#but they always cast the same five sophomores in leads

[myfairkatiecat]

MY SCHOOL IS DOING NEWSIES

[lavenderbexlatte]

more & more

stray kids 2.6k words female reader insert FemDom!Reader x Sub!3RACHA mature

🖤 warnings: light degradation 🖤

Series Masterlist (Parts 1-7)

connect with me! / masterlist

It’s all three of them. 

When that happened, you’re not quite sure. This is why you hate house parties, hate being messy drunk all on your own. There’s so many people milling around, crashing on couches, watching movies in the low light, disappearing into bedrooms to do God knows what.

You’re leaning on the wall, just watching the room at large. It’s a den, of some sort, a living room. A family room? You don’t know. There are long, worn, slouching sectional couches and a coffee table laden with bottles and cups. A television playing some movie casts a gentle bluish light over everything. It’s the quietest room in the house by far; you can hear loud laughter from the kitchen and bumping music from the backyard. You were content to just people-watch, enjoy being innocently drunk on your own and watching other people be less-innocently smashed.

This isn’t your first solo party, but it’s by far the most boring. Usually by now you’ve made a few friends who’ll carry you through the night, fun to dance and drink with and probably never see again. Not tonight. Up until now, it’s just been you, a series of drinks that you fished out of the fridge yourself, and lots of empty space.

But now, you’re surrounded by all three of them. On your left, Chan, propped casually on the wall himself, like he just happened to be there. On your right, Jisung, looking at you with that stupid grin, the really big one that shows his crooked tooth and pushes up his round cheeks. And right in front of you, Changbin, just regarding you coolly.

You know them. Everyone knows them. It’s far more surprising that they know you.

Because those three, they’re popular. Popular in a way that you didn’t really know could happen on an enormous college campus. Everyone knows them: Chan the music production major, president of the business honors frat; Changbin the creative writing whiz, Model UN president; Jisung, music major, only a sophomore but already leading the music honors society. They formed a project group once for a music production class project, as the legend goes, and the rap song they wrote, performed, and produced went Soundcloud viral. The rest is history. They’re local celebrities now, inseparable and insufferable.

They sit in front of you in your Physics 101 lecture. It’s a science class for nonscience majors, so you do alright for yourself, but you have no idea how these three are acing it the way they are. They talk and joke and write rap lyrics during class; Chan always has his production software open on his laptop, and Jisung is constantly scribbling down verses and bits. You’d think it was Changbin keeping them afloat, but he’s usually half asleep, propped up on one elbow as he nods off.

Not that you pay attention. Not that you care.

You’d care less if they weren’t so attractive. They’re all colored hair and big personality and annoying loud laughs while you’re trying to remember how to calculate redshift, apologies and soft smiles when their chairs bump into your desk.

The four of you even did a class project together once, a small star observation thing that only took a few hours, but it was a few hours of nighttime with them. But you were never close, you never even really talked beyond the basic chit-chat of classmates. You can barely remember their last names. You’re sure they don’t know yours.

So there’s really no reason for the three of them to be looking at you the way they are right now, on either side and directly in front of you, eyes trained on you.

You’re caged in, but you don’t hate it. You kind of like it. Really like it.

Changbin doesn’t say anything. None of them do. You don’t either. You just look at Changbin, your back pressed against the wall. He lifts one arm, all biceps and triceps and shoulders in a tight t-shirt, and rests his palm flat on the wall over your shoulder. He’s barely taller than you, but you feel pinned there, thoroughly caged in. It’s not a feeling you’re used to, and it sends a funny little thrill down your spine.

You break the silence first. “What are you doing?”

Changbin just keeps looking it you. It’s Chan who answers.

“Taking a risk.”

Huh.

You don’t say anything to that, just fixing Changbin with an even stare back. He leans forward, just enough that you think, oh Christ, he’s gonna kiss me.

He keeps coming until he doesn’t.

He veers to the side, right as your eyes flutter shut, and you open them to find his lips on Jisung’s, just a short tender press that leaves Jisung laughing after him. The big arm keeping you against the wall, holding you without even touching you, drops back down, and Changbin leans to the other side. With a little smirk as though he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, he kisses Chan, just the same.

You’re not quite sure what that’s meant to signal to you, or why they’re choosing to mess with you like this, but seeing them be so casual and tender sends an embarrassing wave of arousal through you. You wonder why you haven’t seen this part of their relationship before, if you’ve just been oblivious of it these months sitting behind them.

Chan, Changbin, and Jisung, local celebrities, inseparable bros…more than friends?

Changbin regards you again, grinning smooth and sneaky. He pauses, and you nod your consent ever so slightly, egging him on. With a little huff of a laugh, a little bit of alright, alright, he finally kisses you, all firm pressure and warm confidence. One of your hands goes up to touch him, hold him, but Jisung grabs your wrist as it rises beside him and holds it back down firmly against the wall. You don’t try it with the other hand. Chan will probably do the same.

He pulls away, still grinning. You’re breathless, but clear-headed.

“There’s that pretty blush,” says Chan, cavalier, “You got all pink-cheeked and flustered like that when ‘Bin walked into you in the Starbucks the other week, you remember that?”

You barely do. It was weeks ago, just a brush against you that sent your books tumbling out of your arms when you realized who it was, sneaking behind you with their hand on the small of your back. It had surprised you, more than overwhelmed you, but you do remember your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you collected your books and notes from the floor.

“We decided we wanted to see it again,” says Jisung.

And suddenly it’s clear. They’ve underestimated you. Cornered you at a party, decided it would be easy to get the shy girl from Physics to fuck around with them a little. Three handsome and popular guys, versus little old you. No contest, right?

Oh, this will be fun.

You glance around at the three of them, taking in their expressions and stances, the way they lean into you or away. It’s clear that Jisung is the least sure of himself, whether for his age or his personality, you don’t know.

It’s easy enough to turn toward Jisung, wrenching your arm around his grasp. You lean in close, until you’re practically nose-to-nose with him. He’s always doe-eyed, but right now you swear you can see your own cocky little grin reflected back in his pupils.

“Only Changbin gets to have fun?” you ask, quietly, relishing the way Jisung twitches toward you.

Changbin scoffs, but Jisung surges forward to kiss you, too, much more eagerly. You barely let him touch your lips before you back off, and he chases you as you lean back, giving away his own desperation.

“Aw,” you coo.

He raises the hand that isn’t still holding fast to your wrist, as if you grab you, cup your face, bring you closer, and you pull back all the way.

“No,” you say sweetly.

Immediately, his hand darts back down to his side. Good. Very good. You press your lips to his again, just barely any pressure at all, and repeat your little game, pulling back and making him chase you.

After a moment, Jisung seems to realize what you’re doing, that you’re not going to let him any closer, and he relaxes again, his expression equal parts confused and intrigued. The other two are watching you with wide eyes. Changbin might as well be drooling.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not that easy to push around,” you say, smiling brightly.

“Figures,” says Chan, amused.

He’s still not touching you, hasn’t touched you at all. He’s just leaning there, a warm presence by your side. For some reason, that interests you even more. Maybe he’s going to be a challenge.

“And anyway, we shouldn’t cause a scene in front of all these people,” you turn slightly, meeting Jisung’s eye, “You gonna let go?”

Surprised, Jisung releases your wrist that he’s been squeezing all the while, and you cross your arms over your chest. You turn to face front again, forcing a little more space between yourself and Changbin.

Chan laughs. “You were wrong, ‘Bin.”

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Changbin mutters. “Find someone sweet and quiet, they wanna do you up in shibari and peg you. Every single time.”

He’s giving you ideas, which is dangerous and delightful. You wonder who’s done that stuff to them before. You kind of want to send that person a congratulations card, give them a high-five.

“Must just be our type,” Jisung muses.

Changbin rolls his eyes. “Just once, can’t we actually be into a sub?”

“Cuz that would work so well for us,” Jisung replies. “Another sub. Perfect.”

“So what are we doing here?” you ask, curiosity truly bursting, “What is this?”

“Whatever you want it to be,” Chan says smoothly.

“You’re not just out here preying on innocent girls, are you?” you ask.

You don’t think they are. Everything you know paints them as harmless, more than a little dorky, good-natured and boisterous. But it’s easy to imagine someone less strong-willed than you getting swept away by the charm pouring off these three like Axe body spray off a middle schooler. They probably don’t even know how this looks, cornering someone and planting one on them.

Chan shakes his head, letting his hand wander over to tug Changbin into his side. “Nah. We were out for a few drinks, catching up with some people. And we saw you. Figured it was worth a shot.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Soft dom me into fucking you?”

Chan’s grin is rakish and ridiculously confident as he strokes Changbin’s shoulder. “It’s worked before.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say again.

You spare a glance around the room. Nobody has even noticed the four of you doing this very strange dance of power in the corner. The television is still blaring some old comedy, and people still recline on the assorted chairs and sofas. You’re in the clear to keep this going. You smile to yourself.

“I’m not disappointed,” says Jisung. “Are you two disappointed?”

Changbin shakes his head. Chan just keeps looking at you, still grinning bright and confident.

It occurs to you then, what Jisung has just said. About another sub not working out, with the three of them. They must all lean more submissive, then. Even Chan, under this thick layer of brat. You can work with that. He just needs a bit of an attitude adjustment.

So you move toward him, reaching for his face. He leans into the touch, until you move up to grab him by the hair. You remember when he was blonde, earlier in the school year, and an odd bluish grey before that. Somewhere in the middle was a shocking red that only lasted a day, a washable hairspray color. But now, his hair is inky black waves, and you twist your fingers into the curls that flyaway over his forehead and tug gently, tilting his chin up, until he’s backed himself against the wall, palms scrabbling at the wallpaper for purchase.

You just hold him like that, his hair a dark streak in your fist, not even pulling. Just holding him, letting the anticipation work its magic. Before long, he’s squirming ever so slightly in your hold, still meeting your eye stubbornly, pretending that he doesn’t want you to pull his hair, manhandle him more, do something.

“Is this it?” he scoffs.

“I don’t want to come on too strong,” you shrug.

Chan has the boldness to look bored. “You’re not doing anything. Maybe we were right the first time, and you’re just putting us on.”

You tug on his hair at the root, just once, hard enough that he jumps. Your other hand goes to the beltloop on his jeans, tugging his hips toward you just the slightest bit. It’s satisfying to watch him struggle, torn between rocking forward into you and staying put where the hand in his hair holds him up against the wall.

“Hm,” you hum, “Is this too much?”

You’re teasing him, and he knows it, since you’ve barely done anything at all. You can tell that he hates the way you’re patronizing him, from the way his lip curls into a sneer.

“No,” he rasps, “More.”

Changbin makes a small noise from just behind you, a groan or maybe even a moan, but you ignore it in favor of really driving your point home. You tug at the hair in your grip again, harder, and Chan arches that long pretty neck back with the tiniest gasp.

“More,” he says again.

“More and more,” you tease, fake sympathy dripping from your voice.

He nods eagerly, which tugs again at his own hair, making him gasp. You take that opportunity to kiss him, and he responds in kind, keeping his hands neatly by his sides without needing to be told. Where Changbin was measured, trying to impress you, and Jisung was surprised, Chan is eager to please.

You pull back, smacking your lips appreciatively. “Peach flavor, huh? Flavored lip balm. Aren’t you just a sweet peach.”

The way that Chan’s eyes blow wide when you say that is poetry. Oh, yes.

“You like that,” you say, “Don’t you, peach?”

Jisung lets out a desperate little sigh behind you, “Fuck.”

Oh. You’d forgotten that you’re putting on a show not just with Changbin and Jisung’s friend, but their partner. All the more reason to make it a good show.

“Tell me you like it,” you demand.

“I like it,” he says, almost before you’re finished speaking.

“Kiss him again,” comes Changbin’s voice. “Please.”

You oblige, just for a moment.

All at once, you break the kiss and pull away, letting go of his hair and backing all the way out of the little circle they’ve made around you. You take a second to appraise the three of them. Changbin is ruffled, far cry from the guy who’d made to pin you to the wall just a short while ago. Jisung is already hard in his tight jeans. And Chan is just a mess, still pressed to the wall where you’d left him, pink peach-flavored lips swollen from your handiwork.

You turn to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Chan asks, and you’re delighted to hear just a hint of a whine in his tone.

You fix the three of them with your best innocent look.

“You said you wanted more.”

As you turn again and saunter out of the family room(…den…living room?), you can hear the telltale sound of several desperate pairs of feet following you out.

Perfect.

[thedukeofhastingssexyrobe]

The breakout star from Netflix's first Shonda Rhimes drama had a one-year deal and, sources say, turned down an opportunity to return in season two. Netflix's

Netflix's Bridgerton sent shockwaves through its seemingly large fanbase last week with the formal announcement that leading man Regé-Jean Page would not return for the second season of the Shondaland drama.

Page originally signed on to the Regency England-set series with a one-year deal to play male lead Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings. The plan from the start was for each season of Shonda Rhimes-produced drama to focus on a different one of the eight Bridgerton siblings and their quest for marriage. That follows the same trajectory as author Julia Quinn's best-selling book series on which Bridgerton is based.

While season one focused on the story of Daphne Bridgerton (Phoebe Dynevor) and her romance with Simon (Page), showrunner Chris Van Dusen told The Hollywood Reporter ahead of Bridgerton's Christmas debut that he hoped both characters would be back beyond the show's freshman season. "I would love to be able to see them again and also at the same time explore the other brothers and sisters of the family."

Sources close to the show tell THR that Page was offered an opportunity to return as a guest star in three to five episodes of season two — at a rate of $50,000 an episode — but declined for a multitude of reasons.

Page told Variety that he was drawn to Bridgerton because the role was a "one-season arc" with a "beginning, middle, end" that allowed him to come in, "contribute my bit and then the Bridgerton family rolls on."

'Bridgerton' Casts Four Central Roles for Season 2

Page, sources say, is laser focused on his burgeoning film career. The actor, who previously worked with Shondaland on ABC's two-season legal drama For the People, recently wrapped filming the Russo brothers' Netflix film The Gray Man, opposite Chris Evans, Ryan Gosling and Ana de Armas. He next stars in Paramount's big-budget Dungeons and Dragons feature, opposite Chris Pine, Michelle Rodriguez and Justice Smith. Sources note Page's camp has also been flooded with film offers following his breakout role in Bridgerton, which also led to a critically praised gig hosting NBC's Saturday Night Live in February.

Sources say nearly everyone close to the show knew Page only had a one-year deal for Bridgerton. The plan from the start was for the sophomore season to be based on Quinn's The Viscount Who Loved Me and revolve around Jonathan Bailey's Anthony Bridgerton, with Page's Simon never planned to be part of the story.

Few could have predicted that Bridgerton would become Netflix's most-watched original series ever or that Page would become its fan favorite. Sources say the production reached out to Page's camp in January or February with an offer to return — after he and the show broke out — even though plans for season two never included his character, Simon.

With Page's film career taking off and an awareness that Simon would not be a focal point in season two, the actor declined to return to the Shondaland drama. Page's season one leading lady, Dynevor, will continue to be featured in Bridgerton as her character, Daphne, remains an integral member of the family at the center of the show.

Reps for Netflix, producers Shondaland and Page declined comment.

Netflix Says 'Bridgerton' Is Its Biggest Series Ever

Production on season two of Bridgerton recently began in London as the show's first table read took place March 29. Page, meanwhile, completed filming The Gray Man last week and will begin a months-long shoot in Ireland for D&D the end of the month.

As for a return in a potential third season of Bridgerton, sources say the door remains open to Page. As the show's Lady Whistledown said following Page's departure, "We'll miss Simon's presence onscreen, but he will always be a part of the Bridgerton family." 

dmercado91 the last part is for you😊 !!!

[woodrokiro]

Do It For the Band, Part One (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Finally writing this fic idea.

Did Tatsuki once say she wanted one of her band’s albums to be the Japanese version of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours? Sure. Guilty as charged.

… Did that mean she thought that would include the same chaotic drama of her favorite album? She should’ve… But no. No, she did not.

If she knew what hell was to come, she would very much have preferred they stayed an insignificant, dimly lit coffee shop band to this. She is this close to running away to a wedding cover band, because this is more excruciating than any cheesy rendition of You’re the Inspiration can get.

Chad and Tatsuki are silent as they listen to the track, watching as Ichigo’s jaw tick and his face flush as Rukia’s high notes soar through the studio.

It’s… A really good song, to be sure.

Oh you got stars in your eyes, baby

If you think we could work

I can’t follow your galaxies

Can’t fall for  your smirk

Not this time, not this time…

It’s about broken promises. It’s about not believing someone you love, even if they love you, that it’s gonna work out.

It is very clearly about Ichigo Kurosaki.

Tatsuki shifts her gaze from Ichigo’s reddening face over to the one person he’s glowering at…. Rukia. The petite vocalist lifts her chin at his glare, staring straight back with piercing violet eyes.

Tatsuki just wishes they would make out already.

 --

 The Karakura Soul Society had innocent beginnings… Or: as innocent as an Alt Rock band can be.

Ichigo, Tatsuki, and Chad always kinda knew they wanted to get into music—well, Ichigo and Tatsuki talked about wanting to get into music, while Chad was the one who actually knew how to play a bass guitar—and the two friends finally learned when they were around fourteen. Tatsuki knew she was drums (the choreographed chaos of it was electrifying, and besides… Girls that played drums were hot) and Ichigo figured he’d be lead vocals and guitar.

Ichigo could sing, for damn sure: a low, gravelly tone that could melt girls’ hearts, even if he himself was as obtuse as a rectangle around women.

But what I really like to do, he slurred to her in his garage, Kirin in hand because the idiot was a total lightweight—is write.

And he really did write some incredible songs--at the very least, his lyrics had potential. It started with some weird Shakespearean metaphors and bad rhymes, but everything had a good start that Chad could find a beat for. He only got better, and the coffee shop and dive bar gigs were really receptive, and then the call came from some industry weirdo named Urahara that he was interested in managing their band and well… Things were going good.

That is: until Urahara suggested they get a keyboardist to double as another vocalist.

A female keyboardist, he noted, eyes dark under his green and white striped fedora, would be perfect for your team. I know just the one.

And, yeah, the way he said it was kind of creeptastic… But he did have a point. As great as Ichigo’s voice was, it was missing the harmony a softer, more feminine could contribute.

--

Convincing Ichigo to at least let the girl audition for them was like pulling a damn tooth.

“I don’t see why we need another person,” he grumbled, leaning his chair back with both feet on the café table. The band was waiting on the girl to arrive at this empty coffee shop, with a lone piano waiting for its player on the stage. “We’ve already got a groove going between the three of us. Why do we need another? When we need a keyboardist can’t we just… I don’t know. Ask for one?”

“Number one: for the love of God and our careers, don’t ever say ‘groove’ again. Number two: stop tipping your chair like that—”she slams her hand up on the seat, causing his chair to throw him upright. It may or may not give her a sadistic thrill when he yelps. “Number three: we need a keyboardist. Period. We can’t just conjure one up with a poof that’s gonna work well for us unless they’re regularly with us. Number four: we could use a female vocalist. We’re an alt rock band. Get over it.”

He scowls at her, but she sips her coffee nonplussed. She’s known him since they both were seven years old; she’s not about to let him throw one of his tantrums now.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him turn to their bassist. “Chad, what do you—”

“Don’t even try, Chad agrees with me n’ Urahara.”

Chad shrugs helplessly and Ichigo rolls his eyes. “Dunno why you guys are even so hard pressed to get this chick. For all we know it’s Urahara combining his artists for gimmick. it’s not even like we know whether she’s good—”

“I’ve been doing this a year, and I’ve been signed with Urahara longer, so…. Yeah. I suppose I’d call myself good. Maybe better than you.”

The whole team turns behind them to look where the soft voice is calling from the cafe’s swing door.

She looks like an eighth grader, Tatsuki thinks before she looks a little harder at the form beneath the baby blue dress and realizes—ah, no. Just short. Her raven hair curls prettily into two low pigtails, and lightly shadowed violet eyes look them each up and down with pursed, pink lips.

She’s cute, for sure.

… But “cute” is definitely not their band’s vibe.

“You’re late,” her bandmate beside her scoffs—at whether he’s thinking the same thing she is or he’s embarrassed to be overheard bitching, she’s not sure.

“I’m not—oh, look! Urahara set up the exact piano I asked for. That’s wonderful.” She floats past them to the stage area, beginning to the fiddle with the said instrument’s keys. “He can be an absolute idiotic pain sometimes, a great manager at others… I’m sure you all know what that’s like. And no I’m not late: on the contrary, I was early. I didn’t see you all enter until about five minutes ago, so I figured I’d wait it out at the park across the street so you could all get settled… So technically: you’re the ones who are late.”

Ichigo grits his teeth, raps his knuckles annoyed on the table. Tatsuki grins. She may not know whether the girl’s a good fit for them, but hey—she’s got guts.

“Soo… What do you got for us?” Tatsuki asks.

The girl says she’s got an original—a ballad called For Hisana, if they don’t mind. The bandmates agree that they don’t.

Ichigo clears his throat stubbornly, anyway.

“Sure, but just a heads up: we’re looking more for a keyboardist… Piano is nice ‘n all, but that’s not really our style.”

“I do both. I’ve just been trained in piano first so… It’s a habit, auditioning with it and all. I can show you what I can do with a keyboard anytime after, if you’re impressed enough with this.”

“…All right.” Ichigo shrugs. “Show us what you got then, pianist.”

“My name’s not ‘Pianist.’” She looks straight at Ichigo, before lowering them back to her keys, and Tatsuki strangely feels like she’s just intruded on something. “It’s Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki.”

Her fingers hit the keys and she starts singing.

She’s… Really good, in a way that the drummer can’t quite describe. Her voice is like a mix between Regina Spektor and Joni Mitchell—all folksy, high notes and yeah that sounds super gimmicky and lame and yeah no definitely not their vibe—

But maybe that’s also why she’d be kind of brilliant.

And the way she plays that piano…

Everyone in rock n’ roll will tell you that a good musician makes love to their instrument, and while she’s always thought the metaphor grimy, Tatsuki knows what they mean. They need to know the ins and outs of whatever they’re playing, for the instrument to be a second limb—for their expressions to be in complete bliss, ecstasy as they play.

Rukia’s face… It’s not quite so explicit as all that. But the way her eyes are dreamy and half-closed, how she bobs her head ever so softly to the heartbreaking beat, her mouth closing delicately over warbly vowels… Sure, with a little more vocal work she could be better, but all in all: she’s wonderful.

Tatsuki turns to Ichigo, about to ask if he’s thinking what she’s thinking but stops dead at his expression.

He’s watching her so… Intensely. His jaw—always so sharp, so tight and ready to grimace—has softened, and his eyes are locked onto this petite woman in a way Tatsuki has literally never, ever seen him look at a woman before.

 He is captivated with Rukia Kuchiki, and she can’t decide whether she’s happy for her friend or panicked for what this means for the band because fucking yikes.

--

He hums and haws after Rukia leaves, nitpicks when they meet alone with Urahara about how some of her keys were clunky, she needs more vocal training, blah blah blah.

But when the vote is cast, he agrees she needs to be on the team.

And that, Tatsuki pinpoints, is when the beginning of the end started.

[lyssismagical]

Did my heart love till now? For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night

Parkner Week Day Four: “I will pepper in the fact that I am gay.” / coming out / first date

Peter slips out onto the fire escape, desperate to escape his obnoxious roommates for even a minute.

The city is dark and quiet, despite it only being eleven. Peter’s surprised, considering it’s New York, but the borough they live in is different than Queens or Manhattan ever was.

Harry and Gwen’s bickering follows him out onto the fire escape, so he shuts the window behind him, muffling their voices. They fight a lot. He knows they mean well, they love each other deep down, but they’ve both got big personalities, lots of opinions, and they’re both too stubborn to step down from a fight. Peter’s been appointed as the peacemaker of the group, but even then, there’s only so much he can do. It’s easier somedays to leave them to fight for a little while, get it out of their system, than to try to get them to reconcile.

It doesn’t help that they’re all struggling college students, desperately trying to make a name for themselves in a big city like New York. Harry wants to be a director or maybe join the fashion scene if he can, Gwen wants to make it as an actress, and Peter’s dream is to get on Broadway. They’re all nineteen, though, barely scraping by at NYU or AMDA, trying to pay rent with their minimum wage jobs as waiters.

It isn’t particularly easy, but when has anything ever been easy?

Just because the chances are slim and there will be a lot of struggle, doesn’t mean any of them are willing to give up on their dreams. They’re all prepared for the hardships as long as they have each other.

“What light through yonder window breaks?” A voice calls out from the street below where Peter’s feet dangle. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green and none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love!”

Peter hasn’t read Romeo and Juliet since he was in high school, but he’d know those lines anywhere.

He can’t see whoever is quoting Shakespeare up to him, too many shadows cast in the street, but the voice is deep with a southern drawl, projecting easily up to where Peter is.

“O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, ‘tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, od entreat her eyes to twinkle in their sphere till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”

“Do you just have it all memorized?” Peter calls out, knowing it’s meant to be his line. He can’t help the smile as the mysterious Romeo laughs from the streets below.

His voice is softer as he speaks without lines. “I played Romeo for three weeks worth of performances last year. I saw you sitting up there, and couldn’t help myself.”

Peter frowns, thinking back to last year. At AMDA, he auditioned for Romeo, but he ended up playing a background character with a single line instead. He was told it was because he was only a freshman, but it was a pretty big hit to his ego. He can’t remember who actually got the role of Romeo though.

“I don’t suppose you quote Shakespeare to just every sad looking person sitting on their fire escapes?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Romeo says. “You go to AMDA, don’t you? I think I remember seeing you around… You don’t happen to work at that diner on 64th street, do you?”

Peter laughs. “I don’t know how you know that, but yeah, I do. I’m a sophomore at AMDA, double majoring in musical theatre and performing arts. And spending nights at that diner to pay rent.”

“Me and my friend get dinner there all the time. I remember you because Cassie kept pointing you out as one of the greatest dancers in one of her classes.”

The blush that creeps up Peter’s neck makes him feel warm all the way to the core. He’s been working really hard in his dance classes to get where he is now, it’s nice to get that kind of recognition. “That’s very nice of her.”

“I was pointing you out because you happen to be one of the prettiest people I’ve ever seen,” Romeo adds on. “And you have a lovely voice.”

Peter tries to summon any piece of confidence he can, but comes up mostly empty. “Would you mind stepping out of the shadows, so I can compliment you too?”

Romeo laughs again sweetly, and then he’s stepping out from where he’d been leaning against a building across the street. He walks to the middle of the deserted street until he’s properly under the light of the one of the streetlamps.

“O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air,” he says.

Romeo is gorgeous and Peter remembers him too. Harley Keener, a Junior at AMDA, in the same musical theatre program as Peter. Harley’s wearing a pair of tight jeans and a flannel, blond curls bouncy and messy, blue eyes wide and sparkling, hands lifted towards Peter as he recites his lines with so much passion and truth.

“You’re calling me and angel? When you look like you do?” Peter blurts. He can hear Gwen’s muffled voice rising behind him and knows he doesn’t have much more time until they finish their argument and come looking for him. “You were brilliant as Romeo, too. I played one of the guards, but I watched your performance every night.”

Harley smiles, showing off his adorable dimples. “I would’ve loved it if you could’ve played opposite me, though. I think you would’ve made an amazing Juliet.”

“I think the world would’ve rioted if they saw a guy playing Juliet. I think Shakespeare would’ve risen from the dead just to have a heart attack.”

Peter can barely stop grinning at the not-so-subtle hints that Harley’s into guys too.

“We’d make a pretty amazing duo, though, don’t you think?”

“My ears have no yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?” Peter calls out, putting on his best Juliet voice.

Harley laughs brightly. “You skipped a few lines, but I’ll let it slide if you come down here.”

“If they do see thee, they will murder thee.”

“Is that a no? O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

Peter shakes his head, already pulling himself up to his feet. “I’ll be down in five, Harley. You want to get coffee?”

“I’d love to get coffee.”

Grinning, Peter pries open the window and slips back into his apartment where Gwen and Harry seem to have finally gone quiet.

He changes into a nicer outfit quickly, nearly face-planting in his haste to tug his jeans on, and then he skips into the living room to say goodbye to his friends.

“You have plans?” Harry says when he sees Peter. “I thought you were staying in tonight?”

“I met somebody!” Peter practically squeals, bouncing on his toes. He can barely contain his excitement. He hasn’t dated anybody since high school, spending college focused on his career and education, but he’s not about to turn somebody like Harley down.

Gwen lifts an eyebrow. “You met somebody… on the fire escape?”

“We may or may not have been quoting Romeo and Juliet… We’re getting coffee. I’ll catch you both up when I get back, okay?”

Just as Peter’s about to turn away, Harry grabs his arm. “Wait, who was it? Do we know them?”

Peter, blushing furiously and so giddy like he’s a lovesick teenager, says, “Harley Keener. He played Romeo last year, remember?”

Both their jaws drop in shock, eyes wide. They remember him, for sure. It’s hard not to remember somebody like Harley.

Peter doesn’t bother sticking around any longer, racing out the front door to get down to Harley.

Apparently, Harley knows a nice coffee place that’s open at the late hours of night, so he leads the way, bumping shoulders, teasing each other, and making small talk mostly about their friends and school.

“I don’t know if this is too forward,” Harley says when they make it to the coffeeshop. “But I just wanna know if you’re into guys or not. I’m gay… If this is totally platonic, that’s cool too, I just want to know.”

Peter grins, unable to help himself. “I’m bi, so… I thought we were being pretty obvious how we felt by saying we should be two of the most famous star-crossed lovers there are.”

Harley laughs, leading Peter to the counter to give their orders. “I suppose… So, this would be a date?”

“I was kind of hoping so, yeah. If that’s okay?”

“It’s perfect, yeah.”

Harley pays, if only because Peter managed to forget his wallet in his haste to get out of his apartment, and then they start walking back to Peter’s apartment.

Harley talks about how he’s from a small town in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, how he always dreamed of making it on Broadway like Peter, how scared he was submitting an application to AMDA, how much everything changed when he got accepted. He talks about his family, his mom and little sister back home, how proud they are of everything he does, how he’s going to work so much harder for them. He talks about his experience in New York, how different it is compared to Rose Hill, how much excitement there is, how fast it moves and how full it is.

It’s strange to hear about New York from an outsiders perspective. Peter’s only left New York twice. Both times for Academic Decathlon which took him to DC and to Toronto.

In turn, Peter talks about May, how much he loves her, how much she’s supported all of his decisions. He doesn’t say much about Ben or his parents, but he says enough that Harley links their free hands together and squeezes comfortingly. He talks about Harry and Gwen, about school and his job, how much stress has been piled on his shoulders by everyone wanting him to choose a more possible dream. How he refuses to give up on his Broadway dreams.

They make it back to his apartment all too soon, hands still linked, noses and cheeks red from the cold.

“This was really nice,” Peter murmurs. “I would invite you up to my place, but I have two roommates who are crazy obnoxious and loud and a lot. I’d really like to do this again, though.”

“Me too. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now, I didn’t think it would be like that. Quoting Shakespeare isn’t the greatest pickup line.”

Peter shrugs, tugging Harley a little closer. “It worked.”

“Is there anyway I could get your number?”

“I’ll give it to you in exchange for something,” Peter bargains, smiling dopily.

“And what’s that?”

“Kiss me?”

Harley doesn’t waste a second, pressing their mouths together and backing Peter into the brick wall of his apartment building, free hand grabbing Peter’s waist while trying not to spill his coffee. Peter wraps his arms around Harley’s neck and shoulders, smiling into the kiss.

Eventually, they do have to pull away, both of them grinning at each other and they let out twin breathless laughs.

Harley fishes a pen out of his bag, presenting it and his forearm to Peter.

He jots down his number with a little heart, trying not to think too much about the wiry muscle in his forearm and how much he really wants to see Harley’s biceps too. He leans up to kiss Harley once more before he pushes open the door to his building.

“I’ll see you around?”

“Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay 

[thee-jazmineevans]

stupid with love - self-para

at the beginning of this week, jaz played in her last soccer game of the season. she was feeling bittersweet about it if she was honest. this semester had been really weird and hard for her for a multitude of reasons, but holding on to soccer was something that she had used to feel better. it was bothering her to the point that she ranted to her mom about it, a feat that astounded both of the evans men. mercedes asked jaz what her other hobbies were outside of binging tv and her only answer was performing. so voila, now jaz stood on stage at the lima community theater about to audition for a play she’d never seen. “Hi...I’m Jazmine Evans.” she began.

“i’ve never auditioned for a play before but...i’m going to be singing Stupid With Love from Mean Girls the musical and a monologue from A Raisin in the Sun” Jaz introduced with a smile. She nodded toward the accompanist and stepped closer toward center stage. to be fair, this was the sloppiest audition that jaz evans had ever put together...but she was still excited. she wasn’t really a theater kid. she only knew stupid with love because she heard people lauding mean girls the musical on stan twitter and found herself instantly attached to the soundtrack. jaz had to learn benethea’s “marvelous” monologue for her sophomore english class...and for whatever reason the words still stuck with her.

“when i was five, i fell in love...it didn’t last. he ran from me, literally ran from me, and being kenyan he ran fast.”

jaz was definitely more prepared for the music portion of the audition. singing was never something that stressed her out too much...and she loved this song. it showed as the tempo of the song picked up and jaz’s smile grew. seeing the light smiles from the directors of the play only motivated her to jazz it up a bit more, really showing off some characterization. 

“I didn’t get it somehow. Smart with math but stupid with love. I didn’t get it, I didn’t get it till now.”

jaz really got into with the next verse as she paced across the stage. normally when singing a love song...jaz pictured someone who really mattered to her. the default was always benji, but the role could also be filled by whatever chap she currently had her eyes on. there wasn’t really anyone to fill that role right now...and for whatever reason benji didn’t come to mind either. she just thought about how fun it would be to be in character on stage like this. in new directions there was always a new performance to think about and once they perfected something...they usually didn’t sing it again. the comfort and familiarity of playing one character night after night and singing the same songs...was actually kind of captivating to jaz.

“i’m astounded and i’m flushed, i am filled with calculust. does this guy work out? he must! all sweaty at the gym!”

jaz simply lost herself in the performance. just as cady was realizing that playing dumb was the key to love in the song, jaz was realizing that performing had become a really important part of her life. she didn’t have to just be the soccer girl or the date girl. she could also be a women of theater. well...probably not realistically, and as belted out the last lines of the song the anxiousness of having to perform lines from memory slipped in a little bit. 

“I learned math, so I can learn love You wanna bet it? That I can get it? Just wait Just wait Just wait!“

she hit the last note with a confident stance but immediately shrunk back into herself as she prepared for her monologue reading. she convinced herself that scribbling and warm smiles of the directors was a good thing. maybe they were just being polite? she shook the self-doubt out of her system and and bowed to the accompanist, then began reciting her lines. it was a tone shift of sorts...but jaz genuinely wouldn’t have been able to learn any other monologue in such short notice. she was by no means a actor...but she hoped the gentle innocence of someone trying something out for the first time would match at least one of the characters. worst case scenario she’d be part of the ensemble...something she’d love just as much as if she had gotten a lead role. 

“this was truly being god.” she said firmly, ending the monologue section of her audition. she smiled over to the directors. “thanks!” she said before awkwardly shuffling off of the stage. she was definitely proud of herself for getting through that whole rigmarole and even more excited to go home and not stress over the casting process. there was an unwatched episode of boruto with her name on it.  

[sincerelyreidburke]

Hey again! So like, you are under no obligation, and I send you too many asks anyway but... if you're down for writing Spencer's reaction to A FROSH GETTING EVAN THE AUDACITY I would be so pleased :) lol

First of all: you don’t send me too many asks. I believe the phrase you’re looking for is “I enable you to write fun things often”. Which is highly encouraged, in this establishment.

Second: yes. And for those who aren’t Via, let me enlighten you. Spencer is a Kiersey College drama club OC, part of the group of characters I created to enhance Quinn’s college drama club experience (and to have more fun on “Quinn Theatre Hours” Monday nights). You can read a comprehensive introduction to the drama club cast in this fic, which tells the story of the week leading up to Quinn’s casting in Dear Evan Hansen his freshman year.

Spencer is... hm, how shall we say. A giant asshole. He’s a junior theatre kid who fully expects that the role of Evan will land neatly in his lap. This ficlet depicts as much. It takes place pretty much simultaneously with the casting fic I linked to above.

This is also a precursor of sorts to a longer drama club fic, which I’m working on, that Via has also asked after. Stay tuned for that, because there is where you’ll see some serious, well... drama.

Until then: Spencer can choke. I’m entertained by the fact that I’m now being asked to write things from the point of view of the bully. Here’s what you asked for!

//

Today is going to be an amazing day.

And here’s why. Spencer has been waiting— all week, certainly, but also for months, even since the school year began, to see something he finally gets to see today. During all three of his years at Kiersey, the spring musical has been something to look forward to, but especially this year, with so much riding on it. Today, the cast list goes up for the biggest show of his life. Today, he confirms his place in a  role he’s been dreaming of playing for months. Today, he starts to lead this year’s cast.

He knows that the show was chosen for him. Dr. C is notorious for it— she’s not shy about choosing shows based on who she has available for casting. It’s resourceful, Spencer has told her time and again; after all, you have to work with what you have. It’s like how she chose Book of Mormon last year for him— well, and for Reid, he guesses, but mostly for him. And how the director at his and Kelsie’s high school chose Thoroughly Modern Millie for the two of them their senior year.

He planted the seed for Dear Evan Hansen in Dr. C’s head last spring, an offhanded mention in a conversation, right around the time Book of Mormon was closing. He forwarded her a few articles over the summer, just to jog her interest, and he and Kelsie even went to New York to see the show in June, so he typed up a review and sent it her way. When he arrived on campus this past fall, he was thrilled to hear she’d taken his advice. It would be their spring 2018 show.

His audition went just as expected, and he read for Evan during his callback. So this morning, when he rolls out of bed at five-thirty sharp, it’s the first thing on his mind, without a doubt in it. Today is the day he starts being Evan Hansen.

He deserves this.

To start his great day, he grabs a morning workout, like always. In the gym, he sees one of the freshmen who auditioned, using an elliptical and wearing pink leggings. She has curly, golden blond hair piled into a high ponytail, full lips, and tan skin. Her name is… Maddie? Mallory? He isn’t sure, but what does it matter anyway. She was in callbacks with him last night, and she wasn’t projecting well.

So he doesn’t say hello, and doesn’t even think she’ll notice him until he passes her as he’s leaving. She’s refilling a water bottle with stickers all over it, and she waves. “Hey, Spencer.”

“Oh!” He pretends to be surprised. “Hi, Maddie.”

“Uh.” She chuckles a little, and shakes her head. “It’s— Maggie, actually.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” He stops in front of her, and bends down— she’s a little short— to deliver a word for the wise. “Hey, by the way… don’t take it too hard if you aren’t cast in a bigger role today.” She arches an eyebrow, and he continues, because she ought to know. “There just aren’t a lot of roles that would fit… you, y’know?”

It doesn’t look like Maggie understands what he means, but she shrugs and folds her arms, all standoffish. “Well, good luck to you, too.”

“Thank you!” He flashes a smile. “It’s always great to see beginners joining the musical.”

Maggie purses her lips and scowls as he turns to go. Huh. What a bitch. He was only telling her what she needed to hear.

Well, it’s her loss. Freshmen rarely ever get speaking roles. And it’s not like Zoe is going to anybody besides Kelsie.

He texts his girlfriend on the way out of the gym. Kelsie is an early riser, too, but she doesn’t work out in the morning like he does. By now, in her morning routine, she’ll be through with her shower and doing her hair.

They meet for breakfast every morning, but this morning, it’ll be a quick affair. The cast list goes up at 9:00 sharp in the Beckett Performing Arts Center lobby, and they have every intention to be the first ones there.

So Spencer showers and gets dressed, donning a blue shirt for the occasion. He meets up with Kelsie in the lobby of their dorm, and they walk to the dining hall hand-in-hand, leaving right around 8:00. It’s sunny out today, but still freezing cold.

“So,” she asks him, as they stroll down the sidewalk. “Any bold predictions?” She pauses to grin and bump against his hip, as she adds, “Besides the obvious.”

Spencer beams. He loves their relationship for so many reasons, but especially because they support each other so well. “Well,” he begins, pulling his stocking cap down on his head. “I think Reid is a dead ringer for Jared.” Which will be easy, because although Reid is unfunny at best, Spencer is used to working with him; he got well accustomed to it on Book of Mormon.

“Oh, absolutely.” Kelsie nods. “And I think… Claire, as Heidi? I can’t be sure, but—” She pauses for an exaggerated eyeroll, which is absolutely warranted, because Claire is such a goody two-shoes it’s insufferable. “I know Dr. C likes giving her principal roles.”

“Which I, for one, do not understand,” he quips.

“Tell me about it.” Kelsie sighs, then shakes her head. “But I could see Claire going that way.”

“I could, as well.” He pauses, racks his brain of the names on the audition list. He checked it religiously, to see who was trying to get involved, even after he had secured his spot as first on the list. “And… hm… alright, I’m not saying I’d like to see Danny Cho as Larry, but given they didn’t run his part in callbacks at all last night…”

“Mm,” Kelsie hums. “I think you’re right. That’s a shame. His singing is suspect at best.”

“And his acting…” He sighs. “I hope he can pull it off.”

“Maybe he can.” Kelsie swings his hand a little, and they sidestep for a rushing student who must be late to their eight-AM class. When they regain sidewalk space, she looks to him, smoothing her bangs, and asks, “And Connor?...”

“Hm.” Spencer’s mind lands on someone, but it’s an underwhelming thought. “Cole?”

“Oh.” Kelsie pauses, like she forgot he existed. Which is easy to do, because Cole, the sophomore he’s thinking of, is quiet and irrelevant. Spencer was surprised to see him audition; he played guitar in the pit for Book of Mormon, and from there he always assumed he was a fly-under-the-radar type. But he read all of Connor’s parts in callbacks. “Well, he has the look.”

“It’s a typecast,” he agrees. “He seems… sketchy?”

“Right? Kind of a weirdo,” Kelsie says. She raises an eyebrow at him, and asks, “Do you think you could work with him?”

“Well, it isn’t like I’ll have much of a choice,” he remarks. “But who knows? Maybe someone else will get Connor.”

“Maybe.” Kelsie pauses, then smiles and says, “You can do it.”

He kisses her cheek, as they walk along. “Thank you.”

From there, they move onto a rehearsal schedule tangent. It’s not until they’re almost at the dining hall that casting gets brought up again. “What about that kid?” Kelsie asks, suddenly, almost laughing. “The really short one, the freshman? Could he beat out Cole or Danny?”

“Oh…” Spencer thinks he knows who she means. “Scarf kid?” When she nods, he laughs out loud. “I highly doubt he’ll be seeing the cast list. I mean, Kels, he’s a freshman.”

“That’s true.” She shrugs. “You did get Anthony freshman year, though…”

He straightens a little as he walks, because it still makes him proud to think about Sweeney Todd freshman year. “I reserve myself as a small exception to the rule.”

Kelsie grins. “You’re gonna be great, babe,” she says, and even though he knows he will be, it still feels nice to hear it.

Breakfast is very nice. He has scrambled eggs and sausage patties from the grill, and she has a fruit salad with unsweetened tea, in accordance with her New Year’s weight-loss diet. They have a breakfast table in the corner, by tradition, and they even see Reid when they’re in there. He’s eating with his girlfriend, and flashes jazz hands at the both of them, with a grin. “Happy casting day!”

Spencer wonders, just slightly, if Reid has seen the cast list yet. He may be a student, but he’s drama club president all the same, and maybe he has pre-existing knowledge. But on second thought, Spencer doesn’t think Dr. C would do that. She doesn’t even give him advance knowledge of casting, and he would venture to call himself her favorite student.

So he just waves to Reid, because he and Kelsie are on their way out. “Morning, Reid.” There’s something like a shit-eating grin on Reid’s face, so he can’t resist asking. “Have you seen the list yet?”

“Oh, yeah, dude!” Reid kicks back in his chair. “Didn’t you hear the good news? I’m Evan!”

Spencer’s soul leaves his body. “You— I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m so excited.” Reid smooths out his hair before he dusts off his graphic tee. “Tell me— do you think I’ll look good in striped blue?”

This is not real life. “You can’t be serious.”

“No, tell him, Bri!” Still grinning, Reid looks to his girlfriend, this chubby art student who always has ceramic work on display in the admissions lobby. “Weren’t we just discussing how lovely my angelic voice will sound on Words Fail?”

Bri nods, with her chin in her hands. “Oh, for sure.”

Reid throws his hands up, all smiles. “See?”

Kelsie steps forward, like she’s about to say something. And just as Spencer’s heart is set to beat out of his chest, Reid doubles over and bursts out laughing. “Jesus, Spencer,” he says, smacking the table. “I’m just fucking with you, dude. Could you not tell I was joking?”

“Well, he’s a little on edge,” Kelsie cuts in. “We both are.”

Reid shrugs, putting his hands behind his head like his dining hall chair is actually a lounge chair on the beach. “Well,” he remarks. “I have seen the list, but it’s not up for another…” He glances at the big clock on the wall in the dining room. “Fourteen minutes, so you won’t hear any leaks from me.”

“Wait, really?” he asks. “Have you actually seen it.”

Reid shrugs, making a face like he’s just been instructed to ‘do a silly one’ in a family portrait.

Spencer hates Reid Burke. He’s never really been sure about this fact until today. It’s partly the fact that Reid is still kind of grinning, like this is some big joke— Reid treats everything like a big joke— and partly the fact that he knows, even if he resorted to groveling (which he will not), that he truly won’t get any leaks out of him. Even with fifteen minutes left until he’ll see it himself, it’s tantalizing to know that Reid is sitting right here with full knowledge of the cast, and won’t say a word.

And by the way, what the hell, Dr. C? Since when does she leak the cast list to students?

But standing here being mad at Reid isn’t going to make the list go up faster, so he rolls his eyes, as Reid zips his lips, and says, “Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Kelsie adds, like she is less than enthused that she wasted three minutes of her life on this useless conversation. Which is exactly how Spencer feels.

“Idiot,” he mutters, as they walk away, and doesn’t even care if he’s in earshot. “He almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Spence,” Kelsie says, taking his hand to squeeze it. “You know you have nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” he replies, because she’s right, “but what’s up with Dr. C letting Reid see the list early? How does that work? I practically picked the show—”

“It’s bullshit,” she replies, as they bust their breakfast trays. “You should say something to her, later.”

“I think I will,” he says. He’s already planning what he’ll say, as they leave the dining hall and head at a brisk pace in the direction of Beckett. It’s a quick walk, fueled by both of their adrenaline, and when they reach the double doors, Spencer takes one last breath of crisp winter air before walking inside.

Dr. C is in the lobby, crossing from the direction of Beck 1C, where the board is, back toward her office. She’s in a multicolored knit sweater, and she holds her head high, a surefire sign she just did something important. “Good morning, Dr. C,” he says, with a chipper wave. “Is the list up? We wanted to be the first ones to see it.”

“Yes.” Dr. C nods, adjusting her glasses as she stops a moment to talk to them. “It was definitely difficult to cast, and… some people may not be happy, but it’s the best fitting for the programme, as we say.”

Her wording is cryptic, but it always is. Two and a half years in her inner circle, and he knows her well. “Ah, I’m sure you picked the right people,” he says, with a wink.

Dr. C looks between him and Kelsie, then nods. “I’m confident I did,” she says, and it gives him an extra thrill of excitement. A quick glance to Kelsie and she’s smiling like she won the lottery. “Have a nice morning, you two!” Dr. C says, as she starts for her office again.

Kelsie blows her a kiss, and Spencer waves. When they meet eyes again, he takes her hand, and looks to the corner where the bulletin board is.

“Ready?” she asks him.

It’s time.

“Never more ready,” he replies, and together, they walk to the board with its promised sheet of paper.

The anticipation is adrenaline enough. Spencer knows what he’ll find on the list, but is still eager to get to it, to see his name at the top. They round the corner, and there’s the list, fresh white against the board’s maroon paper base. It’s only a few more steps.

When they get there, Kelsie sees it first. She leans forward, then recoils, like she’s been burned. “What?!” she cries, loud enough to be heard inside the actual auditorium.

“Kels? What’s wrong?” He wonders if Claire beat her out for Zoe. He consults the list to investigate, and— and— oh.

Right around then is when the world stops turning.

*

“Quinn Cooper?” Kelsie is staring at the list, her arms crossed over her chest, a permanent scowl etched on her perfect face. “The scarf freshman? Are they kidding?”

Spencer feels frozen. He stares at the list in disbelief, reads it up and down again and again. He feels like he’s been standing here for twenty minutes, but it’s probably only been two or three.

DEAR EVAN HANSEN

Cast & Crew List

Evan Hansen: Quinn Cooper

Connor Murphy: Cole Kolinsky

Zoe Murphy: Claire Deshaies

Heidi Hansen: Allison Halterman

Larry Murphy: Daniel Cho

Jared Kleinman: Reid Burke

Cynthia Murphy: Kelsie Wilkes

Alana Beck: Maggie Atkins

U/S Evan: Spencer Bergen

It’s fake. One of Reid’s practical jokes. They’re all out to play a big junior-year prank on him. Everyone is in on it. Including the scarf freshman.

There’s. No. Way.

“This is—” Kelsie sputters, then shakes her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“I won’t believe this,” he says, speaking for the first time since he saw the list. “There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“Um, I would sure hope so,” she says, popping the p in ‘hope’. “This is— this is a joke.”

Quinn Cooper. The freshman the size of a hobbit. Who wears scarves to every drama club meeting. Who’s barely been at Kiersey for half a year. Who just stole the role of his dreams right out from under him.

Spencer absolutely cannot believe this. “I have to talk to Dr. C,” he says, and it’s more an out-loud realization than anything, but he turns on his heel and marches straight for her office as soon as the words are out. “Like. Right now.”

*

But talking to Dr. C is a useless affair. “I work with what I’m given, Spencer,” she says, sitting behind her desk like some kind of supervillain, more closed-off to him than he’s ever seen her. “The cast may not look exactly how you imagined it, but some of the newer students showed real promise this year.”

“But Dr. C—” He paces in front of her desk. “I suggested the show. I practiced all summer. I thought for sure—”

“Spencer, I chose the show on my own accord,” she says, evenly. “It’s true I take input from students, but that has no bearing on my casting decisions.”

He throws his hands in the air. “But you have to see how this is unfair to me—”

“I think,” she cuts in, in this icy tone that’s usually reserved for people who fuck up majorly, and never for him, not in his entire time at Kiersey, “that once you see how the cast falls together, you’ll respect the casting decisions I made as your director.”

He sputters and rants, but he doesn’t dare disrespect her, no matter how much she’s betrayed him.

And so it goes. He’s lost out on his role, in his spring musical, to some no-name freshman who probably can’t even belt.

And just in case there needed to be a cherry on top, he’s his understudy. Of all things. How humiliating.

Spencer’s life is over.

It’s not until much later that day, when he’s sulking in Kelsie’s dorm room, mourning his lost musical season, that the idea for a solution crosses his mind.

It’s sort of her idea, but sort of his. She, at least, brings it up. “Spence,” she says, nudging his arm. He’s been scrolling mindlessly through Twitter for who knows how long, while she flips through her newly acquired script. “Y’know… you’re his understudy.”

“Well, jeez, Kels, I hadn’t noticed,” he snaps, dropping his phone onto the bed. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“That wasn’t my point,” she replies, scowling. “What I meant was… you’re his understudy.”

He knows she isn’t stupid enough to say the same thing twice over, so he tries to read her meaning. She’s gesturing, like she wants him to get it, and on top of the day he’s had, he doesn’t appreciate being made to feel like an idiot. He’s about to tell her as much when something dawns on him.

Something in the form of very, very useful knowledge. “And that means…” he says. “I perform if he can’t.”

A wise smile crosses Kelsie’s face. “Exactly.”

“So all we have to do is…” He nods. It’s taking shape in his head now. His spring musical season may not be completely lost.

Kelsie’s fingernails dance over his knee. “You’re getting it.”

“Figure out a way to inhibit his ability to perform,” he finishes. He loves her so much. “Kels. You’re right.”

“I’m right?” Her smile goes innocent. “What are you talking about, babe? That was all your idea.”

For the first time since before the saw the list, he smiles, too. He wonders if he looks as conniving as he feels. “I might be able to figure this out,” he says.

“That you might,” she replies, with a nod. “All we have to do is figure out what that looks like.”

To save his musical, Spencer is very much willing to figure that out.

[abarbaricyalp]

In Any Version of Reality (i'd find you and i'd choose you)

@pynchpromptweek

Pynch // Prompt: Alternate Meeting // Rated: T for mature themes

Warnings: Discussion of canon typical abuse and night terror injuries several times, discussion of blood, death, and trauma

AO3 Link

In which: Adam and Ronan meet over and over again

It might’ve happened like this: 16

Ronan Lynch was quitting the tennis team but still had to go to practices for the semester. So he was particularly angry when he realized he was in pain and his nose was gushing blood during said practice.

“I’m going home,” he said, in the particular surly way sixteen year old boys, but particularly Ronan Lynch, had.

His coach grabbed him by the gym shirt and hauled him to the nurse’s office anyway. “Sit down, shut up, and behave,” the man ordered and disappeared around a corner to explain to the school nurse what had happened.

Ronan wasn’t paying attention because in front of him, the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen was organizing supplies and cross checking some log. He saw the boy look up at him and knew he was talking because his mouth was moving but Ronan didn’t hear any of it.

“I don’t know, a bandaid?” he ventured eventually.

The boy raised a fine eyebrow. “A bandaid did that to your face? Here.” He handed Ronan a gauze ball and showed him how to apply pressure properly without hurting himself too much. Ronan assumed there were verbal instructions too, but he couldn’t hear them over the roar of his heart.

“It’s Ronan, right?” the boy asked, familiar words breaking through Ronan’s stupor.

“Yeah. Ronan Lynch,” he answered. “Who are you?”

The boy grinned a little shyly and shrugged. “I’m new. I’m only a nurse aid until I can take my entrance exam for Latin II. I transferred over and they won’t just let me join my cohort.”

“You’re a sophomore?” Ronan asked, excitement bubbling in his chest because he was a sophomore in Latin II which meant he’d see a lot more of the new kid.

“Yeah, yeah, I transferred at the break. My name’s Adam. Adam Parrish,” he said, and held out a perfect hand.

Ronan shook it.

It might’ve happened like this: 15

Ronan was sitting in a hospital hallway, scratching at the thick bandages around his forearms while Declan filled out paperwork down the hall and Gansey tried to prove he wasn’t beside himself with worry by buying too much from the vending machine in the next wing.

He wasn’t expecting a boy his age to sit down next to him in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, a blue cast all the way to his elbow.

“Hey,” Ronan said.

“Hey,” the kid greeted. He had light hair and sad eyes and Ronan already wanted to take him home like he was some lost puppy.

Like Ronan wasn’t the lost puppy at the moment.

“Sitting over here feels like sitting at the kids table at holidays, huh?” Ronan said.

The kid shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. I don’t have a lot of extended family.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“What happened to yours?”

Ronan scowled but the kid didn’t seem like he was easily cowed. “I sleep walk. I hurt myself doing it.” Which wasn’t...a lie lie. It was...an untruth.

The kid glanced at a man at the receptionist’s desk and grimaced. “I fell down the stairs.” And Ronan knew that was a lie lie.

“Well, I hope you get less clumsy,” Ronan said anyway.

“Could say the same to you.”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t do either of us very much good, would it?” Ronan asked.

The kid looked at him, appraising and tired and then he shrugged. “Probably not.”

“My name’s Ronan,” Ronan said.

“Adam, let’s go,” the man from the receptionist’s desk barked, and Adam jumped up so fast he might’ve knocked over the bolted down chairs.

“I’ll see you around, Ronan,” Adam said.

But they didn’t.

It might’ve happened like this: 22

Gansey was having a field day with this whole scenario. Ronan hated him for it. But probably not as much as he hated himself for agreeing to it. Then again, the check sitting on his kitchen table--a down payment, no less--was enough for him to forgo hatred for a while.

He watched the studio trailers drive in like little white ants. They set up a perimeter where they wanted to work and Ronan watched horse trailers get unloaded and set up in old barns and cameras set up in empty fields.

The first person to approach him was a dusty man with dusty hair and dusty skin and bright eyes. “Hey, sir, sorry to bother you,” he greeted, all Virginia charm and hick. “But I was wonderin’ if I might be able to use a spare room. The talent don’t show up until tomorrow and we’re a bed short without our full camper caravan. Uh, they told me to remind you the house is part of the contract.”

Ronan scowled and the man grinned cheerily back. “You’re not an actor, right?” Ronan asked.

The man paused, head almost ticking to the side. “Like I said, sir, the talent’ll show up tomorrow.”

Ronan grumbled and turned around to let the man in, detouring to the kitchen to pour him coffee.

“Wow, you better not let anyone else know you make the good stuff,” the man said with a laugh, sipping at the drink even though it was hot and he cringed every time. “They’ll come raid your whole place for a good cup.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Ronan said drily. He sat down at his dining table and the man followed. “It’s Ronan.”

“Adam,” the man said.

Ronan eyed him suspiciously. “Isn’t  the lead actor on this project Adam Parrish?”

Again, the man’s eyebrows rose a little and Ronan got the complete sense that he was being studied. “You don’t know what Adam Parrish looks like?”

“Does he look like you?” Ronan asked.

The man’s mouth quirked into a smirk and he leaned back in the chair. “Nah, Adam Parrish is a movie star,” he said, like Ronan hadn’t just said the same thing. “I’m just trailer trash.”

“Are you making a joke about your campers or divulging life information on me?”

The man shrugged. “Why not both? You really don’t know who Adam Parrish is?”

Ronan shook his head and took too large a swallow of his drink, making a face as it burned his throat. “I don’t have a TV. I prefer to read.” Every single one of his high school teachers would’ve begged to differ, but a lot could happen in five years. “And my friends aren’t big into movies either.”

“Yeah, but he’s on all the magazine covers,” the man tried.

“Do I look like a middle aged housewife? I ain’t reading People and US Weekly.”

Adam  hummed and nodded. “He’s a good guy, people say. Don’t be too mean to him.”

“Who, Parrish?” Ronan asked. “Didn’t he win a bunch of Oscars the other year or something?”

“Well, there was only one solo award. The rest was ensemble awards. Best Movie and all that. Besides, even winning Best Actor means he had a good director and supporting cast, y’know.”

“You don’t sound like a fan,” Ronan said.

The man choked on a laugh and shrugged again. “Guess I just know how much teamwork goes into a movie, is all.”

“How come an Oscar winner wants to come do some campy western all the way out here?”

The man leaned forward conspiratorially. “I heard he’s always wanted to be a cowboy. Even took horse riding lessons with his first check. Besides, he’s from out here. This town I think.”

“There’s no way Henrietta made some movie star and I’ve never heard of him,” Ronan objected. There were many ways that he’d never heard of him, but that was besides the point.

The man shrugged. “Too many schools out here. Easy to miss someone.” Then, tripping over himself to explain, he said, “We did a lot of scouting of the region.”

Ronan shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Is Parrish playing the werewolf? Is he a cowboy-werewolf?” he asked.

Adam laughed and shrugged. “Who’s to say. You might just have to go watch this movie.”

Ronan rolled his eyes and stood up. “Come on, let me show you to the spare room. The closet is stocked with blankets and pillows. Bathroom’s connected. It’s a Jack-And-Jill, but no one’s in the other room. And I guess if you don’t tell anyone, you can help yourself to the fridge.”

Adam grinned at him and held out his hand. “I think we’re gonna get along great, Ronan.”

Ronan rolled his eyes but shook Adam’s hand. He had a cowboy’s handshake, or at least what Ronan assumed a cowboy’s handshake would feel like, warm, firm, calloused. A lifetime of work behind it.

“Whatever, just let me know if you need help clearing property or something.”

The man grinned, crooked and beautiful. “Sure thing, sir.”

Ronan left him to do whatever he wanted and by the time he got downstairs, there were three more people at his door.

“Jesus Christ, what do you all want?” he snapped.

Someone with a clipboard blinked up at him. “Uh, we were told Parrish came over here? He’s got a light check in five minutes.”

Ronan frowned and shook his head. “No, I’ve just got one of you crew guys up here. I thought Parrish wasn’t coming in until tomorrow.”

Behind the guy with the clipboard, a woman smacked her palm into her forehead. “Jesus. Is this crew guy’s name Adam by any chance?”

“Wait,” said clipboard guy, “you don’t know who Adam Parrish is?”

Ronan’s stomach dropped out from under him. “Why are you asking me like that?”

“I told all of you I’d be there on time,” Adam said from behind them. He put his hand on the small of Ronan’s back to slip by him. “I know how to read a time schedule.”

“You really didn’t know this was Adam Parrish? And he introduced himself to you as Adam?” clipboard guy repeated, pointing up at Adam.

Adam smiled bashfully. “Sorry. It was just so nice to talk to someone who didn’t know who I was,” he said. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Ronan blushed furiously as Adam Parrish was herded away.

As it turns out, he did go see the movie. At the premier, on Adam Parrish’s arm.

It might’ve happened like this: 18

It was the dead of night and Ronan had followed the only flicker of light across down in a truck that was wheezing its last breath. He’d (barely) graduated highschool and immediately decided to never take another class in his life and start a farm instead.

Only he hadn’t expected all the old trucks his father had owned to be on their last leg and completely useless for hauling wood and supplies. So here he was, half pushing the truck into Boyd’s garage. He’d driven past the old bays a thousand and one times but had never gone in. The BMW drove like a dream and so he’d never had reason to. Until now.

A tall man came out of the far bay, wiping his hands on a towel, and appraised the truck in the dark. “Sorry, I’m not gonna be able to get to it until the morning,” he said and Ronan’s toes curled at his voice.

“That’s alright. I just couldn’t leave it on the side of the road,” he said. “And risking the engine to get it here was better than calling a tow truck.”

“You need a ride home?” the guy asked. “I was just gettin’ ready to lock up.”

Ronan weighed his options, between calling Gansey and taking a ride from a stranger. A stranger with really nice hands.

“I could use a ride.”

The guy grinned at him and hooked something up to the front of the truck to finish pulling it into the bay. “Might not get to this one until tomorrow evening, if that’s alright. We’ve got a full garage right now. Lots of minivans getting ready for summer vacations.”

Ronan snorted and shrugged. “Guess I can’t argue. Ain’t like I can take it anywhere else.”

“That’s true. You’re a captive audience. I’m over here,” he said, nodding to a Franken-Car. “Just give me half a second to lock down the doors.” The guy ducked into a bay and pulled all the garage doors down until Boyd’s was just a black shape against the night sky, and then he came out of the front office, and locked the door.

“What name should I put down on the paperwork?” he asked as he piled into the ugly car. With a dubious look at the hood, Ronan followed.

“I’m Ronan.”

“Good to meet you, Ronan. I’m Adam. Where am I taking you?”

And if people saw movement in the yellow glow of Boyd’s second bay the next night, bodies tangling together and coming apart, it wasn’t any of their business.

It might’ve happened like this: 13

Ronan sat in an uncomfortable chair outside of a boring cubicle and tried not to think about how Delcan was curled around Matthew in a kid’s playroom of the foster agency building and Ronan would be more than welcome. Nothing about the past twenty four hours felt childlike. He didn’t feel childlike anymore.

The image of his father laying in the driveway and no one else around the pool of blood was imprinted on Ronan’s brain forever. He was never going to be okay again.

Shouting made Ronan lift his head. In the attached wing of the building, a man was shouting obscenities and a female social worker led a boy away from him, shielding the kid with her body as they waited for doors to unlock.

The boy was small, but Ronan’s age, he could tell by the way his hair hung in his eyes and the uneven knobs of his elbows. He was growing into his body the same way Ronan was. Puberty camaraderie was a thing. The woman came into the children’s wing, murmuring reassurances to the boy and petting his hair. The man who’d brought Ronan, Declan, and Matthew in had done nothing of the sort.

“Here, Mr. Adam. Sit here with Ronan for a little while while we get paperwork sorted out for you.”

Up close, Ronan could see the kid was bruised all to hell and he moved gingerly as he sat down beside Ronan. He hugged his arms against his chest and didn’t glance at Ronan until Ronan nudged his foot against the kid’s.

“Your name’s Adam?” he asked, and ignored how his voice wobbled a little bit.

The kid nodded. “And you’re Ronan. What kind of name is that?”

“It’s Irish,” Ronan said. Normally he had a whole spiel about his name, but just thinking about his dad made his throat seize up and he couldn’t give it.

“Who did that to you?” Ronan asked.

“Who do you think?” Adam asked, nodding at the name of the foster agency on the wall.

“What’s gonna happen to you?” Because they both seemed like sensible guys who knew what this building meant.

Adam shrugged. “I guess they’re trying to call my aunts and uncles, but I don’t think I have any.”

“I don’t either,” Ronan said. “They said they had to read my Dad’s will.”

Adam grimaced next to him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I am too. About your face.”

“Do you want to stay here?” Adam asked.

Ronan nodded quickly. “It’s home. I want to go home!” he said a little louder, to no reaction from the caseworker next to them. “What about you?” he asked, when he’d settled down. “Do you want to stay.”

Adam shook his head. “I hate this town.”

“Well,” Ronan said, sitting back. “I hope you get out.”

At the same time, the door opened and a wild haired woman--white hair, down to her waist--rushed in. “My name is Persephone. I’m here for Adam.”

Adam and Ronan looked at each other.

“Do you know here?” Ronan asked out of the corner of his mouth.

Adam shook his head. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

“That’s alright,” the woman said from across the way, no way she could’ve heard them. “I know you, Adam.”

“Ronan Lynch, we’ve got everything squared away with the school. They’ll have dorms for you and  your brothers by this evening,” the caseworker next to them said with a cheery smile that belonged nowhere near the situation.

Ronan and Adam stood up together.

“Sounds like we’re both staying here,” Adam said.

“And neither of us is getting what we want,” Ronan replied.

The boys sighed and Adam held out an arm with a nasty friction burn on it, fingers curled in a fist. “Maybe we’ll see each other again,” he suggested.

Ronan knocked his knuckles against Adam’s. “Yeah, maybe.”

And they did.

It might’ve happened like this: 17

Ronan pulled up to the red light with a rev of his engine. The Mitsu revved back. For once, Kavinsky’s windows were tinted and he didn’t roll down the window to leer at Ronan, but he knew Kavinsky’s Mitsu, the spoiler and the decal and all the gaudy ugliness of it all.

The light changed and the cars were off.

But something was wrong. Kavinsky didn’t stall like he always did and he didn’t let up on the first turn, like he always did. He did tear through the next yellow light, making Ronan continue the chase. And another. And another, far longer than Kavinsky had ever raced before. The longer they drove, the less sure Ronan got of himself until he hesitated at a two-way and the Mitsu kept going, screeching to a halt in a cul-de-sac. The BMW sadly roared in a second later.

Ronan jumped out of the BMW, fuming and angry and embarrassed. He had to beat the shit out of Kavinsky  so he’d think it was just a dream or something. Instead, though, he came up short when someone other than Kavinsky folded himself out of the Mitsu. And it wasn’t anyone else in the immediate Dream-Pack either. It was a tall kid with a blonde hair, tanned skin, a bruised cheek, and a taunting grin.

“I don’t know how K hasn’t done that to you before,” the guy gloated as he strode over to Ronan. “He made it seem like you were a racer and you’re not anything more than he is.”

Ronan fumed and stepped up to the guy. He had an inch or two on him, but it was nothing like the advantage he had on other guys he fought. As it was, before Ronan could lift a hand, the blond held up a finger, then pointed down the street where the rest of the Dream-Pack was turning.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said and climbed into the passenger side of the BMW.

Shocked, Ronan followed on autopilot, getting back into the driver’s seat. “If you win this one,” the guy said, “I’ll blow you on the drive back.”

“Who are you?” Ronan demanded, turning to look at the guy, a blush high on his cheeks.

The other man grinned at him. “You don’t recognize me, huh? Name’s Parrish. We have Bio together.”

Right, fuck. The scholarship kid with the grease on his hands.

“Did you rig the Mitsu to do that?” Ronan asked. “At the shop or whatever?”

Parrish laughed, head thrown back, mean and biting. “Hell no. Kavinsky doesn’t have a clue what to do with all the firepower under that hood. I do.”

“You do?” Ronan repeated.

“I’m good with my hands,” Parrish said and then nodded to the line of cars around them. “Drive and you’ll find out.”

Ronan drove.

It might’ve happened like this: 18

Matthew somehow had friends at Mountain View High and had begged Ronan to take him to see them play in their baseball game. Aglionby’s baseball team sucked. Mountain View, it turned out, did not. Most of their success, Ronan thought, could be contributed to the fact that Aglionby hadn’t managed to get a single hit off of MVH’s pitcher.

If Ronan managed to find a stray dog to play with near the bullpen while he was warming up, or happened to be chilling next to the home team dug out when he wasn’t batting, that was no one’s business. After the game, after Matthew had disappeared with his friends, after the stands had cleared, the boy emerged from the dugout, dragging equipment with him.

“Hey,” Ronan said, pretending like he hadn’t been waiting around. “Need help?”

“Why am I not surprised that you’re still around, Raven Boy?” the kid asked, a scowl coming to his pink mouth. “Need help finding the parking lot?”

Ronan rolled his eyes and reached for the base that was falling out of the kid’s arms. “No, told you I’m just trynna help.”

The pitcher glared at him but didn’t keep arguing. Instead, he walked off to a shed set away from the fields and fought a key free to unlock it.

“They always leave this job for one person?” Ronan asked.

“No, usually it’s two, but the guy who was supposed to stay with me got hurt and had to go to the med clinic,” Adam said.

Ronan remembered a kid taking a bad pitch to the ribs. He sucked in a breath in sympathy.

“Well, how about you help me with this shit and I’ll treat you to dinner,” Ronan suggested. It was brash and forward and dangerous, but he felt like it would work. He really wanted it to work.

The kid looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s my job. Aren’t you supposed to be helping me and I’ll pay.”

Ronan shrugged. “Sure, I’m sure there’s a MVH discount at Nino’s.”

Adam snorted. “They’d lose half their money that way.”

“Well, they definitely don’t give a shit about giving us a discount.”

“Poor rich kids. How do you afford nine dollar pizzas?”

“Hey, some of us go often enough to keep the doors open,” Ronan laughed. “So… is that a yes to dinner?”

“What’s your name, Raven Boy?” the guy asked.

“It’s Lynch. Ronan Lynch.”

“I’m Adam. And you’re buying me dinner tonight.”

It might’ve happened like this: 16

Gansey caught Ronan staring at the boy with the bike and pulled over in front of him.

“Hey!” he called, waving like the kid wouldn’t be able to see him. “Need a ride?”

And the kid put his bike in the trunk and climbed into the car. “I’m Gansey,” Gansey said, turning the full effect of his charm on the new kid. “This is Ronan.”

The kid glanced between them warily, eyes lingering on Ronan’s like he could see the longing in them, before knocking his knuckles against Gansey’s. “I’m Adam Parrish.”

“Well, Adam, what do you know about dead Welsh kings?”

It might’ve happened like this: 16

Gansey sat down at the lunch table across from Ronan like all the troubles in the world were on his shoulders. Surprisingly, someone sat down next to him. It was the kid from the road, God damn Gansey. 

“Ronan, this is Adam. Adam, this is Ronan. Ignore his snarl, he’s a decent guy,” Gansey introduced and then set off on swapping pieces of his sandwich for Ronan’s and taking one of the sweets Ronan had grabbed for an apple from Gansey’s plate. “It’s Adam’s first day. I’m his guide for the school.”

“Sucks for you,” Ronan said to Adam, teasing out a grin from Adam, which he hid very well.

Gansey kept chattering with Adam while he ate a sandwich. When it was gone, so was Gansey, off to talk to the row team or something.

“Um, so you play tennis right?” Adam said after a second of watching Ronan categorically destroy his own sandwich.

Ronan looked up at him with irritation but shrugged. “Sure. I used to.” He half expected Gansey to appear and remind them both that he had two junior titles and a state title behind him.

“I, uh, just saw your tattoo the other day. I was getting a tour. You musta been trying to take the cover off the ball, you were hitting it so hard.”

Ronan sneered, but it might have been an aborted smile. “They took you by the tennis courts?”

“I tried to tell them I wasn’t going to play a sport, but I guess your PE credit is required here.”

Ronan balked at the thought of watching Adam work out. “You’re a nerd then?” he asked, finally taking a bite of his sandwich.

Adam took a significantly smaller bite of a peanut butter sandwich. Ronan realized he didn’t have anything else and he flicked the apple at him. Adam looked at it and ignored it. “You mean I transferred in to learn and not to get recruited for a row scholarship?” he clarified.

“Yeah, something like that,” Ronan said. “You’re not so bad, nerd.”

Adam rolled his eyes.

But, really, it had to happen like this: 16

Two months after the scholarship kid showed up at the school, he walked through the door of Monmouth. Ronan turned down his music, curious but keeping his face schooled as anything but.

“Ronan, Adam just saved my life!” Gansey called. Ronan appeared in the mouth of the hallway connecting the living room and bedrooms and found Gansey, almost disheveled, and the scholarship student/bike kid standing in the the middle of Gansey’s ‘bedroom.’

“How’s that?” he asked. “He dig you out of whatever ditch your shitty car left you in?”

Adam was reading the spines of the books on Gansey’s desk and didn’t seem keen on answering.

“Yes, exactly. He actually got it up and running before I had to call a tow truck,” Gansey explained, shrugging out of his jacket and revealing grease and mud stains on the shirt under it.

“It sounds magical,” Ronan said, deadpan.

“And he knew about Glendower.”

Now Adam did turn, looking a little bashful. “Just that he’s a character in Henry IV,” he explained.

“That’s more than most people know,” Ronan said.

“You guys don’t read Henry IV in private school?”

“You read Henry IV freshman year?” Ronan asked.

Adam shrugged. “My teacher hated Romeo and Juliet.”

Gansey laughed, full chested and free, and pulled Adam towards a spread of journals. “So, here’s what we’ve figured so far…”

“Have you double checked French translations?” Adam asked, pointing to something in a journal.

Gansey beamed up at him and Ronan realized he was doomed.

(I know I’m so late with this! Forgive me!)

[sarinotsari]

My Life in Glee

Hi everyone! Basically I got the idea awhile ago to do a thread of what my life would be like if I were a character on Glee. This inspired my good friend to do a thread of her life, later expanding on that life in a tumblr post, which has inspired me to do the same!

Starting off with season 1, I would be a sophomore who has newly moved to Lima from Kansas. The reason behind me being a sophomore is that I would much rather graduate with the originals than the newbies (plus if I were a cast member of Glee, I would only stay on for three seasons in order to keep my schedule open for other acting opportunities). I would most likely be bullied for being openly trans and bi (thankfully, bullying isn’t something I’ve had to deal with in my personal life but I know WMHS isn’t a very accepting place). I also think Puck would be my biggest tormentor. 

Hearing about the glee club starting up again would be a bit of a touchy subject for me. I’ve always kept my love of music hidden from people except for close friends, plus I would be afraid of putting yet another target on my back for joining “the weird club”, so I would be against anyone joining the club. 

So when my boyfriend, Finn - one of the only people to accept me for being trans and bi -, joins the club, I would most likely break up with him (not something I would ever do in real life, but like I said I would be against people joining). About four or five episodes in, I would end up auditioning for the club and risking being even more of an outcast. As I mentioned in my thread, my audition song would be “No Good Deed” from Wicked. I’m a huge fan of both Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth, who were the original leading ladies of the Wicked on Broadway, and “No Good Deed” is one of my favorite songs from the musical. Either in the same episode of my audition or in the episode following, I would sing Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” due to still struggling with by breakup with Finn. 

After joining the club, I can see Finn and I reconnecting, but I can see his obvious attraction Rachel and I decide to just remain friends. This is great because I then take an interest in Mike, and we soon start to date. I also form a quick friendship with Santana, and we become a close duo. 

Between the break of season 1 and season 2, I temporarily move back to Kansas due to one of my parents getting a job offer. Unfortunately, Mike and I decide long-distance wouldn’t work for us, and we end things. However, Santana and Finn both keep in contact with me. 

After two or three episodes, I move back to Lima to live with an aunt after having missed the glee club too much. While digging through some boxes in my aunt’s house looking for something, I discover that my parents had left some papers in her house. I decide to read them to find out if they are important, and I find out that Quinn is my sister and had been put up for adoption due to my parents not being able to afford a child when she was born (she would be 11 months older than me and our parents got a better income by the time I came around). I tell her about this and we start to bond, eventually forming a close friendship.

One night, the glee girls are hanging out and having fun - which leads to Mercedes and I singing Lady Gaga’s “Telephone” together. Also in this scene, Santana confides about her struggles with her sexuality with her close friends. This leads Tina to also question her sexuality, and Tina and I eventually end up dating. Shortly after we begin dating, I sing Taylor Swift’s “Back to December”. After Blaine transfers to McKinley, he and I form a close friendship. Santana, Blaine, and I form a trio known to fans of the show as Sartaine ([Sar]ina/San[ta]na/Bl[aine]). Obviously, my prom date would be Tina this season. 

Now to season 3, a pretty difficult season for me. Throughout this season, I struggle a lot with depression brought on by my fear of failing after graduating high school. However, with the help of my best friends (Santana, Finn, Blaine, and Quinn) as well as my girlfriend, Tina, I am able to make it through everything. At the point where the girls start leaving for the Troubletones, I sing P!nk’s “Funhouse”, being frustrated with how the New Directions used to be so fun but has now turned into this battlefield for solos. I later join the Troubletones after Santana convinces me to do so. At the end of the season, I graduate with the class of 2012. After graduation, Tina and I have a discussion where we mutually agree that we should move on as friends due to her being a senior the next year while I’ve already graduated from high school.

Now onto season four, where I would be a recurring character. It’s announced on episode one that Santana and I have started dating after years of being close friends, and our chemistry is shown several times throughout the season. Due to my demotion from main to recurring status, I don’t have a lot of storylines. My only performance from season 4 is Little Mix’s “Madhouse”, performed with Brittany as we both feel sort of lost in our personal lives.

During season 5, I’m seen even less but I do have more performances and a more stable storyline. In this season, it’s revealed that I’ve started my acting career and got a guest role on “Law & Order: SVU” (something a lot of people have guest starred in). My two biggest performances this season both revolve around Santana, with both of us singing Shakira and Rihanna’s “Can’t Remember to Forget You” within the first five or six episodes and me singing Demi Lovato’s “Give Your Heart A Break” after I break up with Santana due to her obvious attraction to Brittany. 

Now onto season 6, the final season. Early on the season, both Mike and I get drunk and end up having what we think is a one night stand. However, we later realize there was more to it and we sing Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars”. We soon rekindle our high school romance, and we end up being one of the endgame couples along with Fabrevans, Brittana, Klaine, Puckleberry, and also Tinacedes. 

In the 2020 time jump, Mike and I are seen happily married with three year old twin sons - Michael Robert Chang III and Christopher Hudson Chang, named after Mike and Finn. Quinn would have been the surrogate due to her DNA being similar to mine since we’re sisters. Also in the time jump, I have become a well-known actress with a main role in “Grey’s Anatomy” and Mike owns a dance studio where he teaches people of all ages how to dance. 

I hope you all enjoyed reading this, it was so fun to write!! I’m interested in writing some for my other favorite shows now :)

[seblos]

there’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach - ch 1/10

chapter title: i think he’d rather play sharpay

word count: 2,027

[one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine (coming soon)]

read on ao3

Carlos Rodriguez is headed to auditions for the school’s musical when he hears a voice behind him. Granted, he doesn’t hear it right away, as he’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts about being choreographer (!!!) for the show, but he’s able to snap out of it when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Carlos, hey.” He turns, surprised to see Seb Matthew-Smith standing in front of him. He knows the boy, of course, they’ve been going to school together for years, but Carlos can’t recall how many times they’ve interacted besides group projects and friendly waves in the hallway.

“What’s up, Seb?”

Carlos swore Seb suddenly dropped a little bit of his happy tone as nerves crept into his voice. “I have a question for you,” he starts, immediately causing Carlos’ brain to swirl with possible scenarios.

“Okay, shoot,” he says, still smiling at the boy.

“It’s about the show,” Seb starts, still clearly nervous about what he’s going to ask. At least his statement shortens Carlos’ list of guesses as to what Seb might ask.

“Oh! Are you thinking of auditioning this year?” He recalls Seb playing piano in the pit for the school musical the previous year, but he had an amazing voice that belonged onstage. “Because you would make a perfect Ryan! I mean, you already look the part and everything!” 

Seb’s face falls for a moment before he straightens his back. “That’s the thing. I kind of was thinking of auditioning for Sharpay?” he asks hesitantly, and Carlos melts a little bit inside. His smile must reassure Seb because he proceeds to ask “Do you think Miss Jenn would be okay with that?”

“I’m sure she would be more than okay with it,” he says, squeezing Seb’s shoulder who immediately breaks into a big, yet soft smile.

“Okay! I’ll see you soon then, I guess!” He says, before turning and walking away, the smile still wide across his face. Carlos watches him go for a moment, before remembering that he’s supposed to get to auditions early to help set everything up. With that, he continues his exciting path to the auditorium. 

Carlos arrived at rehearsal still jittering with nerves about his role in the show, Miss Jenn had been the first teacher to give him a shot at something he was really passionate about, and he could not let anyone down. It was crazy already considering he was only a sophomore, but somewhere he knew he had it in him to do this show.

He was pleasantly surprised by the turnout; there were some crazy good dancers in this school, apparently. They were all very quick to follow the tutorial dance he had given.

 Gina, who he also recognized from their grade as the new transfer student, was killing the game. He had no doubt that she would end up playing Gabriella if she had the voice for it.

He glanced over at Seb, who was at the piano playing the warm-up tune. He was still filling in the role for pit piano as they wouldn’t have the actual musician until tech week. Carlos was sad to not see him dance yet, but that didn’t take away from the high hopes he had for who would land the role of Sharpay.

The music he had been playing came to an end as the round dancers finished, catching their breath and grabbing their water bottles. Carlos clapped his hands together, “Great! That’s it for the warm-up!”

A murmur took over the crowd as everyone grouped back together. He heard one concerned voice asking “that was the warm-up?” and sighed, laughing just a little bit. Carlos wasn’t evil, okay? He just liked to push people to do what he knows they’re capable of.

Carlos turned back around as Miss Jenn had people pairing up. His eyes caught Seb’s for a second, who happily waved at him as he paired himself with a curly-haired dancer that Carlos had noticed before. He smiled back at Seb, before turning his attention to Miss Jenn once more. 

She had them doing a couple of partner exercises: voice warmups, trust falls, stretching, etcetera etcetera, while she and Carlos supervised to make sure nobody broke an ankle before they started the audition process.

After that, Miss Jenn rounded them all up and put them in a line as Carlos grabbed her folder of sheet music for each part, following her as she chose parts for each person to read. He couldn’t deny that her choices were impeccable, and everyone seemed very happy with their designated parts to read. Not to mention the hypothetical addition of a ballad for the girl who wanted to play Miss Darbus, which was genius. 

Carlos was a little surprised when Nini Salazar-Roberts, a girl he had seen only in the chorus of their shows, asked to audition for Gabriella. She was sweet, sure, and had a great voice, but she always seemed too shy to play the lead. Or, a part with any lines for that matter. He had hope for her, although Gina was already off-book.

They approached Seb, who was last in line and had been nervously fiddling with the zipper on his vest. Carlos gave him a reassuring smile, which Seb gratefully returned until Miss Jenn gave her verdict. Her glance over of him was quick, and she smiled asking “You’re reading for Ryan, right?” 

Immediately, Seb’s smile was replaced with a look of fear. Before Seb could accept his fate, Carlos spoke up.

“I think he’d rather play Sharpay,” he told Miss Jenn. Seb’s smile was back as Miss Jenn turned around once more.

“I love that,” she said, an inspired look in her eyes. “That is so fresh.” She walked back towards the director’s table with that. Carlos pulled out the music for ‘Bop to the Top’ and handed it to Seb, who mouthed ‘thank you!’ with an excited look in his eyes and, for a second, Carlos felt his heart skip a beat.

That excitement went away later on though, and Carlos’s head was pounding after the fiasco that was those Troy and Gabriella auditions. He didn’t understand the drama and, frankly, he didn’t really care either. At least those auditions were over, and they could move on from whatever just happened. 

When Miss Jenn started calling out those who were auditioning for Sharpay, though, Carlos’ heart started racing as the hetero drama was replaced with the memory of his conversation with Seb from earlier. 

Carlos never had a problem at school about the whole gay thing, and he hadn’t heard a problem within the past few years. Sure, there was the occasional name-calling while passing in the hallway, but that stopped at the beginning of his sophomore year. He had never been shoved into a locker or beat up outside of school (yet, knock on wood). Still, though, casting Seb as Sharpay would be huge for representation. 

A few girls came up to audition, all singing the same first 16 bars of ‘Bop to the Top,’ and while most of them were good, nobody totally stuck out to Carlos. He had noticed that either they had the right personality for it but not the voice, or vice versa, and he could tell Miss Jenn was noticing it too. It did make him a little bit nervous for Seb, as he was used to him being sweet with a good voice, and had never really seen him be harsh in any way.

“What do we know about him?” Miss Jenn asked Carlos like she had done with every person so far.

“Seb Matthew-Smith. Was the piano accompanist last year, but an amazing singer and actor,” Carlos said, before adding “And male, obviously.” 

Miss Jenn merely smiled at the last bit before turning her attention back to the boy in front of her, who was still nervously fiddling with the zipper on his vest. “Whenever you’re ready, Seb!” she called out. And don’t psych yourself out! Carlos added silently. 

His fears immediately dissolved the moment Seb took the stage, leaving Carlos captivated. When he started reading Sharpay’s lines (it was the moment right after ‘Status Quo’ after Sharpay was hit with the cheese fries) Carlos couldn't help the smile that grew on his face as he watched Seb become a whole different person. His sweet personality had immediately melted and he watched in awe as Seb took up the entire stage. Maybe he was biased, but Seb was the best actor they had seen all day. 

The scene itself was phenomenal, but once Seb started singing the chorus for “Bop to the Top,” Carlos was floored. He knew that Seb had a powerful voice, but he never knew how powerful until there he was, performing like it was opening night. And judging by the look on Miss Jenn’s face, this wouldn’t be that last time he performed it either.

After the sweeping round of applause that followed Seb’s audition, as well as auditions for all the other leading roles, Miss Jenn sent everyone into the hall except for Carlos as they began to discuss the cast list.

By “discuss”, Carlos means Miss Jenn wrote down the cast list while he sat next to her and just nodded, knowing full well he didn’t really have a say in it. For the most part, though, it didn’t really matter because he agreed with all her castings. Carlos maybe would have preferred Gina to play Gabriella considering her level of skill and experience compared to Nini’s, but he had to admit even after the weird mess that was the Troy & Gabriella auditions he was blown away by Nini’s voice in the audition. 

He was surprised when she asked him to immediately post the cast list, but went along with it. At least that meant they could get the show moving!

Carlos shoved past the crowd waiting (eavesdropping) at the door, hurrying forward with the green piece to stick on the wall before he got trampled by the swarm of theatre kids rushing forward to check the list. 

He noticed Seb was one of the first ones to it, immediately gasping in surprise, no doubt due to the Seb Matthew-Smith written neatly next to Sharpay Evans, although Carlos didn’t really understand how Seb could think it would be anyone but him. 

He watched the rest of the drama unfold, rolling his eyes when he heard EJ Caswell complain “She thinks I’m a Chad?” Sure, he may have been a better fit for Troy, but Chad was still the second-biggest male lead. (Or, third in this case now that Sharpay was going to be played by a boy.) It made Carlos feel bad for those Miss Jenn had pegged as Chad’s previously and had now found themselves in an ensemble. Oh well though, he wasn’t about to try and argue.

Just as Carlos began to walk away from the madness, he felt a hand grab his arm. For a second, his heart sank, thinking it was someone who was angry about their part and was about to take it out on Carlos. 

When he turned around, though, it was just Seb.

“Oh, sorry,” he said quickly, letting go of Carlos’s arm when they noticed the surprised yet fearful look on his face. “I just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?” Carlos asked genuinely. “None of those casting decisions were mine.”

Seb smiled softly. “I know. I wanted to thank you for what you told me earlier. I was almost about to back out, but you gave me the extra bit of confidence I needed.”

Carlos was still confused. “What do you mean? I asked if you were auditioning for Ryan.”

“Well, yeah, but then when I asked if I could audition for Sharpay, you looked excited,” his smile grew a little bit wider, and Carlos couldn’t help when the corners of his mouth lifted too. “This is my dream role and you helped me get it, so… thanks.” 

“Seb,” Carlos said. “That was all you.”

And the smile that Seb gave Carlos in return to that could light up all of Broadway.

[jq37]

The Report Card -- Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 1

Sophomores and Spring Break 

Note: Hey guys! I decided to try something a little bit different and slightly more structured than my usual recaps for FH: Sophomore Year. I’m hoping this will be a little easier for me and a more useful tool for keeping up to date since there will be a lot more eps to keep track of and they’ll be easier to miss. Lemme know what you think and if you want raw, unfiltered opinions on anything specific, feel free to send me an ask. I’m always down to go off about literally whatever. 

We’re back, baby! It is Sophomore Year at Aguefort and the gang is on Spring Break. A lot is going down so lemme break it down. The Bad Kids, having defeated Kalvaxus last year, are all entitled to a share of his hoard and all the red tape is finally cleared so they all get 20k gold each (which is an insane amount of money converted to USD if you use the WOTC conversion rate of a gold coin being around $145 (circa 2006 when they answered the question)--which would be close to $330 with inflation). Jawbone and Sandra-Lynn are moving in after less than a year into a profoundly haunted house and it’s kind of a Full House situation because Adaine, Fig, Kristen, and Tracker all officially live there (plus it seems that Zayn has also anchored himself to Adaine’s tower--btw, Adaine took the tower that the haunted house obviously has) and you know all the other Bad Kids are gonna be there on the regular. 

More importantly, Aguefort gives the gang their big project for the year--finding the crown of the Nightmare King which was stolen at the end of last season--which is worth 60% of their grade (Adaine does a full Hermione at this information). Each of the gang has info about the NK but the trail has mostly gone cold. Luckily, Fabian just got a hot tip about where Falinel is keeping Aelwyn and she seems like a pretty good lead to start with since she was super tied up in the bad side of all the messiness of last year. Adaine is displeased to say the least. 

Going off to find the crown is super exciting story-wise for two reasons. First of all, it means the gang gets to hire, well, hirelings to help them and temporarily join the party! They ping basically every cool NPC they can think of (except for Tracker for some reason which is BONKERS because (1) she probably would have done it for free and cutting her in would still be keeping the money in the family, (2) she’s dope as hell, (3) she’s a cleric and the party can always use more healers, (4) she’s a werewolf so presumably she has skills that would help in the woods, and (5) they’re t r a c k i n g down a crown and the girl’s name is literally T R A C K E R, but I will not backseat D&D) and eventually end up with Ragh (who has been without an adventuring party all year, poor guy), Sandra-Lynn (swayed by a nat 20 rolled by Fig), Cathilda (!?) ,and, for some reason, Gilear (which Fabian is happy about, mainly for the opportunity to maybe bump him off on the way). Second of all, if you recall, Elmville is a pretty modern town but the rest of the continent is less fantasy high, more high fantasy. Horses and lanterns and all that pseudo-medieval goodness. They are gonna stick out like a sore thumb. I am very here for it. 

Everyone goes home to rest up but, after some ominous dreams, only four of them wake up. Riz and Fig are left asleep and then Brennan mic drops and ends the episode which is a power move and I am extremely upset about it but also, respect. Right for the jugular immediately. I heard Murph and Emily are on tour in the UK next week which probably has something to do with this but, in the moment, I did not know that and I really felt the hammer drop in my heart. It was wild. Cannot wait to see where we go from here. Plus, who doesn’t love watching characters freak out because their friends are in danger?

Random Thoughts

I have no idea what the title of this episode is or if it’ll even have one and not a number but I gave it a placeholder one for now. I also don’t have access to the stream yet so I didn’t get to include some info I wanted to (like a record of nat 20s, and nat 1s so I can track their stats for the school year) and I probably missed some stuff because my brain can only hold so much info guys. I’m not Brennan. 

I mentioned this yesterday during the stream, but there will never be anything better than the pure D&D joy of everyone, in character, talking over each other to clown on each other. They get the friend-group banter that’s a hair breadth’s away from bullying so true to life and it’s so fun to watch. On the flip side, the opening scene with everyone introducing themselves and affirmatively claiming each other as their best friends was also peak D&D. Found family= best trope. 

Fig and Adaine burn spell-slots at basically the same time to try and beat each other to the best room in the (Scooby-Doo ass) house--which is exactly the kind of thing that would happen in this world. It’s such an intuitive setting. I love it so much. (BTW, Fig ends up staying in the false space under the revolving grand piano because, of course).

Fabian and Gorgug went to recruit Ragh, who assumed they were propositioning him for a three-way. In his defense, they did do it in a super proposition-y way and they were in the middle of the LGBTQ student union.

Also, Gorgug gives Ragh an inspiring speech about thinking you’re your own dad which makes him burst into tears. 

Speaking of, Jawbone offhandedly says he’s poly but, like, based on some of the stuff he’s said, I feel like that’s not really a reveal. He also gets along well with Gorthalax and would be down w/ a three-way if Sandra-Lynn wanted to which, again, totally checks out. 

Arthur Aguefort uses Chronomancy to rewind time and catch a snide comment Adaine made under her breath, which is exactly the kind of frivolous use of God-like power I’d expect from him.  

I really love Adaine’s energy coming into this season. She’s in therapy. She’s in a good home environment. She’s comfortable enough with her friend group to do stuff like prank Fig (love that they’re gonna be living together now). And she’s good friends with Zayn now which I want to see more of based on their one interaction in this ep which was very cute. I am already on record as saying I would be down with her getting a ghost boyfriend--I mean, for the aesthetic alone--but I’d be happy with just more friendship. 

Fabian is also hilarious this season because you can tell he’s gone a bit soft from having friends and leaning into that (the friendship necklace with Riz) but also he’s fully aware that it’s happening so he’s, like, ping-ponging back and forth like, “These are my friends,” and, “What am I saying? I used to be cool,” and it’s very funny. Very happy the Aelwyn storyline is happening right out of the gate, both because I think Aelwyn is a very interesting character with a lot of potential for nuance but also because Fabian reacting to her and Adaine reacting to Fabian reacting to her is always gold. 

Prompted by an offhand conversation from Fig about rock and roll, Brennan--earning another feather for his Cap of God Tier DMing--goes on an impromptu five minute long improved diatribe about a bard who played such a good concert that it instantly impregnated everyone in attendance (dudes too) who gave birth to kids with sick rocker hair and denim jackets and ascended to Rock Heaven on their 18th Birthday. You truly have to watch it to believe it. At a certain point I thought he was gonna drop it but that was the moment he doubled down and kept going. Amazing. 

Watching Murph, in real time, make up a girl/boy/whateverfriend in Fantasy Canada was a gift. 

I don’t have access to the stream yet but best quote of the night that I can remember is Kristen choosing her room: This is triggering and I’ll take it. (Her line about her lesbian starter kit and the one about wanting a horse were also bangers). 

The group talks about what they’re going to do for transportation outside of Elmsville since they don’t really use cars out there and they somehow get from “disguise Fig’s tour bus” to “commission Aguefort to create a brand new animal that can hold six people plus hirelings, one of which is Fabian who is also riding his motorbike”.

I love that Sandra-Lynn’s Mom Powers work on Tracker. 

Basrar doesn’t accept the invitation to come with on the quest, but he does give Kristen a bag of infinite ice cream sandwiches, which is basically just as good, IMO. 

Oh Gilear. The man is sleeping in the Seacaster garage, being bullied by skater kids, and now he’s stuck on this quest with his ex and Fabian who actively wants him dead.  

Speaking of, I’m psyched to see more of Sandra-Lynn. She was kind of a sleeper badass at the end of last season. 

Ragh is keeping secrets which I hope the cast doesn’t forget because it could be nothing serious (like the high school drama happening with Skrank and the 7 maidens--maybe he’s just crushing on Gorgug who did full kiss him during Promocalypse) or it could be Serious Business that will blow up if the don’t stay on top of it. We’ll see. 

Oh, almost forgot. Adaine wants an emotional support frog. Every time I think I can’t love her more.   

Detention

Fig for Not Respecting Personal Boundaries

Fig goes full Emily right out the gate and, after finding out that Skrank (nerdy bird dude who apparently can get it) was not only dating Ostentasia (rich, popular dwarf) but also dumped her in pursuit of Danielle Barkstock (one of Ostentasia’s party members, the scandal), disguises herself as him with Danielle to figure out what’s going on. And, wouldn't you know it, when she gives herself away, Danielle immediately is shocked and appalled, as you would be, obviously. We also learn that she’s still catfishing Dr. Asha which is, how you say, for sure a crime. Fig, please, I’m begging you. Cease. 

Honor Roll

Fig, Riz, and Adaine for Researching the Nightmare King

Fig made both lists, look at that. Wasn’t my plan for this to be a three-way tie (also didn’t expect to use the word “three-way” this many times in this writeup) but I think their contributions were pretty much equally valuable. Rainsolo on the Discord wrote up this summary of the lore dump Brennan gave them.

[evalinkatrineberg]

Practice Prompt 1 - Part 2!

I could hardly focus the day that the Selected girls were to be announced on The Report. From the moment I had woken up that morning, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the periwinkle curtains that covered my bedroom window, the only thing on my mind had been the question of whether or not I would be Selected. I went through my normal morning routine in an almost zombie-like state, trading my bedclothes for a t-shirt and shorts, and brushing my hair back into a ponytail without even thinking. It was always kind of like a game, creeping out of my bedroom as quietly as I could. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder at Lydia, who was still sound asleep. In a few short seconds, the bedroom door was closed behind me, and I was down the stairs, grabbing my keys and tugging on my sneakers before sneaking out the front door.

Lukas and June were already waiting for me at the end of my driveway. “Sleeping in today, I see,” Lukas commented, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in a small smile.

“Sorry,” was my only reply as the three of us set off on our morning run. It had been our routine for a few years now. At first, it had only been me and June. Being next door neighbors and classmates, it had been easy for us to coordinate a time to get out and run together, seeing as we had been on almost identical schedules our entire lives. Running had been something that we had decided to take up the spring of our sophomore year of high school, and we’d continued that tradition into college, having both committed to the same university.

When I had met Lukas in my freshman physics lab my first semester of college and mentioned that I enjoyed running during an icebreaker, he had instantly asked if he might be able to join us on our morning runs. Apparently, he had run on his high school’s track team, although he never pushed me and June’s pace, despite having more experience than us. Once we found out that he was leasing a basement apartment in a house two blocks over from the street June and I lived on, it had been a no-brainer to us that he should join our group. We had expected it to be back to just June and I for the summer, but apparently Lukas was hanging around to take some extra classes.

The three of us didn’t speak as we made for the park on the edge of our neighborhood, a beautiful, scenic forest with a babbling creek and a network of well-maintained dirt paths. The only sounds were our feet pounding the ground and our heavy breathing, mixed with the early-morning chirps of the birds hidden in the trees. Already, the air was starting to get a little steamy as the humidity of the daytime began to settle in, a slight fog lifting off the creek that meandered on the left side of the trail we always began our run on.

A new sound broke through the air. The buzzing of Lukas’s watch, signalling that we had completed a mile, was accompanied with a heavy exhale from him. Shortly after, he asked, “So, is there any particular reason you’re pushing the pace today, Evalin?”

I frowned, not slowing as I cast a quick look at him over my shoulder. “What was our first mile split?”

“Six minutes, fifty-five seconds.” His words were steady, but his voice was slightly more airy than usual.

“Damn,” June panted. It sounded like just saying that one word took a monumental effort on her part.  

“Sorry,” I responded. Two apologies today already, and it wasn’t even seven in the morning yet. That had to be a new record for me. “I’m just a little lost in thought. I didn’t realize how fast we were going.”

“Are you thinking about the Report tonight?” I could practically hear June’s teasing smile in her voice. “You know, I entered the Selection, too, and you don’t see me literally running myself ragged over it.”

“You are keeping pace with us,” Lukas pointed out, “so aren’t you technically doing the same exact thing as Evalin?”

“Och,” was June’s only reply as she audibly hit Lukas with the back of her hand.

“I truly don’t understand why you two even entered anyway.” Lukas sighed as we made a turn to the left, taking us over a small wooden bridge that crossed the creek. “It’s just a glorified beauty pageant, and, no offense, neither of you are really pageant girls.”

“Are you insinuating that we’re not drop-dead gorgeous?” The offense in June’s voice may have been faked, but the edge on her words was anything but. She had never been afraid to start a fight, even when we were children. Back then, if she saw someone being pushed around on the playground, she was the first person to fight for them, often resulting in her coming home dirty and bruised. Her parents always bemoaned how unbecoming her behavior was for a Three, but I had always admired the way that June was totally unafraid to stand up for what she believed in. It was for that reason that I wasn’t entirely surprised when she told me that she was planning on pursuing nursing in college. Her love of other people, and her genuine desire to help those in need would make her a great nurse, in my opinion.

Lukas sighed again as we made another left turn, bringing us to a winding trail that would eventually lead us back to the same entry point we had used to get into the park. “It’s just that you’re both booksmart, not very people smart.”

I raised an eyebrow, despite the fact that I knew he couldn’t see it.

As if he sensed it, he continued. “June would probably get into a fight with someone within the first five minutes of being at the palace, and Evalin is too damn nice for her own good. She’d get eaten up alive by all the politicians and schemers in Angeles.”

“What’s wrong with being nice?” I frowned, the sound of my heartbeat racing in my ears. Maybe he was right. Had I been foolish to enter in the Selection? I had never been particularly politically savvy. I could certainly research more about political science and Illean history, sure. In fact, I had begun to do some research in the days after submitting my Selection application, although I hadn’t brought it up in conversation. I found political theory interesting, but applying it to what I observed on the news was more challenging than I had anticipated. There was nothing wrong with a good challenge, though. I kind of enjoyed having something new to push me out of my comfort zone.

“Nothing, normally,” Lukas answered, “but politicians don’t play nice.”

June snorted. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“June would be perfect if she was Selected, then.” I shot her a look over my right shoulder, only to find her matching my own grin. Her dark eyes sparkled as the light hit them, complimenting her downright radiant features perfectly. June would be an ideal candidate to be Selected, truth be told. She was passionate, strong, and simply stunning in appearance. Despite her habit of getting into fights as a child, her dark skin didn’t display a single flaw now, and her curly hair seemed to just bounce with joy and enthusiasm.

“Hey, listen, I follow the golden rule!” Her footsteps were a steady beat just behind me as we hit the pavement again. “I treat others the way they treat others!”

Lukas barked out a laugh as I replied, “Mmm, I don’t quite think that’s it.”

“I know,” she answered. “I improved it!”

On the horizon, my house was beginning to come into view. Even from a distance, I could see that me father’s car was no longer in our driveway. He must have left for work early this morning, then. Usually, I was able to run, shower, and drink at least one cup of coffee before he was telling me to grab my bag and get out the door so he wasn’t late. My mom’s beige car was still in the driveway, though. It wasn’t an old car, but it was modelled after a style of classic car that my grandfather had often gushed about, according to my mother. It was originally one of the gifts my father had given my mother’s parents after he had asked them for their blessing to marry my mother. My grandfather had always insisted that the gift was excessive, and that my father shouldn’t try to buy my mother’s hand in marriage, but my grandfather had kept the car anyway. When he passed away five years ago, he left the car to my mother in his will.

“Oh, by the way,” I began, slowing as we reached the edge of June’s driveway, “my mother took the day off from work today, and is planning a big brunch. You two should definitely come over, if you can.”

“Thanks for the invite, but I desperately need to shower, thanks to someone -” she glared pointedly at me, smiling nonetheless “-setting a killer pace this morning.”

I looked down at my own shirt, which was soaked through. “I should probably do the same.” June just laughed as I added, “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Until tomorrow,” Lukas agreed with a wave, jogging off down the street before disappearing around the corner.

I was tempted to yell after him, to ask him if he really thought that I wouldn’t last if I was one of the Selected. I didn’t know why his opinion mattered so much to me. It wasn’t as if he had any experience in the palace, or was studying anything related to politics. His opinion shouldn’t mean too much, shouldn’t mean anything, and yet, I was one second away from calling out his name.

It was too late, though. Short of chasing after him, I wouldn’t be able to get his attention now. With a sigh, I began making my way up my own driveway and then on to the porch. I untied my shoes before unlocking the front door, placing my shoes on the shoe rack and following the smell of cinnamon and coffee to the kitchen. It appeared that my mother was planning a full on feast for brunch, complete with french toast, eggs, and even bacon. The hiss of the gas stove and the purr of the coffee machine was practically a symphony to my ears as I placed my keys on the counter, reaching up to pull a glass out of the cabinet above the sink.

“It’s a hot one today, isn’t it?” It was more of a statement than a question. My mother leaned against the counter opposite of the stove, arms crossed as she eyed my sweaty clothing up and down.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to shower,” I assured her, “as soon as I have a few sips of water.”

“No rush,” she replied, laughing slightly. “Are you excited for tonight?”

I bit my lip, taking a few seconds to stop and sip some water before responding. “I’m kind of excitedly nervous.” I frowned, placing my now empty glass in the sink. “Does that make sense? I feel like I shouldn’t be nervous, because there’s tons of women in Carolina who have a better shot than I do, but I also don’t want to completely count myself out.”

“That makes sense.” My mother moved over to the stove now, glancing over at me as she flipped the french toast. “I think you have a good shot, but we’ll just have to wait and see. Just like everybody else.” As she spoke the last few words, she poked the tip of my nose, smiling warmly before turning back to the food on the stove. “Now, please go shower!”

I laughed and rolled my eyes in mock exasperation. “Aye-aye, captain!”

When I had finally made my way up the stairs and into my bedroom, I found that Lydia was somehow still asleep. I didn’t understand how she could stay in bed so long. If I wasn’t up by eight in the morning, at the absolute latest, I felt like I didn’t have enough time in the day to get everything I needed to do that day done.

Even as I grabbed my outfit for the day out of my dresser - a pair of loose-fitting, light wash jeans, along with a beige button-up shirt - and made my way into the bathroom at the end of the hallway, I couldn’t help but run through all the possible outcomes of the night. More likely than not, my name would not be called, and life would continue on as normal. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, this would be a pretty upsetting outcome. I had definitely been letting myself get my hopes up. It would suck if all my daydreaming was squashed in one fell swoop tonight, but I would get over it. I’d have to. In that scenario, I’d have to be able to get myself back into my normal routine. I could not afford to put my entire life on hold for one ruined fantasy.

A slight deviation on that scenario was if they didn’t call my name, but if they did call June’s, or anybody who I knew, for that matter. I pondered that outcome further as the hot water of the shower rolled down my back and caused the bathroom to fog up around me. If that was the case, if June got called, I would likely be happier for her than I would be sad for myself. June deserved it, as did many other girls I had met throughout my life. Even being able to say that I was friends with one of the Selected girls would be pretty cool. Plus, knowing June, I was sure she would fill me in on all the inside drama without me having to be involved in it myself.

The last outcome I could conceive of, and the one I least wanted to think about, was one where my name was called. The possibility of that even happening seemed so far removed from reality that it was hard to determine how I would even feel in the event that it happened. I’d definitely be excited, that was certain, but the implications of being Selected loomed on the horizon like a dark cloud. It would be amazing to finally leave my hometown and see more of Illea, but I’d miss my family and friends dearly. Being Selected would also mean putting my education on hold, which would likely prove a challenge for me, since being into biology had been basically a quarter of my personality since I was six years old.

I wasn’t even sure what I would say or do if I ever got the opportunity to meet and speak to the prince. I mean, we practically lived in different worlds - what could we possibly talk about? I knew that he had studied political science at Angeles University, but my own knowledge of political science was still, rather embarrassingly, limited. Other than that, most of what I knew about him came from the media. I had heard about his engagement to Evie Waldia, and the subsequent breaking off of the engagement. Beyond that, the only thing I knew was that he was a pretty handsome guy. Honestly, I’d probably be able to make better conversation with Princess Safiya, since she was studying to go to medical school. At least we’d probably be able to commiserate over some science and math courses.

I need a personality outside of schoolwork. I shook my head, shutting off the water and wringing out my head before grabbing my towel off the rack that was nailed to the wall just to the right of the shower. What was I even in to, besides science? I liked looking at the stars, which was still kind of science related, but it was a start. I wondered if you could see the stars from the palace, or if the light pollution there blotted them out?

I liked to read, and to run, both of which were pretty generic hobbies, but that fact would hopefully only make it more likely that we could find some common ground around them. I had also often dreamed about being a ballerina when I was about five years old, and even now I still found watching ballets performed on stage an incredibly emotional experience, in a positive manner. If nothing else, maybe we would be able to talk about music.

It appeared I would really have to undergo a journey of self-discovery if my name was in fact called tonight. Perhaps that was for the better, though. Maybe it was time for me to branch out a little.

By the time I made it downstairs, my brothers were already seated around the table, silent save for Gabriel, who was talking about one thing or another he had heard on the news last night. Lydia had also made her way downstairs, though she was still in her pajamas.

“I’m just saying,” Gabriel proclaimed, raising his hands in the air in mock surrender. “The timing of this Selection just seems a little too quick to me! I’m having a hard time believing that this wasn’t a purely political decision.” He looked around the table at my siblings’ faces, but nobody met his gaze. Randall and Sam both looked down at the table, and Lydia just yawned and looked out the window.

“Come on,” he tried again, “I can’t be the only one that thinks this.”

“He has to know what he’s doing, in having a Selection,” I argued, taking up my usual seat next to Lydia. “I’m sure this wasn’t a decision anyone made lightly.” Though, Gabriel did have a point. The turnaround between the prince breaking off his engagement and the announcement of the Selection was rather fast. I wasn’t entirely convinced he was over Evie yet, if I was being honest. Breakups weren’t an easy thing to get over, especially when the people involved had been together for a long time. Ultimately, though, it was the prince’s decision to make.

“I just don’t get it, though,” Gabriel continued. “If I had just broken up with my girlfriend, the last thing I would want was thirty-five girls that were ready to fight over my heart coming into my home.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re not the prince, then,” I retorted. He rolled his eyes at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him in return. Typical mornings in our household always consisted of this kind of bickering. It was hard to avoid in a house with five kids.

“You’re only saying that because you want the prince to fall in love with you.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, turning his head to look at her mother, who carried an assortment of jams and butter in her arms.

As I leapt up to help her get the rest of the food from the kitchen, I snapped back at him, “So what if I do? Is it so horrible of me to want to fall in love?”

“No,” he answered, rolling his head back to look at the ceiling, “but there are so many other times and places for you to fall in love! I don’t get why you’re willing to put your whole life on hold for a man who’s probably only looking for a rebound!”

“I don’t even get why it matters to you!” I placed the serving plate of bacon I had been holding down on the table harder than I had intended, wincing at the loud sound made by the collision of the two objects. “It’s not like you’re the one who entered the Selection! Besides, the chances of my name even being called are few and far between, so there’s no need for you to go and get your knickers in a knot over the possibility of me being played!”

“If this is how you’re all behaving in the morning, I am not looking forward to seeing what you’re going to be like during the Report tonight.” Satisfied that all the food was on the table, my mother had taken her usual seat to the right of the head of the table, and was looking at all of us expectantly.

“All of you better be quiet tonight,” Lydia stated, serving herself some french toast. “I want to hear everything that’s said on the Report.”

Much of the rest of the day from that point forward was a blur. We all ate brunch, and then attempted to go about our day as usual, but, for the most part, we all failed miserably. My mother, who would have normally been at work at one of the city high schools, where she taught music theory, had taken the day off from work, and instead spent most of the day looking out the front window at the driveway and twisting her wedding ring around her finger. Lydia had started out the day by filling out job applications, but had abandoned that at some point to go bake chocolate chip cookies instead. Gabriel kept finding excuses to leave the house, citing the need to purchase random items, like soap or paperclips, claiming that he hadn’t realized he had run out of until that very moment. I was half tempted to join him, but also didn’t want to get into another argument.

Randall and Sam had warned me not to go upstairs, stating that they were getting retribution for the gnome prank Lydia had played on them a few weeks earlier. Lydia’s prank had been harmless, really. I didn’t even think she realized how easily the glitter that coated the miniature gnome statues she had purchased would rub off on the boys’ bedspreads, or that it wouldn’t come out in the wash either. Regardless, I didn’t bother arguing with the boys, and instead opted just to grab a book and head somewhere else.

I found myself sitting on the back deck, attempting to read, but really just staring at the same few pages, completely unable to focus. I was on the verge of giving up and going for another run when I heard the back door slide open behind me, and turned to find Randall sticking his head out, an impish grin plastered on his face. “Dad’s home,” he announced. Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “and my work is complete. Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your bed!” With a wink, he was gone, vanishing back inside the house.

I followed him inside, frowning at my watch. It was already seven thirty in the evening. How could time have gone by so quickly, when it felt like it was dragging? More importantly, why had my father spent nearly twelve hours at work?

My second question, at least, was answered rather quickly, by the array of desserts that now lined our kitchen table. Alongside a plate of the cookies Lydia had baked earlier were various flavors of ice cream, along with a box of lemon tarts from my favorite bakery in town. He must have left work early to pick all of this up. I blinked at the display, as if it was a mirage that would simply vanish before my eyes, as I placed my book on the very edge of the table.

“I thought it might be nice to have a special treat while we watched the Report tonight,” my father said in way of explanation, offering me a small smile.

“Thank you,” was all I managed in reply, still a little disoriented by the fact that it was somehow seven thirty, and the Report was going to begin in half an hour.

Only half an hour until I could stop obsessing over all these what-ifs. I could do this.

I grabbed a plate off the table and placed two lemon tarts on it, before wandering off into the living room, and curling up on the corner of the couch. Slowly, the rest of my family trickled in as well, my father stopping to turn on the TV before taking a seat next to my mother on the end of the u-shaped couch closest to the TV.

My mother frowned as she looked over at me. “You look a little red, Ev.”

“Sorry, I lost track of time when I was outside earlier.” With any luck, even if I was burnt, it would fade in a few days, leaving me with even more freckles than before, but otherwise unaffected.

“Make sure you rub some aloe on it before you go to bed,” she advised absently, turning back to whatever was playing on the TV.

I could hardly hear whatever was being said on the television over the beating of my own heart in my ears. This was it. These could be the final moments before my life was changed forever. Or, more likely than not, I was getting myself all worked up over absolutely nothing, and would kick myself for it later. I needed to relax. I needed this to be a normal night, where Lydia would throw popcorn at Sam when our parents weren’t looking, or where Gavin would jokingly argue with our father about how chemistry was superior to biology. Relaxing was easier said than done, though, when nobody around me was relaxed.

So I resigned myself to creating my own sense of normalcy. “Should I be afraid to try one of your cookies, Lydia? Am I going to bite into one and find out it’s filled with toothpaste?”

“Shhh,” she hissed, a smile spreading over her face, “that’s the secret ingredient!”

“Is that why Gabriel went to the store so many times today?” Sam must have caught on to what I was trying to do. “You traitor!”

“I didn’t buy for one second that you desperately needed paperclips at eleven o’clock in the morning!” I pointed my finger at my oldest brother, who was already rolling his eyes.

“He bought you paperclips to help you hold your life together, Evalin,” Lydia supplied, punctuating her sentence with a spoonful of rocky road ice cream.

“Harsh,” I yelled, slapping my sister gently on her arm with the back of my hand. She nudged me with her foot in return. “But for your information, my life needs binder clips to hold it together, in the very least. There’s too much going on for paperclips.”

That was an outright lie, and I was pretty sure we all knew it, too. My life was about as average and boring as they come, and would continue to be that way, when my name wasn’t announced for the Selection. What surprised me was the fact that I was kind of bothered by that. I had always thought that I was very content, happy even, with my life, and yet, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad at the thought of this little bit of excitement, the disruption of my routine, ending so soon.

“Maybe he should’ve gotten a stapler instead,” Randall interjected. “That way he could pin you down here instead.”

“Well, if he wanted to pin me down, he should’ve gone with thumbtacks,” I retorted, narrowing my eyes at my youngest brother. “Come on, this is basic office supply knowledge!”

With a shake of his head, Gavin stood up, walking back to the dining room for another scoop of ice cream. “Sorry, I failed Intro to Office Supplies my freshman year.”

“That explains how sloppy your notes are,” I called after him, twisting slightly to see if he would react in any way. Much to my disappointment, he did not.

“At least he knows a bobby-pin isn’t something you can use on a corkboard,” Lydia offered, flashing a half smile in my direction before turning her attention back to the TV. Any second now, the announcements would begin. Any moment, names and pictures would start flashing across the screen. Lydia practically pushed Gavin out of the way of the TV as he returned to the living room, not wanting to miss even one second of the broadcast.

I couldn’t blame her. For once, I felt the same way. At least we didn’t live in a province close to the end of the alphabet, like Waverly. Carolina would come to pass pretty quickly. It would all be over in a matter of seconds.

A part of me really hoped that it would be June’s name and picture that flashed across the screen. Her being Selected seemed like the perfect compromise between the nerves of actually being Selected myself, and the disappointment of not being Selected at all. The second hand accounts of palace life I would undoubtedly receive from her would be wonderful. I’d miss having her as my running buddy, sure, but she’d make a great Lady, and I’d still have Lukas. He could help me analyze her letters while we ran.

“They’re starting,” Lydia screamed, hitting my arm repeatedly.

Indeed, the first provinces were being announced. First was a girl from Allens, named Idalia. She was absolutely stunning, with dark hair and a friendly face. I swallowed. Winning the prince’s heart was definitely not going to be an easy endeavor for any of the Selected with competition like this.

The announcer continued. “From Angeles, Emily Rose White!”

“Wasn’t she in that movie,” my mother began, only to be cut off by shushing noises from Lydia.

“From Atlin, Alaina Achilles!” The name sounded familiar enough to me, but I couldn’t quite place it. I didn’t let it bother me. I was sure that Lydia would start researching information about all of the contestants as soon as they were announced, anyway.

“From Baffin, Celine Montclair! From Bankston, Sage Copeland! From Belcourt, Violet Kensington III! From Bonita, Itzel Bree Morales! From Calgary, Clemence Westley!”

More and more pictures flashed across the screen, but I barely registered them. My heart couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted to beat as fast as it could, or simply stop beating all together. Time stopped and started over and over, my stomach rolling like waves in the ocean as the names continued. The next one was Carolina. The next one.

“From Carolina -”

Please say June Iscariot. Please say June Iscariot. Please say June Iscariot.

“Evalin Berg!”

I dropped the plate with my untouched lemon tarts on it. The sound of it shattering was the only sound in the room, save for the continuing voice of the announcer on the television, as a picture of me flashed on the screen. It looked like the picture was taken when I was still in my mother’s car, the day we had dropped my application off. They had taken our pictures when we were inside, but I guessed they must have had more photographers snapping shots of the potential girls outside as well.

It wasn’t a bad picture of me, but certainly not my favorite. My hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and frizzy as all hell, thanks to the humidity. I had on makeup, at least, but I hadn’t yet taken off my glasses, as I normally would for pictures. The clunky frames took up a good portion of my face, and usually didn’t photograph well. In the photo, I was looking off to something on my right, maybe analyzing the length of the line outside of the Services Office, my eyes wide and my lips slightly parted. If anything, I looked nervous. Why would they choose me with a picture like this?

Lydia was the first to react, leaping to her feet on the couch, literally jumping as she screamed and looked down at me.

“I,” I began, not quite sure what to say. The chances of this happening had been slim to none. “I’m sorry about the plate! I’ll go get the broom, and clean it up!”

“I’ve got it.” My father stopped me in my tracks with a wave of his hand, slowly pushing himself off the couch and towards the coat closet by the front door, where we kept the cleaning supplies.

There was a frantic banging on the front door, and my dad repeated, “I’ll get it!”

I jumped up the moment I heard June’s voice echo through my house. I walked slowly at first, avoiding the mess of plate shards and lemon tart I had created on the floor, and after clearing that, practically bounded to the door. The moment she saw me, June raced through the doorway and crushed me with a hug, beaming at me once we had broken apart. Her parents lingered in the doorway, smiling politely at the two of us.

“Would you like to come in?” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the living room. “We have ice cream and lemon tarts, and cookies that might be filled with toothpaste.” My heart was still racing, and I knew that my eyes were wide and my hair absolutely wild, curls falling into my face every time I moved, but June’s parents didn’t mention it as they thanked me and made their way inside.

“So, how does it feel, Lady Evalin?” June’s eyes were alight with excitement, and her tone rife with teasing.

“Fake.” No, wrong synonym. “Unreal,” I corrected, shaking my head. “Like, I’m a bio major from Knoxville, Carolina! I’m nobody! How the hell did I get Selected alongside the likes of Emily Rose White?”

“And Ava Jones,” Lydia added, shouting from the living room.

“The pop star?” I asked as June and I made our way towards the living room.

“The very same,” Lydia confirmed. “Along with that actress, Saxon Monroe - the one who played Lydia in Pride and Prejudice.”

“How am I supposed to compete with people like that?” My mind was completely blank, even as everyone around me was a buzz of conversation. It was like I was on autopilot, like my mind had overloaded and shut down, leaving me to flounder my way through these next few hours. Or maybe days. Or weeks. Months, even.

“Don’t compete,” June stated, placing one of her hands on each of my shoulders. “Just do what you do best - be yourself.”

I wanted to ask how I could possibly be myself at a time like this, but my mouth couldn’t form the words.

“Listen, I think my parents are calling me to go back home with them, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?” I nodded, and June smiled before walking back towards the front door.

I turned to look back at Lydia. “I think I need to shower again. And sleep. Definitely sleep.”

“You’re a mess,” she replied with a laugh, standing up and setting her now empty bowl on the coffee table.

“Yes.” My mind was finally returning to the present, the cogs and gears slowly starting to spin again. “I just need time to process this.”

“That’s understandable.” I felt her arm around my shoulders, guiding me towards the staircase. “It’s not just every day that your childhood dream becomes a reality.”

I just nodded, trudging up the stairs, feeling like blocks of lead were tied to my feet. This was exciting news, and I was excited, but I also had no clue what to do. I had spent my entire life preparing for college, and a career - not for actually getting the chance to meet the prince of Illea, and possibly even fall in love with him. What would he think of me? Probably not much, if I was to be honest.

“Thank you,” I whispered as Lydia pulled open the door. What I saw next was almost as unexpected as hearing my name announced on the TV about an hour earlier.

Slices of bread covered our the floor of our room, our dressers, the desk, and Lydia’s bed, interlocked and connected like pieces of a puzzle. It would take forever to clean up all the crumbs left by the bread, even after we picked up the slices themselves. True to his word, however, Randall had left my bed untouched. Sleep would be unhindered by breadcrumbs, if nothing else.

This was not what I needed tonight.

“I’m going to kill them,” Lydia decided, kicking aside some of the bread with her foot.

“Just collect the ants attracted to our room by the breadcrumbs and release them in the boys’ room,” I suggested, yawning as I pushed aside more bread so I could get my bedclothes out from my dresser.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I amended, waving her off. “I’m going to shower, and then to bed.” I tossed one last look over my shoulder in her direction. “I guess you could say that this is a pretty crummy prank.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You should’ve added bad puns to the special skills section of you application.”

“It appears that my application was just fine without that detail.”

With that, I was off, beyond ready to just clear my thoughts and collapse into bed. I could figure this all out tomorrow. Until then, I was content on living moment-to-moment, and all the current moment required was hot water and sleep.

[wonderlustlucas]

greatest gift - park chanyeol

⇢ prompt I cannot form an answer with my lips because I am so focused on yours. ⇢ pairing chanyeol x female reader ⇢ word count 8.7k ⇢ genre fluff & smut ⇢ warnings explicit sexual content, fingering, unprotected bathroom sex!, dirty talk, chan loves mirrors, borderline dom!pcy but it’s pretty soft, friends to lovers, christmas, i kind of got some classic white people at parties vibe but that may just be me, chanyeol in christmas pajamas ⇢ summary After years of being in love with your best friend’s cousin, Park Chanyeol, one certain Christmas party leads to some unbelievable confessions and activities in the bathroom that most certainly would get you on Santa’s naughty list.—christmas party!au ⇢ a/n merry belated christmas!! i apologize for the lateness... anyway. & happy new year!! :) for being almost 9k and for me taking 15 centuries to write i actually wrote this moderately quick so yay i hope u enjoy sex c christmas chanyeol

read the sequel here!

Judging by the blinding streaks of radiant sunlight penetrating through the blinds and the distant hum of activity from the streets outside your window, you have slept way longer than you bargained for. With a mesmerized sigh you soak in the warmth upon waking up, stretch your arms and yawn, shedding the remaining glimpses of a dream.

However, the sound of your phone ringing like an annoyed rattlesnake renders your peacefulness impossible, having awakened you in the first place, and you grudgingly reach blindly for the chiming nuisance.

“Hello?” You mumble into the speaker after kneading your eyes with your knuckles and swiping across the screen, the thick enchantment of sleep still clouding your brain.

“Jesus, ___, did you just wake up?” The obvious bewilderment in none other than Park Seoyun’s tone causes you to laugh groggily, only fueling her astonishment tenfold. “Wow, I’m glad I called when I did then,” she utters.

“Why? What’s up?” You ask, converting the call to speaker mode and resting the device on your chest. “Because you’re supposed to be ready in three hours?” She says, tone laced with annoyance. “You know, the Christmas party? The one you’ve gone to with me every year?”

Oh, yeah.

Ever since you were young, Seoyun has invited you to attend nearly all of her family’s gatherings throughout the years, a tradition that began as a nonchalant need of a friend’s company to survive the dreadful hours spent with family and friends she had no real interest in seeing.

Sad, how that works.

Of course, you would not complain, considering over the years you have bonded with her family just as much as your own.

“Pfft, of course,” you laugh in a weak attempt to blow off your forgetfulness, “I totally remembered. I’m on top of the game right now, Sunny. Nothing to worry about.”

“Mm,” she hums in faux belief, you can practically see her eyeroll, “Chanyeol asked if you were coming.”

Chanyeol? Park Chanyeol? Park fuck-me-in-every-way-known-and-unknown-to-man Chanyeol?

“Of course he did,” you scoff, trying to play off the way your heartbeat rapidly picks up at the thought of him asking whether you would be there as if you do not care, “I’ve only been to every one of your parties for like, the past fifteen years.”

Seoyun laughs. “Anyway, I’ll be over around five. Try not to take too long just so you can impress your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” You shout in protest. At the silence that follows you realize she has already hung up. Bitch, you sigh, rolling over to check the time, sheets rustling loudly in your ears. The 2:00 pm blinking back at you from your digital clock takes a few moments to process through your brain before you realize just how badly you overslept and how much your sleep schedule is fucked.

Still, this cannot take the stupefied grin off your face.

It takes everything within you to kickstart your nerves into working, just some cereal and you’ll be on your way, you tell yourself, finally sweeping the ruffled blankets elsewhere and abandoning the warmth of bed. Walking out of the room, you make your way into the kitchen and wince at the momentarily blinding light bouncing off the windows before continuing on to unroll the bag of Honey Bunches of Oats and pour a hefty serving into a bowl, the scratching and ruffling of plastic filling the otherwise silent apartment.

Because even after eating, watching an episode of iCarly, and spending an unnecessarily prolonged time in the shower to shave, the thoughts racing through your brain are of one person and one person only: none other than Chanyeol.

Seoyun claims that it did not take her long to recognize your developing crush on her cousin, considering she had been shipping the two of you the second you told her that you thought he was cute in sixth grade.

According to her, the slaughter that your heart (and underwear, as you got older) endured every time you came twenty feet of the panty-dropping man was excruciatingly obvious and she forced the confession out of you like a fisherman casting mercilessly. Whether it was the effects of alcohol or solely the accumulation of being caught and needing to reveal everything to your best friend, you spilled everything to Seoyun after your first high school party without a hint of hesitation or embarrassment because let’s be real, there’s absolutely nothing shameful about being attracted to such a man.

Nonetheless, it was still terribly awkward. Not only is he Seoyun’s cousin, but Chanyeol has also always been a step ahead, considering he is three years older.

For example, years ago when he was starting university and you were only a junior in high school, you could have sworn that he was blatantly flirting with you over text only hours before he posted a picture with some gorgeous senior perched prettily on his lap. You mopped around for hours, and Seoyun’s only form of consolidation was, “Don’t worry. He’s a hoe.”

As if that helped.

Even before that, years prior when you were in eighth grade and he was a sophomore, you had joined Seoyun on her large family vacation for the first time. During movie night, you were curled up dangerously close to his chest and could not remember any of the horror film the following day considering you had prayed the entire time that he could not hear how your heart did somersaults in your chest or why your lower stomach squirmed every time his breath fanned against your neck. Weeks later, you cried yourself to sleep when you found out he had a new girlfriend, knowing it was way too good to be true for him to share your feelings when you were in middle school.

After all, you were just a ‘little sister’ to him.

Or, when the same event occurred only a few months ago, while you, Seoyun, and the rest of her cousins snuggled up to watch the new Jurassic World instead of going out for the third night in a row, Chanyeol eagerly leaped to sit beside you and, as a result of his dramatic begging, you became his pillow and slept through the night with his arms wrapped snuggly around your waist and his legs entangled with your own.

It would not have been so bad if you did not wake up with a boner pressing against your back.

Still, this excludes the random ab pictures sent over SnapChat if a conversation turned a certain direction, the videos of him playing a new song he would text, the intense checking-out, the questionable touches, the heart-stopping compliments, and so, so much more that has transpired over the years. And yet, the realization that hurts the most is not simply an attraction to a gorgeous man just out of reach, it is that you know that you love him.

If it was not for the years and personal time spent with him, you would have never developed such a raw emotion for Chanyeol. It would have never grown past a basic attraction. But no—his baby face mismatched with his deep voice, his bright personality that can lift the spirit of any room, the somewhat concerning way he still does not know how to handle his general largeness, his effortless ability to make anyone laugh, his unfailing kindness, his ears, his laugh. Oh, the list goes on and on.

The way he oozes natural charm fused with all the times and tiny memories spent together made for a solemn night several years ago where you had the incomprehensible realization that your universe starts and ends with Park Chanyeol.

Ever since they retired and moved into a smaller living space, Seoyun’s grandparents have held every holiday gathering in the common room of their apartment building. It’s convenient, free of charge, and, as a result of their first-class living, luxurious and very, very large.

After setting foot into the building’s first floor through the immaculately flawless glass doors and gawking at the pristine white marble floors, guests make their way to the common room just past the receptionist’s desk, where a woman sits in front of a computer, waiting drearily for her shift to end. The common room is like a perfect magazine cover with its linen white curtains, the kind of white untouched by hands and devoid of dust.

Upon entering said room, to the left is a fairly open space accessible for the Pollyanna gifts—aka where all the ladies in their mid-forties and fifties flock around like seagulls to discuss their favorite candle scents for the winter season.

To the right of this is a lounging area with a sofa, two loveseats, a long glass coffee table in the middle, and a fireplace against the wall. Nothing more, nothing less. Besides the facts that the leather of the couches and fur pillows appear to be real and that the fireplace’s mantel seems to contain enough expensive knickknacks to pay off student loans.

Past this is where the party really begins. Also known as the dining tables. Two huge mahogany tables with matching chairs take up most of the bright room’s space, left without a tablecloth and daring guests to ruin the perfectly varnished shine. Two tall, gold candelabras command attention from the center of each table, holding smooth white candles that go without being lit each year. To the right of the tables is a grand piano, shiny and pitch black against the white marble floors and white walls and waiting to be played. No one ever plays.

The far end of the common room is another lounging area, this one with an enormous television instead of an extravagant fireplace mantel. Next to this is the entrance to a small kitchen for the party to store and serve food “buffet style,” if so desired. Stainless steel appliances seemingly untouched by hands, brick walls painted white, and the same marble floor throughout the entire floor. Out of the kitchen, a hallway with two bathrooms leads back to the lobby.

Having been here so many times, walking in with Seoyun at your side is no problem. Even greeting all her family and their friends, albeit your awkwardness when it comes to being social, is not a problem. Trying to silence the animalistic sounds of your growling stomach until dinner is ready is also, surprise, ultimately not a problem.

Now, what is a problem, something that started as a minor concern during the first ten minutes after arriving but now consumes you alive, is that after two and a half fucking hours, Chanyeol has not spoken to you once.

At first, you thought he may have just not seen you. But after making eye contact for even a split second one too many times within the first hour, you know he had to of seen you. Even when you and Seoyun went over to stand by him and two more of her older cousins, he still refused to say a word. So now, as you sit alone on the leather sofa, angry, hurt, and trying to ignore a woman talking much too loudly about her new duvets while Seoyun is off doing God knows what, you have no other option but to just look around the luxurious room in order to occupy your thoughts in some way that does not end up going back to Chanyeol.

Deciding on the richly carved mantel of the fireplace just in front of you, you start from the exquisite plate-glass clock in the middle and scan to the right: a silver drinking-cup, a small oval portrait of a young woman framed in gold, and a crystal vase filled with white tulips. And then to the left: two dainty china figures of a lamb and a shepherd, a porcelain, heart-shaped box, a blue cloisonné pitcher, and several other bisque porcelain figures—a dachshund, a cat and kittens, and an angel.

Just as you are getting to the flower pots sparsely placed throughout the room, a flimsy box is suddenly flung onto your lap. When you look up, completely zapped out of your daze, Seoyun flops down beside you with a grimace.

“Pajama time,” she sighs, lifting the lid of her own box and pulling out the fuzzy Christmas top, “perhaps I’ll end my life now.”

Laughing, you do the same, amused and not as disappointed as you thought you would be when you lift the plain red long-sleeve shirt and plaid red and white pajama bottoms. “Hopefully it’ll be quick this year.”

One of Seoyun’s family Christmas traditions you have grown accustomed to is her grandmother buying all the children pajamas and forcing them into one big family photo, whether you are actually family or not. What many of you did not realize was that “children” simply meant the youngest generation.

So now, ranging between the age of two and twenty-eight, nearly half of the party’s guests have to stop what they are doing and change for the picture.

“I hope so, too,” she mutters, scowling as she watches a wave of guests head for the bathrooms, “come on. There’s a closet in the computer room where we could get changed.”

Nodding, you follow Seoyun to the hallway and head for the conveniently unoccupied computer room and shut yourselves in the dark closet before changing. “Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet,” she suddenly springs on you, effortlessly popping the bubble you have secluded yourself in. “What? No, I’m fine. Just tired… I guess,” you answer, laughing shakily as you pull the pajama bottoms up your legs. They are terribly snug around your butt.

Past the darkness speckling your vision, you can still see Seoyun glaring at you, seeing right through your bullshit. You take in a deep breath of the stale air.

“Just… I don’t know. I sound like a baby. Chanyeol has not said one word to me since we’ve been here,” you say, pushing your arms through the sleeves of the red shirt, “and I don’t know why, or if I did anything, or if he’s just being a dick. I have no clue.”

Seoyun exhales loudly, planting her hands firmly on her hips before, “Listen, I don’t know what is up with him, either. I know it’ll be hard, but don’t let him get to you. Just ignore him too, stop looking at him so he sees you don’t give a shit about him.”

“But I do give a shit,” you grumble, jutting your bottom lip out and staring at your feet.

“Well, today you don’t. Don’t let him win, okay? Show him you could care less,” she preaches, reaching out to pull you into a hug and you graciously take it. “Thanks. I’ll try,” you mumble into her neck, squeezing her tightly before stepping back and collecting your clothes.

“Ready for this picture?”

“I was born ready.”

You were not, in fact, ready. For as soon as you left the closet and met up with every other person dressed in ridiculous pajamas at the lobby, Chanyeol came sauntering in looking like he owned the damn place.

Even in Christmas pajamas, he still managed to look like a god.

Stop looking, you scolded yourself when he glanced over. And you did, turning away from where he stood and moving to the opposite side of the group for the twenty minutes it took until everyone was there for the picture. Huddling over one of Seoyun’s younger cousins, you smiled until your jaw was numb as every adult fumbled with their cell phone, proud that you managed to forget Chanyeol.

So, when you and Seoyun end up splitting up in search of another place to change since a young janitor had taken to cleaning the computer room, you were rather shocked to see that the only person in line for the bathroom was you. Perhaps everyone had gone home after the infamous picture.

But what is even more shocking is to watch disbelievingly as Park Chanyeol strolls towards you from the end of the hallway as you lean against the wall opposite of the women’s bathroom, waiting for whoever is inside to open the door. His entire walk you glare at him coldly, pulse quickly picking up as he gets closer.

After what seems like the walk to Calvary, he’s finally beside you.

“___,” he greets with an innocent smile, leaning on the wall with you and you wince, quickly looking away from him. From what you can see from your peripheral vision, he’s looking at you, yet you refuse to look back. There is simply no shot that you would so easily brush off the fact he has ignored you the past few hours, no matter how much you ache to.

“Aw, what?” Chanyeol whines after processing your lack of acknowledgment. He shifts closer, bare arm brushing yours and you cannot fight your shiver. So quickly you are putty in his hands. “Mad that I didn’t talk to you today?”

Yes. Biting your tongue to keep back the sarcasm that bubbles like acid at the back of your throat, you only grace him with an icy glance before crossing your arms and returning your gaze to the door across from where you stand. “Don’t be like that,” he grumbles, voice unacceptably low as he stoops down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Brain on overdrive at his proximity, you finally look at him with his big puppy eyes and sigh, “Say you’re sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” he smirks, eyes bright with triumph. What a child.

The hot annoyance burning its way through your veins only intensifies and you shrug his head off your shoulder, sidestepping further away and praying for whoever is occupying the restroom to hurry their ass up. When a quiet protest slips past his lips, you look over at him, head pounding because why does he have to be such a dick and why does he look so good?

You simply cannot fight it, the way your gaze mindlessly travels up his body, albeit the dumb Christmas pajamas that just barely stretch over his build, scanning over the proportions of his frame, lingering on how taut the white tee-shirt is against the expanse of his shoulders and chest, and finally struggling to settle back onto his face. When you meet Chanyeol’s eyes, you know he knows, for you were far from nonchalant.

When a noise analogous to a growl resounds from his throat, you are momentarily blindsided, seeing stars, as this was the last reaction you expected and yet, your nausea only triples when he takes two long strides to stand beside you. No—not beside you. In the blink of an eye Chanyeol is against you, hands reaching for your waist and pushing you back with enough force that a gasp escapes you upon impact with the wall. Or, maybe that was simply the shock from it all.

“You know,” Chanyeol mutters, voice so dangerously deep your stomach churns, “I did that on purpose. I like watching how you react to me.”

“Excuse me?” You laugh, sounding way more out of breath than you would like to as you stare wide-eyed at him, fear of the unexpected rooted deep in your stomach. Your mind simply cannot process his words or understand why he takes your change of clothes bunched up in your fist and drops it on the floor with his own. “You heard me,” he smirks, hands gliding lower, lower, lower, oh, you find purchase gripping his biceps when his fingers dare to press into the flesh of your ass, “I can read you like a book. Sometimes,” he pauses, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I feel like I know you better than you know yourself.”

Every ounce of breath seems to be stolen from your lungs, floating in the air as he speaks, you cannot seem to think with him like this and the acceptance that you are simply a piece in his game of chess angers the sensible part of you. “That sounds like manipulation to me,” you finally say, cocking your head to the side and staring up at him with a certain hardness in your gaze. “Mm,” he hums, seemingly pondering for a moment before ducking down to press his lips under your jaw, placing a sloppy kiss to the tender skin before, “like I said, I enjoy watching. You can’t catch my hints to save your life, so I had to switch things up.”

Your mind is in no shape to process his words with his mouth on your throat, so quickly he tarnishes the skin there, bruising with bright magentas and deep violets and God, what about hints? Squeezing your eyes shut, you cannot help but wonder if this is it—the straw that breaks the camel’s back, shatters the vase and shakes the earth—whether you are stuck in some disturbingly unfair dream or if this is all happening because he somehow feels the same.

“You’re quiet again,” Chanyeol grunts, deserting your throat to meet your gaze and the curiosity softening his features has you weak in the knees, “what are you thinking?”

You swallow, overwhelmed, studying the hesitance that crosses his beautiful face before breathing, “I really can’t think when the only thing I’m focused on is your lips.”

That’s it. The chord inside him finally snaps and Chanyeol closes the distance, silencing the heavy breaths that leave your lips with his own. Twelve years still were not enough to prepare either of you for this moment. A sensation akin to the explosion of fireworks, kissing Chanyeol has a burst of vivid, fizzing sparks coursing through your veins and coloring your insides. The urgency of the kiss—opening his mouth with yours, his hands returning to knead your ass and pull you closer, your hands wrapping into his shirt—translates into a sort of unspoken mutual understanding that settles into the core of your heart, affirming that this should have happened a long time ago.

Chanyeol breaks away to trail his lips lower than before and your whimper of protest at the loss of just kissing him is quickly cut off with a gasp when he licks the indent of your collarbone, working back up your neck to slide over your jaw. When he pauses at the side of your mouth to offer you some recovery time and raises his eyes to meet yours, you gather the courage to tenderly cup his face in your hands and plant a softer kiss on his lips. In response he exhales in relief, hugging his arms around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer as his tongue finds its way working against your own once more.

Certainly, you must have died and gone to heaven to experience such bliss.

Warmth blooming in your chest, your hand slides away from his jaw to the nape of his neck, tugging at the hair there and Chanyeol gasps into the kiss, immediately responding with his lips moving and pressing in such a way that has your head positively swimming. Just like that, you are drowning in warm, heavy air as the dizzy sense of euphoria shifts into desire welling within you when he bites your lower lip, tugging it into his mouth to suck on. “I can’t believe,” he breathes against your lips, breaking away to stare down intensely into your eyes, “this is the first time we’re doing this.”

“In the hallway of your grandpa’s apartment lobby, to boot,” you laugh breathlessly, searching Chanyeol’s face for the emotion hidden beneath the darkening of his stare. You’re somewhere in between losing yourself to his lips roughly tumbling over the apple of your throat and dragging your fingers under his shirt, hands cool against the burning heat of his back, when the bursting open of the bathroom door across from where you stand turns the hot moment to ice. Scrambling to get away from one another, you and Chanyeol start in a frantic series of yelps, kicking limbs, and pat-downs before you urge yourself to glare at whoever occupied the single woman’s restroom for such an excruciatingly long time.

Gaze softening once you recognize that it is one of Seoyun’s distant cousins and her young daughter, you watch with a new wave of embarrassment flushing over you as her eyes flick back and forth between you and Chanyeol, both clearly riled up and panting, before leading her toddler in the opposite direction as she bites against a knowing grin. For a long moment you watch her go, the reality of what just took place sinking to the pit of your stomach and you trace your swollen bottom lip with the pad of your finger, clenching your eyes shut to somehow burn the touch of his lips into your mind forever.

Chanyeol’s loud exhale somewhere besides you cuts your daydreaming off short, and you turn to look at him as the fire in your veins starts to dwindle into ash. “We just,” you start, voice catching in your throat and sounding much weaker than you intended, “what was that?”

Having him off of you gives you unfiltered access to stare at him, pupils blown and his breath coming sharply, and your gaze subconsciously travels down the length of his body in order to engrave the image of how beautiful he looks in this moment onto your brain for eternity until, oh, you finally take notice to the bulge that the thin material of his pajama bottoms do little to hide. Seeing this, you at last register the hot drip of desire between your legs and the way your body trembles with uncontainable want.

“I… I don’t know,” Chanyeol admits, his low, hoarse voice draining any control you had left, “I would like to do it again, though.”

Do it, please, please do it, you want to say, pulse jump-starting at his declaration. Instead, you are rendered speechless, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, with the muffled hum of festive celebration from his family just around the corners. In a sudden act of impromptu bravery, you bundle your clothes—his, too—into your arm from the floor and stretch over to grab his wrist before quickly kicking open the bathroom door and hurrying him inside after you.

“Let me get this straight,” you start once the door clicks shut, voice suddenly booming in the small confines of the bathroom and Chanyeol jerks in surprise when you slam the clothes onto the floor with an ungratifying thump, “what is going on here? Because that was not a normal kiss—that was like… a sicko mode kiss. And I mean, you have to know by now I have the biggest crush on you, no, actually, I’m totally in love with you. So if you’re just doing this to mess with me, then I don’t know wh—"

Overwhelmed but enamored by your quick, almost unintelligible spiel, Chanyeol figures his best bet at shutting you up is returning his hands to your hips to pull you flush against him and latching his lips to yours, capturing your mouth and train of thought in such a deep kiss it sucks all the air out of your lungs. Instantly, your fingers thread through his hair, lost once more to him—his musky fragrance, the sinful way his tongue wraps around yours, the effortless manner he lifts you up onto the marble countertop.

“Can I take this off?” He asks suddenly, breathless as he pulls away, fingers toying the hem of your tee-shirt up your back. Afraid your words would come off as a croak, you only nod, trying to reel yourself in on how oddly polite his question is juxtaposing to the darkness of his hungry eyes. In one quick motion, Chanyeol helps rid you of the garment, tossing it to join your change of clothes on the freezing tiles. Sighing at the sight, he brings his hands to your chest, lost in the way you shiver beneath his featherlight touches tracing the column of your throat, coasting over your collar bones and finally to the swell of your breasts spilling out from the underwhelmingly mediocre beige bra. It’s with yet another surge of bravery and desire do you reach behind you, fumbling to undo the clasps and watching as Chanyeol’s stare turns to something predatory as he soaks it all in.

“That’s just unfair,” he groans, hesitating, for he fears that if he reaches out and touches you this way, you will break under his fingers like a porcelain doll. In the end, he realizes he is being foolish—he knows you’re here to stay—and at last brings himself to stand between your legs. Finally. Your breathing turns heavy when his mouth starts its ravishing once more, nipping and sucking tender marks down your jaw and at the junction of your neck and shoulder. At last, his lips meet your breast and he does not hesitate in taking a bud gently between his teeth, rolling the other into a hard peak between his index finger and thumb. This time you cannot suppress your moan.

“Oh,” you swear, “fuck.”

Smirking against your skin, Chanyeol relishes in the sound, eyes heavy-lidded and blood pumping hotly under his skin as he bites a violet blossom on the mound of flesh before switching sides. “Chanyeol,” you whine, nails digging crescents into his arms when the sparks tingling up and down your spine seek for more. The sound of your voice, so weak, so needy, has his dick twitching against the restraint of his boxers and he growls into your skin before pulling away.

“___,” he starts, voice gruff as his hands come on either side of you, laid flat against the cold marble to cage you in, “I’ve fantasized about this moment for years, and I have to say I never once imagined it would be at our Christmas party.”

He pauses, gently taking your hands in his and helping you off the sink before hurriedly turning around to lock the door. Your heart suddenly seems to be surging electricity through your veins rather than pumping blood. When he steps closer again, he unexpectantly spins you around, hands splayed across your stomach to keep you upright, forcing you to take in the reflection in the mirror.

“On vacation, I’ve imagined waiting until everyone’s left to fuck you in the sand,” he starts slowly. Your eyes almost roll back into your head at the sheer audacity of his words. “Or, at Seoyun’s twenty-first birthday party. You had no idea how badly I wanted to rip that dress off and fuck you against the bar in front of everyone to see.” By now, you are shaking, knees ready to buckle under the weight of his words and yet you cannot find it in yourself to look away from the pink swell of his lips and the words that slip past them.

“I thought you would have caught on this summer when you woke up with my cock digging into your ass,” Chanyeol hums, nuzzling into your neck, “all night I had to keep myself from stealing you away and making that your favorite vacation yet. So tempting, you are.”

You press your legs together and swallow past the dryness of your throat.

“You seem to have forgotten that I’ve been waiting for this since I was like, twelve,” you sigh, his intoxicating touch making it rather hard to breathe, “well, not this. But having you. Being able to love you and… you know. Call you mine.”

“You’ve always had me, though. Always been yours,” he returns quietly, endearingly, and presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder. At this, you take a moment to try and memorize what the mirror reflects: the heavy breathing you share, untamed hair and swollen lips, cheeks over-heated, his hands traveling softly up and down the expanse of your abdomen in an oddly unfitting but appreciated act of gentleness, skin damp with a light sheen of perspiration and the cute curls of his dark bangs contrasting harshly to the heaviness in his eyes.

Washed in a warm glow from the dim overhead lights, you almost look untouchable together.

“It hasn’t always seemed that way,” you say, bitter, for all these years have passed of you hopelessly in love with him, “where we really both that dumb to never see it?”

Chanyeol blinks, understanding, before his grip on your waist tightens and he exhales on your neck once again before, quietly, “Let me prove it?”

His hot whisper against the side of your neck only causes a stronger wave of arousal to suck you in and you’re suddenly weak in the knees, the coil in your core winching tighter. Answering his question with only a miniscule nod, you are hardly able to form a response by the time Chanyeol is tilting your head to face him and melding his mouth to your own once more before nudging you forward, pressing you into the edge of the sink. His hands are quick to tug his shirt over his head and he does not even grace you with enough time to worship his figure as he is already crouching down, reaching around your hips to untie the knot of your pajama bottoms and shimmy them down your legs. An utterly embarrassing whimper leaves your throat when Chanyeol’s fingers hook around the elastic of your panties, yanking them down in an unceremonious rush.

You almost miss the gorgeous that slips past his lips when he rises back to his full height to admire you, licking his lips and surveying you with such a lecherous glint to his eyes that you quite literally feel yourself become wetter. “You okay?” He asks, pressing his chest to your back and growing harder just from watching you stare dumbly back at him with your fucked-out expression and he’s barely even touched you yet, every atom of your being vibrating with need as his hand travels tauntingly slow toward your center.

“M’perfect,” you gasp as he draws a featherlight line up your slit with the pad of his finger, “just perfect.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Chanyeol purrs in your ear, arm tense as a wire as it balances holding you upright and parting open your folds. Oh God he’s going to be inside me you think just as his middle finger finishes toying at your entrance and finally presses in enough to easily slide in to the knuckle. Your hands scramble to grip the lip of the sink as a moan tears from your throat, a shiver wracking your figure when he effortlessly adds a second finger to add to the delicious stretch.

“You are,” you rasp, squeezing your eyes shut when he takes care to draw a rough circle to your clit, “such an asshole.”

“How so?” Chanyeol chuckles darkly in your ear as you greedily roll into his hand to meet his thrusts and suddenly his shoulders are trembling. His control is chipping away at a much faster rate than he had hoped.

“You’ve kept me waiting—fuck,” you hiss when he dares to dig deeper, “all this time.”

His pace is absolutely agonizing, swirling his fingers as he pulls them out, massaging your clit for only a heartbeat before pressing back inside of you again. “How do you think I feel?” He growls back, ignoring how you whimper and writhe under him as he finally pulls out of you to ruthlessly flick at the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Chanyeol,” you sob quietly, arms trembling violently and knuckles white as you grasp the sink impossibly harder, “ngh, Chanyeol, please.”

“You look so pretty like this,” he sighs, other hand coming up to stroke strands of hair away from your face, “I bet you’d look even prettier with my cock stuffed in you.”

“Fuck, fuck,” you whine, clenching around nothing as the tight coil begins to unravel and you manage to choke out, “if, fuck, if you want that to happen you have—you have to stop.”

“Mm,” Chanyeol contemplates, obsessed with the idea of making you cum like this but also dying to bury himself within your velvet walls, “alright.” Not that he wouldn’t pay up to do both.

Next time.

With the muscles in his arm beginning to grow tired, he finally relents after a particularly brutal flick that leaves your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Without the sticky press of his body against yours and the relief of his fingers off of your cunt, you are left to shiver again, sucking on your bottom lip viciously to try and recover from the earth-shattering pleasure that still smolders like a forest fire in your core and ignites your nerves. You turn slightly to focus your gaze on Chanyeol as he stares, breathless, at the floor, chest erratically rising and falling and hand glistening as a result of your arousal. Finally, you can appreciate his figure in a different light, mesmerized by every curve and indent of muscle glistening with sweat. It is during this moment of adoration that you decide that Chanyeol’s shoulders are your next favorite thing, second to his ears.

Well, maybe your third, you remind yourself when his length, arching impressively long and thick beneath his pajamas, catches your eye. Ignoring the fragility that has your bones rattling, you cannot help but reach out for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your bare chest to his, breathing out a relieved sigh against his skin. He shivers, and you realize he is just as shaken up as you are no matter how sturdy his hold feels once his arms curl around your waist.

“You said you’re in love with me?” He suddenly asks, voice vulnerable as if he fears you are going to take everything back and desert him. “For as long as I can remember,” you swear honestly, it really has always been him, and lean up to skim your lips along the sharp angle of his jaw. Chanyeol exhales shakily and curls his fingers into your sides when you reach the soft nook under his ear and suck at the skin, proud that you can reciprocate the same effect he has on you.

Laving your tongue over the bite once you are satisfied with the mark, you step back until you can sit on the edge of the marble countertop, heart racing a mile a minute as he loosens the tie of his bottoms just enough so he can drop them to his ankles. “Cute,” you pipe, regarding his Santa-spotted boxers and ignoring the rush of heat to your already drenched core. Grinning at your comment, Chanyeol ultimately shuts you up when he tugs down his last article of clothing, his now unclothed length red and angry when it slaps against his stomach.

“Wow,” you say without remorse, staring only a second more before dragging your gaze up to his eyes, “I knew you had an award-winning dick!”

“You can’t just say that kind of stuff,” Chanyeol chuckles, guiding you to stand before turning you to face the mirror. Then, in a tone lower than you have ever known it, “Are you still on the pill?”

Impressed with how he happened to remember such a minute detail about your life, you offer a tiny nod, suddenly feeling flushed and dizzy all over again because how is this real?

“Thank God,” he says, leaning over your shoulder to kiss you and once more you cannot think or breathe with all the love and adoration loaded into one kiss. After pulling away and pressing a firm hand on your back to further bend you over, Chanyeol groans at the sight of your breasts swaying so enticingly at this angle, but redirects his attention to taking hold of his cock and dragging it along your slick center, coating it in your juices and his precum. You nearly jump at the contact, a shock of electricity darting up your spine at the realization that this is really, truly happening.

You have only just registered him carefully positioning himself to your entrance by the time Chanyeol is rolling his hips forward, slowly dragging against your velvet walls and filling you to the brim. “Oh my God,” you breathe, followed by a series of moans that tumble past your parted lips.

“Fuck me,” Chanyeol groans past gritted teeth, thrusting into you at a slow pace with you clenching so tightly around him. “I am,” you simper, dragging your eyes up from the floor to see his disappointed eye roll as your core slowly but surely loosens around him. “Still rude, even with my dick in you.”

You are keenly aware of Chanyeol leisurely drawing his cock almost completely out of you, nestling just barely within your entrance before slamming back in to draw a high-pitched cry past your open mouth. “Baby, you have to be quiet,” Chanyeol rumbles from above you, voice like thunder in the small bathroom as the powerful, rough tilts and thrusts of his hips ease slower but harder.

The fire in your stomach that had begun to simmer down after his fingers had left you only minutes before suddenly consumes you whole, pleasure washing over you hotly with each thrust of his cock past your slick walls. You’re a panting, mewling mess in no time, euphoria fizzling in your abdomen and shooting up your spine when the hand that is not anchoring you in place dips to brush against your throbbing clit.

“Look at me, baby,” Chanyeol shudders, fucking into you relentlessly, “please look at me when you cum.”

With your fingers growing numb as a result of your iron grip on the sink, you blink away the stars clouding your vision and focus on his face, strands of obsidian hair damp with beads of sweat that trickle down his sideburns, cheeks flushed and glowing rosy, and his soft features struggling to hide the haze sitting over his mind of how incredible you feel as your walls start to tighten around him once more.

“___,” he moans, hands curling into the dips of your waist to rock your body in synch with his drives, “I hope you know I love you more.”

This is all you need to hurl you over the edge. The coil within your core winding tighter and tighter suddenly snaps at his words harmonizing with a particularly hard thrust against your g-spot. For a blissfully long moment, all you see is searing light freckling your vision, body trembling as your orgasm washes over you. Chanyeol moans sharply at the feel of you clenching so impossibly tight around him, throwing his head back and praying to memorize your loud cry.

Ensuring you ride out every second of your climax on his cock, Chanyeol sloppily thrusts into you, chasing after his own high at the sight of you so blissfully fucked-out in the mirror. He quickly follows, coming inside of you with a harsh shudder. Limbs growing weak with pleasure coursing hotly through your veins, you remain in your bent position, eyes widened in adoration as you watch him give one last feeble thrust into your raw cunt to finish out his high.

Then, he draws out of your walls, trails of his pearly cum seeping out with it, and a rush of air escapes your lungs. The moments that follow are peaceful, quiet to catch your breath and not once do you worry that any of what just occurred was a mistake.

When you finally heave one last breath and open your eyes, you spin around to Chanyeol, who leans utterly exhausted against the wall. “Hey,” he smiles innocently when he looks up, all the lust that had darkened his features completely draining away. In its place is his usual soft goofiness. “Hi,” you reply, stepping closer to wrap your arms around his waist.

There is no roughness in this kiss. Instead, it’s deep and longing and reassuring in that this was not a one-time thing.

“If this doesn’t make you my boyfriend, I think I’ll have to end my friendship with Seoyun,” you breathe against his lips before reclining back to meet his eyes. He chuckles, hand dropping to pinch your ass and you yelp, jerking closer to him and away from his hand as he retorts, “This better make me your boyfriend. I don’t know what else I’d have to if it didn’t. I’m all out of ideas.”

“Yah,” you grumble, planting your hands against his chest to push yourself off of him, “or, you could’ve just flat out confessed.”

Chanyeol raises a brow, watching as you clasp your bra back on, “Hey, I’m not the only one who goes without blame. You could have said something sooner, too.”

“Yeah, whatever. We’re both dumb,” you grumble, sitting down to pee while simultaneously pulling your sweater back over your head. You watch on, calmly, naturally, as he dresses himself back to his regular clothes before standing to do the same.

“I don’t want to go back out,” Chanyeol whines, bumping his hip to yours to make room so he can wash his hands with you, “I wanna stay here with you.”

“In the women’s bathroom? Really?” You laugh disbelievingly, running your hands through your hair to somehow not only tame it, but lay it so it covers the love bites higher up on your throat. Groaning at your dumb sense of humor, Chanyeol waits for you to zip up your boots, not even bothering to explain what he meant, before gathering your pajamas with his and cracking open the door to check if the coast is clear.

“Good?” You whisper, clinging to his back. When he nods, you head out into the hallway together, clinging to his side like a koala and barely blinking an eye when his fingers intertwine with yours, his hand snugly enveloping your own. With a different wave of warmth blooming in your chest and up to your cheeks, you yank Chanyeol to the wall just before the corner, smothering his lips with yours and curling his sweater in your fists.

“Are we telling them… or just winging it?” You whisper, drawing back when his tongue threatens to slip past the seam of your lips. Too soon to get lost in his taste again, no matter how sweet he tastes against your lips.

There would be plenty of time for that later, anyway.

“Act natural now, but,” he murmurs, staring down at you with so much marvel weighted in his gaze you feel as if you may implode, “maybe by the end of this damn thing they’ll know.”

“Okay,” you agree, leaning up to peck his top lip one more time before continuing on through the empty kitchen and into the main room, ignoring the faint thrumming coming from your groin. Navigating through the dwindling crowd, you first make a pit stop to grab your cell phone where you left it on a coffee table before seeking out a spot on the sofa. Not even two seconds after sitting down, it dings with notifications.

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I can’t believe I can kiss you whenever I want now

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I miss you already

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: even though I can see you rn

Your head snaps up, dying to find him and unable to hide your smile. Once you find him across the room, looking unfairly delicious for someone who just had their dick inside you, he winks. You grin, looking back down when your phone buzzes again.

[9:05 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I want everyone to know ur my wifeyyyy

[9:05 PM] YN: yeol its been like

[9:05 PM] YN: a minute

[9:05 PM] YN: and slow down there, tiger. i need the ring first

[9:05 PM] YN: but don’t worry. they’ll know soon:’)

“___!” Shouts a familiar voice and you jump, scrambling to shut off your phone before searching over the cluster of guests until you find Seoyun waving near the piano. You make your way over, grabbing a bowl of potato chips on the way.

“Hey, where have you been? Took you an awfully long time to change,” she asks as soon as you are close enough, suspicious, “you missed Pollyanna.”

“Sorry, I, uh…” you trail off, frantic, mind drawing a blank as you try to think of a reasonable excuse, “had to—”

“She was with me,” a gruff voice cuts in, thick with smugness as his hand slaps onto your shoulder. Face draining of color you side glance to Chanyeol who stands closely behind you, his other hand sliding to hook his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans. When you dare to slowly look back to Seoyun, her gaze follows the path of his hand, processing, before focusing back on your face with raised brows. Then, “What are these?” She gasps, reaching to pull the collar of your sweater down, exposing a splotch of purple blossoming across your skin.

“Ay!” You grumble, smacking her hand away and jerking closer to Chanyeol. “You guys… seriously?” Seoyun grumbles disappointedly, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. You tilt your head up to Chanyeol for help, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gives a lopsided grin.

“It took you guys this fucking long just to fuckin a bathroom at our Christmas party?” She hisses, planting her hands on her hips as she bellows out a disbelieving laugh.

“We’re dating,” Chanyeol announces loudly once she has stopped snickering to herself like a lunatic. So loud, in fact, that a few heads close enough spin to see just who is dating who.

You suddenly wish the floor would swallow you up.

Seoyun nearly chokes. “Well, then,” she coughs, rocking on her heels, “shove a quarter up my ass because I just played myself.”

Her face softens when she watches Chanyeol securely wrap his arms around you from his spot behind you. She sighs. “I knew it was going to happen soon. You guys have been all over each other this past year. I’m pretty sure half the family has been waiting for this,” Seoyun beams, eyes twinkling joyously, “except you didn’t get a shot of getting one of Julia’s Italian cookbooks as a gift.”

“Fuck, man. I really wanted to add another to my collection,” Chanyeol fake whimpers and you laugh with Seoyun. “What’d you get?” You ask her, pouting in disappointment when Chanyeol unwinds his arms to stand next to you.

“Don’t be jealous, but,” she pauses, digging into her pocket before pulling out an Amazon gift card, “I actually got the best gift, to be honest. All the other shit was dumb knickknacks. Key chains and shit.”

“Seoyun!” Someone calls from behind you before you can express your envy. She grits her teeth.

“I’ll talk to you lovebirds in a bit. Mom needs me,” she sighs, giving your hand a squeeze as she moves past you.

Only a heartbeat later Chanyeol is stepping in front of you. “Sorry you missed out getting a gift,” he frowns, dropping his hands to hold yours but pauses when he realizes you are still holding the basket of potato chips, “I hope you’ll still have a merry Christmas.”

You laugh, brows drawing together when he seizes the basket out of your hands to place on top of the piano albeit the please keep things off piano sign. “Seriously? Nobody could ruin this Christmas even if they tried.”

When Chanyeol leans in close, resting his forehead against yours and sharing your breath, your fingers run down his spine to pull him close. The world falls always when he kisses you again, soft and slow and comforting in ways that words would never be. With his hand resting just below your ear, thumb caressing your cheek, you cannot help but smile against his lips when you feel the beating of his heart against your chest.

“Love you,” Chanyeol whispers.

Screw Pollyanna. In the end, you got the greatest gift of them all.

[shanie-the-toyaddict]

SHANIE’S FIVE FANDOM RELICS

HEY! FUN SHANIE FACT!  I’M A COLLECTOR!

No really, I have a spending problem, a fandom addiction, and more money than brains (with little of either overall). This leads to me buying things that I probably shouldn’t to add to my various collections. But sometimes, somewhere along the way, there is an item that is just... sacred. And item which is a cornerstone of your collection for one reason or another and is the very definition of “irreplaceable”, either because it has too much sentimental value, or because it’s literally OOAK. The following are my *Five Great Fandom Relics* in my collection which I could never replace if I tried and I will never EVER part with.

#1 The Xena Hat

This is one of my oldest pieces of Fandom Merch and the one with the most history (as evidenced by the worn state). Xena was one of my earliest Hyperfixations and I went HARD. I collected the figures, but they were never very good. I had a couple shirts, but I outgrew them fast. 

But the hat.

The hat was acquired from Universal Studios Florida at the Xena/Hercules exhibit. The first one I got on my first trip to Universal as a young teen, and it was instantly my most prized possession. Then, the next year, I lost that hat in the queue for Twister: The Ride. I was beyond crushed. Inconsolable was closer to accurate. I sobbed and sobbed until a friendly cast member took pity on me and gave me a replacement for free, along with VIP passes for my whole family that got me to the front of every line for the rest of the day. I was ok after that, but I always made sure to keep the second hat in reach at all times. It was worn pretty non-stop from getting it, until sometime around my sophomore year of college when it became too worn out to wear anymore. I kept it though and it holds a place of honor on my bedroom door rack to this day.

#2 The Radar Teddy Bear (Picture lifted from Web as original item is in storage at parent’s house)

My M*A*S*H Hyperfixation happened somewhere around the time when Xena had ended down and Shane O Mac had just come off peak. If I had to guess, I’d say around 2002.

Anyway, I went hard for M*A*S*H and Radar was my favorite character. So when my Boyfriend/Fiancee showed up at our apartment one day with birthday present, I was shocked to find a teddy bear inside. But not just any bear - an officially licensed M*A*S*H Radar Teddy Bear. To be clear, I was born in the early 80′s. M*A*S*H ended before I was born. THIS BEAR WAS OLDER THAN I WAS. And it was, despite being out of package, in mint condition. I was stoked.

Sadly, i didn’t really get to keep him. When I brought him home on break, he vanished, and I couldn’t understand what happened to him. I eventually gave him up as lost, but my mom confessed years later that she had confiscated him due to his rarity and value. He’s currently living at their house, wrapped in plastic. Oh, and I named him “Walter Eugene O’Bear”. After Radar’s full name.

#3 The Shane Shirt (Picture lifted from Web as original item is in storage at parent’s house)

This was a gift from the family of the same SO that bought me the Radar Teddy. However, it was a Christmas gift, rather than a Birthday gift. When I opened the gift bag that year (2003??) I lost my GD mind... which was weird because I had already stopped watching wrestling by that point. I dont know, something about finally having a piece of Shane Merch after all that time was wonderful.

But, as I said, by December 2003, I had stopped watching WWE and my love for Shane was fading. Also, within a year I had my full mental breakdown and started gaining weight, rendering the shirt too small to wear. So, sadly, the item never reached it’s full potential. But I kept it and it sits to this day folded in a drawer at my parents house, a physical relic/reminder of my six year obsession with Shane O Mac.

#4 The Sonic Lipstick

Ok, so I love Doctor Who. My first episode was “Silence in the Library” in 2008 on Sci-Fi Channel and there was no turning back after that. So, in late 2008, when I found the first 4 Series online and started binging to catch up (before watching the end of Series 4 because I swear I picked the worst possible episode to start with...) I was intrigued with the history of the show which, up until that point, I had only had exposure to via a Classic Who/WWE crossover fic I had read in 2000. And when I came upon “School Reunion” and met Sarah Jane Smith for the first time, it got me interested in the old school stuff as well.

To make the rest of the long story short, I decided I needed all of the Sonics made. Which was fine and all except for getting the Sonic Lipstick was extremely hard to come by even in 2010 or so. The moment I had the option to grab one, loose on ebay, I shelled out a stack of bills and got it. Once it arrived, i started carrying it in my purse and liked to wave it at things to try and make them work better. This continued for about a year until it occurred to me that maybe I ought not to be carrying a super rare piece of Who Merch in my purse. It was replaced by the 10th Doctor’s Sonic, and the lipstick got put up.

It still works to this day and, while it isn’t OOAK like the next item, or particularly old, it is borderline irreplaceable because, after Liz Sladen’s death, every one of these just evaporated and now even a loose one will cost you hundreds.

#5 The Shawn Michaels Figure

This is the most recent addition to my “Great Relics” list. There’s not a ton of sentimental value with this one as HBK was never my favorite. I’ve liked him for a long time, but he’s not my hero or anything. in fact, nearly the ENTIRETY of his career occurred when I wasn’t watching the product. I didn’t start watching until late 1998 (after his first run ended) and stopped watching late 2003 (before his second run really got going). But that didn’t stop me from finding this awesome OOAK custom on ebay and shelling out a crap-ton on it. Honestly, the detail on it is just so wonderful. I love it. I love it so much. The actual, original figure that was used for this is impossible to get now, and the full detailed customization on this makes it just so special. It’s truly the centerpiece of my figure collection and represents a level of customization I strive to someday achieve.

Anyway, those are my Five Great Fandom Relics. Hope you enjoyed this short trip down memory and fandom lane.

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, I knew Alistair the Dream-Keeper wasn’t the first time I’d written the idea of magically weaponized dreams, so I went hunting through old email accounts and found a whole fucking manuscript I wrote like, twelve years ago and totally forgot about. WHOOPS. (This happens with me more often than you’d think actually possible). I’m only a third of the way through my re-read of it, but it holds up surprisingly well IMO, I’m pretty pleased. I can actually do something with this, I think. 

Course, it was apparently written back during my whole “every thing must be hetero otherwise there will be no publishing” period, before the beginning of my personal Age of LOL Nah, Fuck That, Everything Must Be Gay. So, first things first, Jez definitely needs a girlfriend, and also a different name. I can’t believe I named her Jez, like, wow, I was really trying to get YA Bingo, wasn’t I? In my defense, this was when I was twenty-three. Also, this first chapter here has a character named Scott and this was before Teen Wolf even premiered, so apparently I just like the name Scott? Huh. Did not know.

BURNING DAYLIGHT

Jez O’Neill knows she has three years, two months, and sixteen days to live.

She’s had visions for as long as she can remember. She knows they’re never wrong. And when the boy her visions say will someday kill her comes into her life, she knows to stay far away.

But somehow he gets close anyways. Because Nathan is perfect. He’s handsome, he’s charming, he’s utterly, unbearably sweet. And when he learns of Jez’s visions, he promises to cheat Death for her. An interest in New Age turns into an obsession with the occult, and that leads to tiny cracks in the walls of the world, where strange and untrustworthy spirits wait to barter with anyone desperate enough to try.

Magic, however, always comes with a price. The higher the reward you seek, the more you can expect to pay, and the spell Nathan thinks will change their destiny instead puts them on a collision course with Fate. It changes him, twists him in mind and soul, transforming the boy Jez loves into the madman who will someday take her life.

With only three years left until the day she now knows she can’t avoid, Jez discovers she and Nathan share the same zipcode again as he sows death and destruction in the streets of LA. But rather than flee for another city, Jez pits herself against the monster she once loved, the monster she helped create, determined to make sure no one else gets caught in the crossfire of their attempt to cheat their fates.

Call it redemption if you want. Jez calls it Tuesday.

Chapter 1

Dreams are doorways if you have the right key.

That’s why I’ve wasted a perfectly good Sunday night perched on the edge of Scott Kinley’s desk. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and I’m sure I look like a gargoyle in the pitch dark of the two o’clock hour, but every chair in his bedroom is covered in dirty teenage boy laundry. I’ll stick with my perch, thanks.

I kick my legs out and arch my spine, stretching my arms over my head with fingers laced together. Cramped and aching muscles voice their protest. Something cracks in my neck when I roll my head back. Meanwhile, Scott Kinley snores contentedly in his sleep in the bed across the room. I shoot him a glare that’s best described as withering.

Spears of pale moonlight slip through the slatted blinds covering the window above his bed. They stab the length of his body, highlighting a strong jawline and tousled blond hair, not to mention a chest and set of abs that frankly, I just find obnoxious on a fellow teenager. It’s L.A. in early September – code for unbearably hot – and he’s sleeping with the bare minimum of sheets, a loose span of cotton that’s only covering him up to his waist. I’d enjoy the cheap thrill more if it didn’t make me feel like such a perv.

After all, I’m a total stranger who broke into his house and has spent the last four hours going through his things and watching him sleep. It’s kinda hard to feel good about that. In my defense, I’m only here to save his life from a creepy magical serial killer. Course, I have strong doubts that would hold up in a court of law should he wake up and have me arrested for breaking and entering. But I still feel it’s worth mentioning.

A yawn and a glance at his alarm clock confirm that it’s 2:07 am and I have no life. I lean back on the desk and rifle through his homework some more as I go back to invading his privacy. My only defense here is I’m really bored.

His handwriting’s slightly more legible than your average garden-variety chicken scratch, but I’m still not one hundred percent his name’s Scott Kinley. The Scott part is clear, but the ‘I’ in what I think is Kinley could be a really jacked up ‘o’ I guess. Whatever. It’s a pre-calculus assignment, and the last yearbook on his bookshelf is from his sophomore year, so I’m guessing he’s a junior like me. Or like I would be, if I still bothered going to school. Hmm. Eleventh grade and already in precalc? Someone’s a smarty-pants. Interesting.

A row of trophies and a couple of team photos declare him a water polo jock, and not too shabby of one according to this MVP title. Explains the abs. I roll my eyes around the rest of the room. Small TV so old it has a VCR player built into it. An even older Sega Genesis console is hooked up to it, so either Scott’s big on nostalgia or his family’s not big on luxuries. There’s a couple of movie posters tacked to the wall, but the puddle of light leaking across the floor doesn’t reach far enough for me to make out any details. Then a freestanding bookcase, a good five shelves high, filled with actual books. Above it is a college pennant with a bear on it – I think that’s Cal Berkeley, right? Possible destination, I’m guessing….

God. And he was in bed by ten. Smart, good-looking, athletic and ambitious. Did his parents just win the baby lottery, or if I go down the hall will I find the altar they used to bargain with the Devil?

Not that it matters. I stretch my legs out again and dip my toes into the pool of moonbeams, watching them spill across my feet when I wiggle. It’s only been six months since my last boyfriend went all dark side on me and turned into a spell-wielding slaughterhouse. I’m kind of not dating right now.

So it’s only natural my visions would lead me to the most eligible teen bachelor in Los Angeles – I cast another quick look around the desk for the requisite ‘me and my girlfriend’ photo – nope, most eligible teen bachelor in Los Angeles. Ugh. It’s like announcing your diet and inheriting a pastry shop the next day. I feel a sudden urge to grab one of his dirty shirts off the floor just to make sure his one human flaw is real and not an illusion.

Wow. I can’t believe I just thought that. Apparently sleep deprivation makes me weird. Besides, there’s no way that smell could be imaginary.

I throw another withering glare in Scott’s direction. It’s his fault I’m a weird, sleep-deprived pervert in his stinky bedroom. My baleful stare bakes the air above his bed. It bends and twists like a summer heat wave on asphalt. Wait. That’s not right.

I shake my head, peering through the fog that shrouds my tired mind. Somewhere in my snooping I failed to notice Scott’s happy snores had turned into frantic whimpers. He’s writhing on his bed; sweat beads all over his restless body, glistening like fragile pearls in the faint light. The room is abruptly a sauna. Heat climbs the walls and steam mists the glass of the picture frames.

“Shit,” I whisper, and I’m in motion, leaping off the desk into a crouch. I dip my hand into my hoodie and whip out my knife, steel slicing moonbeams to ribbons as the blade springs free. A low keening shreds the silence, hoarse spectral shouts as faces flicker through the knife, reflected in the steel. I cross the room in three steps. Scott cries out. His fingers scratch at the air like crooked claws.

Somewhere a door opens, and something steps through. Between the space of one second and the next, a heavy silhouette takes shape on this side of the dream.

I slam into the figure with all my weight, blade aimed for the midsection where I’m hoping vital organs will be. The knife sinks in too easily. The sandman-born beastie is still in that transitive state where its dream wrought form has yet to shift all the way down the spectrum to vulnerable flesh. Then my knife catches and scrapes against bone. The nightmare screams as it sinks its roots into our reality and feels pain for the first time.

It’s tougher to pull the blade free, but I’m stronger than any normal seventeen year old girl has a right to be. More specifically, as long as I’m wielding that knife I’m as strong as all the monsters it’s killed combined. And I’ve racked up a decent body count. Blood and bile sprays in slow motion, a cresting wave of black tar. A few drops land on my arm. There’s a hissing sound and I feel like I’m on fire. I grit my teeth and swing again. It dodges and I miss. We both regroup, and I get my first good look at it.

Damn. Mr. Perfect Teen USA has one hell of a fucked up subconscious. I’m just saying.

The nightmare swallows what dim light comes near it, refusing to be illuminated. It’s thick, ridged with protrusions of bone and slick scales that shimmer with their own dark radiance. A trunk-like torso gives way to stocky legs. At certain angles they seem to merge into a single column similar to a snake. It has four arms, except for when it has six – and then two and then twelve and then they’re not arms at all, but tentacles. The head is a gaping chasm of teeth and forked tongue surrounded by a lion’s mane of mottled skin. It’s dizzying and hard to look at. Confusing and chaotic. The only constant is its ugliness.

I charge at it, because I’m just that dumb. Hey, only the good die young.

It dips to the side, cobra-quick, and its tail snaps out like the crack of a whip. I take the hit square in my ribs and I’m lifted off my feet, flying back across the room. My breath flees from my lungs, my head slams back into a wall. I bite my tongue and taste copper.

“Rude,” I gasp.

Scrambling up to snatch my knife from where I dropped it mid-flight, I steal strength from its macabre magic. Even still, regaining my feet takes effort and time I don’t have to spare. The nightmare’s turned its attention back to Scott. He’s finally awake and sitting up his bed. Pale, frightened, and totally out of his league. Considering we were dealing with his worst nightmare in every literal sense of the word, I cut him some slack. I’m a good person.

I roll forward and rake my cursed blade along the creature’s side on my way. It rears and screams again. Dimly I hear footsteps and distant shouting.

“What the hell is that thing?” Scott asks, eyes locked on the beastie like a man entranced. Oh good, he can talk. I was starting to wonder. I duck around the nightmare and stick myself in between it and him.

“Don’t ask me. It’s your childhood trauma,” I say, hefting my knife and gauging distance. “Now shut up, don’t die, and for god’s sake put on some pants.”

I lunge and bury my knife in the thing’s throat. I’m liking my odds less and less when it still finds the strength to knock my grip loose and drop me on my ass. More blood drips down on me, igniting nerve endings everywhere it touches my skin. Let’s recap. I have spunk, pizzazz, seven spells and a cursed knife on my side. It has burning blood, a build like a freight train, and claws and fangs that seem to multiply every time I look at it. It leans forward and roars its hostility right in my face.

Also, it has halitosis.

A swipe of its many tentacle-arms knocks me back and to the side again. I land on the floor, staring up at the bookshelf. It’s tricky reading the titles from my upside-down vantage point, but I hazily make out the collected works of one H.P. Lovecraft. That explains a lot.

“You know, there are worse things in the world than being a cliché,” I complain, glowering over my shoulder at Scott. He has the decency to look ashamed, over where he’s huddled on the other side of the desk. Course, I’m sure he has no idea what he’s ashamed of, but my tone conveys the point rather well, I think. “Seriously. The dumb jock thing. Just give it a try.”

Mano a mano isn’t working out too well for me so I switch tactics. I toss a quick ‘Hail Mary’ skyward, kick off my shoes and chant the most powerful – and dangerous – of my seven spells. It’s a nasty little sucker I bartered for in the second sphere, the Circle of Fire. I rattle off short, harsh syllables that climb reluctantly from the base of my throat, guttural utterances that were never meant to be made by a human voice. I dip my fingers in moonlight and etch glowing hieroglyphics in the air – they hang there for a moment, sharply luminescent in the seconds before they fade to black.

Staccato snaps and pops ring out. The alarm clock short circuits. Streetlights flicker and die. Every electronic in a fifty meter radius develops a sudden terminal illness and the air feels flooded. Thick and heavy with static as thousands of wayward electrical impulses conduct themselves through the atmosphere to me. I dig my toes into the heavy carpet and feel the hair on my head stand on end. Then I’m running, my nervous system supercharged with too much speed and power to contain long. I duck past the nightmare’s swinging arms – it might as well be lumbering at tortoise speed – and plant a single palm flat on its back.

My touch hits it like a thunderbolt, lightning barreling down the synapses in my arm and ripping into it with hurricane fury. It squeals and goes airborne, crashing into the desk and reducing it to kindling. Scott falls back, mouth open, and smoke wisps up from the creature’s motionless body.

For a second, I dare to hope it’s dead. It would be really awesome for me if it were. That was my most powerful offensive spell and using it comes with a one in ten chance of killing the spellcaster. So, you know. I’d really like to not have to use it again, please.

The nightmare heaves itself to its feet-tail, sending spears of desk turned firewood flying about the room. Some of the shrapnel heads my way and I cover my eyes. Splinters gouge at my palms. I peek past my fingers, and in a blur of motion the creature crosses the room and throws itself through the window. It rips through the blinds and shards of glass fountain into the hot summer night. The darkness outside swallows it whole.

“I hate you,” I casually inform the universe.

I pick past debris and make for the window. Or what’s left of it anyways. The house is on a hill, high enough elevation that glass from the window is still showering to the ground below. Chiming, delicate drops of crystal rain. City lights gleam from one horizon to the next. A pitch-black shadow makes its way across distant rooftops, dark even against the darkness, like a spreading oil stain spilling towards the downtown metropolis. Lovely.

“What the hell is going on?” Scott finally finds his voice again, but I have no time to soothe his shattered nerves or offer an introductory course on Things That Go Bump in the Night 101. I run my hands through my frizzy, static-damaged hair.

“That was disgusting, you need therapy, and the pants thing was not a suggestion,” I inform him, bending to retrieve my knife. Scott flushes and grabs the sheet off the bed. He doesn’t even try and peek at my ass. A piece of the Scott Kinley puzzle clicks into place, and I feel a tiny bit better.

“Hey, quick question. Are you gay?”

His jaw drops, but he recovers fairly quickly. “What – how did you – I mean, why?”

I shrug. “No reason. Just won a bet with myself is all.”

Hey, it’s the little things in life. I turn back to the window and track the nightmare’s course. Picking a rooftop a few buildings ahead of it, I prick my thumb and whisper a spell from the seventh sphere, the Celestial Circle. I sketch bloody sigils in the moonbeams cascading through the open window. They turn pale and faint and I grab their remnants like door handles. The silver light parts, a gauzy curtain opening on a window to a distant rooftop far below.

I cast a sigh at the bewildered boy behind me and step through. It’s probably for the best. Like I said, I’m kinda not dating right now anyways.

The curtain falls shut behind me and I resume my hunt.

[s-ultry]

please me - a tom holland fanfic

CHAPTER TWO

A/N: so i decided that i’d move my fanfic from wattpad to tumblr! just to give me a bit of a boost to continue it, i hope you guys enjoy!

chapter one | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six

SUMMARY: when the billionaire meets the microbiologist.

sugardaddy!tom

enjoy me still writing nonsense lol

cast:

tom holland as himself

ariana grande as belle lorems

antoni porowski as himself

scarlett byrne as luna lorems

james phelps as klaus lorems

whoever you want as demitri and madeleine lorems

***

( warning: tease extreme)

It had been a week since Mr. Holland had dinner with the Lorems, it had been a week since the intimate interaction between Belle and Mr. Holland. Throughout the week all she could ever think of was that motivational, uplifting moment with her father's boss.

Belle was currently walking back to that café she visited last week, ordering the same drink and savoring it with every sip. Pacing to her campus she still had a half hour left until she was due to the lab, where she spent most of her time. Drowning in her daydreams, Belle was rudely interrupted by her phone vibrating in her back pocket. Huffing in frustration she checked the contact to see her one and only love, her best friend Antoni.

"Hey girl," he screamed once she answered the phone leading her to scream in fright.

"God damn it, Antoni, you scared me!"

"Whatever, sis. Anyways, what are you doing after the lab?" Her best friend asked in which she thought, checking her calendar she found nothing and smiled.

"Nothing, finally!" The brunette smiled hearing him squeal on the other side of the phone.

A little background on their extravagant friendship. Belle and Antoni have been neighbors, living across each other since they were smaller. Throughout them blossoming into their bodies, Antoni had a serious talk with Belle in which he came out to her as bisexual. She hugged him telling him it's perfectly okay to love anybody.

Now, they were inseparable. Belle and Antoni both studied at the same university, but Antoni was on the culinary campus whilst Belle was on the scientific one. Checking her watch whilst talking to her friend she sighed in content as she'd be going to the lab again.

"Toni gotta go. See you at the café at 12 sharp?" Belle asked her best friend in which he hummed in reply. She then hung up lightly smiling imaging her best friend dancing in the kitchens because they were going out, she then started to pace again to the lab to meet with her classmates and Professor Davidson. He was a middle-aged man with attractive features, but Belle being Belle, she never found him attractive like the other girls in her class.  

"Good morning class, good morning Belle," the ginger announced looking at Belle putting her lab coat on. Most of the girls in her class scolded her because she was the teacher's favorite or as they would like to call her the teacher's pet. The brown-eyed girl looked down with a blush of embarrassment.

Throughout them studying the growth of different bacterias, she heard a group of girls whispering her name a couple of times before grabbing their attention. "Do you guys need help with anything?" She questioned the group next to her in confusion.

"Is it true that Tom Holland had dinner at your house?" One of the platinum blondes out of the group asked her fakely.

"Uhm, uh yeah. Why?" Belle stuttered walking to the Professor's desk handing him her completion of today's assignment. "Beautiful, as always. Thank you, Belle, for finishing early, you may leave if you want," Professor Davidson glanced at her with a smile.

She proceeded back to her desk to see the group of girls still whispering, as she was packing up the same platinum blonde girl named Erika walking up to her forcing her to stop packing.

"Back off, he's mine, working for him and soon pleasing him," she whispered venomously leading Belle to look down in panic. But she then heard the voice that saved her almost everytime, Antoni walking into the classroom asking the Professor to take Belle away

"What's happening here?" Antoni displayed his signature smile making all of the girls except his best friend swoon. He was wearing a loose striped shirt that had one side tucked in while the other one hung freely with washed out light blue jeans and his signature glasses and slightly curly brown hair.

"Nothing was just heading out," Belle whispered grabbing whatever's left of her books and running out the door with her best friend by her side. "Bee, are you okay?" He questioned her grabbing her shoulders.

"Yeah, they were just up to their normal popular girl shenanigans!" Belle laughed it off picking up her phone to see a missed call from an unknown number. Her eyebrows scrunched in bewilderment as she asked her best friend if he was familiar with the number, he shook his head not knowing.

Walking to the café with the arms locking each other they gossiped about typical college drama, laughing heading into the café. Ordering their drinks and lunch, they found a cute seat close to the window where sat across each other.

"Spill everything about that dinner, Bee!" He squealed whilst the food was placed in front of them both, they thanked the waiter then Antoni got into the juicy bit.

"Was he hot? Who was he? Rich? Suits! Watc-," the Canadian rambled causing his best friend to shut him up.

"Toni, shut up! God, let me speak!"

"Shy girl into a sassy girl, he was definitely rich and handsome. Admit it!" Antoni screeched pointing his fork at Belle making her laugh and turn red.

"Basically, it was uhm. uhh," she stuttered making his eyes widen with every stutter hoping for an answer.

"Oh my god is that Tom Holland walking into this little ass café right now!" The culinary sophomore averted his eyes onto the figure who pranced into the café wearing a Nike sports shirt with pairing jogging shorts and shoes. He removed his Bluetooth earphones and walked up to the counter in which the cashier blushed profusely, he smirked but then heard a familiar voice.

"I-It was him"

"I have a boyfriend. Damn, you can get it."

The billionaire glanced at the windows to see Demitri's daughter, Belle, sitting with a rather attractive man opposite of her laughing at each other. His blood boiled but then simmered when he heard the man scream that he has a boyfriend, looking at her without puffy eyes and a tight dress she still looked beautiful to him. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized cropped black hoodie, she seemed relaxed.

Once he got his coffee to go, he settled on greeting her and her friend. Mr. Holland walked up to the table to see her blush rising again like it did when he first met her. "Oh, Mr. Holland w-what a pleasure," the brunette stuttered standing up with her eyes directed towards the floor.

"The pleasure is all mine, Bellatrix."

"Hi!" Antoni waved at the chiseled man leading him to lightly smile.

"Hello, you must be Antoni?" Mr. Holland asked the sophomore even though he knew. Ever since the dinner he had her whole life researched, yes that maybe stalker-ish. But, he was very intrigued by her and being a rich businessman, he had to know.

"Oh, you know my name? Yes!" Antoni shook his hand as Belle watched the whole interaction between her best friend and her dad's boss. Mr. Holland's smile then wiped when he turned to Belle, giving her a rather dominating look. "Bellatrix, your father and I have been negotiating and we'd love to have you at the towers after you've spent time with Antoni. My assistant tried reaching you, but I'm afraid you were in class," Mr. Holland explained to the five-foot girl in front of him.

"Oh, she's done! She's definitely done," Antoni smirked wiggling his eyebrows at his best friend making her eyes widen in embarrassment.

"If he says so, I'll meet you outside."

"Okay," she whispered fiddling with her fingers as he walked away. Once he was out of hearing distance Antoni ran to her untying her hair, fixing it and giggling non-stop. "What's wrong with you, do you want to go instead of me?" She asked her anxious best bud.

"Honey, I'm taken. But, you're not so ha!" He smiled swiftly turning her around allowing her to stroll out the door.

"Get that dick, Bee!" Antoni waved at his best friend as she balled her fist making him put up his hands in surrender. He laughed as Belle signaled him to call her later in which he nodded too, Antoni sat back down and saw that she half of the bill to which he giggled at, typical Belle.

There she stood, outside waiting for the most expensive car to pop out of nowhere. She pulled out her phone to check her social media, scrolling through Instagram she saw Erika and her 'squad' in front of the same café as the caption.

"Don't take what's mine, beast."

Belle then sighed in distraught but was interrupted with the revving of an engine, she looked up to see Mr. Holland driving a Mercedes G63 in black, basically those aesthetic boxcars that every rich person owns.

"Are you gonna come in, or what?"

"Oh, yeah sorry about that." She was cut out of her trance when she had to climb the car to get into the passenger seat. Well, that's her workout for the day. Belle then fastened her seat belt to see that he didn't fasten his, she huffed in frustration as safety is the number one priority whilst driving.

Belle then leaned over the compartment to reach for his seatbelt, she then glided the belt down to the buckle, the back of her hand softly contacting his abs in which he groaned. "Did I hurt you?" She stopped midway looking up at him.

"No, love. I'm all good," he glanced down at her and saw her continue until the buckle clicked snapping him out of his trance. Her hand then left and was placed on her lap, he missed her touch. Damn, what was he doing to her and she didn't even know one bit of it!

He then drove down the roads of the university and stopped, she saw Erika and her friends walking up to the car and he breath started to quicken which lead Mr. Holland to stare at her in confusion. "Are you okay, Bellatrix," he asked her placing his hand on her shoulder which automatically helped.

Right when she was about to say something the door opened and Erika hopped into the car with her best friends Troian and Crystal. "I'll tell you later," she whispered leading him to nod his head in approval.

"Good afternoon, girls."

"Heeeeey boss!" Erika smiled and blinked all innocently. She then saw Belle sitting in the front seat with her hands on her lap, she nudged her friends as they soon realized that she was with him they started glaring at her.

"Hey, beast! Saw my Instagram post?" Erika chuckled fakely making Belle lift one of her legs up onto the seat, scared of having a panic attack she decided to talk back instead.

"Yeah, loved the shade," Belle whispered making them laugh obnoxiously like they always did.

"Excuse me, Ms. Hastings. What has come up for you to speak in that tone," Mr. Holland questioned the girl as her eyes suddenly widened at the thought of telling him the truth.

"Nothing, boss."

"Call her that one more time Ms. Hastings and 10% of your salary will be taken away from you and your friends. And, a talk with your fathers. Do I make myself clear," he spat glaring at the road.

"Yes, boss."

They were almost there when Belle questioned everything going around her, what he had told her at that dinner, everything. How she felt comfortable around the infamous Tom Holland, how her whole family has been treating her, the bullies that sat behind her as well. Antoni was the only one who actually cared for her, but she wanted someone to love her more than a friendship.

Breaking her from her daydream, she felt a hand gently rub her thigh making her breath hitch as she saw Mr. Holland smirk.

"Don't worry, kitten. I don't bite," licking his lips he smirked taking one glance of her already red face. Belle looked at the window shyly, liking his touch and comforting her in a way. She felt weird knotts in her stomach as she tilted her head back, she didn't know why she was doing it, but it made her more comfortable.

"Having a headache?" The Britt asked her guiltless knowing exactly what he was doing to her, revenge is definitely sweet.

"Oh, it's another type of ache. Jerk," the brown-eyed girl mumbled in frustration allowing him to chuckle as he pulled up to the parking of his company's building. His hand was then lifted from her thigh making her miss his touch even more.

"Erika, Troian, and Crystal. Continue your paperwork that's due, I need it by my desk tomorrow morning sharp. Understand?" The sharp man turned to look at the three gulp in fear. He then glanced at the door waiting for them to leave the car in which they do very quickly.

"What was it you were gonna tell me, love?"

"Oh, that was nothing." Belle looked at her shoes biting her lip in nervousness. She glanced at him to see his eyes change from concerned to dark in a second, her blush decided to greet her again.

"Don't do that, Belle," he audibly mumbled closing his eyes.

"Do what, Mr. Holland?" His eyes then snapped open to see her innocent eyes staring back at his, how her features turned into concern. How innocent she was made him want her even more, but he couldn't, now wasn't the time for her to face his hell.

"Nothing, darling. Let's head inside, shall we," he lightly smiled at her making her open the car door in which he mimicked. Mr. Holland then led her to the elevator, he pushed the button to the top floor then the awkward silence erupted causing her to yet again look down at the floor.

Ding!

Mr. Holland then walked like he owned the room, which he did. With her following behind her, she felt out of place in her sweatpants and cropped hoodie her eyes were glued to the ground whilst they all stared at her.

He then opened to grand doors displaying a beautifully furnished office that had a wall that was just windows giving it sunlight and a modern look. He sat at the meeting table which was next to the windows where she saw her father's back facing her.

"Hey dad," she greeted him. Her father turned around and fakely smiled at her, turning his back yet again. Soon she realized that Mr. Holland had a towel on his shoulder sat at the front of the desk, her father to his right.

"Have a seat, Ms. Lorems."

-

cliffhanger heheheheh.

ily guys so much next chapter will be out soon!

- a