra hours at the inn to justify their tenancy in the inn’s pool house and juggling the sudden bursts of homesickness and intrusions that made him sort of revile home, plus getting back on t and top surgery and getting his ged and figuring out how to budget things for the first time in his life and—

and it was a lot, basically, he didn’t even have time to have a sit-down meal most days unless virgil or maria, the former manager of the inn, forced him into it, much less figure out that cupid was repeatedly striking him with arrows.

he can’t pinpoint an exact moment where he looked at virgil and thought oh, i’m in love with him. it was a slow, quiet realization, over the breadth of night shifts and dragging himself to virgil’s for a cup of hot cocoa/coffee before dawn, over making birthday cakes and helping wrap christmas presents and virgil gritting his teeth when he mentioned his parents, being defensive without being venomous, over logan toddling his first steps on the floor of the diner as patton held his arms out for him and cried when he fell safely into his arms as virgil recorded and whooped, over virgil learning how to make jam tarts when logan began his lifelong love affair with crofters, over fake squabbles about vegetables and fruits and protein servings, over slightly more real squabbles about virgil sneakily giving him the freshly invented friends-and-family discount without telling patton about it and patton only realizing he was getting a discount when he started trying to budget and thereby tried to cut his spending down at the diner, over logan saying his first word ("papa, book," he'd said complainingly when patton was taking too long to pick out a bedtime story, as if he'd said it a hundred times before) and patton knowing the first person he wanted to call, over patton clumsily knitting him scarves and mittens for christmases he couldn’t afford to get him something nicer that virgil always wore even though they practically unraveled themselves if virgil touched them wrong, over virgil coming over to help insulate the inn’s poolhouse when patton kept getting chilblains and logan kept getting colds and refusing to move into one of the inn’s rooms because that would mean lost business but sending logan for fun (read: warm) sleepovers with the princes or at the diner and virgil and maria both had to intercede to make him see sense, over virgil laying out every single pro and con of potential apartment buildings when patton spread the courant’s classifieds over the diner’s bar, over virgil saying while they watched the sun rise together, dead on their feet one morning after he came over to the apartment over in the middle of the night to help talk down logan’s perfectionism-related anxieties the night before he would enter the school-wide spelling bee as the second-grade representative, that i know that logan’s yours but i always kind of thought he was a little mine too. 

it was a bit like the sunrise that morning, the realization that patton was in love with virgil.

⁂

so, virgil hasn’t been in love with patton since he met him, because patton was sixteen and virgil had been twenty-two and he’s not a fucking creep, thanks, but he can pinpoint when he realized he’d fallen in love with him.

virgil had been helping make logan’s birthday cakes ever since his first birthday, and patton called him in a panic because “ovens aren’t supposed to do that right, virgil???? virgil??? are ovens suPPOSED TO DO THAT???” and virgil had tactfully taken over with a double chocolate fudge layer cake, the kind that patton liked. during the birthday party of three people, logan had mostly just happily slobbered all over his jupiter-shaped teething toy and slammed his hands eagerly into the top of the cake, splattering icing everywhere. anyway, virgil mostly picked the cake based on what he and patton liked, since logan was a literal baby, so sue him.

logan’s birthday cake of preference changed over the years into the birthday cake he’s been making for years now: yellow cake with jam between each layer, iced with vanilla icing interspersed with the same jam.

anyway, it had been logan’s sixth birthday (patton now twenty-two, virgil now twenty-eight) and patton had insisted that he help virgil make the cake, and virgil didn’t have the heart to tell him no even though he’d probably be more of a hindrance than a help.

(okay, this is when he realized he was in love with him, okay?)

but he had been instructing patton to mix together the batter, because even disasters in the kitchen could manage an electric mixer, right?

incorrect.

logan, from where he had been scribbling all over the courant in red crayon, yelped and dove under the table for cover, even as patton squawked in surprise and attempted to lift the mixer out of the bowl to minimize damage, which made it even worse. virgil and patton were splattered with most of the bowl’s worth of batter by the time virgil managed to yank the plug.

(shame, too. virgil had really liked that flannel button down he’d worn.)

there had been a few moments of silence as virgil surveyed the surroundings: logan under the table like some kid in a fifties-era duck-and-cover video, patton’s kitchen covered in yellow cake batter, patton’s face and shirt and pants speckled generously with the stuff. virgil could feel where it was sinking into the fabric of his clothes, into his skin, and it was Not Pleasant.

a drip of batter came off from the frame of patton’s glasses and landed on the floor.

patton’s lip trembled. twitched.

and then patton burst out into the most adorable giggles that virgil had ever seen, that then blossomed into him laughing so hard he was crying, and had to sit down on the kitchen floor because he was losing his breath from all his giggling snorts, and he looked up at virgil with his hand over his mouth and his eyes shining brightly, and—

and oh no.

⁂

meanwhile, logan is trudging from lucy’s parlor to the prince studio, heart racing inexplicably quickly for the very little amount of exercise he’s doing. maybe it’s the few mouthfuls of coffee he’d had while waiting for the milkshakes from lucy’s. that’s probably it.

he juggles the carrier that’s holding his coffee from virgil’s plus the two shakes from lucy’s and the bag of fries and tarts from virgil’s, before he knocks on the prince’s door. (they live in the apartment above the studio, and logan’s known where they hid the key to let him up to the apartment door since he was five, so.)

a woman squints up at him. logan has been terrified of ms. prince since he first came over to the prince’s apartment at age five. most of the town is terrified of ms. prince. she is, to paraphrase roman, about thirty feet of badass former prima ballerina crammed into a five-foot-three body and should be treated accordingly (ie feared. logan knows how badly pointe can fuck you up. this woman made not one but two livings off of dance—performing and teaching. have you ever crossed a dance teacher in your life? never make that mistake.)

“um,” logan says. “hello, ms. prince.” (she is ms. prince to everyone. that is how she likes it.) “is roman home?”

she squints at him a little more.

“i’d like to talk to him?”

she sighs, before turning to shout a string of spanish over shoulder, and he hears an answering stream of spanish in a familiar voice, and even though roman’s probably still mad at him he feels his shoulders relax a little.

ms. prince slides out of the doorway, and roman slides in, scowling.

“i, um,” logan says, suddenly tongue-tied at the sight of roman, in a tank top and shorts, clearly just finished teaching a class or working out in some way because he’s still a little sweaty and his hair is damp. at last, he shakes himself, and lifts up the carrier and to-go bag. “i brought lucy’s? and fries and jam tarts from virgil’s.”

roman surveys him in continued silence. it freaks logan out. usually they’re conversationally flooring over each other all the time.

“can we talk?” logan says. “privately.”

roman looks him up and down, and frowns. “why are you dressed fancy?”

“oh,” logan says, glancing down at himself—right, he was wearing a blazer and tie and pocket handkerchief. “um. dinner at my grandparents’ house.”

roman frowns more. “it’s not a holiday.”

logan laughs dryly. “tell me about it,” he agrees. 

roman hesitates, before he turns to call out, “mom, i’m going for a walk with logan!”

“be back by curfew!” she shouts.

logan takes a moment, briefly, to consider how ms. prince might genuinely throttle them both if she ever found out about how often they snuck out.

roman steps out, and they shuffle down the stairs in silence, before roman props open the door to the studio so that they can sit in the summer air, legs stretched out ahead of them, town gazebo lit up in the distance.

logan takes a breath in, lets it out, and says, “chilton and my future are important to me, that’s true. but i thought it was obvious that you’re important to me. i shouldn’t have hesitated, but i was confused as to how you could have possibly come to the conclusion that you weren’t. aren’t.”

roman looks at him. just looks at him.

“i didn’t realize that you might have been—upset,” logan says. “that i’m leaving. but i’m not leaving sideshire. not yet, anyway. i’m still going to do homework on the pews while you deal with screaming children, and i’m still going to get lucy’s with you, and we’re still going to sneak out to the gazebo. you’re still going to be my best friend. i’m just going to a different school. that’s the only thing that i want to change. i was—”

“scared,” roman suggests, and logan looks down at his shoes and swallows.

“yeah.”

roman sighs, before he leans against logan so that they’re pressed flush against each other—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, knee to knee.

“i’m going to have to keep you updated on all the high school gossip so that you can put in the paper,” he says mournfully, as if he isn’t leaning into logan’s side so hard they might tilt over.

“gossip does not constitute news,” logan says huffily, as if he isn’t leaning just as hard into roman. 

“for the courant it might.”

“ugh. i should just have rudy’s job at this point, really.”

“does, um. does chilton have a gossip paper?”

and logan knows he’s been forgiven.

“it’s actually funny that you mention that,” logan says, smiling. just a little. “there’s, um. there’s two student papers at chilton, actually. one official and one unofficial: the franklin and the jefferson. it’s this whole rivalry thing going on. it started because they didn’t get on the staff of the franklin because they were too focused on things like who’s dating who or what teacher did what, but then they kind of embraced that and...”

roman’s uncapping their milkshakes as logan explains, and fishes out logan’s maraschino cherry, grinning at him, a white flash of teeth around the bright red, and logan’s stomach swoops.

⁂

logan spends most of the last weekend of summer in the prince studio or the apartment, or roman’s at his house, which patton figures he should have expected. that’s the way it goes after logan and roman fight: they sulk, they make up, they spend enough time together to make patton kind of want to check that they haven’t joined at the hip. 

logan actually makes roman quiz him over the chilton student handbook and the chilton school song, in english and in latin, for hours. his son is a nerd. it gets to the point that roman proceeds to literally wrestle the study materials away from him and pin logan down while yelling for patton to order a pizza and put on big hero 6 it’s a movie night EMERGENCY!!!!!! your SON will NOT STOP STUDYING it’s summERTIME PATTON WE HAVE TO STOP HIM BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE—

logan made a few token wriggling attempts to get away, and complains a little, but his cheeks go a light shade of pleased pink, so patton figures that he’s okay with roman interceding. just this once.

anyway. the night before his first day at chilton, it’s just the two of them for dinner, trying to clear out some of the leftovers from the fridge. patton had suggested virgil’s, or al’s pancake world, but logan had said leftovers, so leftovers it was. it made sense that he kind of wanted to maximize on introvert time before meeting a ton of new people, though. so they sit on the couch as logan works his way through leftover pasta from virgil’s, and patton handles the chicken fried rice from al’s, patton’s feet beside logan’s hip and vice versa. they’re sharing a blanket. there’s a documentary on in the background.

“what was it like?” logan says abruptly. “for you, at chilton. you almost never talk about it.”

“oh, gosh,” patton says, digging his chopsticks deeper into the rice. “well. i mean. it was pretty different for me than it’s gonna be for you.”

logan blinks at him blankly. patton smiles at him kindly.

“i’m pretty sure you aren’t gonna be the first openly trans student who drops out a year later to have a baby, kiddo.”

logan flushes, just a little. “oh. right.”

patton shrugs. “the kids weren’t the best, but people are more accepting of lgbtq people now, so that’s something, i’m sure. and academically it was pretty tough, but you love that stuff.”

“right,” he says. “just...”

“you’re gonna do great,” patton says firmly. “and even if the kids aren’t, you know, the best, you still have friends here. i am telling you now that it is incredibly unlikely that you won’t make one friend there. i’d say impossible but then you’d be telling me all about statistics.”

logan nods.

“wanna hear about how i’d have morning sickness between algebra and biology in the haunted bathroom?”

“dad. there is no such thing as a haunted bathroom.”

“oh, my sweet naive son,” patton teases, “the things you’ll learn at chilton!”

logan throws a pillow at him.

they spend the rest of the night watching documentaries, and then logan tries to execute his plan.

this plan has several steps. he will go to bed at a reasonable time. he will wake up early. he will dress in his new uniform. he will herd his father to virgil’s, where virgil will send them off with coffee and a healthy, filling breakfast that will prevent his stomach from rumbling embarrassingly. he and his father will drive to school and get to chilton twenty minutes early, because he will probably have to fill out several forms. he will make a good first impression on his teachers and classmates.

he’s stuck at the “he will go to bed at a reasonable time” part.

logan hesitates, fidgeting. he hasn’t done this since he was little. it’s foolish. it’s stupid. he’s nearly sixteen now. in many cultures he's already perceived as an adult. he doesn’t need his dad to tell him everything would be okay.

...okay, he might a little.

logan sighs, before pushing open the door to his dad’s bedroom.

“dad.”

no response. he should have expected that.

“dad,” he repeats, pokes his father in the shoulder.

“l’gn?” he murmurs, scrubs a hand across his eyes. “s’not mornin, s’it?”

“no, i just—i couldn’t sleep.”

“ah,” he says, and pats the space beside him in bed. logan scrambles gratefully onto the bed, and then under the covers. his cheeks are heating up. it was probably childish that this was making him feel a bit better.

he doesn’t care.

“first day jitters?” his dad mumbles.

“yeah,” logan admits.

“you’re gonna be great,” patton murmurs sleepily. “first day’s always syllabus day, anyway.”

“...syllabus day?”

“yeah. teachers gotta run through their syllabus, s’a school rule. like disclaimers on toasters. you’ll hear the ‘don’t cheat or we’ll kick you out so hard you’ll be paying hospital bills until you’re forty-seven’ speech.... how many classes do you have again? that many times. and classes’ll be shorter than usual anyway, because there’s an assembly to be all, you know, ‘welcome back, welcome freshmen,’ et cetera.”

“oh,” logan says, secretly relieved. 

“they might do a ‘here’s the starter material’ or run over summer coursework, but it’s nothing too bad. no massive tests on the first day. by the end of the first week, maybe, if they’re really mean. but not the first day. you’ll be fine.”

logan nods, absorbing this. his dad yawns audibly.

“sorry i woke you up.”

“no, hey, it’s okay. always wanna know if you’re worried ‘bout something, i’m always here to listen. it was way worse than you had colic, at least now i can stay horizontal. you never went to sleep unless—”

“unless you were moving. i know.”

“got calves of steel from how often i had to walk around bouncing you,” patton finishes sleepily. “you think you can get to sleep?”

“i won’t even force you to walk around,” logan tries to joke.

“you can always wake me up if you want to talk. okay?”

“okay, dad.”

“you’re gonna do great, kiddo. eight.”

“okay, dad. sixteen.”

“i mean it.”

“i know. go to sleep.”

“mkay. you too.”

“okay.”

⁂

the alarm clock goes off at six. logan sits up immediately even as patton whines, rolls over, and pulls his pillow over his ears.

it’s his first day at chilton. it’s his first day at chilton.

logan pokes his dad hard in the shoulder, and patton squints at him, face between his pillows, looking like he's wearing the world’s biggest pair of earmuffs.

“i’m taking first shower,” he says.

“mkay,” patton says.

“don’t fall back asleep.”

“won’t.”

“dad.”

“i’m up, i’m up, i’m up,” patton sighs, flopping onto his back. “turn on the light as you go?”

logan, in answer, pads out of the door and flicks on the light switch on his way out.

logan takes what is, quite possibly, the most careful shower of his life. he is careful to scrub everywhere. he is careful to apply so much deodorant that he could not possibly ever smell like sweat. he uses enough but not too much hair gel, the way roman taught him. he puts on his collared shirt and ironed slacks and belt and tie and blazer. he’s flattening his hands over everything and tightening his tie and trying to make sure That One Strand Of Hair stays in place for once and—

“knock knock?”

logan takes a breath, and opens the door, and patton puts a hand over his mouth for a second before he puts it over his heart.

“oh, god, please do not cry,” logan says hastily, because he recognizes that look.

“you look so grown-up, kiddo,” his dad says, choked.

"ugh,” logan says, secretly pleased that that’s his reaction.

“okay, okay, i’ll take the shower,” patton says. “budge.”

“you said you were wearing the blue shirt and the black blazer and a tie, right?”

“right,” patton says, blinking obviously at him. “we talked about it.”

“dad.”

“oh, shoot, right,” patton says, but logan waves it off because he knows how forgetful his dad is, especially in the morning without any caffeine.

“i’ll grab it for you,” logan says.

“lifesaver,” his dad says, and shuts the door behind him as logan heads for his dad’s room again. and puts the hanger on the doorknob to the bathroom. and also maybe puts a specific pair of shoes and socks that will actually match and not be silly socks, for once. logan feels like it’s a strange role reversal that he’s the one laying out his dad's outfit for his first day of school, but whatever. his dad would live in pajama pants and sweatshirts if he could. he’s just making sure he makes a good first impression, that’s all. he then doubles back to his room to make triply sure that all his new school supplies and the student handbook is in his backpack, as well as lunch money and a water bottle and the discreetly printed floorplan of chilton he’s already highlighted with all his classes and—

no, he is not anxious, obviously. shut up.

his dad hops down the stairs, pulling on his shoes at the same time. logan is repacking his backpack for the third time.

“okay, all approved?” patton says, holding his arms out and spinning when he finally finishes jumping down the stairs. he is indeed wearing the same blue shirt and black suit jacket and black trousers that logan laid out for him. the only concession that logan was willing to make was the tie with little collies on it that he figured would make up for the lack of crazy socks. it looks professional in that odd, preppy way that people at chilton probably wore on their “relaxed days” if his grandparents were any indication.

“approved,” logan says. his dad’s hair is messy but it’s literally always messy. patton would probably say it’s part of his charm. it does kind of make his dad look like an overeager puppy. in a nice way? did chilton prefer its students to be nicer? should he work on being nicer in order to advance his academic career? he should work on being nicer.

“okay, we’ll pack into the car, get breakfast at virgil’s, drink our coffee, head to chilton, sound good?” patton says.

“great, now let’s—”

“wait,” patton says. “before all that, pictures!”

“no,” logan complains. he was hoping patton would forget this year.

“yes! first day of school pictures!”

“you have,” logan says, glowering, “five minutes.”

“ten!” patton chirps, holding up his phone. “okay, by the stairs, now, here we go, big smile...”

logan forces a grin that is more like a grimace.

patton takes pictures. lots of pictures. so many pictures. logan does not know how someone could possibly want to have so many pictures of him in the same outfit, in the same place. he has been subject to this since he started going to preschool, though, so.

patton drives them to virgil’s (usually they walk, so this is odd) and the bell jangles familiarly when they walk in.

“hey, here’s the private school kid,” virgil says gruffly from behind the counter, and patton grins as he and logan go up to the counter.

“he looks grown up, right?” patton says, taking his seat.

“yeah, what the hell,” virgil says, setting two mugs before them, full of what logan is sure is hot cocoa/coffee. “you were literally just a baby three days ago. stop getting older. you’re giving me a crisis.”

“you’re always having a crisis.”

“who taught you to have an attitude?”

“no one here, i’m sure,” patton murmurs, smiling around his mug, and grins at virgil unapologetically when virgil shoots him a playful glare.

patton’s the one to keep chatter going through breakfast, which isn’t exactly abnormal, but logan usually chimes in or takes over with an immediate rant of “HOW DO YOU DO BASIC FACT-CHECKING SO TERRIBLY” after finding something wrong in the courant. logan’s conspicuously quiet, but he’s eating his eggs with the kind of studious persistence most people use when they’re, like, cleaning out their attic, or something.

the bell jangles, and a voice declares, “good, i was hoping i wouldn’t miss it.”

logan’s lip twitches up into a smile that he’s quick to tamp down before he turns to look at roman, who’s swaggering his way up to the counter. “miss what?”

“the opportunity to make fun of your uniform, obviously,” roman says, taking his seat beside logan. “you look like a knockoff hogwarts extra.”

“you look like a background auditioner of a chorus line who got eliminated in the first verse of the opening number,” logan rebuffs, and roman looks a curious combination of pleased and offended.

“good,” he says, “i’ve trained you well enough that you’ll be able to snap back at any snooty chilton kids on instinct.”

a beat.

“however, i will say that i can’t believe you’re so hopelessly clueless, the seventies look is totally coming back, ralph bore-en, and also i’m a dance instructor how dare you imply that i’d be cut first, do i look like headband???”

they fall into bickering, logan looking happier now he’s got something to distract him. patton rolls his eyes fondly and meets eyes with virgil, like, can you believe them? virgil shrugs, shakes his head, and pointedly nudges the little side of cut up fresh fruit closer to patton. patton obediently spears a chunk of pineapple.

(sometimes, a family isn’t a mom, a dad, and a kid. sometimes a family is a useless gay dad, a useless gay kid, the useless gay grumpy owner of a diner who has basically adopted said kid and is hopelessly in love with the dad, and an overdramatic teenage dance instructor who is, you guessed it, a Useless Gay.)

virgil hands over a lunch he’s packed for logan (”just this once,” he says sternly, and logan takes it without comment, even though he knows that statement is a lie) and roman pitches in so that virgil tosses in an extra jam tart, as if virgil has not already packed him three, and eventually logan impatiently herds his dad out of the diner when it looks like people will start Having Emotions.

“i’m just going to a new school,” logan grumbles, as if he isn’t pleased that they’ve all shown up to support him. “it’s not a big deal.”

“it’s an enormous deal!” roman protests.

“it is a pretty big deal,” virgil says grudgingly. 

“we’re very proud of you—"

“we’re going to be late,” logan complains, but accepts one last awkward pat on the shoulder from virgil and a hair correction from roman before he loads himself into the car.

they drive, mostly in silence. patton puts on npr to help set logan's nerves at ease. it works, a little. they get there, they park, and logan is staring at it mutely.

"i remember it being smaller," logan says.

"you'll find your way around soon," patton says, putting some pep into his voice. "you look great. you are an amazing kid who has earned this. you're gonna go on in there and show them what smart really is, okay?"

"...okay."

"i love you."

"ugh."

"loo-gaan," patton croons, "i loooove you."

(if his son is annoyed at him, he can't be too nervous about school at the same time, right? flawless logic.)

"dad."

"c'mon. do you want me to continue this when we're in there?"

"i love you too," logan says hastily, and opens the car door, bailing out before patton can have any more emotional moments. patton grins at himself in the mirror before he gets out, too.

"ambroise building, right?" patton says, glancing over at the handout logan's clutching.

"yes."

"great," patton says. "on we go, then."

"you remember the way?"

"ah, me and headmaster charleston go way back. i wonder if he's still here?"

"how do you mean?" 

"have your grandmother's lectures to me taught you nothing?" patton offers, opening the door for him. "you weren't my only act of rebellion, you know. i've been saving some of those stories till you're older."

logan looks intrigued. (another great way to distract his son: offer him a mystery.)

they walk down the hallway. patton tries his best to act like the massive, fancy door to the headmaster's office doesn't still intimidate him, and opens the door to them before he can really think about it. it's like just being at chilton again is turning him back into a teenager. logan steps through, and they walk up to a desk.

"um, hi?" patton says, mentally sighing in relief. new receptionist, good. he hadn't made the best impression on the old one. "i'm patton sanders, this is my son, logan. is the headmaster in? he said he wanted to meet us before the school day started."

"one moment," she says briskly, and strides away. patton lets out a little breath.

"you cannot seriously still be nervous about the headmaster's office," logan murmurs.

"shhhh," patton whispers back. "like i said. i've been waiting till you're older."

"what, even fifteen isn't old enough? you were fifteen when i was—" logan waves a hand, attempting not to think of the word conceived, because, you know. gross.

"nope, i was newly sixteen," patton says. "i'm a january baby, you were born ahead of schedule in november, remember?"

logan's about to whine about it, because ugh, dad, GROSS, when the door opens.

"headmaster charleston will see you now."

patton thinks a naughty word.

he thinks an even naughtier word when they walk in and see his mother on the couch.

"grandma?" logan says blankly.

"i came to wish my grandson good luck on the first day of school," she says, sweeping past patton. "logan, you look wonderful in that uniform!"

"wow, mom," patton says, trying not to sound like the recalcitrant teenager that headmaster charleston surely remembers, "you didn't have to come all the way out here!"

"oh, it gave me a chance to make sure that hanlin here takes good care of logan."

hanlin, patton thinks in confusion. if there was ever a teacher that patton would have believed slept in the school and did not exist outside of the hours of 7:30-3:30 within the months of august-may, it would have been headmaster charleston. 

"hanlin's wife and i are on the symphony fundraising committee together," his mother continues.

"wow," patton says. "that's great."

where were all these friendly gestures when i was in school???

"your grandfather and i are golf rivals," charleston says, to logan. ignoring patton. probably the best course of action. "we're still fighting it out to see which one is worse."

"oh, yes," his mother says, after a (rehearsed) polite chortle. "we're all old friends."

"well, it's like they say," patton says, trying his best to project put-together-adult-and-definitely-nothing-like-the-teenager-you-knew-once, "you can't make new old friends!"

there's an awkward silence. logan is giving him a dad. look. patton considers hiding under the fancy leather couch.

"would you like to have a seat, ah—?"

"it's patton, now," he says quickly, lest he get deadnamed on the first day of school and his son makes a horrible first impression by punching him in the nose. 

"right," he says, and they all sit down.

"hanlin," his mother says, "did you know that logan has a 4.0 grade point average?"

"and he got published in the local paper at the age of seven," patton adds.

"i'm sure he knows that, dad—grandma," logan says, and patton hopes his mother didn't catch the momentary hesitation there. "it was in my file."

"this is a very special boy," emily says fondly. "you take good care of him."

"we'll do our best, emily."

"logan's not going to be a problem," patton blurts out. "he's very, um. low maintenance. it's like all the troublemaking got stuck to my generation, or something."

more awkward looks. darn.

"well," his mother says quickly. "we shouldn't take up any more of your valuable time. it was lovely to see you. give bitty our love."

she kisses the headmaster's cheek. logan takes the moment to give patton a help look. patton shrugs helplessly, like, you saw what I just did, how do you think i'll be a benefit here?!?

"tell richard i'll see him at the club on sunday."

"have a wonderful day, logan, i want to hear all about it," she says. "patton, walk me out?"

double-darn. he's not gonna escape a lecture.

"it's so nice to, um, make your acquaintance again," patton says, and shakes hands with the headmaster. he limits himself to just squeezing logan's shoulder, instead of kissing him on the cheek and squeezing him into a million hugs like he really wants to do. "have an awesome day, okay? you're gonna be great."

a little smile, like he knows. "thanks, dad."

"okay," patton says, and follows his mother out into the hall.

"what tie is that," she hisses.

"logan picked it, actually," he retorts, and she falls silent. "what are you doing here?"

"i came to put a good word in for logan."

"well, thanks, mom, but some warning would have been nice."

"i'm not allowed here, is that it?"

"i did not say that," patton says, hoping that none of logan classmates can see him. that would be a great way to have logan's first day go well, wouldn't it?

"i'm allowed to pay for it," she continues to seethe, "but i can't actually set foot on the premises. how about the street, can i drive down the street? maybe i should just avoid the neighborhood altogether. my doctor is just down the block, though, should i call you to get special permission if i'm bleeding?"

"oh, my god, mom," patton says. "i didn't say you weren't allowed. i was just surprised to see you. i'm sorry if i made it sound—bad."

"well," she sniffs. "i thought it was important for this school to know they had a sanders among them."

patton sighs. "yeah."

"and that some sanders know how to conduct themselves."

"right, on that note, i'm going," patton says.

"dinner on friday!" she calls after him, and patton tries not to roll his eyes. god. this place really did turn him into a teenager again.

⁂

back in the office, logan is trying his best to project cool-confident-and-ready-to-succeed-almost-adult. he's not sure how well he's doing.

"you're obviously a bright boy, mr. sanders."

"thank you."

"good grades, teachers like you... not a lot of extracurriculars, though."

"like my father mentioned," logan says, trying not to overemphasize father except he does a little, "i work part-time for the sideshire courant. i help at my father's inn. i'm one of two members of the school's poetry appreciation club."

"what are your aspirations?"

"i want to go to an ivy league," he says, "preferably harvard, to study journalism."

"on your way to being..."

"bob woodward or carl bernstein," he blurts out. "or nellie bly. or upton sinclair. or ida b. wells."

"that seems like a varied selection."

"they're all investigative," logan says. 

"and that's what you want to do. investigate."

"i want to report on what's going on. i want to bring attention to important issues." a pause. "the debate team might also be missing from my file."

the headmaster stands. "i've known your grandparents for some time."

"i know."

"in fact, i was at a party at their house just last week where i had the most delicious lobster puffs i've ever eaten. i'm very fond of them."

"that's... nice."

"i also know your father."

logan's fists tighten. "both of them, i assume."

"yes," he says, and begins to walk around the office. logan doesn't turn his back to stare. "chilton has one of the highest academic standards of any school in america. you may have been the smartest boy at sideshire, but this is a different place. the pressures are greater, the rules are stricter, and the expectations are high. if you make it through, you will have received one of the finest educations one can get. and there should be no reason why you should not achieve all your goals. however, since you are starting late, and are not used to this highly competitive atmosphere, there is a good chance that you will fail. that is fine. failure is a part of life, but not a part of chilton. understand?"

for a split second, logan thinks about his dad. about how dropping out with a pregnancy would have almost certainly been regarded as a failure. he wonders, now, if charleston sees him as a remnant of that choice, instead of his own person. as the grandson to his grandparents. as the product of a failure. logan balls his fists so tight his knuckles go white. he'll prove them wrong. about him. about his dad.

but all he says is "yes, sir. i understand."

"take this to miss james in the administration office across the hall." he says abruptly, handing him a folder, and sits back down. "the back-to-school assembly starts in ten minutes."

logan stands, takes the folder, nods, and escapes, trying his hardest not to grind his teeth.

(after logan fills out his forms, after he takes a seat for the assembly, unnoticed by most, a student will slink in late. he'll have snatched the folder, and read all about his latest adversary. oh, he loves a challenge.)

⁂

by the time patton has pulled back up to his house, he puts his head on the steering wheel for a second, just to huff out a breath. ugh. it'd taken him almost the whole ride, full of happy-go-lucky pop music to calm him down. at least he had until friday to prepare to come to face all that again.

his cellphone buzzes. patton looks at the screen display name, turns his eyes to the heavens, and (not for the first time) wonders who it is up there who has it in for him.

"hi, mom," he manages to say in a fairly pleasant tone.

"you should answer the phone more professionally—"

"caller id, mom."

she says, "i'm going shopping this afternoon and i thought i'd pick up a few things for logan."

patton blinks, lifting his head off the steering wheel. "like what?"

"a couple extra slacks and tops for school."

"oh, i already took care of that," patton says, opening the car door and deciding if he was gonna have this conversation, he would have it flopped starfish-style on his comfy, hideous rug. "i got him three slacks and a bunch of tops."

"but there are five days in a school week."

"mom, three pairs of slacks are fine," he says wearily, unlocking the door. "thank you for the offer, but don't bother."

"what if he gets a pair dirty?"

"he has two backups." patton says, and flops onto his rug. it is bright orange and clashes terribly with the rest of his kitschy decor. however, it is also the softest, plushest rug he has ever laid down on, and he's kind of an expert in laying on the floor. 

"what if he gets all three dirty?"

"we have washing machines in sideshire too, mom."

"what about socks?" she presses. "chilton has these special logo socks, logan should have them."

"logan hates crazy socks. he has all the same brand of socks just so he doesn't have to bother with matching them when they're fresh out of the dryer."

"they aren't crazy, they're dignified," she sniffs. "and what about a sweater? he might want that. there's a sweater vest, and a bookbag—"

"mom."

"logan should have these things," she frets. "he'll be the only one that doesn't."

"he's got what he wants, mom."

"i'm at least getting him the chilton coat," she says. "what size is he?"

"mom, please."

"this is a simple question, patton."

"look, i see what you're trying to do, mom, and it's very sweet," patton says. "i understand that you want to provide for him, but you've done plenty, okay? the tuition is the biggest thing, and you've taken care of all that. if logan wants anything else for his uniform, i'll get it for him."

a pause.

patton sighs. "he's a medium, but i'd get him a large for when he grows. he's about to hit a growth spurt."

"well, when he does, i'll buy him another."

"okay, then, a medium is great," he says. "i gotta get to work, mom. bye."

he hangs up before she can add in any other requests, and rolls over to mash his face into the rug, and stops immediately when the smell of feet hits him incredibly overwhelmingly.

"—and while french culture was the dominant outside cultural influence, especially for russia's monied class, english culture also had its impact, which we will be discussing next week."

logan is taking notes. no one else is. he tries to be unbothered by that.

"in the first week we'll be discussing these two literary masters, tolstoy and dickens."

a bell rings. "class dismissed." there's the rush of students packing up their bags, and over the rush, logan can hear a murmur.

"looks like we've got ourselves a matthew," someone mutters, and there's a few titterings of people around him. logan shoves his notes into his bag, and flits out into the hall.

or, at least, he means to, until he nearly runs face-first into someone waiting for him. he's smiling wide, his white teeth a contrast to his dark skin, the vitiligo on his cheek looking almost scaly. one of his eyes gleams yellow.

"logan sanders, of sideshire. i know who you are."

"wonderful," logan says dryly, and tries to step aside. he steps into logan's path again.

"are you going to go out for the franklin?"

"i don't see how that's your business."

"i'm gonna be editor next year."

"is that confirmed?"

"i'm also top of the class," he says, ignoring logan's comment. "i intend to be valedictorian when i graduate."

"again. is that confirmed?"

"you'll never catch up," he says, savoring the words. "you won't beat me. this school is my domain, the franklin is my domain. you'd do well to remember that."

he turns and strides away. logan wonders where on earth in the handbook it had said that students were allowed to wear bowler hats.

"—sir, i completely understand—"

"oh, do you?!" the man demands. "because this is a brand-new car."

derek, one of the teenage part-timers, is hanging his head, face bright red. 

"he brings up the car and it's scratched!"

"i just backed the car up," derek tries.

"i'd know if my car was scratched before i parked it or not!"

"okay," patton says, in his best soothing voice. "how about we calm down? sir, why don't i have your car looked at tomorrow, i'm sure there's a way we can resolve this. in the meantime, i would love for you to have lunch here, on the house. dessert is a must. our homemade ice cream is delicious, anything you try. life as you know it will never be the same, what do you say?"

"i think i will, thank you."

"oh, thank you," patton says, and turns to derek once he's out of earshot, about to calm him down, but—

"patton, i swear, i didn't scratch his car," derek says, on the verge of tears. "if you thought i was unreliable or a bad driver—"

"oh, derek, hey, hey, it's okay," patton says soothingly.

"i can drive—!"

"i know you can, honey, you're okay," patton says. "we can take it over to the mechanic's tomorrow and have the guys buff it out for no cost, okay?"

he punctuates this with a gentle squeeze to the shoulder, and derek nods, head still hanging.

"in the meantime, how about you go on into the back and tell sookie that you get a nice, calming hot cocoa and whatever pastry you want, on me. take a second to calm down, okay? i know it's never fun to get yelled at by those kinds of guys." patton says, and squeezes his shoulder again.

"okay," derek says, and takes a shuddering breath in. "thanks, patton."

"hey, anytime, kiddo," he says. derek's barely walked off by the time shelly from the from desk is hovering at his side.

"patton, call for you."

patton takes a second to huff out a breath before answering, in his most chipper tone, "sideshire inn, this is patton speaking, how may i help you today?"

"well, at least you answer this phone professionally," a familiar voice sniffs, and patton hangs his head in a mirror image of derek before he straightens his spine.

"mom, i'm working."

"i just wanted you to know that i just bought a parking space for logan at chilton."

"you what?"

"they are very hard to come by," she says, sounding pleased with herself. "but i pulled a few strings and it's all his."

"mom, again, that is very kind, but there is one huge gaping problem in that gift," patton says in a rush, "and that is that logan doesn't have a car."

"no, but he has his sixteenth birthday coming up soon."

"mom. you are not buying logan a car."

"why not? he's a smart boy, he's responsible."

"mom, seriously, i'm putting the dad foot down on this one. logan and i agreed that he's going to save up anything he makes from the inn or the courant to get a car, okay? it's about teaching him the value of hard work and how to effectively manage his money. you love those kinds of lessons."

"well, he has to have a way to get around!"

"everything in sideshire is in walking distance, mom."

"he has to have a way to get to school!"

"he's taking the bus."

"i hate that he's taking the bus," she says. "drug dealers take the bus."

"mom, what?!" patton demands, trying to follow whatever kind of rich, privileged logic that was. "i—no, okay, we're talking about this later, i have a job to do."

"fine."

patton hangs up and hands over the phone to shelly without saying goodbye.

"tough 'rents, huh?" she asks, popping her bubblegum.

"you have no idea," patton sighs, and considers following derek on to the kitchen so he could get some kind of dessert pick-me-up too.

logan hesitates, before he sends a text to his dad. I want to take a closer look around at things today, so I'll be coming home on the later bus.

a brief pause, and then, okay, have fun!! i'll be at virgils and i wanna hear all about the first day!!! love u <3 <3 <3

logan slips his phone back into his pocket.

"have a good afternoon, matthew!" someone sneers. 

"the name is logan," he huffs, and sets a steady pace for the library.

it doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for, and managed to find an over-stuffed armchair, conveniently alone, conveniently out of sight of the librarian. logan sits with his two books, and begins to page through the elder of the two.

it's a (well-designed) jumble of text and images, filled with articles and beautiful photographs, and logan's deliberating going back into the index until—

As they go all-out for Couples Day, freshmen Christopher Hayden and—logan covers the deadname with his finger—Sanders dress as Joe Bradley and Ann "Smitty" Smith from the 1953 film Roman Holiday.

logan stares. his dad has long hair in the picture, though it's pin-curled back away from his face, in a collared shirt tucked into a long, high-waisted skirt, with a scarf tied around his neck. his other father, dressed in a dapper suit, is jokingly clinking a glass of something with his dad, both of them clearly hamming it up for the photographer, though there's something pinched around his dad's eyes that hasn't changed with age. it's the same face he makes in photos with his parents. it's the smile he puts on when he wants people to think he's happy.

logan continues paging slowly through the yearbook. it's strange to see his dad with long hair, to see how the chaotic curls look a bit more tempered with length. it's strange to keep seeing him and his other father, side-by-side, in almost every photo they're in, or at least in the background. patton's eyes narrowed in concentration in the knitting club, his other father patiently holding the skein, keeping it from getting tangled. his other father making a shot in basketball, a barely visible patton cheering in the bleachers. side-by-side in assemblies. side-by-side in class. but every time, it seems, patton has that pinched look on his face.

logan sets it aside when he sees the portraits, his dad grimacing delicately in pearls, and takes out the other yearbook, immediately flipping to the portraits page.

yes. there he is. short hair, relieved smile, coat-and-tie. clearly, blatantly out. but logan frowns to see the deadname still underneath it. he flips back to the index to see the other, candid photos.

still side-by-side, except now his other father had the pinched look when patton was juggling trays for some bake sale, when patton was holding up his hand for a high-five as his other father was jogging off the court, ignoring it. 

less than a month from that photo, if logan's calculating this right, his dad would have told him he was pregnant.

in that photo, his dad might have already known.

he shuts the yearbook with a snap, feeling abruptly like he's intruded on something private.

⁂

"—and then she tells me she's going to buy logan a car, virgil. a car!"

"a car's a big deal," virgil says, listening dutifully as he wipes off the counter.

"i know," patton says, and pauses his impassioned rant to take a gulp of hot cocoa/coffee. "like, i get that she's trying to provide for him. i get it. it's almost sweet, if you look at it a certain way. but—"

"but you're his dad and should have the final say in those kinds of things?"

"exactly," patton sighs, slumping onto the counter, but stopping himself before he sprawls completely. "neither of them are here yet, are they?"

"no, you're good," virgil says. "i'll warn you when i see your son's boyfriend walking up, the bus isn't due for five more minutes, plus the walk."

patton finishes his sprawl. virgil pats his curls gently.

"did i tell you about the part where she insisted the bus is for drug dealers?"

"oh my god, what?!"

"i know!" patton says hotly, popping up from where he sprawled. "i don't even know how she twisted it around in her head like that! it's the bus!"

"every time i think i understand rich people, you come back from some kind of family dinner with that kind of comment," virgil says with a shake of his head. "also, look out, roman incoming."

patton hastily straightens up from where he's slumped over, and just to look normal, he takes a gulp of hot cocoa/coffee.

there's the ding of a bell, and patton swivels in his chair, smiling. "hey, kiddo."

"hi, mr. sanders, and yes i know i'm supposed to call you patton, my mom lectured me about it the other day so i'm at least making it look like i'm putting in the effort," roman says before patton can issue any correction. "hey, gordoom ramsay."

"i'm charging you extra for any snack you get today," virgil says in response.

"joke's on you, patton will inevitably demand it's added to his order even when i tell him i can pay," roman retorts.

virgil looks to patton. patton shrugs.

"kid's got me down pat," he says, and then does an air buh-dum-tsh. virgil really wishes he was at a point in his life where that wasn't adorable.

"i'm groaning on logan's behalf," roman informs him, and then heaves his best, logan-ish sigh. "where is he, by the way?"

"you're not subtle," virgil informs him.

"just get me a jam tart," roman huffs.

"he should be getting here any second," patton says over whatever virgil's response is to that. "how was school?"

"i noticed other kids for the first time," roman says, and tilts his head. "they're a lot less opinionated than logan, but."

"miss him?"

"...yeah."

"i'm sure he missed you, too," patton begins, but then the door dings, and a familiar, exasperated voice demands, "why is everyone calling me matthew?"

patton nearly chokes on air. "oh, wow, they still do that?!"

"you don't look anything like a matthew," roman says, and logan looks vindicated, nodding at him.

"my point."

"still do what?" virgil cuts in, dropping off two jam tarts.

"oh, god," patton says. "um, them calling you a matthew, like. it just means they think you're a know-it-all, or you look like a goody-goody."

roman frowns. "why matthew, though?"

patton waves a hand. "like, biblical matthew. originally he was a tax collector who was literate, and stuff. they give a ton of people nicknames, i should have warned you."

"did you have one?" logan asks, and a bitter smile touches patton's lips.

"mary magdalene," he says with a shrug, before taking a measured sip of his hot cocoa/coffee, and virgil winces.

"like," logan says, frowning, before his (admittedly sparse) biblical knowledge comes rushing back to him. "oh."

"yeah," patton drawls. "if i was just a mary, it would've been the, you know. goody-goody thing. like the virgin mary."

"ugh," roman says. "chilton sounds terrible."

"i might have a nemesis," logan adds, perking up.

"on your first day?" patton says, a little gobsmacked.

"is he terrible?" roman asks.

"he wears a cape and a bowler hat, which is somehow not a uniform violation," logan informs roman, and roman shakes his head.

"he sounds like a disney villain."

"he warned me against joining the franklin or trying for valedictorian. he said the school was his domain."

"so?" patton prompts, frowning, because no one goes after his son.

"well," logan says, "obviously i have to prove him wrong, don't i?"

that's my boy, patton thinks, with no small measure of pride.

[coldtomyflash]

Weird question, and it's perfectly okay if "I don't know" is your answer: How did you manage to do grad school AND finish writing so many good fics? I'm writing the lit review for my dissertation right now, and I want to finish several WIPs I have (if nothing else, just to prove to myself that I can), but it just feels like I can barely do either, much less both. Any advice at all?

Ah, no worries! It’s not that odd a question. Actually, someone’s asked me before ^^;  My reply to them at the time was here. No need to read it, but it’s some context? 

My reply now that my head is in a healthier place is... long and winding and not actually full of that much advice but eh, I rambled as I do. If you just want the advice, scroll all the way down and it’s there. 

For starters, I’m not a normal comparison point. This isn’t to pat myself on the back, but for a variety of reasons, writing is something that comes really naturally to me. I’ll detail those reasons, but before I get into that, the point I’m illustrating here is that... sometimes I think people compare themselves to how much I wrote and what else I accomplished in that time and think “hey cool - that is a function human! Why can’t I do that?” And the answer is short answer is that my brain is programmed for pretty much one thing, and that thing is writing writing, and holy crap I was the opposite of a functional human when writing that much and that quickly.

The long answer is - 

I’ve been making up stories literally as long as I can remember. I spent my childhood consuming stories. I taught myself to read and was during school I was consistently reading about 8 grade levels above my reading level, and loved learning about narrative structure. I annoyed the shit out of my older brother by reading the same book series as he read, but guessing plot points that were going to happen either in that book or else 2-3 books out. he didn’t get how I would just know and I’d be like “it’s obvious - that’s where the story has to go!” Because I was imagining it in my head - what i would do with it, where it would go, where it had to go. Closing the page mid0chapter and imagining the next-scene, and then picking back up to see how right or wrong I was.

And I had a best friend for most of my childhood through to early adulthood with whom I made stories. Every weekend, creating narratives together, not writing them down but basically roleplaying them by talking them out (voices and all, it was a heck of a lot of fun, as much as it made me pretty much the nerdiest teen in existence). We tried to write a novel when we were 12, got about 7 chapters in. We had a lot of starts and stops on other stories too.

Which isn’t said to stroke my own ego, it’s said to highlight that I have a metric fuckton of explicit and implicit practice at storytelling. It was and sort of is my “whole life”. I also had teachers that helped me develop storytelling skills, and was really freaking lucky to go to a school with an AP program for English that seriously stretched my ability to write fast. We had to write an essay every single class, during class, and have it finished by the end of class (or in less time if we had lecture stuff to go over too) in my last year of high school. The essays could be creative response (i.e., short stories). I wrote a short story almost every week in the space of an hour when I was 17. By the time I got to the end of year final and actually got to use a computer and type that shit instead of hand-cramping halfway through, I somehow managed to write the two-essay final in the allotted 3 hours and, i shit you not, had a wordcount of 6000 words. 

That’s still my record. It was probably a dumpster fire but I got 100% probably for sheer volume.

Anyway that was over a decade ago, but the whole reason this life story is pertinent is because - 

I have practice. The only way to improve at anything, to get faster at it, for it to ease, is to practice. Practice at storytelling, practice at having to set a scene using just words sitting in my BFF’s room and trying to describe the image I had in my head for how I wanted her to see the scene as it was playing out. Practice at writing fast and getting feedback on how to write. Practice implicitly at trying to imagine what routes stories can take. Practice taking stories apart and piecing them back together, in my head, all the time.

So that’s part of it. 

The other part, and this is what I said in my previous post, was depression. I was seriously fucking burnt out and depressed when I started writing coldflash fic, and grad school took a huge toll on my mental health. It’s easier to write when you’re doing it to procrastinate working on your dissertation, and easier to keep writing when you get positive feedback and it feeds those lovely dopamine gremlins in your brain who aren’t getting any positive validation from grad school because holy damn that shit is hard.

I had no balance in my life for a long time. It wasn’t good. I went to counselling. I got more balance. Fic slowed down. Still finished, but not 120k words in 3 months (that was the pace when I started fic writing...jfc I don’t know how I managed.) Life got harder. Fic was now harder to write. I got more counselling. Fic was easier to write. I moved around the world. Fic got harder to write. I started anti-depressants. Narratives now seem to be flowing again. 

Regardless of the state of my mental health though, I’ve never written as much as quickly as I did during the middle of grad school. And I think that’s because I was very narratively pent up when I started writing fic. I had been so busy and pushing myself so damn hard in grad school that I didn’t make almost any time for stories, for fic, for imagining my own stories. I was suppressing that side of myself in the service of Focus. So when I burnt out, my narrative side rebounded and said “fuck that noise, I still exist, and we’re making space for me”. It took over. I came literally a hair’s breadth from quitting my PhD post candidacy. Idk what type of program you’re in, but business schools in North America? It’s a 5 year PhD typically, and I was at the end of year 3 and eyeing the door.

Anyway - I say all that because - 

I am not a good example and you should not do what I did. Finishing that many long WIPs that quickly wasn’t healthy, and was only possible because I didn’t do much else at the time, and had a lifetime of practice and a narrative rebound to make it even possible. 

But - 

My actual advice?

1) Practice. Practice. Practice. 

Not all at once, but everything counts. Daydreaming counts. Watching shows and thinking of how they could be improved counts. Talking out story ideas with friends counts. Just make it fun. Practice is something we think of as arduous and annoying. Learning new words is practice. Meeting new people and considering their traits is practice. Everything can be practice for writing. All the research you do can be practice for writing. (Random note: a childhood coping mechanism for anxiety that I had was to narrate what I was doing to myself in my head in the 3rd person. Like telling a story of myself walking to gym class in my own head. That was also practice.)

2) Have fun with it! 

Don’t making writing an obligation. Then it’s another thing on the list of things you avoid. Finishing stories often feels like an obligation. I’m going through this right now with Needs Must. It can be hard to complete a WIP because you start to have internal anxieties about disappointing readers, not living up to expectations, exhaustion from that narrative, distraction / temporary loss of interest (which is normal! and not actually a bad thing!). All of that then makes you feel guilty, which makes it impossible to get into a creative space to write. You can’t work on the thing you’re avoiding.

3) It’s okay to give your WIPs breathing space. 

When you hit a wall, you may need to set it aside and read it again in a month with fresh eyes. You may need to treat your story like someone else’s story. That’s, again, literally where I’m at right now with Needs Must. I just reread a bunch of it and hadn’t really forgotten the details but once they’re on the page they’re out of my head, and so taking some time before going back to reread it made it easier for me to think of like I think of every other story: “what would I do next with this? Oh that’s a twist, that needs to come back later. There’s a theme here, we’ve seen that three times. What’s the best ending I, as a reader now, can imagine for this?”

If avoidance, guilt, and/or writer’s block aren’t your issue, and it’s literally just down to time management - 

4) Your graduate degree is more important than your WIPs. 

Your WIPs aren’t going anywhere, they don’t have a deadline, and your readers will wait for you, and new ones will find you. Time management is an essential, awful, part of being an academic. 

I get more done, both at work and creatively on fic, when I’m just a bit too busy, but that’s me. Figure out what is optimal for you, and do it. When do you get the most writing done? When you’re relieved? When you’re anxious? Late at night? First thing in the morning? When does it flow? When won’t it ruin your graduate career?

(Seriously I was writing fic at work last week and was kicking myself. I don’t have time for that shit! Set boundaries on your time!)

But full serious here, graduate school is exhausting, and almost inherently de-motivating, and even the best damn students eye the door a lot of the time, even if they do finish. It’s stressful and you feel constantly powerless. It’s a lot to need to cope with. I found writing to be a way to cope. That lit review you’re working on? Yeah, it’s zapping your time and energy. That’s normal (unfortunately). And it’s good to give yourself breaks from that to write. Don’t feel guilty for taking time here and there for yourself - to write, or to not write. To relax, unplug, unwind. To close your eyes and daydream (if you’re me) or have a bubble bath (if you’re my sister), or do whatever helps you honestly, genuinely destress. The best thing you can do for both writing and for graduate school is to take breaks and take time for yourself. There is actual science on the importance of breaks, and academics are fucking notorious for putting too much pressure on themselves to actually relax.

5) If you’re burnt out and/or depressed - seek help! 

Most universities have resources for mental health! Talk to a doctor! Don’t put too much stress and pressure on yourself! Almost half of grad students are mentally ill at some point!

6) Talk out your stories with friends! 

I know I already said this under “practice” but having a fandom friend to bounce ideas with and cheer you on is amazing and essentially. I was in constant contact with Bealeciphers when I started writing, and now I have a different friend who’s helped me the past couple years with writing and developing my stories. Mostly they cheer me on, and when I’m stuck, I tell them where the story is going and what I need help with. But honestly, writing doesn’t need to happen in a vacuum and doesn’t need to be you hunched over a laptop in the dark all alone and staring blankly at a screen (I’m definitely not projecting here, no siree). It’s amazing how motivating it is and how much it can help you stay on track to check in regularly with other writing friends!

7) Pick your battles.

You say you have a... couple(?) of WIPs? How many are you juggling? Is it too many? Do you need to set one (or two??) aside? When my steam was slowly and AATJS and Tumbling Together started to feel like a chore, I set TT aside and took a month break from AATJS then dived right back into AATJS (with the help of the friend mentioned above, cheering me on) because I knew it would be the harder one to finish, and the one that I feared I’d never finish if I put it aside too long. I tackled the biggest hurdle first. If that’s the type of thing for you, I recommend it. Pick the story that’s either the most or least likely to get finished, and focus your energy there.

Another battle-picking thing here? It’s okay to outsource. I’m terrible for not using a proofreader beta. It’s a weird control thing, despite the fact that I love people pointing out typos in my works so I can freaking fix them. The point here is: don’t be like me. If you suck at finding your own typos, use a beta or proofreader. My writer friend who helps me helps when I get stuck. I help them when they need feedback on specific scenes and tones, and I’ve recently discovered they hate editing (I love editing) so this entertains me to no end. Just - you don’t have to do it all yourself. If you feel like you do, see points 5 and 6 again.

Aaaannnddd that’s that. Whew. I just spent... wow, too long on this. I spent as much time on this as I did on my own grad student’s lit review I was providing feedback on today ^^; #whoops 

[the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt]

Captain Swan Secret Santa 2018

Hello, hello, @downeystarkjr! It is I, your Captain Swan secret Santa New Year’s baby! And with that, let me apologize profusely for how late this is. *facepalm*

I tried so hard to plot out a story based on what you said you wanted to see, but having no exposure to Zorro (*hides*), that was tough. And I just generally couldn’t come up with something to match your wishes that would satisfy. But then - BUT THEN you mentioned one of your favorite movies is 10 Things I Hate About You, and it just so happens that’s one of my all-time favorite movies AND I’ve been dying to write Captain Swan into that movie for a while now. So I started writing. And I kept writing. And I wrote some more. And this @cssecretsanta2k18 fic got much longer than I planned it to be. Oh, and there are a few details in there catered to you, and I hope those make you smile. :)

So it’s been drafted for a bit now, but the editing process is proving slower. My beta is my lovely friend @ohmakemeahercules, who I have to thank here because, dang, she’s put up with a lot from me. And she’s fabulous! And this fic would absolutely not be near as readable as it is now without her (and it’s not even done being edited yet - she’s that amazing!). And we will continue working on this thing to give you the best gift it can be. However, I didn’t want you to have to wait any longer, so here’s a partially edited story for you! When it is fully edited, I’ll make another post on here, and I’ll also post it to ao3 at that point. Until then, I hope I can keep talking to you! You and I, apparently, have a lot in common, and I’d love to get to know you better! 

I hope you’re not too disappointed it’s not exactly what you asked for. Here goes...

“What did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?” Mr. Pendragon crossed his arms and leaned against the chalkboard as he scanned his classroom for any sign of intellectual thought.

“I loved it. It was so romantic.” That was Ashley, a sweet girl who worked two jobs after school to help her family make ends meet. But she treated Hemingway like a fairytale.

“Romantic?” Scoffed Emma Swan, the opinionated and sarcastic girl seated in the back row. Mr. Pendragon squeezed his eyes shut, already feeling a headache blooming. “Hemingway was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”

Nearly every student in the room rolled their eyes at her.

“As opposed to a bitter, self-righteous bitch who has no friends?” Mr. Pendragon rolled his eyes this time as Neal Gold, the rich kid bully, chimed in.

“Pipe down, Gold,” the teacher stepped in.

Emma Swan fumed at Neal from her seat before turning back to face the front of the room. “I guess in this society being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time. What about Sylvia Plath or Charlotte Bronte or Simone de Beauvoir?”

Suddenly, everyone in the class jerked their heads toward the door as Killian Jones walked in, leather jacket despite the warm temperature outside, no books, and late as usual. He scratched behind his ear as he looked around the classroom.

“What did I miss?” He asked in a British accent.

Before anyone else could answer, Emma spoke up. “Just the oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

Killian nodded, muttering a, “good,” before leaving the room. Mr. Pendragon tried to call after him, but it was no use.

Turning back to the class, Mr. Pendragon addressed Emma. “Ms. Swan, I want to thank you for your point of view.” He paused as Emma sent a smirk Neal’s way. Just when she felt validated, he added, “I know how difficult it must be for you to overcome all those years of upper middle-class suburban oppression. It must be tough.” At that, Emma slumped back into her seat, a scowl returning to her face.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Pendragon headed to the front of the classroom. “Go to the office. I don’t need to deal with this right now.”

“Mr. Pendragon! What?!”

“You heard me.”

Emma huffed out a breath as she left the room, but not before knocking Neal on the side of his head to stop his snickering.

“Emma Blanchard,” Ms. Perky, the guidance counselor, addressed the student walking into her office, “why am I not surprised to see you again?”

“It's Swan. Emma Swan. I'm adopted.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, bored with the routine. Ms. Perky made a disapproving noise and proceeded to type on her computer, not even looking Emma's way.

“Your father is a Blanchard. Your sister is a Blanchard. It says ‘Blanchard’ on the roster and in the system,” Ms. Perky reminded Emma.

“And I'm a Swan.”

Ms. Perky paused, grinning to herself as she glanced between her mug and Emma, who raised her eyebrows waiting for an explanation. “Swan,” she pointed to her swan-printed mug. “Swan,” she pointed at Emma while laughing out loud. Emma nodded overdramatically as she waited for the guidance counselor to get down to business. “So I hear you were terrorizing Mr. Pendragon’s class again.”

“Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.”

“The point is people see you as somewhat-”

“Tempestuous?”

“‘Heinous bitch’ is the term used most often. “You might want to work on that.”

Emma’s lips slightly upturned. She was almost seemed impressed with herself, despite the unflattering connotation.

Ms. Perky went back to typing as Emma waited for her dismissal. The counselor sighed and lowered her glasses before a tired “thank you” was uttered.”

Emma grabbed her backpack from the floor. She faced Ms. Perky and said, with extreme sarcasm,  “as always, thank you for your excellent guidance.” She exited the room without another word.

That afternoon,  Emma and her best friend, Lily, waited in Emma’s car for her younger sister, Mary Margaret. However, Mary Margaret was more interested in catching the eye of Neal Gold, the most popular guy in senior year. She and her best friend, Tamara, walked by him for the fourth time that afternoon trying to get noticed. Fourth time was the charm, as Neal called out, “looking good, ladies.” Tamara sent Neal a predatory grin before leading Mary Margaret away from the boy before she started giggling and making a fool of herself in front of him.

“They’re out of reach, even for you, Gold.” Felix, another senior, said.

Neal glared at his friend. “No one’s out of reach for me.”

“You want to put money on that?”

Neal shook his head, still watching the girls walk away. “Money I’ve got. This I’m going to do for fun.”

Meanwhile, Neal wasn’t the only guy with his eye on Mary Margaret.

“Who’s that guy?” David Nolan, a new kid to Storybrooke High, asked his tour guide, August Booth.

“Neal Gold. He’s rich. He’s a model. And he’s a moron.”

“A model?” To be honest, Neal didn’t strike David as a model.

“Eh,” August shrugged. “Mostly regional stuff.  But he’s rumored to have a tube sock ad coming out.”

David gave August a look that screamed, “really?,” to which August just nodded. They both laughed.

“Man, just look at her. Is she always so-”

“Clueless? Airheaded? Into herself?” In truth, August didn’t really know Mary Margaret well, but she was easily the most popular girl in the school.

“Don’t say that about her. There’s more to her than you think. I mean, look at the way she smiles. And look at her eyes, man. She’s totally pure. You’re missing what’s there.”

“No, David. What’s there is a bratty little princess wearing a strategically planned sundress to make guys like us realize we can never touch her, and guys like Neal realize they want to. We will spend the rest of our lives not being able to have girls like her. Just move on, dude.”

David crossed his arms and took a step back from August. “No. You’re wrong about her.”

August put his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’m wrong. You want to take a shot? Be my guest. She’s actually looking for a French tutor.”

David’s entire face lit up. “Seriously? That’s perfect!”

“Do you speak French?”

“No.” He stared dreamily at Mary Margaret, who was waving goodbye to her friend. “But I will.”

On her way to her sister’s car, Mary Margaret was stopped in her tracks by Neal Gold pulling up in his convertible.

“Hey. Would you and your friend like a ride?”

Mary Margaret barely waited to breathe before she called out to Tamara, who ran over and got in Neal’s car right behind her friend.

Emma and Lily, who had watched the drama unfold, rolled their eyes simultaneously.

“That’s a charming new development,” Lily said sarcastically.

Scrunching her face in disgust, Emma added, “it’s pathetic.” She buckled her seatbelt and prepared to drive just the two of them. Right when she was about to back out, Emma had to slam the breaks because of a stalled motorcycle directly behind her car. “Hey,” she yelled, “remove head from ass, then drive!”

The motorcyclist scooted away sans motor so Emma could pull out. She flipped him off and sped out of the parking lot.

David Nolan came running up to the rider - August. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just a minor encounter with the shrew, your girlfriend’s sister.”  

“That’s Mary Margaret’s sister?” David was in a state of disbelief. 

August nodded, “adopted.” With that, he once again got his motorcycle working. Sending David a knowing smile, he put on his helmet and rode off.

Emma was happily lying on the living room couch reading a book when her adoptive father arrived home.

“Hello, Emma. Make anyone cry today?”

“Sadly, no, but it’s only 4:30.”

Leo Blanchard’s smile only grew as Mary Margaret came inside and greeted her father.

“Hi, Daddy.” She kissed his cheek and moved Emma’s feet so she could sit on the couch.

“Hello, precious.”

“And where have you been?” Emma bookmarked her page and closed the book, expecting some amusement as her father learns that her sister was in a car with Neal Gold.

“Nowhere.” She gave Emma a pleading look.

Emma promptly ignored her sister. “Ask Mary Margaret who drove her home.”

Leo waited for an answer from his biological daughter.

“Now, don’t get upset, but there’s this boy.” Mary Margaret couldn’t help grinning at the thought of a boy liking her.

“Who’s a flaming imbecile,” Emma chimed in.

“And I think he might ask me-”

“Please. I think I know what he’s going to ask you. And I think I know the answer: No. 1, it’s always no. What are the house rules? No. 1, no dating till you graduate. No. 2, no dating till you graduate. That’s it.”

“That’s so unfair! I’m the only girl in school who’s not dating.” She put on the puppy-dog face.

“No, you’re not. Your sister doesn’t date.”

Emma smiled proudly. “And I don’t intend to.”

“And why is that again?” Leo turned to his adopted daughter, beaming smile on his face.

“Have you seen the unwashed miscreants that go to that school?” Emma could actually see the moment a new idea sparked in her father’s brain.

“Okay. You’re unhappy with the old rule - fine. Old rule out. New rule in: Mary Margaret can date-” Mary Margaret squealed with delight; Emma gasped at the unfairness. Leo pointed at Emma, “-when she does.”

“So I was thinking.” David Nolan sat across from Mary Margaret Blanchard at a library table.

“Yeah?”

“Well, there’s no better way to learn a language than by doing, right?” She looked confused. “What about French food? We could eat some, you know, together? Saturday night?”

“That’s so cute! You’re asking me out.” Mary Margaret’s voice got dangerously high-pitched before her delight switched to disappointment.

David watched her emotions play out on her face. “Oh, I mean, I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but I thought maybe if it was for French class-”

“Oh, wait a minute!” She was smiling again. “My dad just came up with a new rule. I can date if my sister does.”

David’s face lit up.

“Don’t get too excited, David. My sister is pretty much incapable of human interaction nowadays.”

“Well, I’m sure that there are lots of guys who wouldn’t mind going out with a difficult woman,” he sounded unsure, but he was determined.

“You really think you could find someone extreme enough to date her?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Mary Margaret reached out and touched David’s arm. “You’d do that for me?”

“Absolutely.”

After a long and fruitless search - apparently Emma Swan’s reputation precedes her - David knew he had the right guy in biology as he watched Killian Jones hack away at his dissection frog rather than delicately cut it.

“Hey, what about him?” David whispered to August, pointing at Killian.

“No, no.  Don’t look at him, okay? He's a criminal.” August slapped David’s arm down from pointing at Killian and avoided even glancing in that direction.

David watched as Killian took out a cigarette from his leather jacket pocket and lit it using his Bunsen burner. He almost got around to smoking it, but his lab partner grabbed it and put it out. Obviously frustrated, he rested his head on one of his arms that was on the lab table and brooded. Abandoning the assignment altogether, he passed his right hand through the Bunsen burner’s flame on and off. As David continued to watch Killian, he knew had found the perfect guy for Emma.

“How do we get him to date Emma?” August looked at his friend, who was staring at Killian Jones from across the cafeteria. He didn’t think dealing with Killian Jones was a great idea, but David was convinced.

“I don’t know. We could pay him, except that we don’t have any money.” David slumped in his seat, deflated at the idea of not being able to take Mary Margaret out.

“Yeah. Well, what we need is a backer.” David sat up a little straighter. “You know, someone with money who’s stupid.” David followed August’s gaze to the popular table, where Neal Gold was laughing obnoxiously loudly with his posse. August turned to David, nodding. “I got this.” With that, August walked over to Neal’s table and took an empty chair, pretending to laugh to blend in.

“Are you lost?” Neal asked August.

“I just came by to chat,” August said confidently. David couldn’t believe August wanted to work with the competition.

“We don’t chat.”

“Actually, I thought that I'd run an idea by you, just to see if you're interested.”

Neal interrupted, “I’m not.”

“You want Mary Margaret, right?” Now August had Neal’s attention. “She can't go out with you because her sister is a heinous bitch who growls if you stare too long. What I think you need to do is hire someone who doesn’t scare so easily, tame the beast, so to speak.” August turned his attention to Killian, expecting Neal to follow. He did. “Seems like a solid investment, right?”

Neal narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“Hey. I’m walking down the hall and say hello to you, you say hello to me. Or at least maybe you don’t treat me and my friend like crap all the time.”

“Alright. I get it.” August nodded, and Neal nodded in return - an agreement - before telling August to leave. “We’re done now.” August got up and returned to his seat next to David.

“What are you doing getting him involved?”

“Relax. We’ll let him think he’s calling the shots, but you’ll be the one spending time with Mary Margaret while he sets everything up.”

“Okay. That’s not a bad idea, actually.” David was so ready to take out the girl of his dreams.

Killian Jones sat with his friend Will Scarlet. They were smoking on the bench on the sideline of the soccer field. Killian steeled his features, abruptly ceasing his laughter over something Will had said, as none other than Neal Gold approached the bench. Killian said nothing, hoping Neal would get bored and leave. No such luck.

“Hey. How ya doing?”

Killian put his cigarette between his teeth. “Can I help you?”

“See that girl?” Neal was pointing at one of the girls playing soccer, her long blond hair pulled up in a ponytail as she fought one of the other players for the ball.

He took the cigarette from his mouth. “I see her.” He kept watching her, somehow compelled not to look away.

“That’s Emma Swan. I want you to go out with her.” Neal was grinning smugly when Killian turned his attention back to him.

“Yeah, sure, Sparky.” Killian looked at Will and the two laughed. Killian returned the cigarette to his mouth for a moment before removing it and throwing it down on the ground in front of him.

“Look; I can’t take out her sister until Emma starts dating. You see, their dad’s insane. He’s got this rule where the girls-”

Killian put a hand up, stopping Neal’s jabbering. “That’s a touching story. It really is. Also not my problem.”

“Would you be willing to make it your problem if I provide generous compensation?” Neal waggled his eyebrows, still grinning.

Killian narrowed his eyes just barely. “You’re going to pay me to take out some lass?” Neal’s grin grew as he gave Killian a single nod. “How much?” Killian could use the money, and there are worse ways to earn money than spending a night with a pretty girl.

“Twenty bucks.”

The three guys turned their attention back to the field to watch Emma. Killian crossed his arms and turned back to Neal after she violently body checked another player.

Neal sighed. “Fine. Thirty.”

Killian held up his index finger and shook it. “Well, let’s think about this.  We go to the movies - that’s, say, 20 bucks. I get gas for my car, we get popcorn - that’s 60. And if she has a sweet tooth, we’re looking at 75 bucks.”

“I’m not negotiating this. Take it or leave it.”

Killian shrugged. “Fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal.” He held out his hand to Neal, and this time, he was the one wiggling his eyebrows. Neal sighed as he pulled a $50 bill from his wallet, placing it in Killian’s outstretched hand. Pocketing the cash, he waved to Neal and said good-bye to Will as he made himself comfortable on the concrete bench to watch the rest of practice.

As soon as the coach dismissed the soccer team, Killian stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and prepared himself to approach Emma Swan. As she packed some things into her equipment bag, Killian came up behind her.

“Hey there, love. How are you this fine afternoon?”

Emma swung around at his voice, clearly startled, though refusing to let him know it. “First, not your love. Second, sweating like a pig, actually. And yourself?”

“Now there’s a way to get a guy’s attention.”

She rolled her eyes. “My mission in life.” Her eyes narrowed when Killian didn’t walk away. She threw her bag over her shoulder then crossed her arms. “But apparently I’ve gotten your attention, so, you see, it worked.” Emma started off back to the locker room to get the rest of her stuff so she could get home and shower. She did not expect him to follow her.

“Pick you up Friday, then?”

She swung around to face him once again. “Oh, right. Friday. Yeah, sure.”

He lowered his voice, “I’ll take you places you’ve never been before.”

“Like the alley behind the drugstore on Main Street? Do you even know my name, jackass?”

“I know a lot more than you think.”

“Doubtful. Very doubtful.”

“You’re something of an open book.” She stuttered in her movement to walk away. There was something in his face that told her he wasn’t lying. But if he thought he knew her, he had another thing coming. After taking another moment to scan her suitor, she turned around and walked inside, not letting him call after her or follow.

Alone on the field, Killian actually smiled as he said the only two words coming to mind at that moment, “bloody hell.”

Later that night, Emma was brushing her teeth before bed when her sister came into the bathroom for her nightly routine.

“Have you ever considered a new look? I mean, seriously, you could have some definite potential buried under all that hostility.” Emma stilled the hand holding her toothbrush and stared at her sister, who looked entirely unfazed.

“I’m not hostile. I’m annoyed.”

“Why don’t you try being nice? I know you are. But people at school wouldn’t know what to think.”

“You forget that I don’t care what people think. Stopped caring ages ago.”

Mary Margaret turned to Emma and put a hand on her shoulder. “You do care.”

Emma shook her head and spit the toothpaste out of her mouth. “No, I don’t. And you don’t always have to be who they want you to be. You know that?”

“I happen to enjoy being liked by people.”

Emma rinsed her toothbrush before looking back at her sister. “Wait, where’d you get that necklace?”

“It’s Mom’s,” Mary Margaret squeaked out.

Emma couldn’t believe this. Only three years after their mother’s death and Mary Margaret thought she could just take her things. “And you’ve been hiding it for three years?”

“No. Dad found it in a drawer last week.”

“And you’re wearing it now? Is that going to be a normal thing?”

“It’s not like she’s going to wear it. And she always said she thought it would look good on me.”

Emma shook her head and felt the tears threatening to spill. “Trust me,” she spat out, “it doesn’t.”

With bags of food in hand, Emma emerged from the grocery store to find Killian Jones leaning against her car.

“This is quite the vessel you captain here, Swan.”

She rested the bags on the sidewalk, but she still gripped the handles. “Are you following me?”

“I was at Marco’s. Saw your car - hard to miss, that yellow Bug. I came over to say hi.”

“Hi.” She picked up her groceries and moved to put them in her car. Killian kept a hand on the door, stopping her from opening it.

“Not a big talker?”

“Depends on the topic. Hearing people mock my car doesn’t really whip me into a verbal frenzy.”

Killian stared at her like he was putting together a puzzle, trying to figure her out. His voice was high-pitched with curiosity as he asked, “you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“Afraid of you?” She managed to get her door open and shoved her bags in the car before turning back around to face her stalker. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

He shrugged. “Most people are.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, maybe you’re not afraid of me.  But I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.” He gave her a knowing wink. She thought it was absolutely obnoxious.

She feigned surprise. “Am I that transparent?” He chuckled as she wedged herself into her car. Putting his hands up in mock innocence, Killian backed up onto the sidewalk as Emma started to pull away. Of course, Neal Gold parked his show-off classic car in the road directly behind her. “What is it, asshole day?” She muttered to herself. To Neal, who was walking into his father’s pawn shop, she yelled, “hey, do you mind?”

He yelled back, “no, not at all,” before walking into the shop and slamming the door behind him.

Fed up, Emma backed straight out and into Neal’s car, pushing it until it was out of the way. Her car may be old, but it was built better than his rich-kid car. She started to pull out of the parking lot, flipping Neal off as he came running out of the store.

“What the hell, bitch?!”

“Oops!” She laughed as she pulled away, even flashing Killian a smile from her window before disappearing from view.

Killian had stood on the sidewalk watching the whole scene, a delighted smile gracing his face as Neal ran to his car to assess the damage. Emma Swan could certainly hold her own.

After being properly lectured about the accident by her father, who tried and failed to hide that he was definitely a tad proud, Emma’s reading was interrupted by a screech from her sister.

“Did you maim Neal’s car?!”

“Yup. Looks like you’re going to have to take the bus, or, you know, ride with your bitch of a sister.” Emma smiled, but didn’t bother looking up from her book.

“Has the fact that you’re completely insane managed to escape your attention?”

Emma shrugged. Mary Margaret let out a noise of frustration and then walked away.

Killian was at his locker talking to Will when none other than Neal Gold came strutting over and slammed Killian’s locker closed.

“When I shell out fifty bucks, I expect results.” He looked like he was two seconds from grabbing Killian’s jacket and lifting him up against the lockers, if only he wasn’t scared of Killian.

“I’m on it, mate.” He grinned at Will before turning back to a still-fuming Neal. Will slapped Killian on the back as he took his leave.

“Watching that bitch ram into my car doesn’t count as a date. If you don’t get some, I don’t get some. So get some.” Neal glared at Killian for a solid minute before starting to walk away when it was clear Killian wasn’t budging.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Killian called after him. “I just upped my price.”

Neal stared in disbelief. With what happened to Neal’s car, Killian figured he could get more out of him, though getting Emma Swan to go out with him was not about the money anymore. He liked a good challenge, and he might even like her. But the money wouldn’t hurt.

“Hundred bucks a date in advance.” Killian stood confidently as Neal stomped over to him.

“Forget it.” He started to walk away again.

“Forget her sister, then.” Killian knew he had Neal there.

Neal fished another $50 bill from his wallet. “You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Jones.”

Killian said nothing, just took the money with a smug smile and walked away, leaving Neal at the lockers.

Killian Jones looked forward to his daily 45 minutes of shop class. He liked being hands-on, and it was a creative outlet. Since shop was an elective and it involved some heavy machinery, shop was the class in which the least amount of his classmates were scared of him. And the best part for Killian - his prosthetic hand was a guaranteed steady weight, and he didn’t risk cutting himself on that hand.

Their latest project was the most obvious of projects for a high school shop class: A birdhouse. However, the students could design their birdhouses to look like anything they wanted, so Killian was modeling his as a ship. His older brother had served in the navy, and Liam had gotten his younger brother fascinated with ships.

Just as Killian was working on carving the boat’s largest sail, he was approached by two guys who were absolutely not in the class.  

The blonde spoke first. “We know what you’re trying to do with Emma Swan.”

Killian put down the sander he was using on the sail. “Is that so? And what do you plan to do about it?”

“Help you out.”

That was not the response he was expecting. “Why’s that?”

The kid in the too-tight leather jacket answered. “The situation is my man David here is really into Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

Killian sighed. Of course. “What is it with this lass?”

“Look, I think I speak correctly when I say that David's love is pure - purer than, say, Neal Gold’s.”

“I really don’t give a damn who Gold nails. He’s paying me. That’s all this is.”

David reacted before his friend could get a word out. “There will be no nailing going on.”

The friend put a hand up to stop David from continuing. “Killian, Let me explain something to you here.  We set this whole thing up so David could get the girl - David. Neal's just a pawn.”

“So you two are going to help me tame the wild beast?” Killian alternated pointing between the two guys in front of him.

“We’ll do some research. We’ll find out what she likes.” Both of the guys were grinning at Killian. “Let’s start with Friday night. Matt Murdock is throwing a party - the perfect opportunity for you to take Emma out.”

“I’ll think about it.” Picking up the sander once more, Killian got back to work on his birdhouse, hoping his intruders would take the hint and go away. Once they were gone, patting each other on their backs as they walked away, the noise from the sander chased off any thoughts of Emma Swan and this plan he’d gotten mixed up in.

“So, Mary Margaret, have you heard about Murdock’s party Friday?” David looked at his walking companion.

“Yes. And I really, really, really want to go, but I can't - not unless my sister goes.”

“I know. I’m working on that. But so far, she just isn’t going for my guy.” Mary Margaret nodded slowly. Of course her sister wasn’t going for some guy. “She’s not, you know-”

“No,” Mary Margaret answered plainly. “She’s definitely into guys. I found magazine cutouts of actors she likes in her drawer once.”

“So that’s the kind of guys she likes - pretty guys?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I don’t know. All I've ever heard her say is that she'd die before dating a guy that smokes.”

“Okay. Helpful. What else?”

“You’re asking me to get inside my sister’s twisted mind? I don’t think so, David.”

“Well, nothing else has worked. We might have to go behind enemy lines here.”

Mary Margaret stopped in her tracks as she considered the idea. “Okay, come with me.” David couldn’t quite hide the smile blooming on his face. “You are really lucky I like you.”

Back at the Blanchard household, the two made sure Emma wasn’t home before creeping into her room.

“She keeps all her junk in this drawer.” Mary Margaret opened it slowly and started rifling through it. David stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of how exactly to act in Emma Swan’s bedroom. “Class schedule, reading list, planner, coffee receipts, concert tickets.” There was some potentially useful stuff there. David approached slowly, taking the items Mary Margaret had gathered. “Ah-ha! Red panties!”

David coughs. “What does that tell us?”

“She wants to have sex someday!”

“Or she’s really into red? She does wear that jacket all the time.”

“You don’t buy red lingerie unless you want someone to see it,” Mary Margaret laughed at his flustered behavior.

“Right.” David pulled the pile of Emma material closer to him as he took a step back from where Mary Margaret held out the red underwear. “You can put that back now.”

Rolling her eyes, she put the panties back in the drawer and took the pile from David. He got out his phone and took pictures of her schedule, reading list, and concert tickets. He’d take a more detailed look once they were out of Emma’s room. “You so owe me for coming in here.”

“Freedom to go to Murdock’s party?”

“I suppose that’s a start.”

Killian Jones worked part-time as a bartender at a local bar. The hours meant very little sleep, and he was late for school a lot after sleeping through his alarm, but the bar’s owner let him do homework behind the bar and he liked his regulars. The last thing he expected to see on the job was the two guys from shop class walk in. They looked entirely out of place, David in his bright plaid shirt and too-big grin on his face.

“So this is what a bar looks like.”

Killian ran to the front of the bar and pulled David by his shirt collar over to the pool table. “If my boss caught you two at the bar, I could lose my job. Why are you here?”

David pried his shirt from Killian’s fist and his grin disappeared. “We have some intel for you.”

Killian sat on the edge of the pool table. “All right. What’ve you got?”

“Wait. We can’t be at the bar, but you can work at one?” August crossed his arms.

“Owner is a family friend. If I drink, I lose my job,” Killian paused and looked between the two guys. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Nodding in understanding, David went back to the night’s intended subject. “Well, thing No. 1, Emma hates smokers - hates.”

Killian’s jaw dropped.

“So you’re telling me I’m now a non-smoker?” August reached into Killian’s jacket pocket and took his pack of cigarettes.

“Yup.” Killian narrowed his eyes at August in anger. “But just for now.” He pocketed the cigarettes and held his hands up in innocence.

“Actually, there’s another problem,” David started. Killian turned his attention to him and raised his eyebrows in question. “Mary Margaret said Emma likes, um, pretty guys.”

Killian stared at David in silence for a second. “Are you telling me I’m not a pretty guy?”

“You’re very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. Right, David?” August elbowed David in the side.

“Yup. Very pretty. I just, you know, I wasn’t sure.”

Killian started walking away, thinking the conversation was over.

“Wait. We have more.” David held up a crumpled up piece of paper.

Killian glanced over at the bar to make sure he was covered before turning back to David. “Go on.”

“Okay. Likes: Chinese and Indian food, hot chocolate, coffee, ‘80s music, Robert Downey Jr., and ‘90s boy bands, which I just cannot believe.” David pulled out another sheet of notebook paper. “This is for you - list of dvds she has in her room, list of books on her bookshelf that look the most read, and her most played songs on her iPod.”

“So I’m supposed to buy her Chicken Tikka Masala, a book, and sit around watching Robert Downey Jr. movies when we aren’t listening to Michael Jackson and Bon Jovi?”

Killian’s knowledge of the things David listed honestly surprised both August and him.

“Actually, have you ever heard of Avril Lavigne?”

“She has tickets to see her tomorrow night.”

“Absolutely not. I can’t be seen at an Avril Lavigne concert.”

“If it helps, she’s got a pair of red underwear.” 

Leaving Killian gaping, David and August left.

As he headed back to the bar to resume work, Killian groaned because he knew he had to go to that bloody concert the following night.

Killian could not be happier that the venue Avril Lavigne was playing had a bar with a bartender who absolutely could not tell a fake ID from a real one. Nursing a glass of rum - he limited himself to two; he had to drive home himself and he wasn’t that irresponsible - he watched Emma dance to the music with her friend. She was a vision in a green tank top and jeans, strong arms on display without her usual red leather jacket. Her hair was only just slightly wavy as she flipped it over her shoulder. He watched as she said something to her friend before heading his way. Spinning himself around on the stool, he pretended to be extremely interested in his phone all the sudden.

“Two waters, please.”

Killian could tell when she noticed him sitting there by her aggravated groan. “If you’re planning on asking me out again, you might as well get it over with.”

“Do you mind? I can’t hear the music over your voice.”

She knew perfectly well that he was not there for the music. “You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”

“Yeah. About that - I quit. Did you know those things are bad for you?”

“Wait. You quit?”

“Aye.” Killian took it as a win when Emma stared at him, too stunned to reply with some sarcastic retort. “You know, Swan, I was watching you out there before.”

“Stalker,” she quipped before thanking the bartender for the waters and paying him.

“I’ve never seen you look so sexy,” Killian commented when Emma turned her attention back to him, except he hadn’t noticed the song was ending, and there was a moment of silence in the club right as he spoke. His ears flashed bright red as he scratched at a spot behind his right ear. Being nearly the only male in the club, his comment was met with giggles from the female crowd, who had heard him clearly. The saving grace of his embarrassment was that Emma, gorgeously flushed from both her dancing and embarrassment, also laughed. Killian waited until the next song had started before getting the courage to talk again. “Come with me to Murdock’s party.”

“You just don’t know when to give up, huh?” She flashed him a grin as she made her way back to her friend in the crowd.

“Was that a yes?” He called after her.

“No,” she shouted in return.

“Was that a no?”

“No.”

Smiling to himself, he yelled to her once more, “I’ll pick you up at 9.”

Mary Margaret and Tamara had put on their party clothes and were close to the front door when Mr. Leo Blanchard called out from the couch, “should’ve used the window, girls.”

Tamara smacked Mary Margaret in the arm and muttered, “told you.”

Leo got up and confronted the girls. “And where are we going?”

“Well, if you must know, a small study group of friends.” Mary Margaret batted her eyelashes.

“Also known as a party?”

“Mr. Blanchard, it’s just a party. And I promise I’ll take care of Mary Margaret,” Tamara tried.

Leo called up the stairs, “Emma, did you know about some party tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Emma yelled from her room.

“That settles it. Emma isn’t going, you’re not going.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret screeched up the stairs. “Emma, please! Just for one night, can’t you forget that you hate everyone and be my sister? Please? C’mon, Emma, please do this for me.”

Emma closed her book and sighed. Mary Margaret’s pleading was genuine enough. Grabbing her leather jacket, she headed downstairs. “Fine. I’ll make an appearance.”

Mary Margaret hugged Emma between high-pitched squeals of delight.

“Thank you, Emma. Thank you.”

Leo Blanchard just stood there in shock as Mary Margaret and Tamara ran out the door. Emma rolled her eyes and answered the door when someone knocked, expecting it to be one of her sister’s many suitors. She was taken aback when it was Killian Jones.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s 9, right?” He glanced at his watch - 8:47. “Oh, I’m early.”

Emma barely recalled his promise to pick her up at 9. She was surprised he actually kept his word.

“Alright. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.” She grabbed his left hand, which she noticed did not feel like a flesh hand, and pulled him out the door. His breath hitched immediately and it was like he forgot how to walk. She tugged before letting go. “You coming?”

He shook himself out of it. “Yeah. Of course, Swan.”

The party was exactly how Emma imagined it would be: Drunk teenagers all dry humping each other and talking far too loudly. She and Killian wandered around, neither one really sure how to act at a party. Walking upstairs, Killian was stopped by Ashley, that girl from their English class.

Ashley threw herself at Killian, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to her. “Kiss me!”

Killian looked around, spotting a guy sitting on a beanbag placed in the hallway. He directed Ashley to that guy, forcing her into his lap. “Kiss him.”

About to walk away, Killian was stopped by a hand on his jacket - the hand of the guy he forced Ashley onto. “Hey, man! Thanks!”

Killian nodded at him and went to try to find Emma. He spotted her in one of the guest rooms, where someone had stuck a keg. She was talking to Neal Gold.

“Hey, Swan Princess. Looking good!”

Emma glared at Neal, the last person she wanted to see that night. Already wanting to leave, she turned around to find Killian to let him know she was going home. As she started walking out of the room, Neal grabbed her waist and pulled her back to him.

“Where you going, Em?”

“Away.” Emma pulled his hand off her.

“Where’s your sister? She here?”

“Stay the hell away from my sister.”

Neal put his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll stay away from Mary Margaret, but I can’t guarantee she’ll stay away from me.” He smirked.

Emma pushed through the crowd to leave the room. She wandered around for a while as she looked for Killian. Heading into the kitchen hoping that if Killian wasn’t in there, maybe she could at least find something halfway-decent to eat, she was met with her sister on one of Neal’s arms and Tamara on his other. Both girls were giddy.

“Em,” he screamed. “Look who found me!” He led the girls away from Emma, who lost them in the crowd. So much for protecting her sister from the biggest jerk in Maine. She was an awful sister.

“Hey, want one?” She whipped her head around to see some guy who she figured was in college. He held out a tray of shots.

Glancing around the room once more, she didn’t see Mary Margaret anymore, or Killian, so she shrugged and took a shot. She downed it right as Killian found her.

“Swan, what are you doing?” He looked panicked as he took the empty shot glass from her.

“Partying. Like a normal person. My sister would be so proud.”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Swan-” Killian was cut off as Emma spotted another tray of shots and wandered off in pursuit. Killian watched helplessly from the spot Emma just stood. “One of these days, I’m going to stop chasing this woman.” He headed after her, hoping she didn’t get too carried away.

“August, I just saw Mary Margaret.”

“Took you long enough to find her. Where is she now?”

“With Neal.” August froze, his cup of water not quite making it to his mouth.

“That wasn’t in the plan. Now what?”

David took a deep breath. “I - I don’t know. She was happy. She looked like she wanted to be here with him.”

“Go find her again. Make up a reason for her to spend time with you instead.” David nodded, sighing and turning to leave. He looked defeated. August patted David on the back as he watched his friend disappear into the crowd. “Good luck, my friend.”

Killian paced the entirety of the house twice before he found Emma, but too late. She was dancing on the coffee table in the living room, completely drunk.

“Swan, what do you say I have this shot?” He pried the glass from her hand as she continued to dance.

“No! It’s mine!” She tried her hardest to grab it back, but she was slow in her inebriated state.

“Hey, man!” Neal put an arm around Killian’s shoulders. Killian shuddered in return. “How did you do it?”

“What?”

“You managed to get her to act like a normal person!” Neal cheered as Emma kept dancing, taking off her jacket and swinging it around. Killian shook off Neal and moved closer to Emma as she made her way to the edge of the table. He was barely able to catch her as she fell off, but when he did, he carried her outside to keep her from drinking any more. He found a bench on the porch outside and put her down onto it.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better.” That was a lie. She couldn’t even sit up by herself. She leaned on Killian’s side and let her head dangle forward as she rested her eyes.

Killian rubbed her back and made sure she was comfortable. She dozed off on his shoulder. He sighed, rubbing his temples when he saw David storm out of the house.

“She wanted Neal this whole time!”

Killian helped lie Emma down onto the bench as he stepped aside to talk with David. “What’s up, mate?”

“I saw Mary Margaret and Tamara with Neal. I felt sorry for myself for a little, then went to find her again. The second time, she was so transfixed with him. I was a fool. It’s off, Killian. The whole thing’s off. Thanks for trying, but she never wanted me. She just wanted me to help her out so she could go out with him.”

Killian didn’t have time for this.

“Nolan, look. Do you like Mary Margaret?”

David sighed and softened. “Yeah.”

“And is she worth all the trouble?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. I thought so, but-”

Killian stared David down. “Look, mate. Either she is or she isn’t. First of all, Neal is not half the man you are. Secondly, don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want, aye?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Emma stirred and tried to stand up from the bench on her own.

“I’m a tad busy here, Dave. Best of luck with Mary Margaret.” David nodded and took off back inside. Killian ran back to Emma just in time to catch her and get her to sit back down.

“Why are you taking care of me like this?” Emma babbled.

“It may surprise you, Swan, but I care for you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t really, though.”

“Of course I do.”

“Why?”

“If you weren’t around, I’d have to start taking out girls who actually like me.”

She snorted. “Like you could find one.”

“Ah, see that? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” They both laughed. “Can I ask you something now, Swan?” She didn’t answer. “Why do you let Neal get to you? I mean, he’s a wanker, but it’s like you take it personally.”

“I hate him.”

Killian opened his mouth to ask another question, but he was interrupted by Emma darting into a sitting position before puking onto the ground in front of the bench. He sighed yet again as he gathered her hair and held it back as she emptied her stomach.

“Hey, Mary Margaret, Neal’s holding an afterparty. You in?”

“I don’t know, Tam. I have a curfew. It’s my first night of freedom. I can’t take advantage like that.”

“Girls, you coming?” Neal waved from the door.

“Be right there,” Tamara called out to him in her flirtiest voice. He seemed impressed. Mary Margaret started to realize that maybe Neal wasn’t that into her. Maybe he just wanted any girl he could get his hands on.

“Last chance, Mary Margaret.”

With her recent realization, she actually didn’t want to go the party. “I think I’ll just find my sister and go home.”

“Alright. Your loss. Text you tomorrow.” Mary Margaret nodded to acknowledge her friend before sighing and looking around for Emma. It was looking like she needed a ride home. She found David instead.

“Hey. Have fun tonight?” He asked timidly.

“Look, David,” she started. She made eye contact as she asked, “do you think you could give me a ride home?”

Killian and Emma sat in his car. He was parked in front of her house, but she seemed hesitant to get out of the car.

“I should do this,” she giggles.

“Do what?”

She pointed at the car stereo.

“Install car stereos?” She laughed. He would think about that laugh for the rest of time.

“No. Start a band. Wouldn’t my dad just love that?” In that moment, she thought about her mom and how she loved to sing and play guitar - she was the reason Emma taught herself guitar.

“You don't strike me as the type to ask your father’s permission.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You really think you know me, huh?”

“I like to think I’m getting closer.”

“The only thing people know about me is that I’m a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no picnic myself.” Emma and Killian locked eyes as silence overtook the car. Killian was the one to break the moment. “So what's up with your dad?  Is he a pain in the ass like everyone makes him seem?”

“Nah. He just wants me to be someone I’m not.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mary Margaret.”

“Well, no offense to your sister or anything, but she’s without.”

Emma stared at him. She’d always been the second-choice sister. “You’re really not as repulsive as I thought you were.” The two seemed to share a moment as Emma leaned in closer to Killian. His breath hitched, and it was then and the stench of beer and tequila that reminded him how drunk she was.

“Swan, maybe we should do this another time.”

Emma pulled back, hurt flashing in her eyes at the rejection. She wrestled to get the car door open, then slammed it before walking to her house, wiping tears along the way. Killian sighed as his head fell forward to rest on the steering wheel. He just hoped she’d understand when she sobered up.

Meanwhile, in David’s car, still at the party, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn the motor on just yet.

“You never wanted to go out with me, did you?”

“Well, I kinda did.”

“But I’m not Neal.”

“I don’t know. He’s just-”

“You don’t have to say any more.”

“I do like you, David.”

“Save it. just because you're beautiful, doesn't mean you can treat people like they don't matter. I mean, I really like you. I defended you when people called you conceited. I helped set Emma up so you could get out of the house. I learned French for you. And then you just blow me off for him.”

Mary Margaret answered by pulling him to her and kissing him. Cheering to himself, David knew he had won after all. She was absolutely worth the trouble.

Mr. Pendragon opened class as he always did on Mondays, asking about the students’ weekends.

“Why don’t you ask Emma?” Neal joked.

“Why do I feel like I don’t actually want to know what you all got up to?” He looked over at Emma, who was hiding her head in her arms on her desk. “All right. I definitely don’t. Let’s get started. Sonnets!”

The class groaned.

“I know, I know. Shakespeare and poetry - not everyone’s favorite things. But I want you all to write your own sonnets.”

Emma raised her hand. Mr. Pendragon prepared himself for the worst. “Does it have to be in iambic pentameter?”

Mr. Pendragon was stunned. “You don’t want to assert an opinion here?”

“I think this is a good assignment.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“No. I’m really looking forward to writing this.” He sized her up for a minute looking for a trace of a lie. Whatever happened last weekend must have really gotten to her.

“Alright, Ms. Swan. Thank you. And, no, it does not have to be written in iambic pentameter.”

Emma nodded and took note, specifically avoiding looking behind her at where Killian’s desk was.

Killian sat on the sideline bench alone as he watched Emma practice with her soccer team. He sighed, really wishing he could smoke a cigarette at that moment.

“Hey, man.” David sat next to Killian. “What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing. And if I had done anything, she would’ve been too drunk to remember.”

“But the plan was working.”

Killian took his eyes off Emma and looked at David. “Why do you even care? I thought the plan was off?”

“It was, but you gave me that pep talk and then,” he smiled.

“And then?”

“She kissed me.”

That got Killian to smile. At least someone got the girl. “Where?”

“In my car.”

Killian was going to press for more details, but August ran up to the bench. “So I talked to Emma.”

“And?” Killian looked up at August, hopeful.

“She really, really hates you right now.” Killian’s shoulders sagged with disappointment.

“Well,” David tried to find a positive in the situation but failed. “Maybe she just needs a day to cool off.”

All three guys ducked as a soccer ball came beaming at them at a speed that seemed like it could’ve cleanly knocked one of their heads off. They turned to the field to find Emma glaring at them. She was absolutely the one who kicked it. She was absolutely aiming for Killian.

David smiled sheepishly. “Maybe two days.”

Emma and Lily were headed outside to eat lunch when they came across a flier for prom. In anger, Emma yanked it from the wall.

“Can you imagine who would go to that antiquated mating ritual?”

Lily raised her hand. “I actually would, but I don’t have a date.”

Emma shot daggers at Lily with her eyes.

“Okay, okay. We won’t go. It’s not like I have a dress anyway.”

“Hey, Mary Margaret,” Neal came up to her.

She wasn’t really interested in talking to him. “Can I help you?” She focused on the field hockey ball she was dribbling between her stick.

“You’re concentrating awfully hard for gym class.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you about prom.”

“You know the deal.” She chased the ball after losing control of it. Stopping dribbling for a minute, she finally faced Neal. “I can’t go if Emma doesn’t.”

“You sister is going.”

She crossed her arms. “Since when?”

“Let’s just say I’m taking care of it.”

Mary Margaret smiled. Maybe she’d get to go to prom after all, but she definitely didn’t see herself there with Neal.

Neal held out two $100 bills to Killian. “This should take care of the flowers, the limo, the tux - everything. Just make sure she gets to the prom.”

“You know what? I’m out. I’m sick of playing your little game.” Killian’s eyes scanned the hallway. He just wanted to see Emma again.

“Are you still out if I raise it to $300?”

Killian knew he could use the money, but Emma wasn’t a business transaction for him. He took the money. He would use some of it for prom if things went well, but he was coming up with a plan for a way to use some of the rest of it.

The next day, Killian saw Emma’s car at a record store. He stopped in to see if she was still angry at him.

“Excuse me,” he tapped her on the shoulder. “Have you seen a copy of From Under The Cork Tree? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

She whipped around and crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for a Fall Out Boy album. I thought my inquiry made that clear.”

“You’re so-”

“Charming? Devilishly handsome?”

“Unwelcome.” She started to walk to a different section of the store. He followed.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are.”

“You’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Someone still has her panties in a twist.”

She swung around. “Don't you, for one second, think that you had any effect on my panties.”

“Then what did I have an effect on?”

“Other than my upchuck reflex, nothing.” She continued browsing through records, then pulled one out. She pressed it to his chest before leaving. Killian had to set his plan in motion quickly. Before leaving himself, he looked at the record she found him: From Under the Cork Tree.

At soccer practice the next day, Emma was in the zone. Soccer was a great way for her to channel her anger at Killian. She was so focused on perfecting the team’s newest play, she hadn’t realized her teammates all stopped playing. Trapping the ball, she turned around to face the bleachers to see what all her teammates were staring at. She was greeted by Killian at the top of the bleachers, something in his hand. He ran down a few rows of seats so Emma could make him out better. It was a microphone.

Pulling the mic to his mouth, he sang, “you’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you. You'd be like heaven to touch. I want to hold you so much. At long last love has arrived, and I thank god I'm alive. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.”

Emma found herself almost swooning. Her teammates looked at her for her reaction. She smiled, then jumped as there was a loud noise from behind her. She turned to see the marching band walking onto the field, playing along to the song Killian was singing.

She turned her attention back to Killian. “I love you, baby. And if it's quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights.”

The school police had gotten word of the disturbance and were running onto the bleachers to stop Killian. Taking a look at his pursuers, Killian wagged his eyebrows at Emma before running around the bleachers as he sang, dodging police officers and adding a strut or two as he sauntered around.

And he didn’t miss a note. “I love you, baby. Trust in me when I say, oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray. Oh, pretty baby, now that I've found you, stay and let me love you.”

He made his way down to the first row of seats, and Emma found herself walking over to him. She smiled and laughed as he sang the last line, staring into her eyes. “Baby, let me love you.”

Everyone who witnessed the song applauded and cheered when he finished, Emma included. Smiling back at her, Killian winked before being carried off by the police officers. Who knew Killian Jones would be one for grand romantic gestures?

Saturday detention was nothing new to Killian Jones. He had been sentenced to spend a few of his precious free days at school among his fellow delinquents before - sometimes for smoking, sometimes for ditching class or coming in late, et cetera, et cetera. But this Saturday, the prospect of spending his entire day trapped in an overheated classroom was more bothersome than usual, as he knew that Emma Swan was no longer angry with him. He wanted nothing more than to spend the day with her.

Resigning himself to twiddling his thumbs in detention all day, Killian sat back and tried to make himself comfortable. He stared at the ceiling for what must have been 20 minutes, avoiding getting on Coach Stark’s bad side - maybe he could get off early for good behavior?

Killian’s attention was pulled from the ceiling as the door to the classroom slammed closed. He sat up slowly before blinking his eyes rapidly to ensure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Talking to Coach Stark at the front of the room was none other than Emma Swan. Killian immediately sat up straighter. Emma glanced at him from the corner of her eye, still talking to her soccer coach.

When Coach Stark bent down to get a pad of paper and pen from his desk, Emma mouthed to Killian, “the windows,” as she pointed to said windows. He nodded and got in position to move from his desk while not arousing suspicion from the coach. With the in-charge adult’s attention on Emma, Killian tiptoed in the aisle between the desks to the row of windows lining the left wall of the classroom.

“So I think we really need to work more on our defense for the game against the Racoons,” Killian caught a bit of Emma’s conversation as he worked to silently open a window wide enough for him to squeeze through. Emma watched him worriedly with quick glances over to him. “Ruby is a great goalie, but the team needs to have her back when she’s down after blocking a shot.”

Killian cursed to himself when his jacket zipper got caught on the window. His eyes flashed to Emma’s. She put her hands on Coach Stark to keep him facing her. “I mean, if she’s down, I just think someone needs to step into the goal and cover for her.”

“Emma, why don’t we talk about this more at practice next week.” He turned to sit back at his desk, but a quick look at Killian showed Emma he was only half out of the window.

Acting impulsively and without any real thought, she eyed the corner of the teacher’s desk and walked forward as if to keep talking to the coach as he sat down. With a precisely placed foot, Emma tripped over the desk leg and fell straight to the floor. Her fall was met with a stinging in her left wrist, but as she looked to the window, Killian was nowhere in sight. Sighing in relief, she cradled her wrist with her other hand as Coach Stark bent down next to her to tend to her. She definitely injured her wrist, but if Killian got away unnoticed, it would be worth it.

Feeling the concrete under his feet, Killian was so thankful the detention room was on the first floor. He looked into the room to see Emma and figure out how she managed to get him out unseen, but she was nowhere in sight. Disappointed over not being able to see her and properly thank her, he started making his way to his car.

Halfway across the parking lot, he spun around at the sound of his name.

“Killian! Killian, wait up!” Emma was waving and running to where he stood.

“Swan,” he grinned as she caught up to him. “Thanks for springing me from detention.”

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t been so pissed that you wouldn’t take advantage of me in your car, you never would’ve ended up there.”

“I don’t regret it, you know.”

Emma’s eyes flashed downward as she blushed just enough for Killian to notice.

“Hey, Swan, what are you doing now?”

“Heading home to read, I guess. Or I have some homework I could do.” Truth was she was going to go home to ice her wrist; it was hurting like crazy.

He really hoped the interest he saw in her eyes was really there. “Come on, Swan.” He walked to the passenger side of his car and opened the door. “In the car.”

“What? That’s really creepy, Jones.”

“And here I thought you weren’t afraid of me,” he joked.

Emma stuck her tongue out at him as she got into the car. The wrist probably wasn’t broken. It could wait. Once he got settled into his seat, Emma asked, “so what’s going on here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m taking you-” he booped her nose “-on a date.”

Killian took Emma to a harbor. Emma hissed when Killian took her left hand upon her getting out of the car, but she didn’t see any sign he noticed. He led her to a corner of the harbor where people were going out onto the water in little swan boats.

“The swans made me think of you, and I thought it might be fun.” He let go of her hand and scratched behind his ear. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just-”

Emma was a tad worried they wouldn’t be able to steer themselves and that they’d be stranded in the harbor, but she couldn’t chicken out when little kids were doing it. “It looks like fun. Let’s do it.”

He put a hand on her back as they walked to the man running the swan boat rentals. The boats were much bigger than Emma expected, and they were steered with two sets of pedals - one set for each of them. Killian helped her into the boat, then followed, impressively steady on his own. When they were in safely, they both found their pedals and took off. Emma was surprised how smoothly the boat moved through the water.

“We’re out far enough. Let’s just drift for a little.” She took her feet off the pedals and looked around. She felt so peaceful out there. The only thing keeping her grounded in reality was the stinging from her wrist. “You know, Swan, I thought, for sure, I was busted when I was halfway out the window. How did you keep the coach distracted?”

Not wanting to admit that she tripped on purpose to distract the teacher but accidentally injured herself, plus the fact that he’d make her go home if he knew she was in pain, she just shrugged, a smirk on her face.

Killian got the hint that she wouldn’t tell him. “So what’s your excuse then?”

“For what?”

“Acting the way we do.”

“I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”

He was smart enough to know there was a reason for this, but he didn’t push for the backstory. “So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?

“Something like that.”

“Then you screwed up.”

Emma never would have expected him to say something like that. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve yet to disappoint me.”

Emma didn’t know what to say, so she just stared, wide-eyed.

After the silence went on long enough, Killian broke it. “So I think we should head back to shore soon. We have another destination or two.”

“Where are we going?” She had softened considerably, and she barely recognized her voice so soft.

“Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

After a gourmet grilled cheese lunch - he told her she went on and on about grilled cheese while she was drunk at the party - he drove them to a paintball arena. Putting the car in park, he looked at Emma. “Are you up for it?”

Emma was so excited, she momentarily forgot about the pain in her wrist. She should’ve figured he wouldn’t be into any of the usual boring date stuff; he’s never been boring.

So she played paintball and absolutely painted Killian multiple different neon colors. And then they made out behind a makeshift shield until their game was over and they had to leave. Emma’s wrist was throbbing by the time she got back to the school parking lot, but she’d never laughed that much ever in her life. She didn’t even care that it was going to take four showers to get the neon pinks and greens from her hair. Emma Swan was happy, and it was because of Killian Jones.

Back in the school parking lot, they sat on a curb drinking milkshakes and talking.

“Can I ask you something?”

“How I’m so devilishly handsome? I’m afraid that’s a secret I can’t share.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Killian nodded for her to ask her real question. “What’s with the accent? I mean, you know how it is with people who act like us. The rumors are, frankly, ridiculous.”

“I was born in England. Lived there most of my life, until my mum got sick, my father abandoned me, and my brother died in the Navy. And there was the accident that gave me this,” he held up his left hand, which was a prosthetic. Emma had, of course, noticed before, but she had never given it thought.

“I’m sorry, Killian. None of those are rumors going around school. I never expected-”

“It’s okay, Swan. I moved here after all that. I didn’t want to be surrounded by those memories any longer.” She stared into his crystal clear blue eyes as he divulged his tragic past to her. “Became emancipated early on, so I live alone now. I have to support myself, but it’s better than being forced to face my father back in England, which is what I was supposed to do when Liam died.”

“Liam - your brother?”

“Aye.”

Emma felt like she really understood why he acted the way he did - it was much the same as the reasons she acted the way she did. They were kindred spirits.

“Enough of that for one date. It’s going to ruin the mood.”

“There’s a mood?”

“Well, I was hoping there was because I have something to ask you.” She waited for him to continue. “Will you go to prom with me?”

“Killian, I- no.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “No?”

“No.”

“Can I ask why not?” She tried not to feel awful at his high-pitched, shaky voice.

“Because I don’t want to. It’s a stupid tradition.”

“People don’t expect you to go. You love surprising people.”

“Killian, I said no. Why are you pushing this?”

He broke eye contact. “Nothing, love. I just wanted to go to prom with the girl I fancy,” he huffed.

Emma sensed something was off. “What’s in it for you?”

“So now I need a motive to want to be with you?”

“You tell me.”

“Emma!” He threw his hands up.

“Answer the question, Killian.”

“Nothing.” He stood up in anger and headed back to his own car. “Nothing is in it for me. I just wanted to take you and give you a great night.” He stopped, turning around to face Emma again. “I know love has been all too rare in your life. It would do you good to not push it away when you have it.” Turning back around, he got into his car and slammed the door before driving away in anger. That certainly hurt worse than her wrist did.

Emma and Lily were at their lockers packing their backpacks before they headed home. Lily opened her locker to find a gorgeous dress with a note attached.

“Emma,” she smiled, “I have a secret admirer! He asked me to prom!” She held the dress up to herself and grinned even harder.

Emma wanted to be happy for her friend, she really did, but she wasn’t feeling it. So she forced a smile onto her face and told her friend to have fun at the dance before shutting her locker and heading home.

“Come in,” Emma muttered to whoever was knocking on her door. She was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Her TV was on, but she hadn’t been watching it for hours.

Mary Margaret didn’t enter the room, just poked her head into the door. “Just so you know, you’re not the only girl not going to prom. Dad said I can’t go because you aren’t. So, you know, if you want to stop hating yourself and do something, I’ll be around.”

Emma sat up. “Mary Margaret, wait.” Her sister walked in the room and sat on the corner of Emma’s bed. “I know you don’t like being stuck here just because I’m not dating, but don’t think I don’t care. I do care about your feelings, but I’m also big on doing something for your own reasons, and not someone else's.”

“But that’s selfish, Emma.”

“It’s protection.” She could see the questions in her sister’s brain. Emma decided she needed to tell Mary Margaret something she’d been avoiding for three years. “I guess Neal never mentioned that we went out, huh?”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened.

“When we were freshmen, we went out for a month.”

“You hate Neal,” Mary Margaret pointed out.

“Now,” Emma corrected.

“Well, what happened?” Mary Margaret crawled closer to Emma.

“We - well, we - you know.”

Mary Margaret seemed to stop breathing. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I really wish I could.” Emma bit her lip before continuing. “It was only once. Mom had just died, and I didn’t know how to process anything. He kept pressing the issue, so I gave in and did it. Once it happened, things became - I don’t know - clearer somehow. I told him that was it; I didn’t want to do it again. He got mad and dumped me.” Taking a breath, Emma kept talking. “After that, I swore I’d never do anything when I didn’t want to just because someone else did.”

“Why hasn’t he said anything? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I threatened him - told him if he ever told anyone, then I’d tell people how bad he was at it.”

“But you didn’t tell me either, Emma.”

“I wanted you to make your own mistakes, I guess.”

Mary Margaret seemed to understand to an extent, but a part of her was clearly still mad at everything she’d missed out on. “You helped Dad keep me hostage!”

“I’m sorry. Not all experiences are good ones, Mary Margaret!”

“I guess I’ll never know.” With that, she stood up and went to her own room.

Emma sighed and fell back on her pillows. Welp, she was going to prom after all.

“Well, no one will expect this,” Emma mumbled as she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She was wearing a pale pink dress - it wasn’t a floor-length dress, but Emma in a dress was still something.

Emma grabbed a jacket and ran down the stairs as quickly as she could in heels. “Bye, Dad. I’m going to prom.”

Leo Blanchard didn’t even look up away from the television set. “Funny, sweetie.”

Emma kept walking, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Leo only looked up when he heard the front door shut behind her. Getting up and going to investigate, Leo found his youngest daughter coming down the stairs in a floor-length gown.

“What’s going on, honey?”

“Prom,” she answered perkily.

“Yeah, that seems to be the word of the night.” He paused to think for a moment. “So Emma-”

“Went to prom. For me, Daddy. So now I can go.” As if on cue, there was a knock on the front door, which Mary Margaret answered.

David Nolan stood on the other side of the door, jaw dropping to the ground. “Hi.”

“Hi, David.” She took a step out of the house and linked arms with him before addressing her father. “Remember how you said I could date if Emma dated? Well, she found this guy who’s actually perfect for her, which is actually kind of perfect for me, because David asked me to go to the prom, and I really, really, really want to go. And since Emma went, I guess I’m allowed to.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” David extended a hand out to Leo, who shook it.

“I know every cop in town, young man,” Leo stared down David.

“Noted.”

“Okay, David. Let’s go.” Mary Margaret pulled David to his car, waving goodbye to her father on the way.

Wandering around the ballroom hallway aimlessly, Emma came face-to-face with Killian, dressed in an all-black tux.

“Wow, Swan. You look stunning.”

“And you look-”

“I know.” He smirked, and she laughed.

“Where did you get a tux?”

“Just something I had lying around.”

“Oh?”

“Where’d you get the dress?”

Emma grinned. “Just something I had lying around.”

“I wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work, but” he pulled his hand from behind his back, and in it was a single red rose.

“Thanks.” She took it, still smiling. “So, look; I’m really sorry I questioned your motives. I was wrong.”

“All forgiven.”

“So, are you ready to do this thing?”

Meanwhile, back at the Blanchard household, Leo was interrupted from his favorite show yet again when the doorbell rang. He opened it to find Neal Gold standing on the other side.

“Hello, Mr. Blanchard. I’m Neal. I’m here to pick up Mary Margaret.”

Leo narrowed his eyes before telling him, “she’s not here,” and slamming the door in his face.

Back at prom, Emma and Killian walked into the ballroom hand-in-hand. Emma immediately spotted Mary Margaret dancing with her date. Mary Margaret noticed Emma, too, mouthing a “thank you” and smiling at Emma and Killian’s entwined hands.

“Have you seen him, Emma?” Emma spun around on the spot to find Lily looking frantic.

“Who?”

“My secret admirer! He said he’d be here, and he’s supposed to have a purple bowtie.”

“Lily, I don’t know how to tell you this, but-”

“Lass,” Killian tapped Lily on the shoulder and pointed toward the front of the room, right in front of the stage.

Lily ran over to her secret admirer, none other than August Booth, who greeted her with a kiss on the hand.

Turning her attention back to her date, Emma tucked the rose into Killian’s jacket pocket.

“So do we dance?”

“Yes, but wait thirty seconds.”

“What?” Emma furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do we have to wait?”

“Song’s ending.”

They both clapped as the band finished a song. The next song started playing, but the band’s lead singer wasn’t singing. Emma recognized that voice.

“No way!”

Killian was grinning ear-to-ear.

“It’s Avril!”

“I called in a favor.”

“You did this?” He shrugged, ears tinged red. She stepped up onto her toes and kissed him.

By the time they pulled away, the song was a quarter over. When they finally parted, Killian held out his hand. “Can I have this dance?”

“Of course.”

Freshening up in the bathroom, Mary Margaret was joined at the sink by Tamara.

“I just thought you should know that Neal’s here with me tonight.”

Mary Margaret froze. “Well, he’s all yours, Tam.”

“How generous, Princess.” Tamara checked her makeup and smirked as she turned to face Mary Margaret. “And just so you know, Neal only liked you for one reason. He had a bet going with his friends. He just wanted to get in your pants tonight.”

Mary Margaret dropped her phone into the sink as she stared at Tamara, who strutted out of the bathroom.

Back on the dance floor, Emma and Killian continued to dance.

“How are you so good at this? I usually have two left feet when I dance.”

“You’re a soccer player.”

“I can play soccer. I can’t dance.”

Killian pressed a kiss to Emma’s cheek and pulled her impossibly closer.

“Lucky for you, there’s only one rule for dancing: Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma threw her head back with laughter as Killian’s eyebrows jumped.

Unfortunately, their dance was interrupted by Neal, who grabbed Killian’s shoulder and pulled him aside.

“What the hell is Mary Margaret doing here with that asshat? I didn’t pay you to take out Emma so that some little punk could steal Mary Margaret from under me!”

Emma actually gasped out loud at the revelation. The hurt flashed over her. She confronted Killian. “Nothing in it for you? Yeah, right.” Emma ran from the ballroom, tears already falling. Killian followed.

“Emma, please let me explain.”

Emma turned to him, not caring how she looked mid-crying fit. “You were paid to take me out by the one person I truly hate. I knew it.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really? What was it like - a down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?”

“No. No, I didn’t care about the money, okay? I cared-” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I cared about you.”

She stared him down for a minute, neither of them talking. She shook her head. “You are so not who I thought you were.”

Neal went straight up to David, flaring with anger, and punched him in the nose. David fell to the ground.

“Oh, come on. Get up, you wuss.”

Neal turned around to leave, just in time to be socked in the jaw by Mary Margaret.

“What the hell, Mary Margaret! I have a modeling gig tomorrow!”

“That’s for making my date bleed.” She punched him in the nose. “That’s for my sister.” She kneed him in a particularly sensitive male area. “And that’s for me.”

Watching Neal rolling on the ground, Mary Margaret helped David up, asking him, “are you okay?”

Despite the blood flowing from his nose, he grinned, answering honestly, “never better.”

Emma was listening to music in her room when Mary Margaret walked in with a mug.

“Hot chocolate and cinnamon.”

Emma took the mug. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to lunch with David and me?”

“I’m sure.”

“It’ll be fun,” she gently nudged Emma with her elbow.

“It’s fine, Mary Margaret. I promise.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you to prom. And everything with Killian. You’re miserable because of me.”

Emma took both of her earbuds out. “It’s not because of you. It’s because of Killian and Neal. And I’m glad I went. Now I know.”

“Well, I really appreciate that you went last night. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad you had a good night.”

The girls were interrupted by a knock on the front door. “That’s probably David.”

“Go, Mary Margaret. Have fun, okay?”

Mary Margaret nodded as she slowly left Emma’s room.

Emma’s next guest was her father, who came in basically as soon as her sister left.

“So tell me about the prom. You seemed pretty upset when you came home.”

“It wasn’t all bad, I guess. Parts of it were fun.”

Leo made himself comfortable on the bean bag chair on Emma’s floor. “Which parts?”

“The part where Mary Margaret beat the crap out of this guy.”

“Mary Margaret did what?”

“Are you upset I rubbed off on her?”

“No. Impressed, actually.”

Emma was thrown off by her father’s approval.

“You know, when you moved in with us, Emma, your walls were up pretty high. Over the years, you let them down and opened up to us. Then your mother died, and you closed yourself off again. You haven’t been the same since the accident. But these last few weeks, you’ve been almost happy.” Emma took a sip of her cocoa. “You don’t tell me much these days, but whatever was going on, I liked seeing you smile again.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just - everyone I’ve ever loved left me. I was abandoned as a baby, the one family I felt a part of before yours gave me back, and then Mom died. I just didn’t want to feel like that again. But now-” Emma sighed.

“Emma,” Leo started, “why do you think I refused to let your sister date? I wanted to protect her from that. You know, I still don’t know how to deal with it sometimes.”

Emma looked at her father, feeling an understanding for the first time in years.

“But I promise, Emma, your sister and I aren’t going anywhere.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” Emma wiped a tear falling down her cheek.

“I know. But-”

“I know.” Emma smiled at her father before putting her mug down and hugging him. “I’m sorry about the last three years.”

“Oh, Emma. No. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Leo stood up to leave, things cleared up between them for the first time in years. “Whatever has you feeling down again, I hope it gets worked out.”

“Me too.”

“I assume everyone has found the time to complete their sonnets,” Mr. Pendragon opened class. “Anyone brave enough to read theirs aloud?”

Every student in the room tried to avoid eye contact with Mr. Pendragon so they wouldn’t be called on.

“Anyone?”

Emma slowly raised her hand. “I’ll do it.”

Killian’s head jerked up, and Mr. Pendragon expected the worst.

Emma grabbed her notebook and went to the front of the room. Opening it to her bookmarked page, she started reading, keeping her voice as monotone as her emotion would allow.

“I hate the way you talk like that and the way your hair stands up. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb jacket and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick. It even makes me rhyme.” Emma paused, then continued, slowly feeling the emotions bubbling over. She took a deep breath. “I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.” Emma wiped her eyes and continued, crying in front of the whole class. “I hate it when you're not around and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly, I hate the way I don't hate you - not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” Fully crying and not able to cope, Emma clutched the notebook to her chest and took off out the classroom, not risking a look at Killian.

After school that day, Emma walked to her car, more than ready to go home after the day she had. She opened the door of her car to put her backpack on the seat, and she was met with a brand-new guitar. She threw her backpack into the backseat and pulled the guitar out.

“No way!”

“Nice, huh?” Emma swung around to see Killian smirking behind her.

“Yeah! Is this- is this for me?”

“Aye. I thought you could use it, you know, when you start your band. I also may have talked to your sister. She said your mum used to play.” He talked to her sister for her?! Emma wasn’t sure what was more shocking - the fact that he spoke to her sister for intel or that her sister kept the whole thing a secret. “Besides, I had some extra cash. You know, some asshole paid me to take out a really great girl.” He closed her car door and leaned back against it.

Emma couldn’t quite keep from smiling. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he scratched the spot behind his ear. “But I screwed up. I - well, I fell for her.”

Both of them blushed at the confession.

“Really?”

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s always been you.” She balanced the guitar against the side of her car before grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket and pulling him to her, kissing him hard.

He pulled away but kept his face within mere inches of hers. “It’s not every day you find a girl who will sprain her wrist to get you out of detention.”

“Oh, god. You were never supposed to know about that.” She laughed anyway. He peppered her face with kisses - her cheek, her chin, her jaw, her nose. She pushed his head away when he got back to her lips. “You can’t just buy me a guitar every time you screw up, you know?”

“I know. But there’s always drums and bass, and maybe even one day a tambourine.” He kissed her as her grin grew.

She broke the kiss apart again. “And don’t just think you can-”

He shut her up with a kiss. And this time, neither one pulled away.  

[modernlcve]

*  —  stats —   scott levy !

* — basics !

full name:   benjamin scott levy. nickname(s):   goes exclusively by scott. age:   thirty - eight. date of birth:   october third. place of birth:   rockport,   maine. gender:   male. pronouns:   he / him. sexual orientation:   gay. level of education:   high school graduate. bachelor’s degree in business administration.

* — physical !

tattoos:  none. piercings:   used to have an earring but.   he gave up on that a hot minute ago. notable features:   his broken spirit. weakness(es):   he has a bad knee :/ scar(s):   two short ones on his forearm.

* — domestic !

occupation:   district manager of the superstore. residence:  he’s got a small apartment about 30 minutes outside of whatever city Superstore HQ is in. social class:   middle class. parents:   howard levy,   age 65,   very practical & dry.   for every bit awkward scott is,   his dad is twice as bad.   deborah levy, age 58,   she means well,   but in looking for the past of least resistance,   comes off as a doormat. siblings:   caroline levy,   age 31,   his younger sister and,  quite frankly,   the only person in the family to have a real personality. extended family:   he’s largely out of contact with his extended  family.   his grandparents are all deceased,   his father has one brother,   scott’s namesake,   but they’re not on great terms.   he tries to stay decently involved in the lives of his nieces,   caroline’s two daughters,   addie (7) and ella (4).

* — personality !

positive traits:   amiable.   solicitous.   reliable. negative traits:   insecure.   mistrustful.   awkward. myers-briggs ( x ):   infj;   the advocate. temperament:   sanguine. moral alignment:   neutral good. horoscope:  libra,   the scales. hogwarts house:  hufflepuff.

* — favorites !

movie:    wayne’s world. tv show:   saturday night live. book:   the outsiders. drink:   diet coke Fuckers food:   a good italian sandwich animal:   goats. color:   green. song:   freedom ‘90! by george michael. artist:   counting crows. celebrity crush:   i’m not saying leonardo dicaprio in romeo + juliet caused his first notable gay panic but.

* — impressions !

first impression:  he’s boring.   like,   plain and simple, he’s a bit of the stick in the mud and a little awkward. he obviously wants to be liked,   which sometimes just amplifies the whole Awkward thing. self impression:   he’s a little self-deprecating.   he was the weird kid growing up,   which lead to a decent amount of bullying,   and then on top of it,  he spent most of his life trying to just Repress basic facts about himself,   which doesn’t make for the most positive self image. lover impression:   he’s really still figuring this out.   just in  general,   he craves validation in case i haven’t said it 200 times yet,   and that would definitely track into his relationships. he’s a little needy and insecure,   but he really is well meaning.

* — et cetera !

turn ons:   kindness.   confidence.   a little bit of Weirdness enough that he doesn’t feel like a complete freak u know turn offs:   rudeness.   pda.   selfishness. drink/drugs/smoke:   yes/no/no. dominant hand:   right. clean or messy:   clean. early bird or night owl:   night owl. hobbies or special talents:   he’s logged enough hours doing sudoku puzzles that i think he’s technically a master.   also weirdly good at skiball,   as if he will ever play it again.

* — QUESTIONNAIRE !

01. where was your character born? what brought them to boston? what do they like most about the town?

scott was born in rockport,   maine.   he comes to boston on work.   he likes it well enough.   he likes the anonymity in a city of its size and the fresh start it’s given him.   especially since he’s not steadily living there,   he feels like whenever he’s in town he’s getting another fresh start,   a little break from his reputation in his hometown or his isolated way of living at home.

02. who are your character’s friends and family? who do they surround themselves with? who are the people your character is closest to?

scott’s most consistent family has been his younger sister,   caroline,   her husband jarrod,   and their daughters,   addie and ella.  even during the span of time he wasn’t in contact with their parents,   caroline did her best to include him on holidays and milestones,   even if it meant celebrating an extra time.   scott spent a solid few years nearly estranged from his parents before he reached back out to them,   and they started working on patching things up.   they were Less than thrilled when he came out in his late twenties after a year of being engaged to some girl from another Nice Respectable family,   but they’ve worked on getting back to an Okay place in the best few years,   which has meant a to him.   he doesn’t have many friends,   mostly work acquaintances and buddies from school he links up with every now and then because weird kids stick together.

03. what is your character’s biggest fear? who have they told this to? who would they never tell this to? why?

scott is just genuinely afraid of not being likable.   and it’s linked to a lot of things,   and just the fact that he’s never felt like he fit in or like things have clicked together and been Right for him.   he wants to find connection with others,   he wants to feel like he’s finally found a spot in the world where he can be himself and be accepted and not have to worry about stuff like that anymore.   he hasn’t told this to anyone,   because one of the few things he’s picked up on in interacting w/ others is that telling them you want to be liked doesn’t make them like you.   he absolutely wouldn’t mention it to felix because part of what he admires about him is the fact that he’s so sure of himself and set in who he is,   and he doesn’t want to go drawing attention to the fact that he doesn’t have that.

04. has your character ever been in love? had a broken heart?

i don’t think he’s ever Really been in love.   things tend to fall apart for him,   but since he’s never had that Big Love feeling,   there’s no big brokenhearted drama when things are broken off.   he’s probably had a couple significant boyfriends but he can’t bring himself to be the type to hold grudges,   because even though he got dumped,   they were mostly not dicks about it,   and he walked away from the splits mostly blaming himself.

06. it’s saturday at noon. what is your character doing? give details.

depends on where he is.   if he’s at home,   he’s taking care of all the chores and errands that have gone neglected while he was gone.   if he’s out in boston,   it’s more likely that he’s doing something more Fun,   soaking up staying in the city and getting to see the people he knows there.   he likes a good brunch,   so he could be wrapping that up around noon.

07. what is one strong memory that has stuck with your character since childhood?

the year is 1990.   scott has planned the perfect performance for the fifth grade variety show.   yeah his ass got out there and gave his rendition of ice ice baby his very best.   yeah he tried to muster up as much swag as he possibly could.   and yeah he got made fun of for it in high school.   but you know what?   for the moment at age ten people cheered for him for the first time and he felt like he was a fucking rockstar and yeah maybe every soft joke at the opening of store meetings is a vain attempt to get even 1/100th of that feeling but.   it just stands out to him as one of the last times he was unabashedly himself and made to feel valid for it.

09. what is something that upsets your character? where do they go when they’re upset?

again that general feeling of Placelessness is a big deal for him,   which like,   way to take a job that requires travelling that makes that worse moron.   loneliness is a Big thing that’ll bum him out.   when he’s upset,   he likes to go see a movie,   or go to some buzzed about restaurant,   and just treat himself to an afternoon out or something,   as if trying to make a point that he can be perfectly happy and live an exciting and rich life all by himself.

10. when your character thinks of their childhood kitchen, what smell do they associate with it? why?

his mom was a strong believer in cleaning with vinegar.   they were prone to ordering food out for a lot of his childhood,   or everyone fending for themselves,   but even when there wasn’t much cooking going on,   the room still stenched of vinegar,   no matter how many candles were lit.

[stoopsbookstore]

Daggers (Part 2)

Genre - Suspense? Mystery? Smluff?

Warnings - Long fucking chapter. Most likely probably gonna be the only chapter without violence.

Pairing - None, as of right now

"Douglas Louis's daughter, Y/N, was attacked earlier tonight by, who cops are saying, a man who used to work for Mr. Louis. His daughter is currently being treated at the Francis Dale Hospital. More on this story as it develops."

Y/N throws a pillow at the TV, hoping that it will somehow change to a trashy reality show. Sejeong looked at her best friend, "if you break it, I think you have to pay for it."

"Jeong-Jeong, I really don't care right now."

"Well, you're gonna have to care about this situation, some guy attacks you and then a masked hero saves you, but you didn't tell them that. You need to say someth-"

"I can't. I don't even know who the guy was."

"You said one of them sounded like that kid who was at the coffee shop earlier, what about that?"

Sejeong did have a point, Y/N distinctly remembered the voice of her classmate, Haechan. He always seemed to be texting his friend in class. Y/N felt bad for looking at someone's phone, but when it's the only light in a darkened area, she couldn't help but look over. The contact name was Mark and then what she assumed was his Korean name. Haechan was a transfer student, just one of many, from the Smith Masters Academy. More are supposed to be arriving throughout the month, but so far, it's only been Haechan and some girl named Joy.

"Before we leave, ma'am," a cop came in the room along with Y/N's dad, "we just want to make sure what happened is what happened."

"I was attacked by some maniac and I don't know what happened after that."

"Are you sure? The doctor said there was no sign of any head injury," Y/N nodded as the cop was talking.

"I'm positive, I don't remember anything."

Sejeong looked at her friend with disappointment in her eyes and the cop left.

"Honey, they said you'll be here for the night, just to be safe and you'll be discharged in the morning. Me and Sejeong have to go," Sejeong stood up and got ready to call an uber when Mr. Louis cut her off, "I'll give you a ride home."

Mr. Louis gave Y/N a kiss on her forehead and Sejeong hugged her, she whispered in Y/N's ear, "Please don't do anything stupid." Y/N let go and pinky-promised.

"I'll try not to."

When they left, the rest of the night was relatively calm. Y/N was soundly sleeping, but she woke up around 2:09am and she could've swore she saw a man standing outside her window. She thought it was just a dream and promptly fell back asleep.

Two guys sat on the roof by the window, wearing all black and masks that covered most of their face, only exposing the eyes.

"Hyung, do you think she saw?"

"I don't know, Gadget. But we need to tell him that she's safe, she's being treated and she's sleeping. And I've told you don't call me Hyung when we're in a mission."

"Well, excuse me, Chameleon!"

"This is why we don't let you go out on missions, now come on. We have to get back."

The next morning, Y/N was picked up by her father and discharged with no complications. "Here, just some numbers if you need to talk to someone." A nurse handed Y/N some papers and they were off on their way.

"Before you hate me, we're gonna having some guests, there's 9 of them," her dad said from the passenger seat, handing her a bag of clothes, "They're transfer students, I offered for them to stay, and yes, one of them is that Haechan boy from your computer class. I planned on telling you last night."

Y/N sat in silence while she changed out of her scrubs.

Her dad sighed, "I can sense your excitement, they're waiting for us at home."

Y/N waited, her anxiety through the roof. She was about to have 9 new roommates and one of them was her classmate. She has heard rumors about Haechan, about how he's a serial killer and just Satan in the body of a kid. What if he finds her diary? What if he goes through her phone and finds the photos of her celebrity crushes? In the time she spent worrying about the boys, the car came to an abrupt stop.

"Honey, we're home," her dad's voice echoed throughout the car, waking her up from her anxious daydream. Y/N grabbed her bags and started to walk her way towards the door.

"What did Sejeong tell you last night? Don't do anything stupid, was it?"

Y/N chuckled, opening to the door to the huge 3-story mansion and immediately getting ran over by a body built like a tree.

"Oh shit, Y/N, I'm so sorry, let me help you up," a boy with curly, light brown hair stretched out his arm to pull the fallen girl up.

"It's okay, I'm fine, really. I'm assuming you're one of my new houseguests? And why were you running?"

"Johnny, at your service. The rest of us are somewhere, I think Taeil, Doyoung and Yuta are in the living room. Me, Winwin and Jaehyun are trying to chase a cat that's been runn-"

"Enough said, that's my cat, Drippy."

"I'm scared to ask why you have a cat named Drippy"

"He's a kitten one of the foster girls gave me before I left, she found him during a rainstorm and he dripped everywhere. He's about 7, so if you could not give him a heart attack, that would be fantastic."

A cough interrupted Y/N and Johnny's conversation, another boy, covered in leaves and with a rather annoyed expression, holding a fat munchkin cat stood by the staircase heading up to the second floor.

"Winwin, and I assume this is Drippy," Winwin spoke. The cat bit his arm and ran away, "fucking asshole. You," He said, pointing at Johnny, "The cat's a dick too" Y/N went up to Winwin and took a look at his arm, "don't worry, he's not poisonous, looks like he broke the skin, but it's not that bad, I've had harder," Winwin blushed at the seemingly innuendo.

Y/N noticed the blush, "Uh, oh, no- not like that."

A few awkward moments passed.

"Let's go clean this up, I'll see you later, Johnny."

Leaving the giant man standing in the foyer, Y/N took Winwin to the guest bathroom and looked for the first aid kit.

"He's normally not like that unless he's scared. He's a very chill cat, he's just not used to have a boy, let alone 9 around him."

Winwin stood in silence while Y/N found the kit, "this may sting a little, but it's just a cleaner," Y/N spritz the bite, causing Winwin to wince a bit. Y/N wiped it dry and stuck a band-aid on the wound.

"There, it's fine now, no infection, now you can make up a cool story you can tell if someone asks what happened."

Silence from the male.

"Okay. I'll be going, let me know if you want a tou-"

"Be careful of Hyung, please."

Winwin spoke, eyes bugged out, before running out of the room.

Y/N mumbled to herself, "What?"

"Y/N, come down to the foyer to meet the guys," her father's voice boomed.

Y/N didn't waste any second to race back through the first floor to see 9 boys standing, talking with her dad. There was one who stopped talking with everyone to just stare at her. He had dark brunette hair, his hair was laid across his forehead, covered in sweat. He must be Jaehyun, sweaty from chasing Drippy around the house.

"Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Y/N Louis. She's been living with me for about 7 years and she's the star of my eye, my rare gem, who hopefully will take over my business in a few years. Y/N, these are the transfer students who will be staying with us." Y/N's father walked to an average height boy and started to introduce them.

"This is Taeil, Johnny, Taeyong, Yuta, Doyoung, Jaehyun, Winwin, Mark and I know you already know Haechan. Quinn already gave them the house tour, except for Jaehyun, so if you don't mind sharing him around, that would be fantastic," he said, turning to the guys, "if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask."

8 of the boys took that as a dismissal and scurried off like cockroaches in the middle of the night, leaving just Y/N and Jaehyun.

"I don't have to show you around, you can go play with Haechan and Drippy," she said half-giggling, partly due to the awkwardness of standing in front of an attractive guy.

"Uh, actually I heard something about a library, I'd like to see that if possible." When Y/N heard this, her eyes lit up.

"Yea, it's my favorite place, come on," Y/N grabbed Jaehyun's wrist and dragged him up the stairs, all the way down the right hallway and opened the door at the end. The library was huge, two stories, it looked like it was an actual library someone would find in the middle of a small town. Y/N let out of his wrist and started to run through the shelves.

"When I was younger, I would always run through the shelves and play hide and seek with some of the staff," she felt a security in the huge space, she could feel herself spilling her guts to nothing, even though there was a 6 foot guy standing at the door.

"I thought you were supposed to give me a tour," He spoke up.

"I will if you find me," Y/N's voice echos throughout the space.

It was like a switch flipped in Jaehyun's brain. He ran in between every shelf, up and down the aisles of books.

"You know, for someone who just got home from the hospital, you're very hyper," Jaehyun said. He found a bookshelf that looked out of place, he pushed it in and finally found the girl sitting in a bay window with a sketch book and some paints.

"I knew as soon as I got these out, you would find me," the troublemaker sighed, putting her paints back.

"You don't have to get me the tour now, we can just stay here if you want."

"No, you need the tour, I just wanted to have some fun after last night."

Jaehyun stiffened at the mention of the night before, "yea, it's nice to know you're okay. Haechan talks to Mark about you all the time." The girl seemed shocked.

"Huh?"

"Oh, Haechan and Mark are best friends, they're like little brothers to the rest of us," he confessed as the two walked through the shelves, "we saw it on the news and Haechan started crying, he said you're the only person to ever care about him at that hellhole of a school."

"Well, from what I've seen, he's a good kid, I don't believe any of that crazy bullshit people say about him."

Y/N and Jaehyun walked around in silence, until his hand nudged hers.

"Uhh..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mea-,"

"Jaehyun, it's fine."

As Y/N continued to walk forward, Jaehyun blurted out, "Hey, I know we just met, but what about a date later tonight in your little nook?"

Y/N looked at the tall boy who's strutting in front of her, thinking.

"How about midnight? That way we know everyone is asleep."

"I'll be there."

(E/N) Part 2! Also, I have figured out how to turn on questions and anon, so feel free to do the "Ask my Muses" or request a drabble. I'm off to work on the Pixie!Pristin post while putting off cleaning my room.

[daphnewritings]

Chapter 4: Asphodel & Wormwood

Summary: It’s Friday and they’re in Potions

Warnings: Snape bullying children because he’s a piece of shit

Word Count: 2.3k

- Chapter 3 / Chapter 5 - 

By the end of his first week at Hogwarts, Draco had decided that it wasn’t so much that he didn’t like Harry Potter. He loathed him.

He couldn’t go anywhere in the whole school without hearing his name. Even the professors weren’t above the gossip. Just the day before, he’d heard Flitwick, the Charms professor talking to Sprout about how Potter had set fire to a feather in his class and, “isn’t that just so charming?” He hadn’t even intended to make the pun, Draco was sure of it.

When the sun rose on Friday morning, Draco was tempted to smother himself with his own pillow. He had a modicum amount of respect for Professor Snape, and he didn’t want it to be ruined today when the Slytherins shared their first potions class with the Gryffindors.

Suddenly, Draco’s pillow was yanked from his arms only to be used as a weapon against him as Blaise slapped it back down across his face, “Wake up, you lazy ass, or you’ll miss breakfast.”

Draco grabbed the pillow back and hugged it to him so Blaise would stop hitting him with it. Then he promptly sat up, pressed his face to it, and yelled, “I can’t take it anymore!” Although it was slightly muffled, Draco looked up at Blaise to see if his mini breakdown had gotten any reaction. Beyond a slightly arched brow, Blaise obviously didn’t care more than he did during any of the other occasions this week when Draco had whined about how annoying Potter’s very existence was.

Rolling to his left, he stood up and then flopped down onto Theo’s bed dramatically. Looking up at him, Draco puffed out his bottom lip and pouted, “Theo, be a dear and kill me before I have to step into a room with him.”

“Him who?” Theo asked absently from where he sat crisscross by Draco’s head. He was clutching what was supposed to be a neatly tied tie around his neck. Instead, it just looked like a massive knot.

“Don’t get him started,” Blaise said.

Rolling onto his side and propping his head on his fist, Draco said, “Now there’s no need to be short Blaise.”

Blaise glared at him and Draco just smiled smugly. He rolled over onto his back again, practically right into Theo’s lap. “And I’m talking about The Boy Who Lived of course. Don’t you know? Everyone in this damn castle won’t shut up about him.”

Theo sighed heavily, “Oh, I thought you might’ve finally moved on to someone else to obsess over.”

Draco sat up at top speed, his hand pressing to his chest in offense. “I am not obsessed.” Blaise snorted and Draco whipped his head around to glare at him. “I’m not!”

“Sure mate, whatever you say,” Blaise called over his shoulder as he crossed the room to the door and pulled it open. Standing on the other side was Pansy, her fist raised to knock. Draco had been forced to have a very serious talk with her about boundaries and manners after she’d accidentally walked in on him changing a few days ago. He was relieved to see that at least she was stopping to knock first before she busted into their room.

Pansy breezed past Blaise without sparing him a glance and walked over to Theo’s bed to deftly pull his tie into a more presentable knot. Draco then swatted her hands away and retied the entire thing himself. This had become their morning routine starting the first day when said incident of her walking in on him changing had happened. “Do you know what class we’re up for today?”

Pansy rolled her eyes and sat down on Draco’s bed, which he had still yet to make. “Yes, Draco, everyone and their bloody grandmother knows what class we have today and who is going to be in it thanks to you and your endless complaining.”

“You cannot tell me that you aren’t the least bit annoyed by Potter.”

“Actually, I can,” she sniped.

Draco huffed and went to lay his head back down in Theo’s lap, but he was shoved back up by Theo. “Oh no, I am not missing breakfast just so you aren’t left alone while you sulk,” Theo said as he pushed Draco off his bed altogether. Draco looked down his nose at him as Theo stood up and started going through his drawers, pulling out his sweater vest and his robe. Kicking his drawers closed with a stockinged foot, Theo laced up his boots swiftly and turned to Pansy. “Fancy some toast, my dear?” he said in an overly pompous voice.

Pansy leaped up from Draco’s bed and looped her arm through his, “I’d be delighted to, sweetheart.”

Realizing he was indeed going to be left alone, Draco said, “Wait!” They both turned to him with arched brows and watched as he scrambled around his bed, yanking the sheets into place and then flew to his own bureau to start pulling out his school outfit. Realizing they were still watching him as he pulled his shirt off, he said, scandalized, “Well, turn around! This isn’t a show!” They both giggled, but he ignored them as he hastily got dressed.

Pulling his sweater vest over his head, he slipped into his leather boots as Pansy said, “Can we look now, Draco? Or are you still making sure you’re all laced up, you bloody prude?” Draco scoffed in answer as he poured some hair gel into his hands and walked over to the sinks in the middle of the room.

He heard the sound of shuffling feet as his friends pivoted. When Pansy saw what he was doing, she exclaimed, “Draco, I’m not missing breakfast just so you can make sure your hair is perfectly slicked back!” then she pulled Theo with her to the door. Draco merely smirked at himself in the mirror as he ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face. Once he was satisfied that not a hair was out of place, he washed his hands off and followed his two friends out the door.

>< 

After a breakfast of muffins and tea, Draco led his pack of friends down to the dungeon where Potions was held. He would never admit this to anyone, and least of all to himself, but he was actually interested to see Potter again. This was the only class they shared together apparently, much to Draco’s hidden chagrin and outward relief.

I just want to see if there’s anything to Father’s theories, he told himself. Yes, that was it. He heaved open the dark wooden door and stepped into the dimly lit room. There were jars upon jars of floating things lining one wall and dried ingredients lining the other.

A few Gryffindors were already seated around the various scarred wooden tables spaced throughout the room. Draco chose one of two that were at the front of the room and hung his bag off the back of a chair. Crabbe and Goyle took the ends of the square table respectively, and Blaise regally reclined across from Draco in his own chair. Pansy, with Theo trailing behind her, chose the table behind Draco with a huff, obviously annoyed at being excluded from his table by the ever present forms of Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco turned in his seat with a simpering smile. “Now Pansy, you must realize that-” but his mind went blank due to the fact that Potter and the Weasel had walked through the door. They locked eyes across the room and Draco sneered.

Turning to see what had caught Draco’s attention, Pansy mumbled, “Here we go.” Then she started pulling supplies out of her own bag, which lay in a heap on the floor, ignoring the metaphorical daggers being shot across the room between the two boys.

Potter and Weasley took up at the table in the second row from Snape’s desk, diagonally across from Draco’s own. The other table in the front of the room had been taken up by a group of Gryffindor girls, one of which being the curly haired girl that had brushed Draco aside on the train. Of course she’d turn out to be a Gryffindor, he thought.

Then Snape finally entered the classroom, his black robes billowing behind him. Beginning the class in the same fashion as every other professor had that week, he started taking roll. After calling on “Parvati Patil”, Snape paused and said slowly, “Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity.”

Draco’s mouth nearly popped open in surprise at the sheer amount of venom in Snape’s voice. He heard both Crabbe and Goyle’s smothered sniggers as Snape continued on with the rest of the list of names.

Finally, he waved his wand over the parchment and vanished it wordlessly. Snape stepped out from behind his raised desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “You are here to learn the precise art of potion-making”, he began, his voice quiet, “Since there is no foolish wand waving, I don’t expect all of you to think of this as true magic, nor do I expect all of you to fully appreciate the subtle power of the liquids that you will make during your time in this class. But, if you are intelligent enough to follow the instructions I give you while you are within this room, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.” The class was silent, hanging off of Snape’s every word as he drew himself up in front of Draco’s table. “That is, if you aren’t like the usual collection of idiots that I typically teach every year.”

Snape’s dark eyes met Draco’s and Draco could’ve sworn that the corner of his lips twitched up in a slight smile before he smoothly shifted his gaze away from Draco’s and said loudly, “Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of the asphodel tree to an infusion of wormwood?”

Draco looked over his shoulder at Potter, watching him look at the Weasel with a confused expression on his face. The girl with the bushy hair’s hand shot up as Potter said, “I don’t know, sir.”

Snape’s lip curled in a sneer, “Interesting.”

He swept back towards his desk. “Shall we try again? Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar Potter?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Didn’t think to crack open a book before coming here, Potter?” Draco was having to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep his unexpected laughter to himself. He’d thought Snape would treat Potter differently, give him special treatment, but this was something else. Snape wasn’t just resentful towards Potter. He was downright nasty.

Malfoy loved it.

Meanwhile, Crabbe and Goyle were both rocking back and forth with their own suppressed laughter. Blaise just pulled his full bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes glued to the ceiling as he tried to stop laughter borne tears from escaping down his dark cheeks.

“Let’s try once more Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Draco looked over his shoulder at Potter again and saw that he was now glaring defiantly up at Snape. “I don’t know sir, but I think Hermione clearly does. Why don’t you ask her?” A few people chuckled and Draco noticed that the curly haired girl was indeed standing up, her hand still thrust in the air.

“Sit down,” Snape told her, and the chuckling stopped. He circled around to Potter’s table and towered over him, his hands still clasped behind his back. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is called the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and will save you from most known poisons. Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant which also happens to go by a third name, aconite.” Snape turned in a swirl of black robes and snapped, “Well? Why aren’t you all writing this down?”

Amongst the sudden flurry of sound as the other students pulled out their parchment and quills, Draco heard Snape say softly, the acidity in his voice prevalent, “Clearly fame isn’t everything.” Snape then stalked back to his desk, calling over his shoulder, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor, Potter, for your cheek.” Draco whistled softly under his breath as he turned to face forward, quill and parchment in hand.

In the span of those few minutes that Snape had been ripping into Potter, Draco had decided that Potions was now his favorite class.

The class only continued to get better as Snape continuously praised Draco for how well he was brewing the simple boil curing solution and vilify nearly everyone else. Towards the end of class, as they were adding the last few ingredients, a large cloud of noxious green smoke suddenly filled right side of the dungeon around Potter’s table and Draco could barely contain his glee.

Longbottom, who was also seated at Potter’s table, had done something truly ghastly to his potion that was making it melt straight through his cauldron and onto the stone floor. As it spread across the floor, Draco swooped down and snatched up Pansy’s bag before climbing up onto his table. She looked at him gratefully as she leaped up onto her own table, the potion hissing as it passed underneath them.

Snape cleared the potion off the floor and started snarling at Potter again after he sent Longbottom and a smaller, sandy haired Gryffindor boy who had been his partner up to the hospital wing. The verbal altercation resulted in another point lost from Gryffindor and Draco leaving the room in significantly higher spirits than when he’d walked in.

< Chapter 3 / Chapter 5 >

[zoemurph]

dewey decimals

on ao3

i was doing a close reading assignment the other night and i started thinking about connor as an english major and then i started thinking about connor as a librarian and now im here

enjoy this and also my opinions on wuthering heights

Connor loves books.

He does, no matter what look Larry gives him whenever he locks himself in his room to read for a few hours. Larry probably thinks he’s getting high. Okay yes, sometimes he’s just getting high. But he also reads.

It’s cliche as fuck, but books are the best friends Connor’s got. They can’t hate him or judge him or abandon him. They’re just there. Plus it’s pretty morbid to sometimes think about how they’re insights to the minds of people who are dead.

So yeah, Connor likes books. He likes classics and gothic novels and young adult lit and middle grade books. He doesn’t really get book snobs, because there are shitty books in every genre. He tries to give all books a try.

Except Twilight. Zoe went through a Twilight phase. Fuck Twilight.

Loving books means that he should probably like his job more than he does. But he doesn’t love it. Because being a part time librarian is boring as shit.

All Connor has gotten from this experience is minimum wage and the ability to alphabetize things relatively fast.

Libraries are not active places. They just sort of exist. If Connor were anything like his father — and the day they become alike at all is the day he jumps out a window — he would say that libraries were dying because everyone was too focused on technology these days or something. Which is partially true, but the local library also…sucks.

They don’t get new books quickly, the computers they do have are old as fuck, and everything is slightly dusty. Which is just annoying, because Connor literally dusts on a weekly basis. It’s part of his job. Where the fuck is this dust coming from? They may be right across from the high school, but most high schoolers have better things to do than sit in a dimly lit library for a few hours. Like getting high behind McDonald’s.

Most of Connor’s job is cleaning. Which is ironic because his room is a travesty. But as boring as it is, there’s something weirdly calming about shelving books. There’s a nice routine in pushing the cart through the shelves, making sure all the books are in the right order, pushing them all up to the right part of the shelf so they’re all perfectly aligned.

Sometimes the head librarian misplaces the duster. That switches things up.

Once all the books are reshelved and the shelves are straightened and dusted, Connor makes himself comfortable at the front desk. On slow days like this (but who is he kidding, every day is a slow day), he just sits at the desk and reads a random book until someone needs to check out books or needs help. Usually he’s kind of shit about the help part, but he’s getting better.

Some of the more elderly visitors like him, they find him charming or something. Entertaining maybe. Suburban mothers judge him for having his combat boots up on the desk. They also judge him for his hair and his piercings and the fact that he hasn’t worn a color other than black in two years. They literally keep their children away from him as long as they can. It’s more amusing than insulting, besides, kids think his hair is fucking awesome.

But almost no one is in the library today. It’s one of the slowest days they’ve had in weeks, which means Connor is able to get comfortable in the old desk chair and ignore all the other happenings of the world for much longer than usual.

Today, he’s reading Wuthering Heights. It’s for class, but he doesn’t hate it so that’s an improvement from the last book they were assigned. Supposedly it’s a romance but Connor isn’t seeing it. Some girl in his english class is trying to convince them all that it is, but whenever she brings it up, Connor just flips back to the page where Heathcliff breaks into Catherine’s coffin to see her dead body.

Sexy.

He tugs on his hair as he squints at the page, trying to see any sort of romance in any of these relationships. It all kind of just sucks.

“E-excuse me?”

Connor looks up without lowering his book. Libraries aren’t known for their customer service, right? “Can I help you?” he asks flatly.

“I-I…” The boy furrows his eyebrows and pulls on his sweatshirt. “There’s a book I’m— looking for a book.”

“Cool.”

“Uh… I’m…”

Connor sighs and puts down his book, marking the page with a sticky note. “Is there a specific book, because you can look it up on the computers.” He jerks his head toward the old machines that everyone pretends aren’t five years out of date.   

The boy stares at him with wide eyes. “H-how?”

Connor stares right back at him, expression blank. “I’m sorry, how?”

“I-I know how to use a computer!” he says quickly. “I just don’t know how to use those and I kept getting weird pop up messages and then something happened and I think maybe one of them timed out but I don’t really understand what I’m doing and I think I actually might’ve broken the middle one because it started making a weird noise and—”

“That thing is a fuc— freaking dinosaur,” Connor interrupts, catching himself on the swear and glancing over to the children’s section. No one’s here right now, but moms are like hawks. It’d be just his luck for one of them to swoop in and get him fired for swearing. “It’s impossible to break but if it’s broken it’s because it’s old as…crap.” He leans back in his chair. “Just follow the instructions.”  

Connor moves to pick his book back up. The boy does not move.

Shit. He’s going to be one of those people.

“Do you need me to show you?” Connor asks, trying to sound like he doesn’t hate life too much.

The boy jerks away. “N-no! It’s fine I’ve got this I just have to, um, figure it out quickly and then I think I should be able to get it but I just don’t want to break anything because if I do I might have to pay for it but I don’t actually think I can do that because computers are expensive and then not only will I not have my book but also I—”

Connor stands and the boy stops talking, shrinking away. Connor blinks. Holy fuck he’s a lot taller than this kid than he initially thought. “Do you need me to show you?” he asks. The faster this kid gets his book, the faster Connor can go back to reading.

“Yes,” the boy says shaking his head no. “I-I mean—!”

Connor sighs and steps around the desk. “Let me just…” He leads him to the computers and doesn’t even bother sitting down. He bends over and clicks the mouse a few times until the monitor wakes up. “What are you looking for?”

“A-a book for class,” the boy sputters. He digs through his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, holding out the crumpled page to Connor.

Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes, smoothing it out on the desk and skimming over it before turning back to the computer. He inputs all the information, the book sounds familiar to him which is promising, and then lets the piece of shit they call a computer load.

The boy just awkwardly hovers next to him as he works.

If Connor were better at his job he’d probably, like, explain this process. So next time, the kid can do it himself. But he’s not.

“We have it,” Connor says when the page finally loads. He turns to the boy. “Can you find it with this info or…” he drawls. He really wants to sit back down.  

The boy steps a little closer and squints at the screen. He smells like cinnamon and something else that Connor can’t name but knows smells nice and this is creepy and he needs to stop immediately. “Is— um…” He tilts his head.

Connor raises his eyebrows at him. “It’s a science book. So it’s shelved using the Dewey Decimal System. Do you…?”

He stares at Connor with wide and terrified eyes. Yeah that was what Connor thought. “Follow me,” he mutters. The library isn’t big. It’s almost directly proportional to the size and quality of their town. So small and shitty. But if you don’t know your way around it is a little confusing. The labeling is bad and Connor still hates the Dewey Decimal System, even after working here for over a year.

He glances down at the boy, who’s trailing slightly behind him. He looks…familiar. “Do you go to school here?” he asks, gesturing vaguely toward where the high school probably is maybe. Usually Connor hates small talk, but this is bugging him.

The boy looks up with a start. “Y-yeah,” he says, getting the gist of Connor’s strange hand motions. “I’m a, uh, senior. There. Yeah.”

Connor slows his strides to study him carefully. Admittedly, Connor doesn’t pay much attention to anything in school, but most of the people in this town are born here and die here. He notices the collar of a shirt under the boy’s sweatshirt and it snaps into place. “Evan Hansen, right?”

Evan stops walking. “Ye-yeah? I’m not— you know who I am?”

“Vaguely,” Connor says dryly. He doesn’t think they’ve ever had any classes together and Evan isn’t exactly a memorable person. “I haven’t had a reason to.” “F-fair.”

“You know me, though.”

“I never said that!” Evan blurts out.

Connor looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you telling me you haven’t heard rumors about me.”

Evan pulls on the strings of his sweatshirt. “I-I never said that either. I just meant—”

Connor crosses his arms.

Evan ducks his head. “Okay yeah but I wasn’t going to… I should shut up now.”

Connor shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get your book. Who do you need it for?” He still hates small talk, but now he feels obligated. Fuck.

“AP Environmental Science,” Evan mumbles. “With Ele— Ms. Daniels.”

“Isn’t that the fake AP class?” Connor asks. He stops walking and skims the shelves. He sees Evan turning pink out of the corner of his eye.

“I-I mean… Yeah everyone kind of treats it that way so I guess it is but it could be more interesting if people actually tried and we get to go on field trips to like forests and stuff and it’s, um, I mean not fun but... It could be…worse?”

Connor pulls the book off the shelf and turns to hand it to Evan. “That’s cool.” He surprises himself by genuinely meaning it. He’s not super into the ideas of the outdoors, bugs can go fuck themselves, but it sounds like a chill class. Anything to get out of the hell hole that is their high school.

Evan takes the book and laughs awkwardly. “You’d be the first to think that, it’s a joke.”

Connor shrugs. “So is life.”

“I…guess that’s one way of looking at it.” Evan glances down to the floor, smiling a little.

Connor clears his throat and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. “Do you need anything else or do you want me to just check you out?”

“Please,” Evan says, his voice almost a squeak.

Connor leads Evan back to the front desk, grabbing a few misplaced books as he does so. Those will have to be reshelved before he leaves later. He takes the book back from Evan and Evan’s library card, scanning it and printing out the receipt.

“We got rid of the index card things,” Connor explains, grabbing his sticky note out of Wuthering Heights and flipping the book upside down. It’s not his book. Who cares if the spine breaks. “The due date is just on the receipt but honestly it’s shitty and easier to forget. So here.” He writes the due date on the sticky note and pauses for just a second before scribbling down ten digits in slightly messier handwriting. He sticks it on the inside cover before he can change his mind. “Here. You’ve got two weeks without renewal or we fine you some money because we need to make money somehow.”

“T-thanks.” Evan takes the book and opens the cover, checking the date. He frowns. “Wh-what’s that one?” He tilts the book so Connor can see what he’s pointing at.

“Haven’t you seen a phone number before?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow.

Evan’s ears go red. “O-oh! That’s…” He ducks his head, but Connor catches the ghost of a smile. “Th-thank you I…yeah! I’ll uh…see you around? I guess?”

“In case you need help finding a book or something,” Connor says with a shrug.

“O-or something,” Evan repeats. “I’ll see you in school.” He smiles at Connor quickly before rushing out the double glass doors.

Connor grabs Wuthering Heights off the desk and hides his face in it. He’s almost smiling and if anyone sees him smiling that’ll definitely wreck his reputation as the grumpy emo librarian. He doesn’t manage to read any more of the book in the remaining hour of his shift, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s got a better romance, anyway.

[tinydooms]

YOU WANT PROMPTS???!!! fuck you here we go, pick one and run with it: 1) belle's christmas, when she's about 8 years old; 2) a trash!prince christmas spectacle; 3) a garderenza christmas story, post-curse. run free, writer-person

I have NO IDEA who could have left this ask. ;-)

@sweetfayetanner @lumiereswig @hathor-frozen @morgaine2005 @fadedelegance @batbobsession et al.

MyFamily’s Christmas:

AnEssay by Belle Durant, age 8

ForMademoiselle d'Eleve’s class

Christmasis a very special time for my family. Papa and I live at Madame andMonsieur Thierry’s boarding house in the Rue de Boulangerie here inVersailles. Madame and Monsieur Thierry love Christmas very much andtry to make it as festive as possible for everyone in the house.Since Papa is my only family, we join in as much as possible. I amgoing to tell you about how we spend Christmas, starting on the daybefore Christmas Eve and ending with Christmas Day.

Everyday, Papa wakes up at dawn and walks up to the palace, where he worksas an artists. The King has ten thousand paintings, and all of themneed to be looked after and kept beautiful, and besides that, thereare always new things that need to be painted. Normally I get up,too, and go to school right after breakfast, but today, Decembertwenty-third, is different. Today I go to the palace with Papa, tosee the Christmas festivities. I wear my very best dress: it is darkgreen wool, and Madame Thierry helped me to embroider the hems withyellow thread that I got for a penny at the market. Madame Thierrybrushes and braids my hair, and gives me a hot bun to eat while wewalk, because it’s not every day that I get to go to the castle.Maybe I’ll even see the queen, she says! Papa chuckles and says“Maybe”.

It’sjust getting light when we leave the boarding house and head towardsthe castle. There are farmers and tradesmen setting up for theChristmas Market and they wave at Papa and me as we go. It doesn’ttake us long to get to the palace gates. The gatekeepers know Papa,since he’s there almost every day, and they wave us through. Thenit’s a long walk up the drive and through the gardens to theservants’ entrance, where Papa and I go into the sitting room for theartisans. Papa shows me where to hang up my cloak, and brushes me offa little to make sure that I’m presentable. Then he picks up his boxwith all of his tools in it, and we head out into the kitchens.

VersaillesPalace is always in a tizzy. There are ten thousand people in it, allof them trying to get breakfast ready for the King and his courtiers.Plus there are hundreds of valets and maids trying to make tea andchocolate and coffee for their masters and mistresses, so that thekitchens seem to be filled with thousands of voices, each oneyelling. I don’t like the kitchens much. But Papa whisks me rightthrough, out into the palace itself. He is allowed to roam it,because he helps take care of the paintings. It is still early, so noone important is up, and Papa takes me on a tour to show me all ofthe big rooms and the paintings in them, and the Christmasdecorations. I think that the palace is very beautiful, all hungabout with glass and mirrors and paintings, and draped withevergreens and ribbons for the season. There is a four hundred yearold creche in the chapel, where the Virgin lies on a little bed whileeveryone else worships the baby Jesus, because she worked hard onmaking that baby and needs a rest. I wish that we had a creche.

Afterthat, the royals all wake up and Papa and I have to go to work. Papahas a workshop in the attic and we spend some time restoring thevarnish on some old portraits, and touching up the faded colors in acouple of hunting scenes. I’m not allowed to help, since these arethe King’s paintings, but Papa wraps me up in a big smock so my dresswon’t get damaged, and I mix his paints. We do that until lunch time,which we have in the kitchens. Then Papa takes me on a walk throughthe palace, and we look at the royals having lunch. Anyone can dothis, since royal meals are public. I think Papa looks very dashingwith a sword in his belt, but I feel sorry for the people gettingstared at while they’re trying to eat their lunch. We don’t see theKing, but we do see the Queen! She has some visitors, including avery pretty lady who I think was a princess, and that lady’s littleboy. He’s about my age and I noticed him because he had golden hairand he was telling his friends at the table a story. It was aboutdragons and fairies and a dashing hero, and I would have stayed tolisten, only you’re not allowed to do that. You’re only allowed tostay in line and keep walking. It was a good story, too.

Afterthat, Papa is free to do whatever he likes, so we go look at the restof the palace. But it is very full of people, and eventually we gettired and go home. I like Versailles Palace, but it must beexhausting to live there.

OnChristmas Even day, we help Madame and Monsieur Thierry make thehouse beautiful. I help Madame bake cakes and Christmas bread and allsorts of treats in the kitchen, and Papa and Monsieur hang upgarlands so that the house smells like a pine forest. Madame hasboxes full of tin baubles that she hangs on the garlands to dressthem, and she lets me help her. When it’s dark, Papa and I bundle upwarm and go out to the Christmas market in the town center. I havebeen saving my pocket money for this since October. All of the lampsare lit, and there had hundreds of little stalls set up in the squarein little winding streets. They sell things like oranges and nuts andribbons and gloves and all sorts of pretty things. Papa and I visitone stall, where they are selling the music boxes that Papa makes.They only have one or two left, so Papa and I will be reasonablywell-off for the next few months, which is nice. Then we wander on,and Papa buys us both a cup of hot mulled cider, and I spend some ofmy pocket money on beignets covered in sugar. I only have beignets atChristmas. They are hot and sweet with cinnamon and sugar, and I eateach one as slowly as I can, to make them last. There are peoplesinging and playing music, and people dancing to the music, and a bigcreche in the center. We walk until we’ve seen the entire market, andthen Papa takes me back to one of the stalls and buys us each a plateof soup and a roll, and we stand at the public tables and eat. I getchicken stew, while Papa prefers pea soup with bits of sausage in it.After eating we go back to some of the stalls, and I make Papa turnhis back while I buy him his Christmas present. (I made him aChristmas present, too, but I didn’t save my pocket money only fordoughnuts!) Then we go home, because our feet and faces are too coldto stay outside anymore.

At home,all of the boarders gather in the sitting room to sing carols. MadameThierry plays the spinnet and we sing lots of songs. In dulci jubilo,O come o come Emmanuel, Il est ne le divin enfant, O come all yefaithful…we sing and sing until Cora, the maid, comes in toannounce dinner. (We always have dinner before the Christmas Mass.)Dinner is everything that I helped Madame Thierry make earlier. Wehave roast chicken and potatoes and brussels sprouts and roastedvegetables and gravy. We have Christmas cake and sweet bread with jamand jam doughnuts. I eat everything, because it’s all yummy and wewon’t get another big feast like this until Easter. Papa even lets mehave a little wine, though he waters it down a lot.

Afterdinner it’s time for mass. We all get our coats and cloaks and hatson and walk through the streets to church together. Père Antoinemeets us at the door, smiling Christmas greetings, and we all getquiet as we go inside. The church is beautiful, all decorated withthousands of candles and with Christmas garlands. It is a differentkind of beautiful than Versailles Palace. I asked Papa for the wordto describe it and he said it was majestic. We sit in our pew andlisten to Père Antoine give a long sermon about peace and brotherlylove, only I fall asleep, because it was a long day. Papa wakes me upfor the singing, though, and carries me home afterwards and puts meto bed. I go right to sleep.

In themorning, when I wake up, my stockings have been filled by Père Noel.Inside of them are  a little bag of almonds and walnuts andhazelnuts, an orange, a few coins, two peppermint sticks, and a little box ofchocolates containing four truffles, which I’ve never had before. Healso gave me two sets of hair ribbons: one red, one pink. Père Noelis very thoughtful and kind.

Papahelps me to get dressed in my best green dress again, and braids myhair for me. I tie my new red ribbons to the ends and we go down forChristmas breakfast. Madame Thierry’s Christmas breakfast is alwaysgood: she cooks a big fish that sits in the middle of the table, andwe all take bits of it. There are platters of meat and cheesecutlets, and baskets of sweet rolls, and pots of jam, and jugs ofcoffee and hot milk. There are two different kinds of pate, and lotsof cheese, and tasty little mousses that Madame bought at theChristmas market. I eat until I am stuffed silly. We don’t always eatlike this; only at Christmas, and only because Madame raises the rentin December so that we can afford the feast.

Thereare presents at every place setting. I gave everyone at the boardinghouse (that’s eight people, including Papa and me) a handkerchiefthat I embroidered with their initials. Madame Thierry declares herstoo pretty to use and kiss me, and Monsieur Marchand says that he’snever known an eight year old to embroider so well. I gave Papa aknitted scarf, which I made in red wool, and a picture that Ipainted. It’s of a windmill, since I know that he and Mama used tolive in one, and he misses her. Oh, and I gave him a pair of nice gloves that I bought at the Christmas market the night before. Papa gave me two whole books! Theyare not new, but they are wonderful. One is a collections of StoriesFrom Shakespeare, which we will read together, and the other is abook of maps, so that I can look at the world from my bedroom. Thatbrings my personal library up to five books. I am very happy.

Thereare other presents, too, from the other boarders: more hair ribbons,three pencils, a new copy book for school, a new dress for my dolly,and a pair of blue wooly mittens. It’s a lot more than I expected,and I am very happy.

We spenda long time at the table, eating and laughing and talking, and thenPapa and I get dressed and go for a walk. It is nice to walk afterall that food! We go all the way to the palace, and walk in thegardens that are open to the public. I wonder if the King and Queenare having a happy Christmas, and that pretty princess and her littleboy with the big imagination, too.

Later,Papa splashes out and rents us both a pair of ice skates, and we goskating on the pond outside the town. I fall down a lot, but we havea lot of fun. Then home for a quiet lunch, and I read my books, andPapa has a nap. In the evening, we all gather in the sitting room andsing more carols, and tell each other stories. I love Christmas; it’ssuch a lovely holiday. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal,but for right now, it’s all magic.

MerryChristmas!

[classic-queeries]

Holden C*ace*field: Asexuality and Representation

Some background: At the end of my junior year of high school we read Catcher in the Rye in my American Lit class. A friend pointed out a quote to me and said “hey, Holden kinda seems asexual to me.” I hadn’t been particularly interested in the book before she pointed it out, but once I read the quote I saw what my friend saw. Further reading absolutely convinced me that Holden was demisexual.

My English teacher however, did not have the best history with queer coding. When we read The Great Gatsby many in my friend group were convinced that Nick Carraway was gay. When one friend brought it up in class, however, she got shot down almost immediately. The teacher only brought up queer coding once, in reference to The Scarlet Letter, saying that Chillingworth was gay because there was subtext that he sexually assaulted Dimmesdale. Which, if you’ve read the book? Not the conclusion I’d jump to. He kept using the words “homoerotic subtext” which also did not sit well with us. 

Needless to say, I did not bring up my demi-Holden theory in class. I did not want to deal with the teacher shutting me down like he had my friend. So instead, after AP tests and I’d handed in my last major paper for the year, I wrote an essay. Full semi-formal style, MLA formatting, definitions of everything, multiple sources and examples all correctly cited. Nothing he could fight me on.

And you know what he did? He fought me on it by throwing my argument back at me without the label. What followed was a few days of me stomping around, ranting to my friends that had helped me with this about how he wasn’t listening to me. I stopped the communication after a few back and forth exchanges. I was getting nowhere.

I’m still proud of the essay. I would classify it as one of the better things I’ve written, simply because it was an argument I actually cared about. So I’d like to share it, share why I relate to Holden even in a small way, because maybe it’ll help someone else.

–Mod Sherlock

When I first ran across the word asexual I didn’t think it applied to me. But it turns out whatever definition I had read was wrong. Asexual simply means that one does not experience sexual attraction. I’ve come to terms with that, and embrace my being asexual, or ace, proudly. You’ll see me down at Pride in June having fun with my friends, decked out in purple, black, and white. Problem is that not many people know about us. The last GLAAD survey had aces as about four percent of millennials (Accelerating Acceptance 2017). That is a bigger estimate than the last one we had at one percent back in 2004.

Of course, asexulaity is kinda an umbrella term. That GLAAD survey involves aces, demisexuals, and graces. I myself identify as asexual because I cannot conceive of what exactly sexual attraction is. People look at someone else and go, “I’d hit that,” or they appear in sexual fantasies? I literally cannot make sense of it. Many people have tried to help, none succeeded. I know a few people who identify as demisexual, which means that they only experience sexual attraction to someone once they form a deep emotional bond. They have to be dating the person, or close friends, or any other number of meaningful relationships, before they experience sexual attraction. There are others who identify as grey-asexual, grace, which means that they have only limited experience with sexual attraction. They may only experience it intermittently, maybe only once or twice in their life. This differs from demi in that they may experience it without the deep emotional bond. Asexuality is best thought of as a spectrum. The ace spectrum is from allosexuals, those who do feel sexual attraction, to aces, with demi and graces somewhere in the middle (AVEN).

The fact that we don’t experience sexual attraction doesn’t mean that we aces can’t have meaningful relationships. The split attraction model (SAM) is about the difference between sexual and romantic attraction. People can have two different orientations for different attractions. I have several panromantic asexual friends, who experience romantic attraction to all genders, yet no sexual attraction. There are homoromantics, biromantics, heteromantics, every sexuality has a romantic equivalent. This of course includes asexuality as well; those who don’t experience romantic attraction identify as aromantic. I identify as an aromantic asexual because romance is an enigma. Like, what the hell even is romance? Going out on a date with someone? Movies are more fun with more people, why not bring a couple friends? Ice cream or food? How is that a date? Romance is entirely dictated by societal norms and I, for one, am tired of it. Why should I be expected to date anyone if I don’t want to? And why is it that everytime I walk home with a male friend I get people asking me if we’re dating the next day and every time I think “oh my god no we’re neighbors he’s gay and I’m aroace what the flippity fuck people.” But I digress.

The SAM stems from the fact that there are many different types of attraction, some of which are easy to confuse with sexual attraction. Sexual and romantic attraction exist and are often conflated. A common attraction variation for aces to use is aesthetic attraction, which is simply thinking that someone looks nice. I can think that someone looks pretty in a military dress uniform without being sexually attracted to them. In addition there is sensual attraction, which means that someone experiencing it wants to interact in a tactile but non-sexual way. For instance, Carrie Fisher? Was very huggable. Both aesthetic and sensual attraction are extremely easy to confuse with sexual attraction and are often so intertwined that a person cannot tell them apart. Sensual has a sexual connotation for some people but i’ve never seen it used in a sexual way. In addition, I know that before I realized I was ace I would categorize who I considered ‘sexually attractive’ by who was aesthetically pleasing and just called that sexual attraction.

Enough with the SAM, though we’ll get back to it. A common misconception about asexuals is that we don’t have sex as a rule. That’s blatantly wrong, that’s the definition of celibacy. We have different levels of comfortability with sex. Some are sex-positive, which means that they enjoy or even want sex. Others are sex-ambivalent, meaning that they don’t particularly care either way. Still more are sex-repulsed, which means that they viscerally consider sex gross and do not want to participate in it or even talk about it depending on the extent of their repulsion. Like everything, this is a spectrum. Allos can also have these opinions on sex, they are not limited to aces.

The major problem that most asexuals face is ignorance. The estimated number of asexuals was so low in 2004 partly because there just isn’t wide enough knowledge about us. That number rose three percent in the past thirteen years in part because AVEN, the Asexual Visibility and Education Network, was formed and started to help spread word. Yet we are still ignored and pushed aside, even pathologized:

“….because sexuality is taken for granted as necessary to normalcy and normative bodies….asexuality is and has been historically diagnosed as a problem in need of medical reress and treatment….[the DSM has] “hypoactive sexual desire disorder” (DSM-III-R 1987)….”female sexual interest/arousal disorder” and “male hypoactive sexual desire disorder” (DSM-V 2013). Such labels indicate that low levels of sexual desire were seen by sexology and continue to be regarded by scientific medicine as ‘unhealthy’ and abnormal, reflecting more broadly on society’s negative attitiudes toward asexuality” (Przybylo 186).

Sexual attraction is so pervasive in our society that when someone doesn’t feel it they’re treated like they have a mental illness. I’m sure there are more examples of this, but I don’t have the stomach to go looking for more. I had to talk myself out of looking through the DSM for myself, I don’t need to find more examples of bigotry and prejudice.

Even so, I find unintentional (I hope) examples of aphobic attitudes in my own classroom. Calling sexual attraction “normal” hurts. That tends to imply that anything against the norm is bad, to be shunned and destroyed. I’m reminded of a song by my favorite band, called “We Are the Others,” which has the lyrics: “Normal is not the norm/ It’s just a uniform/ Forget about the norm/ Take off your uniform/ We are all beautiful”(Delain). “Normal” is not a thing. Everyone is weird to someone else, but that doesn’t give one reason to be a bigot.

On top of this ignorance is the fact that erasure is so common in what little media we have. There was a recent TV show based of a series of comic books from Archie called Riverdale. One character, Jughead Jones, was an aroace in the comics (Riseman). In the TV show they erased Jughead’s aromanticism by placing him in a clearly reciprocated relationship with Betty, and his asexuality is up in the air, but likely erased as well (Alexander). Riverdale is just one of a few that erase ace identities. Most a-spec characters are in obscure books that you would never hear of if you didn’t go looking for them, or in webcomics which are unlikely to gain a mainstream audience. There has not been a mainstream confirmed ace character. Ever. This erasure and ignorance is what makes headcanons so important. I headcanon many of my favorite characters as ace because I relate to them so well, so why shouldn’t they share my sexuality as well? That’s why when I find a character that has a wealth of canon evidence that they might be aspec, I find the bandwagon and start driving.

So when I realized that Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye might be asexual I hopped right onto that bandwagon and hit the gas. It was actually one of my friends that pointed out that Holden might be asexual. I read the quote they sent me, and immediately poured myself into the book. I kept notes on everything that Holden did, everything he said, that seemed like he might be aspec to me. As I read I related more and more to Holden, and I am convinced that Holden is aspec. I propose that Holden is a heteromantic demisexual who, having never seen the terms, confuses sensual and aesthetic attraction for sexual.

Before I get into the meat of it, let’s clear up one thing: asexuals can still get aroused. I mean, it’s a little hard to have sex without that and some of us do have sex no matter what some people seem to think. There is an important distinction for aces, however. In her article “Introducing Asexuality, Unthinking Sex,” Ela Przybylo writes that “Scholars who study the physiology around asexuality suggest that people who are asexual are capable of genital arousal but may experience difficulty with so-called subjective arousal. So when the body become aroused, subjectively-at the level of the mind and emotions-one does not experience arousal”(183). This is a very important distinction. Aces may have general arousal, but we have nothing to direct it at. Our mind is separate from our body in this case. There’s one line in Catcher about Holden feeling horny: “After a while I sat down in a chair and smoked a couple of cigarettes. I was feeling pretty horny. I have to admit it” (Salinger 63). This is after he walks into the hotel and sees several indiscrete people doing rather sexual acts on the balcony. What strikes me about this is that, despite feeling some general arousal, he just sits down and smokes a cigarette. This may be just me misunderstanding, but people do not just sit down and have a smoke when horny? That doesn’t seem like something an allosexual would do. In addition to that, Holden does not seem to be reacting to a particular instance and has nowhere to direct his attentions. His body may be reacting to the ‘perverts’ on the balcony, but his mind is completely clear. Holen is not experiencing subjective arousal. As stated above, this is generally an ace thing.

Another very ace thing Holden does is hire a prostitute then ask her to talk with him, not have sex. In general, when one hires a prostitute, one does so for sex. Holden goes into the fiasco with the thought: “I figured if she was a prostitute and all, I could get in some practice on her, in case I ever get married or anything. I worry about that stuff sometimes”(Salinger 92). This on the surface seems like a typical thing for a young adult to worry about, but, really? Who the hell worries about sex? Holden goes into this so objectively, thinking about getting married in the future and getting practice on her. This is a typical thing for a confused ace who has no idea that they are ace to worry about. After he thinks this the prostitute, Sunny, shows up. They talk for a bit and then Holden is very surprised when Sunny just up and pulls her dress off: “…she stood up and pulled her dress over her head. I certainly felt peculiar when she did that. I mean she did it so sudden and all. I know you’re supposed to feel pretty sexy when somebody gets up and pulls their dress over their head, but I didn’t. Sexy was about the last thing I was feeling….Boy, was I feeling peculiar….All she had on was this pink slip. It was really quite embarrassing” (Salinger 94-95). Yes, Holden, according to societal conventions one will supposedly feel horny when met with a mostly-naked person of the opposite gender. But people go against those societal conventions all the time. Asexuals, for instance, would not feel ‘sexy’ when met with a naked girl. Holden’s peculiar feeling may be the fact that he doesn’t know Sunny, and thus has no chance of feeling sexual attraction towards her. It may also be caused by possible sex repulsion of some degree when faced with someone he doesn’t know. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that he hired a prostitute then proceeded to ask her to just have a conversation with him. That is such an ace thing to do I mean, come on, who would do that.

Even more critical beyond Holden’s uncomfortableness when faced with sex, is the fact that he self-admittedly doesn’t get what sex is all about. Contemplating the people doing ‘crumby’ stuff on the balcony of the hotel he’s staying in, Holden thinks:

“Sex is something I really don’t understand too hot. You never know where the hell you are. I keep making up these sex rules for myself, and then I break them right away. Last year I made a rule that I was going to quit horsing around with girls that, deep down, gave me a pain in the ass. I broke it, though, the same week I made it - the same night, as a matter of fact. I spent the whole night necking with a terrible phony named Anne Louise Sherman. Sex is something I just don’t understand. I swear to god I don't”(Salinger 63).

Holden’s opinion on sex is that it’s confusing. He just simply doesn’t understand how to go about it. He makes himself rules for gods’ sake. He doesn’t understand why people do the do, why people go beyond ‘necking.’ Sex is so centralized in our culture that for an ace person, navigating the world is a problem. Centralization of sex in culture includes the beliefs that sex is needed for romance, the act of sexual intercource is key to adulthood and maturation, and sex is important for a healthy life (Przybylo 181). The key bit here is that Holden seems to believe that he should want sex with people, but he doesn’t understand sex. The centralization of sex confuses him and he ends up reaching for ways to make sex make sense to him, like a set of rules that he immediately tosses aside. He ends up doing the same thing that many aces do before they realize their sexuality: pretending just to fit in. He hires the prostitute because he thinks that might help him with his sex game. He feigns a desire for sex as real life aces often do: “As one participant from a study on asexual masculinity discusses, as an adolescent he had to “play along” with his male friend who “were all into porn mags” and checking out girls, feigning a desire for sex in order to fit in but ultimately “los[ing] out socially because…. A lot of social activities seem to be … centered around sex (Przybylo 2014:229)”” (Przybylo 188). Holden doubts that everyone has these desires and questions people that have sex just for the hell of it. He tells Carl Luce during their conversation:  “[i regard sex as] a physical and spiritual experience and all. I really do. But it depends on who the hell I’m doing it with. If I’m doing it with somebody I don’t even-….This is what I mean though. I know it’s supposed to be physical and spiritual, and artistic and all. But what I mean is, you can’t do it with everybody-every girl you neck with and all-and make it come out that way. Can you?”(Salinger 146-147). Holden sees people like Stradlater going and having sex with basically random girls just because they want to. He sees them doing it with girls they’ve only known for a couple hours, and questions, “you can’t do it with everybody?” He simply doesn’t see how people can just essentially randomly hook up and have a desire for the other person. This is a very common thing for aces to question. How do people just hook up if they don’t even like the other person? What underlying attraction is there? Don’t you have to know the person? The concept of a one-night-stand doesn’t exist to many aces.

This brings me to my crowning jewel: Holden basically explicitly states that he is demisexual. Just after the previous quote, while he’s talking to Luce, Holden says this: “You know what the trouble with me is? I can never get really sexy- I mean really sexy- with a girl I don’t like a lot. I mean I have to like her alot. If I don’t, I sort of lose my goddamn desire for her and all. Boy, it really screws up my sex life something awful. My sex life stinks”(Salinger 148). Holy. Fucking. Crap. That is the definition of demisexuality. Holden only has desire for a girl when he “likes her alot.” Demisexuality is only experiencing sexual attraction when a deep emotional connection is formed. Holden just almost explicitly said he’s demi. To back me up even further, I sent this quote to a few ace friends with the caption “if this isn’t aspec then idk what is.” Their responses: “HECK U RIGHT,” “Wow that’s practically explicit,” “If you can’t see the ace-ness inherent in this you need to get your eyes checked,” and “That’s one of the most canon ace things I’ve ever read and [I’m] willing to throw down with both teacher and author in the parking lot over this” (Fuck Yeah Asexual). If I have friends, demi friends who know the definition and use it all the time, willing to freaking fight Salinger and my teacher over this, you know it’s good.

Part of the reason that my friends may be so willing to fight people for Holden to be demi is that we have basically no representation in popular media. I found a total of five major canon ace characters in pop culture when I went looking. Every single other character I found was minor or from something that hasn’t inundated pop culture yet. Of those five, only two explicitly used the word asexual. Luffy from One Piece is commonly believed to be asexual, as is Maya from Borderlands 2 (SBS Volume 54, W.). One of these is a manga, the other a video game. While they do have very large audiences, neither character is confirmed ace in their media, purely by the creators word. Todd from Bojack Horseman is asexual as well(season four ep 3). Raphael from Shadowhunters is ace in the TV show, and aroace in the books, and I already mentioned the fiasco with Jughead (“By the Light of Dawn”, Alexander). Because we have so little representation, interpretations of famous literary characters like Holden as aspec really helps with overall awareness of the ace community. Awareness is coming around, slowly but surely, but every little bit counts.

So I will fight for ace Holden. I will drive this bandwagon right over anyone who objects, throwing my heaps of evidence and definitions out the windows. Maybe I’ll wrap the definition of demisexuality around my little crowning jewel and lob it at anyone who wants to fight me. Y’all are entitled to your opinions, but if you come say I’m wrong and ‘ruining books with my queer characters’ you’re gonna get a great big ball of demi-Holden evidence thrown at you. And I’m gonna wrap it all up nice and pretty in the demi flag.