#where they said the words shift to a movie practically. for me i devoured books as a kid. but i was always aware i was reading

[martyrbat]

re last post thats so interesting to me. like thinking of my childhood bedroom, i know the room. i know the cracks on the wall and the stain and mold on the blue carpet, i know the leak in the roof and the bolted down windows and the way the walls were cracked and you could smell the grass and rain. i know that. i (metaphorically) see it, i can practically trace my fingers on the cracks like ive done a million times. but actually visualizing it?? never once.

[lizardkingeliot]

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagged by @phoenix-ascended thank you!!!! 💖

Okay SO. I’m gonna cheat a little bit here. The first nine I’m going to post are all going to be from the first nine chapters of time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) but to be fair the chapters are so long they each might as well be a story all their own lmao. ANYWAY. Here we go. I’ll post the first paragraph from each I guess, in order of chapter number obvs:

1. Quentin shook out the tension in his hands. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t getting any easier. For days on end he’d been trying to perfect the illumination spell the rest of his fellow First Years had nailed in a matter of hours. But no matter how he tried, Quentin couldn’t seem to make anything more than a spark.

2. Quentin waited until Eliot was asleep to slip out of bed and hastily tug his clothes back on. The illuminated screen of his phone told him it was just past 12am. Clutching his shoes to his chest, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and tip-toed out into the hall, all but running to his room and clicking the lock shut firmly behind him.

3. Dry-mouthed and groggy, Quentin woke in Eliot’s bed alone. He groaned, groping around for his phone to check the time for a long moment before remembering he’d left it in his room. Quentin rubbed at his eyes, rolling over and up to his feet, muscles he didn’t even know existed screaming as he went. He picked his bathrobe up from the floor and pulled it on, then tottered down the hall to empty his bladder and brush his teeth and gulp down frantic handfuls of water from the bathroom sink.

4. Tuesday morning was hell. Quentin woke just before eleven, empty as a husk. Filthy, all used up. His thighs sticking together where Eliot’s come had dried there in the night. Quickly realizing he’d already missed his first class of the day, Quentin pressed his face into his pillow, pulled the covers up over his head, and surrendered to the blank comfort of late morning sleep.

5. Quentin couldn’t feel his face, or much of his body for that matter. Which was… fine. It was great. It was fucking phenomenal. As long as it meant he also couldn’t feel the sinkhole that had formed in the center of his chest. The one that had been there for days, weeks, months, fucking years. He couldn’t feel anything at all.

6. Quentin felt a lever turn inside his chest, the source of his magic eking out a spark. Enough at least to send a message to Julia back at Brakebills. One of those little enchanted paper airplanes they’d learned his first week in Practical Applications that he never could get to fly quite right. He scrawled his SOS on a cocktail napkin and watched it flutter away like the world’s saddest butterfly. The universe took pity on him. Quentin figured he was probably due. 7. Christmas morning was a lackluster affair.

Exchanging gift cards over coffee and devouring great mounds of Ted Coldwater’s Famous Ham and Eggs while still in their pajamas. After, Julia and Quentin lay on the living room floor and Skyped with James, his grandparents waving hello from Pennsylvania in the background. They opened the stack of impersonal and overly-extravagant gifts from Julia’s mother that had been delivered to the house the night before. Quentin received a pair of cashmere socks and a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle.

8. Quentin stood at the bathroom sink, watching his face shift in the steamy mirror glass. Stark naked save for the towel looped around his hips. Hair dripping in cool, fat beads down onto the planks of his shoulders. So clean he swore he could feel himself sparkling from the inside out.

9. Quentin tossed his phone down onto the floor and leaned back into Eliot’s heat. “It’s almost like you want my dad to know I’m faking sick so I can stay in and let you fuck me until I pass out.”

Some patterns I guess: I love how chapters 2-4 all open with Quentin in bed after hooking up with eliot but all with very different vibes. In chapter 2, he’s just experienced subspace for the first time without having any idea that’s what actually happened to him and he is having A Time. In chapter 3, they had a very intense hook-up the night before and Quentin is sneaking out again, but this time he fully plans on returning right after. And in chapter 4, we see the joy of their beginnings at Columbia contrasted hard with the misery of where Quentin is at Brakebills.

ALSO 2/3 of the chapters begin with Quentin’s name which feels right considering just how deep into his headspace we are in this fic.

Okay. Anyway. Moving on:

10. Eliot loved watching Quentin lose himself in a moment.

It could be anything really: mastering a brand new spell; savoring something decadent and sweet; fussing with his hair when he thought no one was looking; focusing very hard on making himself a cocktail and getting the ratios just right; ranting about his Fillory books; reading his Fillory books, to himself but especially aloud; reading anything; riding dick...

That last one held a particularly special place in Eliot’s heart.

(from but i would die for you in secret aka the one where eliot is pretty sure quentin is only using him for his dick. spoiler alert: he’s not they’re just idiots)

11. Teddy was turning six years old. There was nothing in the world he loved more than stories.

His favorite was a version of Lord of the Rings Quentin had cobbled together from memory. He must have told it to their son a hundred times before it occurred to Eliot he could contribute more to story time than ogling Quentin’s hands while he spoke, or popping in to suggest when the Balrog should actually be making an appearance, Quentin.

(from in a land far away aka the mosaic fic where eliot makes margo hand puppets for teddy)

12. The words came out of Quentin’s mouth without a single coherent thought behind them.

“I’m just about to catch a movie with my boyfriend!”

There, outside the coffee shop on Eighth Avenue, Quentin’s maybe-friend from high school whose name he couldn’t even remember shot him a wide-mouthed grin. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “Which movie? My wife Danielle and I don’t have any plans for the afternoon and we’d love to tag along. Isn’t that right sweetie?”

(from your name like a song (i sing to myself) aka the one where quentin’s memory is shit and he and eliot pretend to be boyfriends in a post-monster world)

13. Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”

Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”

Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”

“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”

(from the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you) aka the suspender porn fic)

14. The night Quentin Coldwater died, a brand new star appeared in the sky over Brakebills. A little brighter than Venus, it stayed fixed in the same position for weeks on end. Eliot hardly would have noticed such a thing if it hadn’t been for the way that it hummed. Or at least, that’s how it felt. A humming in his bones. An old, familiar presence. Margo thought that he’d gone mad with grief. Alice was the only one who could understand.

(from a myth of devotion aka the one where eliot is sorta icarus and quentin is sorta the sun)

15. It didn’t happen the way Eliot expected it to. He dropped the letter into the mailbox, and pain blossomed in his abdomen so brightly it was like he’d gone supernova.

And everything went dark.

(from by night, beloved, tie your heart to mine aka the one where eliot sends the letter)

16. Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.

(from i won’t deny (all the things i would do) aka the one where quentin and eliot start hooking up three months into their life at the mosaic)

17. After they decided kissing on the mouth was okay, Quentin and Eliot wanted to do it all the time. In every corner of the penthouse (“If you don’t stop sucking face while I’m trying to eat my sandwich,” Kady said one afternoon, “I’m literally going to feed you to the Baba Yaga.”), outside coffee shops, in between bites at the sushi place in Chelsea that Eliot loved. Once, they went to see a movie they couldn’t even remember the name of just to make out for two blissful, uninterrupted hours in the dark.

(from and a song of praise upon your lips aka part three of the box of chocolates series where quentin and eliot are definitely dating and finally talk about their feelings)

18. Eliot startled awake to something sharp and pointed slamming into his shin. He opened his eyes, and the toe of Margo’s shoe made contact one last time. Pain seared up the side of his leg, and he winced. Jesus, she really did not realize her own strength sometimes. Or the strength of her Jimmy Choo’s.

(from that you may know (the secrets of your heart) aka part two of box of chocolates aka the one where hand stuff is still banging)

19. Eliot Waugh was High King in his blood, and somehow that felt right. When they first arrived in Fillory, Quentin assumed he would be the one to wear the crown. He’d dreamed of it most of his life after all. On the throne in Whitespire, a fleet of talking animals at his disposal, a noble quest waiting around every corner to ferry him away to the next grand, heart-stopping adventure. But when the blade bit into his palm and drew no blood, and Eliot’s came up red, it felt like the final piece of some perfect puzzle clicking into place.

(from and this is the map of my heart aka the one where quentin wants to marry eliot and they have some incredibly filthy sex before everything falls apart)

20. Eliot walked into the penthouse to an eerie quiet. He found Quentin sitting in the kitchen under a dim illumination spell, drinking a beer and poking at the screen of his phone.

“Hey,” Eliot said, setting his shopping bag down on the counter. “Where is everyone?”

Quentin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Out. I don’t know.”

Eliot squinted at him. “You didn’t want to go with them?”

Quentin lifted his eyes, shot Eliot a look. “No.”

(from for love (if it finds you worthy) aka part one of the box of chocolates series)

And I have now been here doing this for so long I no longer have time to try and find anymore patterns lmao BUT I will be tagging: @thelucindac @akisazame @fishfingersandscarves @nellie-elizabeth @freneticfloetry @rubickk7 and anyone else who wants to play!

[gins-potter]

the feeling of you in my arms tonight

Casey knew everyone else in the house hated when they drew night watch duty, but surprisingly he didn’t mind when his name came up on the roster.  The house was such a busy place, and they practically lived in each other’s pockets for those three days a week they were on duty, that it was a relief when he finally got a moment to himself just to breathe.

It had been a restless kind of shift, the companies barely getting the chance to get back to the house before the bells were going off again, and most of them hadn’t bothered to take their turnout gear off all day.  So when they’d finally gotten a break that evening, just about everyone had stopped to bolt down a quick dinner, then wandered off to the bunkroom to collapse onto a bed.

Which left Casey more than happy to settle on the couch - in Mouch’s spot no less - and flick through the TV channels.  There wasn’t a lot on, so he settled on a Harry Potter marathon that was playing, even though they were halfway through what Casey thought was the third movie and he’d never seen the first and the second before.  But the action kept him interested enough that he didn’t mind that he had no idea what they were talking about.

The quiet shuffle of footsteps announced someone’s approach and Casey fought the urge to let out an irritated sigh.  That is until he saw the familiar blonde hair and sweet smile.  Of all the people to still be awake it was the one he wouldn’t mind actually spending time with.

Sylvie smiled at him, oddly shy considering how close they’d gotten recently.  “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” he said, gesturing quickly to the spare space beside him, ignoring the quiet pang of disappointment when she settled down on the opposite end of the couch.

“I just know that it can be hard sometimes to get a moment to yourself in this place.  I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re never an intrusion,” Casey promised her.  “I’m surprised to see you awake though.  I thought everyone crashed a while ago.”

“They did.  I just…” she trailed off, before finishing with a self-conscious shrug, “... couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

Casey was pretty sure it was the letter from her birth mother that had been keeping her awake.  Or rather the lack of letter.  She’d built it all up in her head, he knew, thinking she was finally getting the answers she’d always wanted, only to have it snatched away again, replaced with another clue to follow, another chance to get hurt.  As far as he knew Sylvie hadn’t decided yet what she was going to do with her birth mother’s address and he didn’t begrudge her that; she’d been dragged back into this unwillingly when her birth mother had reached out, and reading a letter and going to see her in person were two very different things.  He sensed however that she didn’t want to talk about it so he didn’t push, choosing instead to just nod sympathetically.

“Besides,” Sylvie said a beat later, voice lighter.  “I remembered there was a Harry Potter marathon running.  And,” she added before glancing around faux-suspiciously.  “I am a huge Harry Potter nerd.  But don’t tell anyone.”

The news didn’t surprise Casey and he could easily imagine her devouring the books, the image warming his heart.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he promised, smiling at her.

Sylvie grinned back at him, and they looked at each other for a long moment, something warm and comforting passing between them, before her cheeks turned faintly pink and they both turned back to the television, lapsing into silence to watch.

They were halfway through the fourth movie when Sylvie asked him what house he belonged to and Casey was forced to admit that not only did he not know what house he belonged to but that he actually hadn’t ever seen any of the movies before, nor had he read the books.  Sylvie sat up suddenly on her knees bringing her slightly closer to Casey, and her horrified gasp - not faked in the slightest - was enough to make him grin even as she shook her head at him in disappointment.

“Well, there’s four you see,” she said and launched into a long winded explanation about the four houses using words Casey vaguely remembered from the film that had gone over his head.

“Okay so what house are you?” he asked when she was finished.

“Hufflepuff definitely.  They’re the friendly yellow ones,” she added with a laugh when Casey simply looked perplexed.

“I can definitely see that,” Casey agreed with a grin.  “What about me?”

Sylvie ran a quick, critical eye over Casey.  “Gotta be Gryffindor,” she said with a decisive nod.  “The brave red ones.”

Casey clicked a finger and pointed at the screen where Ron and Harry were arguing on the screen.  “Harry, Ron, and Hermione are Gryffindors right?”

“You’ve got it.”

“I’ll take it then.  Better than being one of the evil green ones I guess.”

“They’re not all evil!” she protested, then shook her head as another thought occurred to her.  “Wait, if you’ve never seen any of the movies or read the books how do you know what’s going on?”

Casey shrugged.  “I don’t really.  I just like when their branches make loud noises and pretty colours.”

Okay so maybe Casey was over-stating his ignorance on the subject but it was worth it to see Sylvie wriggle closer and start explaining Harry’s story from the beginning, including all the things the movies missed out on, even if it meant he couldn’t hear the dialogue happening on screen sometimes.

By the end of the fifth movie Casey was all caught up, but more importantly any space between him and Sylvie seemed to have evaporated; they were sitting pressed thigh to thigh and his arm was slung casually along the back of the couch.  

Which made it easy for Sylvie to turn into Casey when Harry’s godfather was hit by a spell, hiding her face as she whispered, “I hate this part.”

Even Casey was wincing as Harry screamed on screen - and damn that kid was a good actor - and he didn’t hesitate to drop his arm around Sylvie’s shoulder, rubbing comforting circles into her skin with his thumb as she burrowed her face further into his shoulder

It was during the sixth movie that Sylvie finally seemed to run out of steam, it being far later than she would usually stay up.  Her monologue about how Ginny was a much better character and her romance with Harry was much better written in the books was frequently interspersed by yawns, and her head, which had never made it off his shoulder after the fifth movie seemed to grow heavier and heavier.  If she noticed that his arm was still draped around her shoulders, holding her close, she didn’t comment on it.  And somewhere around the halfway mark, when Harry and Ginny were standing barely an inch apart and whispering to each other, she finally nodded off to sleep, small smile still playing on her lips.

Casey knew he was probably due for another cup of coffee, and that it would be a wise idea if he wanted to get through the last two movies, which he would have wanted to even if he hadn’t been on the night shift, but Sylvie was still leaning on him, her breaths long and peaceful, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb her.  He rubbed at his tired eyes with his free hand, unable to be mad about the situation as he settled back against the cushions and turned his attention back to the screen.

[certifiedskywalker]

Academic Misgivings (Part 6) - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

Thanks for following this series so far! This is where the story starts to get busy in regards to Peter Remember, 250 notes for the next part! Have a fun read!

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE 

The grip of morning grogginess still held tight to you as you walked into the school. A chill had fallen over New York so cold that not even your sweatshirt could quite quell it on your walk from home. Just as you neared the doors of Midtown High, just when you were about to be welcomed by the heat of it’s walls, the unmistakable, uppity nasal pitch of Flash Johnson’s voice reached your ears. At least you would have the flame of your annoyance to warm you.

“Y/N! Wait up! Hold on!” With a pout you waited by the door and shifted your weight on your feet in a poor attempt to generate your own bubble of heat. Flash rushed up to you with a grin on his face. “Any progress?”

“What? What do you mean?” Your tone was snappy, eager to escape the unkind cold. Autumn’s grip on the city was loosening, giving way to Winter.

“With Parker? Anything?” At the mention of Peter’s name, you stiffened. Images of your tutoring session the day before flashed before you, taunted you with your still unresolved feelings towards the boy. Peter had tried to comfort you, understand you, and that was more than anyone had done in a long time. More than your family had done since starting high school.

“Uh...no,” you replied and pushed open the doors to the school. The unwelcoming foyer still harbored some of the outside chill, but you felt instantly warmed as the door shut behind you. With a long breath you started towards the next set of doors when you felt a horrible rush of cold against your back. 

“No? You haven’t like, charmed him?” You spun on your heel and glared at Flash. Your proximity forced him to take a step back, visible fearful of your response.

“With what? My womanly wilds? This isn’t some cliche teen rom-com.” You muttered a curse under your breath and pushed open the next set of doors.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Flash praised as he trailed after you. The hallways of the school had began to fill with a rush of students meeting friends at their lockers. The area around yours was empty and you made a beeline to the small safe haven.

“I know I’m right, Flash,” you flung back at him, hoping your biting words would deter him from following you. Yet, to no avail. He rambled on at your side as you entered your combination.

“Yes, yes, it’s like a uh...spy movie! You’re sneaking around, dancing circles around him, gathering the intell. The perfect spy!” You sighed as you pulled your locker open. “So you should have his pass-code by now, right?”

“Flash,” you turned to him and leaned against the locker banks with a furiously flat expression. “If you are going to be this pushy, you can call this partnership kaput. Unless...you want to talk to Peter?” His dark brown eyes widened, eyebrows raised but still not grazing your expectations. 

“No, no,” he stepped back with hands raised, “I trust you. I gotch you, fam.” You gritted your teeth at his use of slang. If it couldn’t be used in an academic paper, you felt it was a lesser word; something your English teacher before Ms. Lauren had enforced. It didn’t help that Flash was trying to ‘be cool’ with you either.

“Okay then,” you said with arms crossed over your chest, “run along then?” Flash nodded and rushed off. He called over his shoulder as you watched him go, still annoyed.

“See you at practice!” Content with having torn away his confident facade, you returned your attention back to your locker. You plucked your book out of the compartment and shoved them in your bag rather roughly, too tired to care.

When you tried to sleep the night before, after the tutoring session with Peter, you had tossed and turned. Lack of sleep did not aid in your attitude, especially when Flash was involved. Thoughts of different realities, ones where you and Peter had grown up as neighbors or were close friends had filtered through your mind when your head hit the pillow like some sort of twisted, romantic fiction. Things could have been so different; you could be meeting him at his train stop and walking with him to school, chatting about anything that came to mind. You could be dating him.

You shivered at the thought but you couldn’t tell exactly why. All you knew was that you were jealous, bitter even, when it came to Peter Parker, maybe even angry. Yet, somehow, through whatever magic means, he could make you feel like you were walking on air. It sickened you, made you stomach work itself up into knots. 

The discomfort lingered when your mind stalled on Peter and it, that discomfort, had become a strange ally in the mess you had created with Flash. You only hoped once the plan was done, however it turned out, that the sense of nerves would leave you be. Until then, you would close your locker and act like everything was fine. Even when you accidentally lock eyes with Peter as you pass through the hall. You would return his wave and walk to class, wholly ignoring the burning that had bloomed in your cheeks. 

“That’s why I think the CIA knew Kennedy was going to die,” MJ finished, in the same tone in which she had detailed her theory. Mr. Harrington, mouth agape, had asked a decathlon practice question regarding JFK that had stirred MJ into ranting. The team, even Flash, remained quiet, all eyes trained on the curly haired girl as she sat back. “And if I’m not here tomorrow, they got me too.”

“W-Well...then...practice...adjourned,” Mr. Harrington stammered as he rubbed a hand against his head. Slowly, the team stood from their seats while MJ examined her nails nonchalantly, picking away some paint from her art class. You shook your head at her and smiled when she met your gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing, just...that was intense,” you replied. You shuffled out of your seat and grabbed your bag from the spot on the floor beside your feet.

“Yeah well, so is life,” MJ sighed and was ready to continue when someone behind you cleared their throat. You turned and saw Peter, a loose blue jacket hanging off of his slim shoulders that made his already bright brown eyes all the more puppy-like.

“Are you ready to head out or…”

“I have more theories,” MJ interjected and you glanced over your shoulder.

“Um, maybe another time, MJ, okay?” She nodded in response and you looked back to Peter. “Alright, let’s go.”

You followed Peter out of the school’s library in a rather comfortable silence that was broken when MJ was safely out of earshot. Peter glanced at you with still wide eyes and you raised your eyebrows at him in a silent question.

“MJ’s kinda scary, right? It’s not just me?” You ‘tsked’ and shook your head as you both walked down the hall towards the school’s main exit. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” you mused aloud, “she’s just...eccentric.” Peter nodded and you caught the hints of a smile on his lips. 

“Uh so, the coffee shop?” Peter said, although it sounded more like a question as he pushed open the school’s main door. He held it open for you, a gesture that made part of stomach twinge with giddiness. 

“Yeah?” You questioned as Peter fell back into step at your side. 

“Have you ever been inside? I hear some of the girls at school talking about it. Apparently they have like fancy drinks and stuff.” 

As Peter talked, his rather long steps would fumble and his shoulder would brush against yours. He rattled on about the shop as you crossed the street, but none of his words sunk in. You were much too distracted by the every-now-and-then touches. “Y/N?”

“What?”

“Do you even what a Pink Drink is?” Your brows furrowed and sensing you confusion, Peter smiled. “I was talking about Starbucks.”

“Oh, no, I don’t, at least I’m not sure. It’s not a decathlon question so,” Peter let out a laugh and you felt your skin go so warm it dulled the afternoon chill. 

“That’s a fair point,” he beamed, “oh, hold on. Let me get that.” He rushed past you and opened yet another for you. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit your nose but it did little to pull your thoughts from Peter’s acts of kindness.

“Th-Thanks,” you murmured and stepped inside only to be hit fully by the aroma of java. The coffee shop was quaint, painted in dark blues with oak detailing on tabletops that would make it look more like a custom movie set if it weren’t for the customers. 

A few scattered, circular tables with metal chairs held small succulent plants that, in this weather, had to be fake. Surrounding the tables were booths, one with a mother and her children who happily devoured cookies triple the size of their small hands. One of the children seemed transfixed on the hanging pendant lamps above the table that gave off a slightly yellowed glow. If it hadn’t been for the bell on the door jiggling behind you, you too would have joined in on the moth-like fascination.

“Hey, Y/N, do you want anything?” You turned around and saw Peter pulling his wallet from his pocket. Under the natural glow of the lights, Peter’s brown hair looked sandy and his features enticingly more soft. Even the golden amber fleck in his irises shown a little more delicately. “Y/N?”

“Um, no, I’m good. I’ll find a table.” You ducked your head to hide your burning cheeks. He had caught you staring at him and you knew that he knew it. As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, watching you as you did with him. 

You passed by the booth of bustling, unruly children and their haggard looking mother to a table tucked away in the corner. When you pulled the rather heavy metal chair out from the table top, the leg released a grunt of their own. The sound didn’t seem to entirely annoy the other patrons of the cafe so, with a calming heart rate, you unpacked your tutoring materials. Just as you pulled out your worn and worked trivia textbook, Peter came into view.

“I got you a cookie,” he said, setting down a plate with two gooey looking, homemade cookies. “The menu said ‘not-so-chocolate-chip’ so it might be vegan?” His face screwed up with thought as he took the seat across from you. With a shy smile at you, Peter set the mug in his other hand down too before it could slip through his sweater paws.

“Oh, you didn’t have to-” you cut yourself off, “thanks, Peter.” The shy smile turned sweet, sweet enough to rot your teeth if you didn’t look away. “So, do you want to focus on any area of questions in particular or….”

Peter took a swift sip of what looked like hot chocolate which, judging by his face, was much too hot to drink. “I uh, I looked at the site you recommended and went through like a bunch of literature questions so anything other than that would be cool.”

“Alright,” you cracked open your textbook to a random page. “Science good with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Peter said before he blew on the brew in his mug. It was childishly endearing and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread to your lips. 

“Who was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize 1903 and in what field?” You could see the gears in Peter’s mind working before he lifted his widened eyes to you in a slight panic.

“Marie Curie, physics,” he took a breath, “I don’t know why I blanked on that one.”

“It’s okay,” you grin, “even geniuses have their day.” You didn’t really mean for the words to come out so bitterly, but when you glanced at Peter’s face, you saw that it must have sounded rude. “Uh...What is the term for a product of a body's mass, including its linear velocity?”

“Momentum,” he said quickly, brown eyes scanning over your features. “Y/N are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied plainly as you flipped a page of the book, “which famous, billionaire philanthropist created-”

“Do you ...you don’t like me, do you?” His question gave you pause and silence when you saw true curiosity in his eyes. You swallowed hard and tried to suss out your tangled feelings in that very second; the same feelings that had been keeping you up at for the past three nights. There was no hope, so you continued on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Which famous, billionaire philanthropist funded the building of Jupiter’s most iconic landing vehicles?” Peter was quiet and when you looked up from the textbook, you realized it was a selective silence. “You know this one,” you pressed, “you work for him.”

“Tony Stark,” he murmured, so lowly it sent a shiver down your spine. “C-can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You repeated, a lump forming in your throat. You could feel every emotion, every thought and doubt you had ever held inwards bubble up your throat en mass. Despite your fiery, biting tone, Peter still looked at you with those eyes with that effortless gaze that made your stomach twist.

“Yeah,” he replied and you wondered if he understood your anger. He must have; it was written all over your face. You yourself could feel the tips of your ears warmed, hands curled into fists so tight that the wounds from the Chicago trip ached with memory. 

“I-I…” A wave of coldness, not unlike the chills from the morning air washed over you. Drowned in thoughts you could no longer ignore, once foggy emotion filled your ears until you could hear nothing but your own truth and the beat of your heart. 

“Y/N,” only Peter’s voice broke through the haze and you hated it. “I told you on the bus home that you could talk to me.” his brown eyes, the ones you had hardened yourself against for years; the ones you had thought you hated for so long now studied you with a gentleness you had never felt or seen before. 

“What’s wrong is,” you took a breath and tore your eyes away from Peter’s. “When I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted and it makes angry. Or made me angry, I’m not sure anymore but here I am, tutoring you like nothing is wrong.”

“I make,” you glanced at him wearily, “made, you angry?”

“Because...because I was scared.” The feeling, that intestine twisting, heart aching feeling put to words in a single breath. It felt too easy, too simple, but there it was. Out there for Peter to see.

“Scared...of me?” His brows furrowed and you squeezed your eyes shut in exasperation.

“No,” you shook your head and hands, “not you. Just of...what could have been if things were different.” The last word tasted salty, overcooked in the crock-pot of your brain or over seasoned by self hatred; it was too charred to tell. “Sorry, that was stupid I-”

“You mean what still could be,” Peter interrupted. You opened your mouth to speak but his tone, the kind that an authority might use to talk to some untamed youth, stole the words off your tongue. 

“I…” Peter gave you a half smile, barely there at all but you saw it nonetheless. 

“Mr. Stark has taught me a lot of things but one thing he taught me a little while ago was that...you are more than what’s under the mask.”

“Mask?” Peter’s eyes widened for a moment but he quickly collected himself. 

“It’s uh..it’s a metaphor. Anyway, sometimes that means you’re more than what you think you are or believe you are. If you think that you’re...you’re-”

“Unworthy, inadequate” you whispered, but Peter seemed to hear it because he paused. You lifted your gaze slightly, “for lack of a better word, I guess.”

“Okay, you think you’re inadequate with who you are now,” he continued, “but you are so much more. You just have to have someone, or something, to show you that you’re not. That like...all you want, it’s possible. You just have to look.”

While you were spilling your guts out to the person you had considered your opposition for years, the din of the coffee shop had disappeared. Now, in the resounding stillness of your conversation with Peter, you were shocked as you noticed no one seemed to hear anything of what you had said. It was a comfort alongside Peter’s advice, but it left you with one feeling you couldn’t share: gulit. Peter’s kindness made you sick in some other way now, the kind that riddled you with regret and Flash’s voice in your ear that whispered ‘sabotage’.

“That’s…” you started but had no clue how to finish, “that’s...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Peter consoled. You studied his expression, looked for some hint of suspicion in his dark honeyed eyes; some ulterior motive in the small smile on his pink lips. There had to be something, something you could use to comfort yourself, to tell yourself you weren’t wrong for plotting against him. There wasn’t. 

“Well, I ruined our tutoring session,” you mumbled softly but Peter shook his head. The motion sent his chestnut colored hair, normally styled in some fashion, to a more wild, natural-looking state of slight-curl. 

“No, you didn’t, I brought it up, I pushed it. He leaned back in his chair shyly, “and..m-maybe I can tutor you now?”

“Tutor me?”

“On..how to see yourself,” he elaborated. “I want to help you.”

“Careful,” you teased in the hopes of lightening the mood, “say that enough and you’ll end up being Spiderman.” 

“Oh! Haha, that’s uh ...that's funny. I wouldn’t though, superheroes right? They must be like crazy or something.” You couldn’t help the slight grin that spread along your lips as Peter melted into a puddle of jumbled words. How could he go from wonderful advice giver to stuttering mess within mere seconds? It might never make sense to you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you pondered before a new thought, one that gave you a brief reprieve from the trouble swirling about your mind, came up. “Did you give him my note?”

“Spiderman? Oh, yeah, he-he got it. No worries. His reddened cheeks and goofy smile lightened your mood as your minor worry was put to ease. Peter sipped at his, what was now most likely, lukewarm hot chocolate and you looked back to your book. In your lap rested your hands where they restlessly played with each other’s fingers in the tense silence.

“So...how are you going to tutor me? Are you going to be my life coach?” Peter like out a breathy laugh and he made a strange face. 

“Well, uh no, not a coach. I mean...we could….you need to know there’s more to you so we can try a bunch of different things.” You raised an apprehensive brow and Peter frowned.

“Like we’re trying to find a secret talent?” 

“No, not like that but...sort of, I guess?” He scratched the back of his neck and hummed in thought, a habit he must have learned from someone. “We’re going to look for opportunities rather than wait for them, if-if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I think it does.” You smiled and Peter mirrored the expression with all the more sweetness; to the point it made you heart skip a beat. Now all you had to do was look for the opportunity to tell Flash you could no longer go through with the plan.

“Oh crap.”

“What is it?”

“It’s getting late and if I’m late to dinner again, Aunt May might actually turn into the Hulk.” You glanced out the window and saw the darkened sky. The gross grey color pulled a frown to you lips as you turned back and met Peter’s gaze.

“I guess it is late,” you agreed softly, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s alright,” Peter stood from his chair and began to collect his things. “I’m sure your parents are worried about you too. We can study more tomorrow.” 

You let out a scoff and shook your head. “I don’t think anyone is home to care.”

Peter cocked his head at your words and you realized how grim you had sounded. However, it was a sad truth if the nights prior were anything to go by. Before you could cover up, spill some white lie to sedate the concern on Peter’s face, he beat you to the punch.

“Do you wanna eat dinner with me?” The question sounded innocent and knowing Peter, it mostly likely was, yet it rendered you speechless anyway. “Well, I mean, my Aunt and I. You’re probably like super busy studying but I just thought that maybe-”

“I would like that.” Your reply seemed to catch Peter off guard. His book bag hung loosely in his grip as he looked at you with slightly widened eyes. For a split second you thought that maybe, like you had with his original suggestion of dinner, he was reading into your words. 

“Ok, cool,” a steady smile, the one you had grown to know too well spread across his face.

“It could be the first tutoring session for me,” you said, hoping to cut through the air that had gathered thickly around the two of you. You packed up your books, shoved them deep in your bag and stood on somewhat shaky legs. You had been sitting with Peter for hours. 

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” Peter gushed as he picked up the plate of long ago eaten cookies, “May will not let you leave the house until you’re full of compliments.”

“Not food?” You asked, a small giggle in your voice that seemed to deepen Peter’s smile.

“I mean, she’s an adventurous cook but sometimes,” you followed Peter as he dropped off the plate in the dish bin on the cafe’s main counter, “it doesn’t turn out.”

“It isn’t good?” You asked as you both made your way towards the door. Peter smiled again, a bit more nervously this time. 

“Sometimes it isn’t edible.” You laughed and stepped out into the chilled evening air of New York. “Queen is a train ride away. Fourth stop on the main loop.” He gestured towards the train way entrance where a large map was displayed out front. “Are you sure you don’t need to be home?”

“I’m sure,” you answered confidently, the first time you had done so since you had talked to Peter regularly. With a pleased smile, Peter started towards the train way awning with a little jump in his step that made you wonder why you had let your own jealousy tarnish him in the first place. 

You followed him, through the ticket booths and machines, up the steps to the train platform. As Peter slipped his train pass back in a worn leather wallet, you eyed the other future passengers lingering on the awning. Tired looking men and women in business wear sat on rickety benches, immersed themselves in their phones while they waited. A tourist family was nose deep in a map as they bickered about location. 

“You ride the train everyday?” You turned your eyes to Peter to find him already looking at you. His brown eyes held your gaze before he nodded and pulled them away.

“To school and sometimes back.” You stepped closer to him with a quirked brow.

“Sometimes? What do you do on the other times?” Peter’s mouth fell open and promptly shut.

“I uh...walk...around the city, swing around,” he hesitates for a moment you cock your head. “It’s a good way to clear your head you know.”

“I wouldn’t,” you replied, arms crossed over your chest. “I go from home to school and back again. My own bubble, I guess.” You bit the inside of your cheek and wished you had stayed quiet. Sharing, especially with Peter, was still new to you.

“Really? Well then, there we go,” Peter grinned enthusiastically, “we can start tutoring you there. If you’re inside all the time just studying you’re not going to try things. It might help.”

“It’s-

“Train arriving in two minutes,” an automated voice interrupted. The headlights of the oncoming train grew larger and larger and your words filtered out from your mind. Glimmers of memories, studying and the urge to be better than Peter Parker had clouded your mind. That was how you had lived for three years. 

What would a past you have thought of you now, all buddy-buddy with your sworn enemy? Would she be confused or relieved that you weren’t so ...isolated? You imagined she would be, at least, hopeful. You were hopeful in the moment as you stepped through the open doors of the train car and sat next to Peter Parker.

Your legs knocked against his as he chatted with you about other ways he could get you to see other, better parts of yourself that you were too blinded to. Part of you still didn’t fully believe his speech, his belief in you. No one had believed in you like Peter before. 

“There’s like volunteer dog park where we can go and-”

“You’re really thinking about this,” you observed wryly. Your tone must have pressed something in Peter’s mind and he gave you a concerned look. 

“If you don’t, don’t wanna do this it’s okay, I’m just throwing things out there.”

“No, no,” you arched your body to face him, “I just...you’re eager. It’s surprising.” The racing of the train car against the tracks filled your ears and you wondered if Peter had heard you. His quiet wasn’t eery, but rather reflective.

“I mean, well, I enjoy spending time with you and you’re pretty cool,” he said, his voice barely audible over the clacking wheels. You responded with a half-hearted attempt at a smile before you averted your gaze towards the window. It all started to feel like too much, with everything, with Peter. Being honest with yourself had been a big step, a leap when you were truth with Peter.

Now it felt like you were floating on a cloud of your own nervous energy all the way from the train stop to the front door of the Parker’s apartment. The building on the outside looked like yours only in better shape that the complex you called home. The interior however, soothed you. Cream colored hallways gave off more comfort than the stoney, mottled grey you associated with your family’s apartment.

The old you would have hated such a comparison, even despised Peter for having a more home-like home. Now, the thought made you ache as he fiddled with the lock to open the door. It became more clear to you that Peter was not the issue; your own mindset was.  

“Now, when I left she said she was making dinner so,” Peter gave you a weary look as he twisted the door knob. “Just...be prepared for-”

A loud beeping, high pitched and ear piercing cut through Peter’s warning. In the most confident you had seen him, Peter threw open the door and rushed inside. Shocked for a moment by his instinct, you followed behind and was greeted by a sight that was downright cartoonish.

A small woman with tanned skin and dark brown hair, Peter’s Aunt May, stood before a smoking oven with a sheet pan in her hands. She waved the pan wildly and seemed to be directing the smoke out of a tiny window in the cramped kitchen. 

“I burnt the ham!” She shouted when Peter dove into the kitchen to grab an old newspaper. You rushed in after him and joined in on the maniac waving; the wild nature of which was only stirred up by the fire alarm’s screeching. “Who is this!?”

“Aunt May, Y/N. Y/N, this is Aunt May,” Peter’s introduction was poor under the loud noise but enough for the woman to stop waving the sheet pan to reach for you hand.

“Please, call me May,” she smiled, “Peter’s talked about you and his friends before. You’re close with the strange Michelle girl right?”

“May!” Peter was still waving and, with wide eyes, May continued to do so as well.

“Yeah, I am,” you yelled over the sound of flapping and beeping, “it’s nice to meet you!”

“And you too!” May shouted just as the fire alarm shut off. “Oof! That was loud!”

“Yeah, it was,” Peter said, a grin on his face as his Aunt’s voice was still at a higher volume. Even for the short period of time you had heard it, the alarm was still ringing in your ears.

“So….” May glanced between Peter and yourself, her cheek pinked from the waving. “Does take out sound okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter cheered and looked to you, “Italian, Thai, or Chinese?” 

“Italian,” you replied and felt your stomach gurgle in anticipation for food. 

“Oh, I like her,” May cooed as she picked up the phone, “we’re on the same frequency. Marko’s is the best spot in town. What do you like?”

After Aunt May had placed the order and a grand tour of the Parker’s ‘estate’ as she called it, you felt instantly at peace in their home. A year ago, you wouldn’t have dared to venture into Peter’s house but now you ogled at his room, decorated in all sorts of nerdy paraphernalia

“So you’re a Star Wars fan,” you mused aloud as you took in the sight of all of actions figures Peter had amassed that looked like they too were from the seventies. 

“Oh, y-yeah, they’re like really good movies,” Peter said as he darted to your side. You could feel his gaze on you as you studied the merchandise closely. Strange aliens faces and one furry, long legged creatures you believed was Chewbacca.

“I’ve never seen them,” you admitted, “my family doesn’t have movie nights or anything like that so they slipped under the radar.” A gasp at your side pulled your gaze to Peter. His mouth was agape, brown eyes as wide as saucers. 

“You haven’t seen the Star Wars movies?!”

“No….” you pursed your lips and gave Peter an incredulous look, “are they really that good?”

“Are they really that good! Ha!” He shook his head in disbelief and you couldn’t help but smile at his passion. “They’re better than good! We have to watch them sometime!”

You liked the way he said ‘we’ and how when the word leaped from the tip of his tongue, his eyes fell on your with all the softness you had ever seen in the world encapsulated.  You opened your mouth to speak, to give voice to how you hated that you hadn’t talked, truly talked to him sooner. Before you could however, May’s voice cut through your haze.

“Foods here!”

“Thank for this, May,” you said as you slipped a plate beside the sink. May was tucking rinsed utensils into the dishwasher, humming softly to herself as she did.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she huffed, “a friend of Peter’s is always welcome here. Especially after all you’re been through, sweetie.”

“Aunt May,” Peter grumbled through slightly gritted teeth. You raised a hand at him and gave the woman a tender smile. 

“Have you talked to someone about it? What happened in Chicago? I know a good therapist if you want to give that a try.” You shook your head and gave May a grateful glance.

“No, but I think I’m okay. I have Spiderman to thank for that,” you shot Peter a knowing smile, pleased that your note had made into the masked hero’s hands. Yet something about Peter’s expression was off. Slightly widened eyes that darted from you to his aunt, who also seemed a bit shaken, and his cheeks were red as if you had embarrassed him.

“Oh those heroes, they’re lifesavers, literally!” Aunt May laughed, loudly enough that you were pulled away from your wonderings. 

You helped Aunt May load the rest of the dishes while Peter cleaned up the table. For the first time in a long time, you felt as if you were part of a family. A sense of belonging that had evaded you for a long time finally welcomed you with open arms. So when May wiped her hands on a towel and glanced and the clock in the kitchen, you heart sank into a pool of dread.

“Wow, time flies huh? It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I guess I should be heading out.” As you turned around, you missed the sorry smile Aunt May wore as she watched you grab your things. 

“Thank you again, for dinner and having me,” you called as you stood idly by the door. Peter gave you a bright grin, one that twisted your stomach into knots.

“Anytime, Y/N,” May said as she entered the doorway the kitchen table. Her joyful glow was only amplified by the apartment’s soft yellow coloring, the same shade that reminded you of springtime and how much you did not want to go. “Peter, why don’t you walk Y/N home? Make sure she gets there all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Peter said and he leaned over, the smell of his cologne overwhelming your senses as she opened the door. “You ready?”

You met his brown eyes and, without hesitation, nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

It was like deja vu, walking with Peter back to the train, sitting beside him so your legs brushed as you talked. He rattled on about Star Wars and you fired questions about the sci-fi society George Lucas had built.

“So it’s a Republic?”

“Well it was until Darth Vader helped The Emperor take over.” You gave him a puzzled look.

“The Emperor’s name is Emperor? So it’s Emperor Emperor?” Peter laughed, leaned his head back against the seat and shook his head. He turned, hair a mess from his position with cheery eyes.

“No, he has a name,” you gestured for him to tell you, “you have to watch it yourself.” You groaned and leaned back. The train jostled against the tracks and you could feel it through your entire body as you head rested against the wall. You turned, the same way Peter had, to look him in the eyes.

“How? I don’t have a DVD player and the TV is broken at my place.” Peter held your gaze and curled his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. You watched him and bit the inside of your cheek when you realized you were both just staring at each other.

“I have a digital copy of all of the movies so at the next tutoring session I can give them to you,” he suggested. “Or...you...you could come back over sometime? May likes you and I-I-”

Peter cut himself off and you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Brown eyes held your sole attention so strongly that you barely noticed the train come to a stop. 

“I would like that,” you replied in a soft voice. Peter smiled and lifted his head. 

“Oh crap, it’s your stop! Let’s go,” you both rushed up and towards the train doors as an automated voice prepared a countdown. The night air, even colder than the morning, greeted you and Peter with a vengeance. You hugged your sweatshirt close to your body and saw Peter do the same with his jacket. 

An easy silence fell over the two of you as you walked down the street. You dreaded the moment your apartment complex would come into your line of sight so you kept your eyes on the sidewalk. You shoes seemed small compared to Peter’s, although his red converse were scuffed up the sides. The shoes didn’t go with how you saw Peter: all pristine and put together to spite your own jealousy as you felt you could never live up to the standard he set.

Now, you felt your understood the rough and torn shoes, why Peter wore them. There was so much more to him than the boy you thought you knew. You felt comfortable with him, to your our surprise, enough so that you told him how you once hated him. He subverted every expectation when he didn’t shy away at that and instead, stayed. No one had stayed before. 

“Hey isn’t this your place?” Peter’s voice pulled your eyes to him then to the apartment complex on your left. It was, but you could see darkness in what was your family’s apartment window. No one was home, again. 

“Yeah it is,” you sighed.

“It looks, dark, just always dark.” Peter observed and you realized he was used to be greeted when he went home. When he would leave you tonight, Aunt May would be there for him.

“Ha, yeah, my family is out so that doesn’t help it.”

“Like, out of town?” Peter questioned and you saw the concern laced in his brow.

“Yup, but they’ll be back. They’re just working,” it was a lie. You didn’t know when they’d be back. “The quiet is the perfect studying environment though.” Peter laughed at that and shook his head.

“You and your studying,” he mused and you raised a brow in his direction.

“I could say the same for you and your Stark Internship,” you fired back, “last semester you missed so many practices because you had to go and help.” You felt lingering jealousy bubble up your throat but you pushed it down. There was no space for that anymore. “It must be amazing, but I guess that’s what you do.”

“Well, I mean,” Peter started to fumbled and rocked back on his heels, “you’re pretty amazing too, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short.” You felt your whole body warm and, to hide the sense of pride his words gave you, you spoke up once more.

“Isn’t that what you’re going to help with?” Peter met your gaze and it seemed like all nervous energy tapered out of his body. His shoulders relaxed and a soft smile graced his face. 

“Yeah, it is.” The almost cozy, relaxed silence fell over you and Peter once more. A passing car broke the momentary revelry and you stepped back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you called, happy that you could smile as you said it.

“See you!” Peter shouted back as you crossed the street.

Part of you was tempted to turn around, check to see if Peter was still watching to make sure you got inside okay. You fought hard as you ascended the front steps but ultimately lost the battle. Once in the doorway, you turned to glance across the street. Peter was nowhere in sight.

He must walk fast, you surmised and started to unlock the door. Despite the slight disappointment, you were still smiling. You had a feeling that, even with the empty home that awaited you, you would fall asleep with that same smile; and, it turned out, you were right.

[yasha-pick-me-up]

i just need someone to kiss

so how about a break from all that angst I’ve been writing, huh? just enjoy some good vaxmore modern fluff! here’s the ao3 link! I hope you guys like it. uhhh fair warning it’s like. unbeta’d and practically un-proofread, so sorry in advance

Vax’ildan sighed heavily as he trudged up the stairs to his shared apartment with his sister. It had been a terrible day that seemed to refuse to end. First, he’d stepped in gum on the way to class and it was still sticking to the bottom of his favorite boots. And then he’d been late to his lecture where he didn’t know anyone who he could ask to have a look at their notes. And to top it all off, Shaun had called him apologetically on the way home to say he couldn’t do dinner tonight, Sherri was sick and he had to cover her shift as well as his own.

Vax grumbled as he walked down the hall, shoulders slumped so that his book bag threatened to fall off his arm and crash on the floor. It would be a fitting end to the day, he thought to himself as he fumbled for his keys and unlocked the apartment door, though he was starting to consider lying face down on the hall carpet.

The sight that greeted him was worse than anything else he could have imagined. His sister, his twin, his other half, was facing away from him, slinging a leg over Percy's lap and kissing him, looking more like she was trying to devour him than anything else, though judging by the noise Percy made, he wasn't complaining. Neither of them even noticed as Vax stepped inside, didn't even look up until he let the door slam shut behind him.

They both jumped and Percy promptly went scarlet, but Vex'ahlia just smiled, brushing a smudge of lipstick off of Percy's jaw. "Hello, brother. You're home early, I thought you had a date."

"Cancelled," Vax said, watching them numbly. "What's going on here?"

Vex arched an eyebrow, not even having the courtesy to move off of Percy's lap. "I know you're a little thick but surely this is obvious even to you?"

Vax sputtered, his bag finally sliding to the floor and slumping there. He felt a bit like doing the same. "You're on our couch!"

"I bought this couch, thank you very much," Vex hummed. "And what of it? I live here too, you know."

He gestured helplessly. "You can't just...on our couch! I don't want to see that!"

Vex rolled her eyes. "We've both still got our clothes on, which is more than I can say for some of your past flings, you bloody hypocrite."

Vax huffed. "You could've at least had the decency to go to your room, you knew I'd be home soon!"

Vex actually laughed at that, moving to sit next to Percy, who seemed to be attempted invisibility. "Okay, sorry, but what about you and Gilmore making out on this couch at least twice a week since you started dating? I walk in on you two all the time, and I never complain about it!"

"But...that's...that's..." Vax protested weakly. "That's me! You're my sister!"

"You're my brother!" She huffed, tossing her hair. "We'll go to my room in a minute. Put your earplugs in, or go stay with your boyfriend if you don't want to be here."

Percy raised a hand, still flushed pink. "Or...I could go? I should probably just go, I don't have to..."

Vax said "leave" in the same instant Vex said "stay." She rolled her eyes. again. "We were here first. If Vax'ildan doesn't like it, I know his boyfriend's got a very large and very comfortable bed and is willing to share."

Vax groaned, snatching up his bag again. "You're fucking terrible."

"I'm fucking great," she corrected with a smirk. "Have a good evening, brother, I'm sure I'll be having one too."

Vax flipped her off as he marched out.

~

"Vax?" Shaun approached his door, the door Vax was currently leaning against. "What're you doing here?"

Vax groaned loudly, dragging himself to his feet and leaning against Shaun heavily. "It's the fucking worst. Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course you can," his boyfriend soothed, hands running over Vax's hair and down his back. "But why didn’t you just come down to the store? Is something wrong?"

Vax nodded, jutting out his lower lip, half because he actually felt like pouting and half so Shaun would kiss him, which he promptly did. He was guided inside, a strong arm wrapped around his waist even as they sank onto the sofa together.

"Now," Shaun said, "would you like to enlighten me as to what's going on?"

Vax crossed his arms, scowling at the floor. "I need a new sister."

Shaun blinked. "You need...why?"

"This one is being awful!"

A smile started to creep across Shaun’s lips. “Oh, do tell.”

The words seemed to burst out of him like water from a dam after that. “Okay, so today’s already been fucking shitty, I mean it, it’s been terrible. And then, I come home, thinking maybe Vex will be in, we can get take out and watch a movie or something. But! I come home, right? And she’s there! On the couch! Sucking face with Percival Frederick-von-whatever! And she calls me a hypocrite! And doesn’t even look embarrassed about it!” He huffed, flopping back against Shaun’s many sofa cushions. “She’s probably having sex with him right this instant. On the couch.”

Shaun quirked an eyebrow at that, looking amused. "Vax'ildan, my darling, I don't know how to explain this to you, but you and I have made out on that couch more than once."

"Why does everybody keep saying that?" he demanded, grabbing one of the throw pillows and pulling it over his face. "Fuck off!"

Shaun finally burst into laughter at that, leaning over to pull the pillow away. "Aw, I'm so sorry, little bird. I know this must be terribly difficult for you to deal with."

"You're being an ass," Vax huffed, rolling away, only to be caught up in his boyfriend's arms in the next instant. Despite his protests, he melted immediately, kissing at Shaun's jaw gently. "Do you think they're actually having sex on the couch?" he murmured.

Shaun shrugged. "Most likely."

"Shaun!"

"I'm sorry!" he laughed, rocking Vax gently. "You'll forgive your terrible sister and you know it."

"Yeah," Vax sighed. "I will. I'll text her before I go to sleep. But for now..." He reached up, pulling his boyfriend down for a kiss, feeling Shaun smile against his mouth, and then he was smiling too, and then they weren't even kissing, just resting their faces together.

"I love you," Shaun hummed, rubbing his nose against Vax's.

"Yeah," Vax smiled. "I love you too." He pulled back, beaming hopefully. "Now take me to bed and do not let me think about my sister for the rest of the night?"

Shaun stood, pulling Vax up with him. "My pretty bird. Gladly."

[loverdrew]

The College Boy | Noah Centineo Imagine

It’s finally here.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Standing wide mouthed at the front of the field, I eyed Noah. I was in full shock and disbelief. I crossed my arms over my body, as we stood awkwardly. Noah’s hand came up to scratch the back of his neck as he usually does. It was a mesmerizing little quirk he did, but he couldn’t be doing this now. He blatantly kissed me, his own action, by his own doing. He can’t just back down now.

“W-What...why Noah? Why haven’t you told me this before? Why wait 4 fucking years, while being with someone else? I-It just doesn’t make sense.”

“So you don’t believe me? After everything I just told you and how I kissed you?” His eyebrows scrunched together, his voice raising a few octaves in tone.

“No I don’t. I’m sorry Noah...”

“What can I do to prove it to you?”

I stood there, dumbfounded. I honestly didn’t know what Noah could do to prove he meant what he said and what he did. As my silence kept going, more and more people were starting to show up for the game. Noah huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Please Y/N, help me figure this out.”

“Well I don’t know! This has never happened to me before, no guy has ever even looked at me for more than 3 seconds let alone confesses his feelings that he’s had for me for years!”

“W-W-Whoa whoa hey, calm down I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m getting all worked up.” He grabbed my hand, softly rubbing over my knuckles and bringing his face close enough to mine that I could see the stadium lights illuminating his hazel eyes. I never realized how beautiful they really were. The swirls of color, how they glisten, so full of emotion.

“I’ll prove it starting tomorrow. I’ll see you at the coffee shop in the morning beautiful.” and with that, he winked and slyly made his way to the side of the field getting ready to start the play. I slowly walked up to the gate in a daze, wondering and wandering. What feeling was I experiencing? My hands were shaking, my rings were ringing, everything around me seemed to be in slow motion and the only person in my view was Noah. It was almost like a permanent vignette was surrounding him. 

“Wow wow wow, Y/N at a school event? I’m surprised.” I heard the too-high-too-peppy voice come from the other side of me from where I was looking. I rolled my eyes before cranking my neck to see the last person I’d want to see. 

“Looking for something? Or should I say someone?” Victoria sneered at me.

“Not at all Victoria. Shouldn’t you be practicing your leg kicks or whatever you call them?” As shy as I am to others, Victoria was never someone I was scared of. If I ever showed her any sort of weakness, she would roll over me with no problem, and one thing I was always taught, especially before leaving for college a few hours away from home, was to never let anyone take advantage of me. And I will see that through.

“Shouldn’t you be cooped up studying for a test you have tomorrow?”

“I don’t need to study to get an A, or pay anyone to do it for me.”

“Hey don’t pull that one on me that was a one time thing in senior year!” She got close to my face still on the other side of the gate. Of course I didn’t back down though, I continued staring straight through her. As she was about to make another remark about me the game was starting. “I’ll make you remember what it feels like to live in my school.”

“I’m so scared.” And I once again rolled my eyes before walking off the field, but not without turning back to see Noah, already staring at me with a slight smile on his face. I smiled back and continued to walk back toward my apartment. I’ll definitely be seeing Noah in the morning. 

6:30 am.

Freezing cold, bundled in a scarf up to my mouth and beanie covering my ears, I walked into the school’s coffee shop. I instantly pulled my scarf down sighing with relief. My eyes scanned the shop for that familiar boy with brown moppy hair, and once I found him, engrained in a book, I began slowly walking up to him. Upon getting closer to his table, I saw not only one, but two cups of coffee on the table with a nice surprise of a coffee cake also present. His head rose from his book, smiling brightly, offering the seat across from him to me.

“So you really did decide to meet me here.”

“I just wanted to see if the Noah would stick to his word.” I snagged my coffee and took a small sip of the still piping hot liquid, and pulled the coffee cake toward my side to take a piece.

“Girl c’mon, I always keep my word.” I giggled at his playfulness.

“So is this it then? Buying me my regular before my 8 am?”

“Uh...” he seemed nervous. His hand reached into his backpack side pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, folded into a weird octagon shape. With a hand slightly shaking, he reached over and handed me the note. “I wrote you something. I thought I’d write you little notes everyday since you’ve always liked those cheesy romcoms that do that. I just assumed what you saw in those movies, was what you wanted in real life.”

I took the note and held it in my hand tightly. I was almost scared to read what was bound to be inside. I nodded my head at him, thanking him for the note and put it aside in my book bag.

“You’re not going to read it right now?”

“N-no...it’s okay, I’ll read it on my own time.”

“You’ll like what you read.” He stood up towering over me, throwing on his jean jacket and hoisting his backpack over his shoulder. “C’mon, your class is all the way across campus and it’s 7 am let’s get a move on it.” I shook my head slightly laughing, getting ready to brace the cold once again.

I finally had time in between classes to read the note Noah slipped me. I was sitting on a bench under a tree mixed with orange and yellow leaves next to the building I had class in, and I inhaled finally opening the piece of paper.

Dear Y/N,

You say you’ve never experienced this kind of thing, that what’s happening between us doesn’t ‘work out’ for you. Well, now it’s my mission to make sure it does. After your last class, there will be a package by your door. It’s a little something that is as ‘sweet’ as you. Enjoy it, you deserve it beautiful. 

Yours, Noah.

The corners of my lips curled in a small smile without even thinking about it. Instantly the cold wasn’t an issue, as my heart warmed my body making my cheeks flush. I continued to swoon over the little words he wrote, but how they still meant so much. At this moment I only wanted to skip this hour lecture and rush to my apartment to see what was awaiting me, and only hoping no one would steal it.

Finally after a quick 15 minute walk back to my apartment, I scurried to my front door seeing a light brown box propped in front of it. With a little bow on top and of course, another note handwritten by the man himself.

I squealed quietly, and practically bombed down my door setting the package on my dining table. 

Dear Y/N,

I know you needed this sweet treat during this stressful time, what with all of this between us and your schoolwork, you need to just relax and unwind without feeling any sort of guilt. Gorge down on these delicious donuts from your favorite dessert shop. I know it’s 35 minutes from campus, but I knew it’d make you smile. 

Yours, Noah.

My heart skipped a beat upon opening the box to 6 huge white glazed donuts. I instantly picked one up and devoured it in seconds, feeling the sugar rush go through my veins. But I also couldn’t help but think about the drive Noah would’ve had to have made to get these. The donut shop is all the way across town, and the line is always out the door so just getting the donuts would’ve had to take another 20 minutes. As I licked my fingers clean of the melted glaze, my phone started to ring in my back pocket. 

“You like it?” That cheeky boy’s voice rang through.

“I really appreciate it Noah. You didn’t have to though, that donut shop is across town! I’m not worth that drive.”

“When it comes to me I’d drive hours for you. Just to see that damn smile of yours that is so rare.” My only response was a smile, bigger than I probably ever have. “And I bet you are right now, so it’s worth the extra gas. Hey listen, let’s go study at the library, I know it’s your go to place and we’ve got that paper to write for English by Friday. I’ll be at your door in 2 secs.” And with that, he hung up, and I heard a knock at my door.

I opened it wide, looking at a perky Noah. 

“You ready nerd?”

We began our walk to the library, laughing at some things we both said and sharing little stories here and there to pass the time and fill the awkward space. It was nice, because we weren’t focusing on the cold or how the walk seemed longer than we thought. 

We eventually found a table on the third floor where I usually study, it’s two seats near the big glass windows overlooking all of campus and the beautiful colors of the fall trees surrounding us. It helped me think, and appreciate all that was around me. It gave me hope that even in the mindst of all the stress, there was some beauty to look forward too in this world. We settled in our seats and brought out our laptops to start typing this 8 page paper. 

Not even 10 minutes into writing, I saw Noah making something from across the table, but I could only see his arms moving, not what he was actually making. I squinted, but then shook my head confused, going back to typing. I was too engrossed in my writing to finally hear Noah stop shifting around, and then I felt something hit my forehead. I gasped, looking straight at Noah with wide eyes as he laughed. People started to turn their heads, so I tried to hold in my own laugh as best I could, throwing the paper football back at him.

“What’s your problem! We’re suppose to be writing our paper! How far did you even get?”

“Two words.”

“Oh yeah? And what are they?”

“My name.” He said, aiming the paper football at me once again, shooting it by missing me by a few centimeters. My laugh continued, shielding my mouth with my sweater covered hand.

“Don’t cover up that smile. I told you, everything I do is worth it if I get to see that. It’s rare, and it makes me feel good knowing I’m the one that makes you shine like that.” I smiled to myself, finally moving my hand away to push a strand of hair behind my ear.

“C’mon Noah, don’t get all sappy with me now. We have 7 more pages to write.”

After a night of studying, we made it back safely to our apartments. Noah and I stood outside my door, staring at each other, both of us clearly not wanting this day to end. He grabbed my hand swiftly and pulled me into him so tight I could smell the abercrombie and fitch cologne he was wearing, and gave me a big hug, kissing the top of my head lightly. 

“I know this isn’t your kind of thing, so I’ll take everything slow. Just so you’re comfortable. But I need you to know that I want to pursue you, Y/N. I want everything that comes with you. Your weird quirks, your outrageous study hours, your unhealthy obsession with donuts.” We both laughed at that last one for how insanely accurate it was. “You’re different, and different is beautiful, especially on you.” I just continued to stare at him in awe. No words could compare to his. Somehow he was always so good with words and could come up with the best things to say without even thinking about it. I didn’t know whether to believe it was because he had done this time and time again with Victoria, or if it was because he actually felt this way about me. I quickly shake the thoughts from my brain as I realize I’m zoning, and I looked down at my shoes.

“And with that, I will say goodnight Noah.”

It felt unfinished to leave him, with nothing, so instead, I pulled up my sleeve to reveal my red scrunchie, one that I used everyday to put my hair up. I never part with it because it was something my family gave to me before I left for college, so it holds deep value to me. I knew that if I gave this to Noah, I would be obligated to see him again tomorrow, instead of wondering if I would see him ever again after this. I still couldn’t fully trust in his feelings, but I could trust in him being a decent human being to give it back.

“But here’s a little something to ensure that we will see each other again tomorrow.” 

He smiled down at his wrist where the red scrunchie now rested. 

“Goodnight, I will definitely see you tomorrow.”

I’m so sorry this took forever, and that this wasn’t a great chapter but it’s a lee-way for what’s to come ahead! Please let me know your feedback and if you’ve like to read what I have in store! Thank you!

[citrontartellete]

Truly, Madly, Deeply

This fic is for the beuatiful, beautiful, beuatiful brazilllian fandom of Good Omens, I should´ve wirite this one in my native language? Yes, but I needed to practice my writing in english. 

Inspired by the prompt “If Crowley gave Aziraphale Mr.Darcy speech to confess his feelings’ I modified a little mr.Darcy´s speech. Hope you all like it. 

Truly, Madly, Deeply

6 months  Post- Amargeddon´t

It was a sunny  day; well as sunny, as can get in the middle of the British spring and his hands were sweating. Not that he was going to admit it, ever! He is a fucking demon. Demons don´t get nervous for Satan’s sakes! Crowley bit his lip and shot a last glance to the picnic basket full of his and Aziraphale’s favourites treats éclairs, macaroons, chocolate cake, small Parma ham sandwiches, crepes and of course two or three bottles of Veuve Clicquot. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his heart thundering in his chest. Today was going to be the day. The one he finally would confess his feelings, oh well, if he didn´t got too nervous, because Crowley was almost sure that he would burst into flames before he could say anything or his wings were going to just manifest themselves because of his nervousness, he is too anxious to have control about things. Really. None should feel like this. It´s just like hell, in the beginning he managed to brush it aside and keep their arrangement and small encounters friendly. All that ‘I will keep it friendly’ thing did is cause this pain in his chest. He could not keep it for himself any longer, especially now. Six months ago, they almost lose everything they loved; including each other and the feeling of losing Aziraphale even for a few hours was unbearable, too painful to put into words Crowley did not want to feel like this ever again, that was when he knew he had to tell his angel everything he was feeling, each word. Hell and Heaven be damned. Therefore, the demon came with a perfect plan, make surprise picnic in the countryside and finally, finally confess his feelings. Perfect plan. He parked his Bentley in front of the bookshop seeing the angel already waiting for him on the pavement. The demon frowned a little he never had seen Aziraphale wearing jeans and converses before and he quite liked it, fitted than angel perfectly, although the colours did not changed at all blue jeans, white converses, blue shirt, with a nice blue cardigan. Crowley did not think possible to fall in love more with the angel. But here he is drooling over Aziraphale because, the blues of his shirt and cardigan brought his clear coloured eyes even more and made him look so bloody shaggable. Crowley wanted to scream.  The angel was a walking temptation.

            ‘Hello Crowley, dear !’ the angel smiled and waved.

          ‘Get in the car angel’ Crowley said and waited nervously as he watched Aziraphale moving to get into the car. The angel was comfortably seat at his side ‘Where you got this clothes, angel ?’

          ‘I´ve miracled them. You don’t like it ?’ Aziraphale answered frowning a little. He sounded almost sad. Crowley absolutely loved it, not that he was going to say it out loud because, he was afraid he might say something inappropriate like Oh angel, I love it very much, all I want to do right is drag you back to the bookshop and shag you ‘till we both start a new apocalypse.

          ‘It´s different. It´s all’

          ‘In a bad way ?’

        ‘In a good way, angel’ Aziraphale smiled gently, the smiling reaching up to his eyes making them spark with joy. I swear he is going to kill me, the demon thought ‘Where are we going ?’

          ‘To the countryside. For a picnic’ the angel giggled and gently patted Crowley´s thigh as way to show how much he loved the idea. Crowley ignited the car again and they drove in a comfortable silence sometimes talking about the weather or what about they are going to do now that they didn´t have head offices to respond to. The demon thought he was imagining things because at each moment the angel stared at him, as if he was the most precious thing in the world while gently caressing his legs smiling to himself before looking to the landscape outside the window again. Of course, he is imagining things; because Aziraphale is an angel so it is only natural, that he looked at everything with all the love in the world.

   ‘You are too quiet today dear. Not even music you are listening to and I know how much you love music’ the angel said staring at him again. The demon´s mouth went dry.

   ‘I know you don’t like the type of music that I listen to Aziraphale, so….’ It was his answer. The angel smiled again, one of those mysterious smiles of his. The one that Crowley clearly read, as I know something you do not know. He hated it. It made him feel uneasy.

    ‘Do you mind if I sing then ?’

    ‘You sing ?’ The demon shouted in surprise ‘Obviously you can sing being a bloody angel and all’ and then Aziraphale started to sing. Just Like Heaven, in a perfect voice and tune like he was born to do it and then Queen all of Crowley´s favourites. If a few moments the demon doubted it now he was sure, his beloved angel was trying to kill him today.

 ***

 Apollo´s Temple, Stourhead Garden, Wiltshire.

    Aziraphale was puzzled. Did Crowley know where they were in ? Did he know that place was considered romantic by hundreds of thousands of mortal girls around the world ? That one of the most beautiful scenes of the cinema was recorded right here ? Did the demon know that he absolutely love Pride and Prejudice the book and the movie of 2005 ? The angel looked around. This is odd, he thought. He shook his head and helped his lovely demon to set the things. He knew about the longing glances Crowley was giving him, shifting at each second, fidgeting with his champagne flute. He also knew that demon loved him. He loved him too. He did not say anything before because there were so much between them. Heaven and Hell, reports and being completely honest Aziraphale was completely afraid. Not for himself but, for Crowley´s life. He dreaded what heaven or hell could do to his beloved demon, if they ever knew they were fraternising. So he drowned all his feelings for the demon down inside him, inside his mind, kept down on the bottom of his mind and heart for so long it hurt him but now they didn’t have anyone to respond to or to fear they were on their own side now.

      ‘Are you alright dear?’ Aziraphale asked, moving his hand to remove Crowley’s sunglasses ‘That is much better, there’s only us here no need for these glasses’ He watched as the demon swallowed hard, following the way his Adam pome bobbed, if he leaned in a little more he could kiss it or nibble and then kiss it, like he imagined doing for all this time. Sometimes he wondered how would be Crowley´s skin to the touch. Aziraphale was going insane.

‘Angel ?’  His demon called him, just then he noticed that he had been staring ‘Are you okay Aziraphale, because you are looking at me like I am one of your crepes’ Aziraphale laughed and sip more of his champagne before continuing :

‘I asked first dear’ the demon twitched a little more and looked away from him.

‘´Course it is, why do you ask ? Are you not liking it ?’ A nervousness that he never seen before was emanating from Crowley, enveloping him and making him give these rushed defensive answers.

‘I am loving it Crowley. Is just you bring me here of all places, then a nice picnic and you are acting nervously. What is happening ?’

‘What is the matter in coming here ? I like it, I quite like it, it´s a nice lovely place and…’ Crowley tried, sitting with legs crossed, resting his champagne flute on the tartan tablecloth the moment had arrived and he wasn’t sure if could tell everything without stutter. Of course, he knew the meaning of that place, he had watched Pride and Prejudice enough (not that he was going to admit it either but he loved this movie too) and he knew the angel loved that place, and that scene in special. He took a breath and closed his eyes, taking Aziraphale´s warm hands in his ‘Listen angel I have something – something to tell you…’

‘Your hands are cold and trembling my dear….’ The angel said, taking their joined hands to his lips and kissing Crowley’s. The demon shivered and stared at his beloved ‘…..Tell me dear, what is it ?’ The sincerity and the love on his angel´s bright blue eyes made Crowley´s head spin a little, so he took another breath again and then he started it :

 ‘Angel, I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few millennia have been a torment. I came to wherever you were with the single object of seeing you. I had to see you. I have fought against my better judgment, and ignored everything that we are our head offices and their expectations we being supposedly hereditary enemies’. The fact that you are heavenly and I´m no more than a bloody fallen angel that has been craving your affection since the beginning of the times, even though now our head offices will leave us alone, for a while or for the time they wish to . I put all these things aside in the past just to have a moment with you and now I ask you to end my agony. In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you’ Crowley said with a hoarse voice full of emotion, making sure every word is wrapped in love, so his angel could feel it in his bones, in his being whole being. He watched as Aziraphale, leaned in closer resting their forehead´s together their nose touching.

‘You bewitched me Crowley, body and soul and I love you, I love you, I love you…’ Aziraphale whispered, staring at him intertwining their fingers, dropping his gaze to his lips.

‘Angel….’ He whispered, then the angel kissed him, it wasn´t chaste as he expected, it was so full of love, of longing and unsaid things, their mouths almost devouring each other. Aziraphale´s hands on his neck, tracing the back of it gently. Crowley´s hands on his angel´s hips, holding him in an almost bruising touch. They break the kiss smiling like two fools. The angel hid his face on his demon neck placing soft kisses on his skin.

‘Are you happy ?’  Aziraphale asked.  

‘Very much so’ Crowley answered, caressing the angel´s hair and shoulder.

‘How should I call you from now on, my dear ?’

‘When you are cross with me of Crowley or demon, when I do something that pleases you very much you can call me love, on our daily life it can be my dear and when you are extremely happy you can call me my love…’ The demon whispered on his angel ear feeling him shiver and giggle and look up at him again with bright eyes, moving to kiss him again, whispering softly on his lips

‘My love, my love, my love from the dawn of the times until the stars don´t shine anymore’ They kissed again, forgetting their picnic and the rest of the world.

 Edited :) 

[sprnklersplashes]

not beyond repair (2/?)

AO3

“Thanks Mr Dunnstock,” Veronica says as she jumps out of Martha’s dad’s car. Martha climbs out of the front seat and thanks her dad too before she and Veronica run into the 7/11, the sun just going down behind the towering store. Movie nights and sleepovers had become commonplace for them since they started attending school. When they were five, it was Barbies and ice cream and Disney videos. When they were nine, it was make-overs and pillow fights and promising they’d stay up until midnight and falling asleep at ten thirty. Now they’re twelve, so it’s candy overloads and magazines and games of “would you rather”. And Disney. They always circle back to Disney. Nothing makes Veronica feel more at home than being half asleep on Martha’s couch with a crumpled chocolate wrapper on her stomach and Cinderella on the TV. And three weeks into the school year, with homework beginning to pile up, it’s exactly the break she needed.

They rush into the store, pockets bulging with their saved up allowances. Veronica drew up a careful plan in the back of science class; their combined allowances would get them each a big chocolate bar, a sharing bag of chips and one or two sharing bags of candy, and they’d still have money left over for a pizza to order when they got home. While Martha’s mom had insisted she could buy them a frozen one, they had politely declined. Pizza always tastes so much better coming from their own wallets.

Veronica runs over to the chips section while Martha starts looking at the bags of candy. She reaches up for the original flavour tortilla chips on the top shelf and makes a mental note to ask Martha if her parents have salsa and if not, hope she can make her money stretch towards a pot. She strains up onto her toes and stretches out her arm, her fingers just grazing the bag. She jumps a little, hoping to get it, but to no avail.

Curse her yet-to-come growth spurt. She’s still smaller than most of the girls in her class. Heather Duke towers over her, which isn’t fun when she’s trying not to be intimidated by her.

Beside her, someone takes it off the shelf and hands it to her. She takes it off them with red cheeks and looks up to thank them, expecting it to be an employee.

Instead, it’s JD, of all the people. Red slushie in one hand, the other in the pocket of his jacket.

“Thanks,” she says, holding them close to her chest.

“No problem,” he replies, toying with the straw of his slushie. “You doing something big tonight or just devouring that whole bag in one go?”

“Martha and I are having a sleepover,” she answers.

“Sounds fun,” he replies.

“Yeah,” she says, wiping her sweaty hand on her jeans and clearing her throat. She doesn’t pretend she doesn’t know why he has this effect on her; when he comes into class and takes his seat in front of her, she can’t keep her eyes off him, can’t will her heart to stop beating so damn quickly. “So what are you doing here?” Wow, smooth small talk, Veronica.

“Had a slushie craving,” he answers. “And I had nothing better to do. Either hang out at home.. Or here. My favourite place in the world.”

“Your favourite place is the 7/11?” she asks, looking around her. “No offense but… why?”

“Well,” he says. “You know how I said I’ve moved around a lot? What I’ve noticed is that in every single state I go to there’s a 7/11. Boston, LA, Chicago, Texas…” He freezes, his hand curling into a fist. Veronica debates stepping forward or trying to talk to him; the faraway look in his eyes makes her think he can’t even see her. His hands tighten on the slushie.

“JD?” she asks. She decides to reach out and tap his arm. “Hey, JD?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head. He smiles, but his eyes still look… haunted, that would be the word she’d use. “Sorry, got lost in my own head there. Anyway where was I? Right, every city, every state I’ve been to, there’s a 7/11.” He begins strolling up the aisle, walking backwards, motioning for her to follow. She laughs under her breath but does so. “No matter where you go they always look the same. They’re my own little home on the way to home.” He wiggles his slushie in front of her eyes, the ice crystals catching the artificial light. “I can take one of these bad boys and just walk up and down the aisles for as long as I want.”

He takes a long, fast drink out of the slushie.

“You know you’ll get a brain freeze if you drink it that fast,” she remarks. He stops drinking and, just as she predicted, winces at the brain freeze.

“Maybe that was the idea,” he tells her, smiling against the pain in his head.

“Veronica?”

She turns to see Martha standing a bit behind her, holding a bag of chips, giant candy bar and two bags of assorted candies. Martha shifts from foot to foot as she looks at her best friend and JD. Veronica turns back to him, smiling sheepishly.

“I should go,” she said, tossing the bag of chips lightly in her hands. “Thanks again for these.”

“Any time,” he replies with a smile. “Enjoy your sleepover.” He turns away from her and wanders off down the aisle, continuing to drink his slushie while his free hand trails along the shelves.

She wonders what he meant about the brain freezes.

In Martha’s house, they spread their 7/11 stash out on the coffee table and Veronica orders the pizza before they change into her pyjamas. Veronica hops into her sleeping bag and curls up on the armchair in Martha’s living room while Martha stretches hers out on the couch, reminding her that she’s more than welcome to take the couch if she wants.

“Hey, Veronica,” she begins while eating a slice of plain cheese. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” she replies, wiping her greasy hands on her sleeping bag. One of them should have brought paper towels.

“Do you like JD?” she asks. The questions catches Veronica off guard.

“Do I like him?” she echoes. “I mean, he’s okay I guess. He seems cool. I don’t not like him-”

“That’s not what I meant,” Martha tells her, scooting closer to her. “I meant do you, you know…” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Like-like him?”

“Martha!” she laughs. “No, of course not!” If she’s honest, she doesn’t really know if she’s telling the truth or not. Whatever this is, it’s new for her.

“I think he might like you,” she tells her.

“What makes you think that?” she asks, trying to sound casual, but the way her heart flutters and a smile forces its way onto her face betrays her. Martha looks through their sugar feast on the table and picks up one of her magazines, flipping it open to the middle.

“Here,” she says, showing her the page, which says in big pink lettering “Ten Signs A Boy Wants To Be More Than Friends”.

“And you think JD wants to be more than friends?” Veronica asks. “I’m not even sure we’re friends yet.”

“Well let’s see,” Martha says, reading the magazine. “See? Number two, he always finds excuses to talk to you. JD’s always trying to talk to you.”

“Martha, I’m the only one he tries talks to,” she reminds her. Martha raises her eyebrows as if Veronica’s just proven her point.

“Number five, he laughs at your jokes,” she reads. “The other day, JD laughed when you made that joke at lunch.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, laughing herself. “Because it was funny.” At lunch, Betty had been saying that she had seen paper spray on sale in the store with her mum, and Veronica had joked that it was in case people are victims of a-salt. JD, who was leaning against the wall reading yet another book, looked up and laughed.

Which he should have. Because it was funny.

“Okay,” Martha says, clearly not entirely convinced. “Well what about this? ‘He keeps finding reasons to touch you’.”

“I don’t know,” Veronica says, shrugging. “I don’t count.”

“Well, I do,” Martha says. “He’s always finding reasons to touch you. Like when you two walk to geography together. I see him, Veronica. He keeps brushing his hand against yours.” Veronica stops and thinks about it. She rubs the back of her hand, feeling in her mind how JD’s brushes against hers in the crowded hallways. But she knows that’s only because he keeps getting knocked against her.

“We’re just friends, Martha,” she says. “Actually, I don’t think we’re even friends.” Martha shakes her head, a small sad smile on her face.

“You should see the way he looks at you,” she says, her voice slightly deflated. She looks down at her hands, linking and unlinking her fingers.

“Martha?”

“It’s nothing,” she sighs. “I just hope someone looks at me like that one day.”

Veronica sits up in her sleeping bag and half-jumps, half-shuffles over to Martha. At least that makes her laugh. She drops to her knees beside her, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.

“Martha,” she says, her heart slightly breaking. “Martha, someone will one day. Trust me.”

“You really think so?” she asks, starting to smile. “Or are you just saying that because you’re my best friend?”

“Of course I think so,” she replies. “Martha, you’re super kind, crazy smart and funny.” She jumps up onto the sofa beside her. “And besides, who cares about some dumb boys?” Martha huffs a laugh and leans her head against Veronica’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Veronica.”

“And anyway… if you want, you can take JD, I’m not using him right now.” That makes Martha really laugh, throwing back her head and scrunching up her eyes and her shoulders beginning to shake.

“He’s all yours,” she says, getting up to lift a slice of pizza from the table. “He’s not my type.”

“You have a type?”

“Of course.” Veronica fights the urge to roll her eyes. She loves Martha, but she’ll never get why of all the boys at school, she had to fall for Ram Sweeney.

Still, for now, she banishes all thoughts of boys from her mind and presses her cheek against Martha’s shoulder while they settle on a video to watch while Veronica braids Martha’s hair before they inevitably crash from the sugar high and fall asleep a little after midnight, Martha curled up on the couch with Veronica practically on top of her, forgetting that the world outside of Martha’s house and anyone other than the two of them exists.

                                                                                                   *****

When she gets to geography on Monday, JD is already there, lost in another book. Before she can even realise what she’s doing, Veronica brushes her hair behind her ear and pulls her jumper down before she approaches him.

“Hey,” she greets. He looks up at her and smiles. He slides his bookmark in and sets his book aside, turning his body towards her.

“Salutations,” he replies. “How was your sleepover?”

“Great,” she says, taking her seat behind him. “You know, just watched Pinocchio and ate pizza.” And talked about you, she thinks but won’t say.

“Ah,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “I believe that’s what they would call, girl stuff.”

“I guess,” she admits, scratching behind her ear. “What about you? Do anything fun over the weekend?”

“Oh, lots,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I went a little crazy and unpacked one whole box in my room.” He opens his mouth wide in a pantomime of shock and Veronica giggles. “Wait and see, this week I plan to go completely bananas and even put things on a shelf.”

“Wow, slow down, someone might call the cops on you,” she continues. “So you’re still not unpacked then?”

“Nah. It always takes a while to get everything completely out.” He lifts a pencil off his desk and toys with it; poking it in the middle of his hand, slapping it against his palm. “But then…I mean, if I’m away in a few weeks, what’s the point, right?” He forces a smile on his face.

“Oh,” she says. She doesn’t look him in the eye, instead looking at her desk, focussing on the graffiti on the wood. His eyes follow hers.

“Well,” he says. “Guess while I’m here, I might as well make my mark, right?” She looks up and watches him take a pen out of his pocket. “It’s your desk. May I?” She nods, a smile creeping on her face. He leans forward and presses the pen into the wood, moving it almost frantically, going over lines three, four, five times, making it sink in. Making it last. He leans back when he’s finished, gesturing with his hand. “What do you think?” She looks at the spot where he was writing. There’s a ‘J.D.’ written there in black ink and sharp lines.

“Now you’re in Westerburg Middle School forever,” she says. An idea unfurls in her mind, a little more daring than she would normally think, and she bites her lip. “Can I…” He slowly hands her over the pen and there’s what she can only describe as an intrigued smile as she starts just below his. It’s harder than he made it look, writing on wood, and she goes over the lines a few times.

But within what seems like no time at all, there’s a ‘V.S.’ just underneath ‘J.D.’.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“Think I should do what you do?” she asks, glancing up at him through her hair. “Have people start calling me VS?” He shakes his head lightly, biting his lip.

“I think Veronica suits you,” he tells her, looking down at his hands. “It’s pretty. Like you are.”

The pen nearly falls from her hands. She feels like all the air has been sucked out of her lungs as a blush creeps up her cheeks and across her nose.

No one has ever called her pretty before. Her parents used to call her beautiful when she was younger but she realised that that’s what every parent calls their kids. Martha has called her beautiful too but as a friend. No one has called her pretty before, and no one has said anything to her with the expression JD has right now. She’d almost say he looks bashful, smiling ever so slightly, looking nervously at her while he fidgets.

She worries she’s in danger of falling off her seat but then she doesn’t care. All she can hear is the word ‘pretty’ echoing in her mind.

“You’re blushing,” Heather Chandler tells her as she walks past, whacking her desk with her bag as she goes. Veronica frowns at her and looks to JD, who’s still just looking at her.

“Thanks,” she manages, her voice as small as a mouse’s. She smacks herself internally. All she could come up with was ‘thanks’? Still, his smile grows bigger and he pushes his dark curls out of his eyes. Mr Matthews walks in and he turns around, but he keeps his eyes on her for as long as he can and god, does it make her insides melt.

Screw Heather Chandler, she thinks. She can be as read as the scrunchie in her hair and she’ll remain that way if only he keeps looking at her like that.

With fifteen minutes left in the class, Mr Matthews springs the first fun event of the year on them; their semester projects are due soon, and this time, now that they’re in seventh grade, they can do them in pairs. Initially, a cheer erupts in the class, the room overflowing with overlapping voices claiming their friends as partners. Veronica sits amongst the noise, resenting the fact that Martha isn’t in her class and they can’t be partners, the way they’ve been for everything, until she remembers who is in front of her. He hasn’t moved since the assignment’s been announced; his desk partner is leaning across the room to talk to his friend.

“Okay, okay, but…” Mr Matthews says. “You’re not choosing your partner.”

Veronica isn’t sure she’s ever seen a room change so quickly. Excitable chatter quickly turns to groans and whines and protests of unfairness. It’s kind of funny admittedly, but Veronica can’t help but feel a little bit deflated.

She just hopes she doesn’t get saddled with a Heather.

While his class protest, Mr Matthews lifts out a small, hard plastic bowl, containing small slips of paper.

“You’ll draw names from this,” he explains over the dwindling noise. “It’s completely random, luck of the draw.” He shakes the bowl for good measure and presents it to them like it’s a prize. “So who wants the first pick?”

“I’ll do it,” JD pipes up. Mr Matthews seems taken aback by his enthusiasm, but nonetheless invites him up to the front. Veronica finds herself holding her breath as he reaches in and picks out a piece of paper. There’s 28 names written in there. 27 not counting his. She’s one in 27.

“So,” he says. “Who did you get, Jason?” JD gives a low chuckle when he opens the paper.

“Veronica Sawyer,” he replies, showing him the slip. He turns and smiles at her and she smiles right back, her feet dancing under the desk.

She can’t even hear Heather Chandler’s faux-vomiting behind her.

She and JD walk out of class together, closer than most other people in the hallway are, him reading the assignment off the page everyone was given.

“It doesn’t look that hard,” she says. The assignment a five minute oral report on either earthquakes or volcanoes, using recent examples and visual clues.

“No it doesn’t,” he agrees. “Are you free on Friday?”

“Mmm-hmm.” His walk slows down and he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Want to come over to my house to work on it?” he asks. “My dad won’t be home until late, so it’ll be quiet. And I can make pasta.”

“Sure,” she says. She thinks briefly that she should take up drama, because she’s amazing at making herself seem calm when really, she’s bouncing up and down inside. “And what about tomorrow, after school, just to get it started? We can go to the library?”

“Sounds awesome,” he says. They come to the corner of the hallway, where the two corridors diverged. Veronica looks down one and he looks down the other.

“I have French now,” she explains. He nods, biting his lip.

“And I have English,” he replies, his shoulders sagging. “Well, au reviour, Veronica.”

“Bye,” she replies instead, starting to giggle. She stays put for a while wand watches him go, his black coat standing out among all the other students.

She’s grown up enough to admit it to herself. She, as Martha would put it, has it bad.

On Friday, JD meets Veronica after her last class of the day, Math. She bids goodbye to Martha, who gives her a knowing smile that tells her exactly what her best friend is thinking, and she and JD go out the main door together, walking out the gate along with a sea of students and he starts leading her down his path home. He had told her at lunch on Thursday it was a long walk and he hoped she didn’t mind. Really, she doesn’t, not when the weather is nice enough and they go into a small store on the way and buy candy bars and he’s by her side talking about everything and nothing.

When they do reach his house, its much bigger than Veronica expected, especially considering it was just JD and his dad. Dark red brick and black tiled roof and a wooden porch with steps they run up. Up close, she can see it isn’t perfect; paint peels and chips off the door, the porch has bars missing and the windows don’t have curtains. But even with all that it’s pretty breathaking.

“Wow,” she says. “Your house is amazing.”

“It’s okay,” he says, turning the key in the lock. “Dad got it cheap enough.” He leads her into an uncarpeted wooden floor hallway, plain walls with stained-looking white paint and through into the small kitchen. The walls are red and there’s nothing on them, just like in the hallway, and the fridge door is completely bare. JD opens it and takes out two cans of Diet Coke, handing one to Veronica. “Sorry about the mess, we’re still not entirely unpacked.” She looks around and sees what he means; there’s still boxes sitting around the place, as well as jackets slung on the chairs and couch, and a few empty beer cans next to the couch. He takes her by the hand and leads her into the living room that follows on from the kitchen. It’s not as bare as the rest of the house; there’s a circular red rug on the floor and a beige leather couch and a TV set propped up on a wooden table, as well as a few pictures and books along one of the shelves. “As you can see I tried to do a bit of decorating. Make the place nice.”

“Just for me?” she jokes and he laughs. He doesn’t stop her when she walks over to the shelf, eyes scanning over the books and photos. She spots Moby Dick and Wuthering Heights, Frankenstein and Dracula. “Are these all yours?”

“Yeah,” he answers, coming up behind her. “I got most of them second hand at this bookstore a last year. She almost laughs; she can’t imagine going near anything that deep. Her eyes move to the photos. She sees one of a toddler in a blue onesie with little dark curls chewing on the ear of a toy rabbit. No mistake, it’s JD. Brave, she touches her finger to the glass and chuckles, turning to him.

“You were cute,” she tells him. She looks at the one beside it; a woman with dark brown hair and brown eyes and dark skin, standing in a green dress, smiling, one hand on her prominent baby bump. Her chin is identical to the one of the boy next to her, who stiffens, catching his breath.

“That would be my mom,” he says.

“She’s pretty.”

“Yeah, she was.”

Veronica’s mouth falls open. God, how could she have missed it? Never talking about his mother, only mentioning his father, and having her picture out pride of place on his shelf. God she’s so stupid.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice flat.  He rolls his lips into a thin line so that they almost disappear. “It was two years ago.” He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair, and seems to do a complete 180. “Anyway, let’s start this project, shall we?”

Despite the awkward conversation about his mom, and the fact that it’s school work, working on the project with JD actually turns out to be fun. Really fun. So fun they pass nearly two hours in almost no time at all. They piece together information from the books strewn around them and sketch out rough diagrams. JD seems fascinated by volcanoes, and especially about Pompeii. His eyes light up when he talks about them, he revels in each new piece of information they learn.

“A whole city,” he says, turning the page. “A whole city just… gone.” He gestures with his arm, sweeping broadly across the air as though he’s the lava and his living room is Pompeii. “I mean one mountain had all that power. It’s crazy. And none of them even knew about it until it was too late.”

“Wow, you’re really into this,” she remarks, a book balanced on her knees. He runs his hand through his hair and nods, shrugging.

“I just think… all that power, all that chaos and destruction just came from one mountain,” he explains. “A whole city was gone. You know I was reading about it once, I heard that when these explorers went and dug it up, under the ash, it was exactly like it was back then. People were frozen in the places they were in when they were running.” There’s something in his eyes that Veronica can’t quite place; some kind of excitement that makes her feel like he’s not all here. It’s gone soon though, replaced by something close to sheepish and a soft smile. “Anyway… What have we got so far?”

“Um, how volcanoes are formed,” she says, flicking through her pages of notes. That should take up about two minutes, if we want to leave room for the rest of the stuff-” She’s cut off by her stomach making an embarrassingly loud rumble. She hasn’t eaten a full meal since lunch, and while the candy bars she and JD had bought in the store were great, they weren’t exactly filling. Still, she cringes, blushing to the roots of her hair, and when JD giggles, she wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“I would ask if you’re hungry,” he jokes. She responds by lifting a cushion off the couch and throwing it at his head. He catches it expertly and looks at the clock on the wall. “Yeah, so am I.” He gets up and holds his hand out to her. She takes it and lets him lift her to her feet while her embarrassment fades. “Come on, let’s see what we have.” He doesn’t let go of her hand, not that she’s complaining, and leads her into the kitchen.

“Should we wait for your dad to get back?” she asks, rubbing the back of her neck. She’s watched her mother cooking more times than she can remember but wouldn’t have the first clue about how to work the cooker herself. JD, however, jumps up onto the counter and starts looking through the cupboards.

“You wouldn’t want my dad near an oven if you knew him,” he says. “He somehow manages to undercook and overcook. Do you like pasta?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” He lifts out a packet and keeps looking before taking out a heavy looking jar. “Tomato and basil sauce?”

“Sounds great.”

He jumps down from the counter and starts working like it’s second nature to him. Veronica watches, half fascinated. As far as she is concerned, this is the adult’s world, and yet JD runs it without a problem. She wants to ask how when he learned to cook, but he question sits dominant on her tongue.

“Don’t look too impressed,” he tells her as he fills up the pot with water and brings it over to the stove. “Pasta’s not that hard.” He opens the pasta packet and starts pouring in as much as he can. “Except for when you’re trying to judge how much is enough. Then it’s a minefield.” She wonders exactly how much he thinks is enough, because while she’s no expert, what he’s putting in seems way too much for two people, especially people as small as them. She stands next to him as he turns the stove on, minute flames dancing on the ring. “After my mom died, I was on my own a lot. Dad likes to work late.” Veronica nods. Her question is seemingly answered, but part of her wishes he wasn’t telling her. How does she react to something like this? “So I learned a lot. How to cook pasta, do laundry, get my ass to school on time, pay for the cable, get groceries. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“Oh,” she says, searching for the appropriate response. “That… must have been hard.” He shrugs casually but bites his lip hard. He lets his hair fall in front of his face.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, his voice thin. He coughs into the crook of his arm. “But you know… everyone has to learn about this some time. I just got the accelerated course of study.” He lets out a dark chuckle. “AP class in adulthood. Maybe that’s why I’m so much more mature than the meatheads in our grade.”

“Are you calling me a meathead?” Veronica asks playfully. When he looks at her however, it isn’t playful. It reminds Veronica of how she felt when he dropped the bombshell about his mother. The look of internally kicking yourself in the shin.

“Of course not,” he says, his voice lined with sincere regret. “Sorry… ego took over for a second. You’re not a meathead. You’re… you’re awesome.” She laughs, a little too loud in her mind, but he just smiles at her. At least she didn’t snort, she thinks to herself. “Come on, I think this is ready.”

They sit at JD’s small, round kitchen table, a bowl of pasta each and some left in the covered saucepan for JD’s dad when he gets in.

“If he gets in tonight,” JD adds, and Veronica’s heart skips a beat. Her mind races to horror stories she’s heard about people going missing, and JD’s casual tone slightly frightens her. She must look at shocked as she feels because he quickly clarifies. “Sometimes he doesn’t get home until after I go to bed. So he doesn’t even eat anything until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well, you make awesome pasta.”

“Don’t praise me,” he tells her. “Praise Mr Grossman, the maker of that sauce.” He kisses his fingers in a pantomime of an Italian chef. “Perfection. Get your mom to buy it for you.”

“I could tell her I can make pasta now,” she says. “She can take nights off.”

“Hold onto your childhood,” he tells her. “Let your mom keep doing the cooking.”

After JD puts the empty bowls in the sink, he lifts out two cookies for dessert and tosses one to her.

“Perks of getting to do your own grocery shopping,” he tells her as they sit back down to their project. “And my dad is none the wiser.”

A key turns in the front door, making Veronica look up and JD jump.

“Shit,” he whispers, looking from the direction of the door to her. “Shit.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks. She’s never seen that look on his face before; his cheeks start to turn red and his eyes are wide and he chews the side of his lip in his nerves.

“My dad’s home,” he states, as if she hadn’t worked that out. “Um, I’m sorry, he’s a little… You should probably go home now.”

The abruptness of his words take her aback, hitting her in the chest. Still, she nods just as the door opens and begins packing away her stuff in her bag, taking her time while JD hurries. The contrast in their actions hurts her, despite her best attempts to brush it off

“You can hold onto all the notes,” he tells her, handing her the pages of her scribbled handwriting. “You did most of them anyway. What about I keep the diagrams?” She nods slowly, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. JD’s shoulders drop and he lets out a sigh, his expression guilt-ridden. “Look, I’m sorry… it’s just my dad… I thought he’d be home later and he gets weird when I have people over.”

“JD I won’t judge,” she promises. He nods but doesn’t seem to hear her, his face growing panicked when he hears the footsteps in the hall getting louder.

“I know,” he says distractedly, running his hand through his hair as he looks towards the hall. “Just… I think it is best if you go.”

Before Veronica can even agree, his dad enters. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from him, JD rarely talks about him and when he does, the words aren’t flattering. His dad has the same dark hair as him, but where JD’s is a mess of curls, his dad’s is slicked back. His eyes are small, there’s stubble and a grimace on his round face. He’s short and thin and wearing a beige jacket over a yellow checked shirt and jeans, which has the bulge of a cigarette packet in them. He carries a crate of some kind of beer under his arm. It’s not a brand Veronica recognises; she’s only ever seen her dad drink and it’s not one he drinks.

Everything about JD changes when he comes in. She sees his shoulders tense, his grip on the drawings in his hand tightening until he crumples the paper, his back straightening, a blush coming into his cheeks. He ducks his head slightly, letting his hair hide his eyes. She even hears his breathing get heavier.

“Hey dad,” his dad-Mr Dean, she supposes-says, taking a can out of the crate and depositing the rest in the fridge. JD shoots an apologetic look to a confused Veronica. “How was work today? It was miserable.” He takes a long sip of the can in his hand, leaning on the kitchen table. “Some old bitch says I don’t have the right permit to blow up that hotel.” JD looks at the ground. The paper in his hand is crushed into a ball. The silence feels like it’s suffocating Veronica as she looks from JD to his dad to the floor, wondering what the hell she’s meant to do now. “Gee dad, I almost for got to introduce my new friend here.” He gets up from the table and crosses over to them, sitting comfortably down on the couch, looking at the pair of them expectedly.

“Dad, this is Veronica,” he introduces. “She just came over to work on a project.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand. Mr Dean laughs, deep and loud.

“Get your own, cutie, there’s some in the fridge,” he says. Veronica lets her hand drop to her side and curl into a fist.

“Anyway, Veronica was just leaving,” JD says. He takes her arm and the sudden grip on her nearly makes her squeal.

“She doesn’t have to.” Mr Dean leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, looking at her with an unsettling grin. “Can’t my little friend stay for dinner, Dad?”

“We already ate,” JD shoots back. “There’s pasta in the pot if you want some.”

Before his dad can say anything else, JD takes Veronica down the hall. Well, ‘takes’ is a kind word. The more appropriate word would be ‘drag’. She can’t even catch her breath as he drags her to the front door, her tripping over her feet and struggling to keep her bag on her shoulder. When they get to the door, he turns her around to face her, his face a mix of so many different emotions; the telltale blush of humiliation, a grimace of regret, his eyes confused.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her again. “I told you, my dad gets weird when I have people home.”

“It’s okay,” she says. It doesn’t feel okay, but she lets it slide. He gives her a shaky smile.

“I’ll see you on Monday? Maybe we can go to the library?”

“Sure. Yeah that’s… that’s fine.” He nods and opens the front door and she takes the hint and steps out. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice tight. “Bye Veronica.”

“Bye, JD.”

He closes the door and leaves her alone on the porch, her heart slightly racing. She wobbles backwards before turning around and running down the steps. It’s colder than she thought it would be; goosebumps form on her arms despite her jacket-she’s not wearing her jacket. She kicks herself as she pictures it perfectly. Her jacket is sitting on the Deans’ couch. She debates for a moment going back in and getting it, but JD made it fairly clear he didn’t want her in his house and if she’s honest with herself, she’s not sure she wants to be in his house while his dad’s there.

                                                                                               ******

JD stays at the door for a second, looking through the thin windows at Veronica. There’s something lovely in the way she walks. At school, she tends to walk with her head down a little, but on the street, when she’s alone, or when she was walking with him, she looks lost in her own world.

He’d do anything to live in that world with her. Instead, he has to go back to the world in his kitchen.

He finds his dad scooping the pasta in to a bowl. He doesn’t look up when JD enters, though it’s not like he would have expected him to. Most days he’s lucky if he gets a nod.

“Well, champ, Veronica seems like a real nice girl,” JD says loudly. “Oh she is. Yeah she just came over to work on a project.” He just keeps eating. JD sticks his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking as the silence stretches out between them. “Anyway I’m glad you’re making friends here, son.” His dad regards him with a look, and for a moment he hopes he’s gotten through to him. After all, this is a fairly big revelation. The first time in two years he’s had a real friend. They should go out for ice cream like normal people do when their kid gets an A on a test.

“Did the rent come in?” he asks instead. JD bites back his scream.

“Yeah,” he says. “The letter came in this morning.” He gestures to the white envelope on the table. “You’ll find my contribution in your room.” He nods and goes back to his pasta. JD wants him to tell him it’s good. To thank him for cooking. To promise to pay him back. To ask him about school, about Veronica, about his project. Instead he just looks straight through him.

His eyes land on the empty dishes in the sink and his hand twitches. He crosses over to the sink and grabs on of them. His breaths come deeply and slowly and raggedly. The unbroken plate sits there like an itch begging to the scratched.

So he smashes it on the floor. It goes into five pieces.

His dad jumps and turns around, leaning on the chair and raising an eyebrow. You’d think he caught his son using the wrong grammar (or, that would be the case if his dad ever cared about grammar).

“How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” he sighs. “That shit costs money, you know.” Two sentences. Nineteen words. But for those two sentences, he has a father.

The other plate ends up smashed on the floor before he has time to think. Seven pieces this time. His dad rolls his eyes and glares at him.

“That’s coming out of your allowance,” he grumbles. He turns away from him and hunches his shoulders. Even from across the kitchen, JD shivers.  He wonders if he should remind his dad that he doesn’t actually give him allowance, that all his money for rent and slushies comes from newspaper runs.

He makes a mental note to check who needs a newspaper boy in this town.

He wonders briefly if he should clean up the mess he made, and even bends down for a moment. He looks over at his dad. His still, silent, oblivious dad.

“Be careful there, son, you could cut yourself on those sharp edges,” he says to his dad’s back. “Why don’t you go on upstairs, I’ll sort that out.”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He runs over to the couch and grabs his bag, haphazardly throwing pieces of the project in there with shaking hands, not knowing or caring what they are. He just wants to get out of there as soon as possible. Maybe escape into a book or run up the 7/11.

Just as he’s passing the couch, he sees it. Veronica’s blue denim jacket. He internally slaps himself for forgetting to give it to her before quite literally throwing her out the door. He picks it up, rubbing the material between his fingers, remembering how it looked over the long green dress she had been wearing. He finds it amazing how she doesn’t seem to care about her looks, not like the Heathers and their carefully coordinated skirts, but she’s easily the prettiest girl in their class.

“What’s that?” his dad asks. JD can’t help but smile. Even the smallest sentences out of his dad come as a victory. Even more so when he doesn’t need to break something to get it.

“Veronica left her jacket here,” he explains, avoiding his dad’s gaze. He grunts in response. “I’ll have to give it back to her on Monday.” He knows his dad’s not listening at this point, but it’s fun to pretend just this once. “If she’s still talking to me.”

He decides to shut himself up in his room that night. He carefully places Veronica’s jacket on the back of a wooden chair in his room and lays back on his bed. Beside the bed, there’s one box marked “JD’s clothes” and another marked “JD’s stuff”. He’s gone over the words quite a few times, but his mom’s handwriting it still just about visible. He rolls over, traces the faint script with his finger and digs out a book he’s read at least fifteen times and starts reading it again, revelling in the familiarity allowing his mind to wander. Not long after he picks it up, he puts the book down and settles for staring up at the ceiling.

He shouldn’t get too attached to Veronica. He knows it’s just a matter of time before his dad packs him into the back of his car and they take along drive to wherever it is next. The first time they moved, it was exciting. Then the second time it was less so. When the third time rolled around, JD caught on. They’re never going to stay in one place for too long now. He’s living out of a suitcase and a cardboard box. Veronica says she’s known these people all her life and he considers her lucky. He barely remembers his old friends.

When his mom was alive, they didn’t need to move so much. They still moved, but after a few years of staying around, when the idea of going to a new place would be an adventure rather than a burden. He’s been to three new schools in the two years since she died.

JD rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes tightly. He will not cry. His dad will not make him cry. He won’t get that out of him. He rolls over more so that his face is planted in his pillow and he pushes the sides of it into his ears, blocking out the world. What he really wants is a slushie; a nice trick he stumbled upon a year ago. Drink it fast and let your mind go numb. You stop thinking, breathing, existing, everything stops except the pain in your head. But unfortunately he doesn’t have the money for one after paying his share of the rent and even if he did, it might involve having to pass his father in the hallway, so he settles for pressing his face further and further into the pillow until colours shoot around the backs of his eyelids and his ears start ringing.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does anyway, his fingers letting go of the pillow, his breathing evening out. He whimpers slightly and shifts onto his side, unconsciously grabbing the blanket for something to hold on to. Still, even in all the vulnerability and weakness of sleep, he doesn’t cry.

[imagine-loki]

Packless Monsters

TITLE: Packless Monsters CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 3/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a werewolf who ends up in the company of Loki in the Avenger’s tower after saving Pepper’s life RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

     Loki led you to the elevator and down a few floors to where the communal living room, dining room, and kitchen were. The tower was huge and gorgeous. You hadn’t noticed on your trip in, you were a little preoccupied being angry, bound, injured, and drugged. You looked over the skyline from the giant windows in the living room. “Stark builds nice things,” you commented, following Loki to the kitchen where the food lived.

    “Admittedly,” Loki replied, sounding grumpy. You could tell he didn’t much care for Stark. You also had the impression that the feeling was mutual. “I don’t actually know if there is anything to eat in here, nor could I cook it if there is…” he admitted, sounding embarrassed that he was not providing properly. You rolled your eyes. Males were all the same. They wanted to protect and provide, but they couldn’t actually do anything with the food once it was provided.

    “Males,” you growled, exasperated, and began looking through the fridge and cabinets to see what there was to make. He’d given you the invitation, and besides, you might bite him again if you didn’t get something to eat soon.

    “I feel like I should defend my gender…” Loki started to say with a laugh.

    You managed to find spaghetti to make and ingredients for a meat sauce. “Don’t bother trying. None of you can survive on your own,” you teased as you got to work. It was a simple meal and you had plenty of practice cooking, unlike a certain trickster god apparently.

    He huffed in reply. “I am a prince of a foreign world. Of course I cannot cook the Midgardian way,” he grumbled, but watched curiously as you worked. He seemed surprised at how much you were making, but didn’t comment on it. He was so adorable watching you work that you couldn’t be annoyed with him for it.

    Not thinking, you tasted the sauce, then held the spoon up for him, treating him automatically like one of the wolves. He acted so similar to them, that you were acting without thinking, which was stupid. “What d’you think?” He looked shocked and hesitated. You flushed and dropped the spoon in the sink. “I’m sure it’s fine,” you said quickly, knowing you’d overstepped. It was hard to tell with humans where the line between friendly and overstepping was. Loki wasn’t human, but the point was still the same. “You can’t catch lycanthropy from me while I’m in human form, by the way,” you added while you dug in the cabinets for plates.

    “No, it’s not- I’m sorry. The gesture was just so-” he spluttered, tongue tied. You gave him a small, false, smile and handed him a plate. “I am simply not used to anyone being kind to me,” he told you firmly, finally finding his tongue again. Had you known more about him, you might have been impressed that you’d managed to tie his tongue.

    “Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged as you filled your own plate, but you wouldn’t look at him and wouldn’t let him see you hurt. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten so familiar with a stranger. He just…felt like pack. “Wolves tend to be overly familiar…I’m usually more careful, but today has kinda been an off day…”

    At least he didn’t comment on how full your plate was, though his was equally full. You made your way back into the dining room and picked a seat. You weren’t surprised when he pulled your chair out for you. You had been expecting the old-fashioned courtesy from him for some reason. You nodded in thanks and waited until he was seated before starting on the food. Even starving, you could pretend to have manners. “I apologize if I offended you. That was not my intent…I have never met anyone like you before,”

    You snorted in laughter at that and he smirked. It was the same noise in both human and wolf form and he smirked when he recognized that fact. It seemed to amuse him. “I’m not surprised. No one is supposed to know about the werewolves, and seeing a female wolf out in the world is very nearly unheard of,”

    “And why is that?” he asked calmly, using the same gentle tone he’d used to befriend you in the cell. He was trying to keep you calm and unguarded to answer questions without getting defensive. He really was curious and fascinated by you.

    “People think werewolves are monsters, nothing but crazed beasts from horror movies. There would be chaos if they found out we’re real. As to the other… there aren’t many female wolves, those there are tend to be housewives,” you answered the last part vaguely. That answer you were not going to go into right now.

    He seemed to sense your reticence on that subject so switched topics. “So how did you end up in that cell with me today? Not that I mind the outcome, of course, as your company is pleasant, but I must admit curiosity as to what you did to deserve that treatment. I assume it is about as much as I did to deserve being there,” he laughed. He had said he had ended up there just because Thor was out of town.

    You smirked. “I saved Pepper Potts’ life,” you replied with the most simple version of events, which also made it sound the most ridiculous that you had ended up in a cell for your actions. “I know, such a terrible offense,” you added at his smirk and raised eyebrow.

    “That seems a poor way for Stark to repay you for saving his beloved’s life…” he commented dryly.

    “It may have also had something to do with the fact that I shifted into a wolf in a room full of people and ripped the gunman’s throat out after I took the bullets for Ms. Potts…” you admitted softly. He roared in laughter.

    “Yes, that might do it, love,” he said between gasps of laughter.

    You finished your meal in companionable conversation about books of all things. The one he had been reading when you woke sounded interesting and you told him about the last thing you’d read for fun. It seemed he had been devouring Midgardian literature while he was here, but somehow hadn’t been introduced to Harry Potter yet, which was a crime. He promised to look into them and you almost made a rash reply for him to let you know how he liked them. You weren’t really expecting to see him again after today.

    “Are you at least competent enough to do the dishes?” you teased him when you got up from the table to take your plate to clean it.

    “I am a god,” he replied grumpily as he followed you into the kitchen with his own plate. You stuck your tongue out at him.

    “A god who can’t even cook his own food,” you teased, braving riling him up because it was such fun. It was stupid to rile up the males in your life, and you felt that Loki was no different though you doubted he was staying in your life, but it was good for them to be teased every now and again. Especially by a little female wolf they thought they all outranked.

    “Annoying little mortal” he grumbled, but was teasing too. He had joined in the game of playful bickering instead of getting truly offended. Maybe there was hope for this male yet.

    “Who are you calling mortal?” you shot right back. “Werewolves are immortal, oh high and mighty god,” you informed him with a grin, amused at his shocked reaction to your words.

    “Immortal?” he started, actually not expecting that response, but your playful bickering was interrupted by the elevator dinging and voices coming from the living room.

    You whirled and grabbed one of the kitchen knives from the knife block next to the stove, falling automatically into a fighting stance as your fangs, eyes, ears, and claws shifted to wolf instinctively and just as automatically. You had to protect yourself in this strange place. You didn’t know who these strangers were, you were in a strange place, and still injured for all that you were healing quickly. It had made you more defensive than usual. Loki placed his hands on your shoulders, moving to stand in front of you as he did, not afraid of your appearance or your knife.

    “Hush, love,” he bid you softly in the same soothing tone he’d used in the cell and in answer to your defensive snarls. “It is just the Avengers. No need to fear them,” he looked frantic when you didn’t calm fast enough. “Please, Y/N. You’re safe. You’re under my protection. Please, do not let them see you as the monster that I know you are not,” he begged. It took effort, but you shook your head, shaking off your wolf’s fear, shifting all the way back human, and handed him the knife when he held his hand out for it. “Thank you,” he told you softly, gently. Your fingers still itched to take the knife back from him. You hated feeling defenseless, but he was right. You did not want to appear a monster in front of these people. You heard the pain of old soul bruises in his next words:  “Thank you for trusting me.”

[underthemoonlightofficial]

Chapter 3

Summary: Saint is fascinated with the circus. When he receives a VIP circus ticket for Christmas, he couldn’t be happier. This ticket leads to a series of events, some good, some bad. Soon Saint finds his life spiraling out of control. When he gets his heart ripped out, he thinks it’s the end of the line for him. This book is the story of a broken man trying to put the pieces of his life back together. 

Masterlist

I sat up with a jolt, covered in sweat. I put my head in my hands, willing my breath to slow. I had nightmares pretty regularly due to my anxiety, so I know by now how to recover.

Once my breathing slowed, I stood up slowly, and walked into the kitchen. To my suprise, Steve stood leaning on the counter, staring off in the distance.

“Steve?” I asked, confused. He looked up at me. “What’re you doing awake?”

“Just thinking,” he replied. I didn’t push him to elaborate; he didn’t seem in the mood to do so. “How about you?”

“I had a nightmare. It was at my wedding, and Laurey killed Dallon.” I poured myself a glass of water with ice, and took a big sip. 

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming an adult, it’s that everyone is plagued by their own demons, demons they often create themselves . For you, it’s being denied true love. But as everything is in the world, your demons can be killed. You just need to have the courage to wield the sword, or realize your demons are actually your angels.” 

I stared at Steve in shock, and he left the room without another word. When had Steve become so poetic? Usually he was full of humor and jokes. But this? This was new. 

I took a last sip of water, then went into my room and went back to sleep.  

------- 

I woke up and ate breakfast. "You ready to go, Novak?" Moon asked me. She worked at a restaurant a few blocks down from the Starbucks I worked at, so we often rode the subway together. I grabbed my things and we left. On the train ride I texted Laurey. 

'do you wanna go see a movie tonight?' 

'sure! what time?' 

'does 8 work?' 

'yeah see you then!' 

A few minutes later we reached out stop. "Bye Moon!" 

"Bye." I walked in and put my stuff down. I said hello to the Matt and Katy, and got to work. It was the same as always- boring and uneventful. I was taking tomorrow off for the circus and because it was New Year's Eve, which helped push me along. I was practically exploding from excitement. 

Finally my shift ended, and I went home. Most days I was the first one home, and today was one of those days. Steve worked for Nintendo as a video game designer and often didn't get home until six. Moon got off the same time as me, but she goes to the gym right after me. Dallon gets home an hour after me. 

My friends came home one by one, and then at 7:30 I left to pick up Laurey. I knocked on the door, and smiled when I saw her. God, she was so beautiful. Her long blond hair was in a braid crown and she was wearing a black lace dress. I love her so much, and not just because of her appearance. I can't wait to be able to call her my wife. 

I felt like her piercing blue eyes could see into my mind. She understood me; I felt safe around her. "You ready to go?" She smiled. 

"Yeah," I replied. I took her hand as we began to walk. Our palms fit together perfectly. About twenty minutes later we arrived at the movie theater. We ended up getting tickets to a comedy romance movie. 

"Why don't you go find us some seats while I buy popcorn?" I suggested. She nodded and left. "Can I please have a medium popcorn and two small cokes?" The man nodded. 

"That'll be $11.29." I paid and left to find Laurey. I found her and sat down. "Here you go," I whispered handing a her drink. "Thanks." 

The movie was actually really good, I didn't think it would be."Do you want to just walk around?" She asked me when we exited the theatre, holding my hand. 

"Sure!" It was really cold outside, but we had warm clothes on and therefore were fine. 

Snow glittered on the sidewalks, and wind was blowing softly. It was quite lovely, actually. We passed an ice cream store and decided to go in. 

Then remembered this wasn't just any old ice cream store. It was where Laurey and I met oh so long ago. Six years to be exact. I looked over at Laurey. "Do you recognize this place?" She met my eye and smiled. "Of course." We kissed. 

The memories rushed in, and suddenly I was 21 again. I was really depressed that day, so I thought maybe going to get ice cream would make me feel better. 

While I was in line, the woman in front of me noticed how sad I looked. "Hey, are you doing ok?" She asked me. I shrugged, trying my best to hold back tears. She looked at me, thinking hard. "What were you planning on getting?" 

"A scoop of cookie dough," I answered glumly. Her face lit up. "That's what I'm getting too!" A few moments later it was her turn to order. 

"Two single scoops of Cooke dough please." I began to get lost in my toxic thoughts. I didn't notice that someone had grabbed my hand and led me out of the store. I shook my head to ground myself and noticed I was outside, and the same lady was looking at me. 

"I'm sorry, I just zoned out a bit there." 

"You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault. Anyways here you go!" She handed me a cup of ice cream. I looked at her, puzzled. "You said you wanted cookie dough, right?" 

"Y-yeah. Sorry." I rescued for my wallet. "How much was it?" 

"No no no, don't pay me back." 

"Thank you. But- why?" She shrugged. "You looked like you could use some cheering up." She walked over to a bench and gestured for me to follow. We ate our ice cream silently for a few minutes. "Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked me. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You seemed really sad back there. Is there anything I could do to help?"

"Oh. No, you've already done enough. Thanks." I hesitated before adding, "You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but can I ask what you're name is?" 

"Laurey. What's yours?" 

"Saint." We shook hands. "Well I'll let you be, but please call me if you ever need anything, OK?" She handed me a business card with her name and number, and after saying goodbye she left. 

We hung out a lot after that. A year later I finally gathered up the courage to ask her out. Now here we are, almost fiances. 

When it was our turn to order, we grinned at each other and ordered two single scoops of cookie dough ice cream. It was as good as I remembered it being. We quickly devoured it. 

It was getting pretty late, so once we were done we hopped on the subway and went our separate ways. When I was home, Steve and Dallon were playing a video game. "Her guys." 

"Hey, Saint," they replied in unison. I went into my room, grabbed sweatpants and a t-shirt, and went to take a nice warm shower. 

When I came out, Dallon was in his bed reading a book. "So, how'd it go?" He closed his book and sat up. 

"Great. How were things around here?" 

"Pretty chill. So what's the plan for tomorrow?" 

"I'm going to the circus at 10am which I still can't believe. And it's New Year's Eve do we should maybe do something?" 

"Oh, right! I guess we'll talk to Moon and Steve about it tomorrow." 

“Sounds good. Goodnight, Dall.”

“Goodnight, Saint.” I turned my lampp off and went to sleep.