#i read like a hundred plays in my first semester of my masters and i found some realllllll funky shit

[sanstropfremir]

not kpop but you said you’ve done work in theater/musical theater right? what are some of your favorite shows?

my undergrad degree is in production design, i don't just work in theatre i went to theatre SCHOOL lmao. i did musical theatre for all four years of high school too. my fave musicals are hadestown, chess, phantom, and i looooove the original version of cats. i'm also kinda partial to the lord of the rings musical. and i know it's a mess but you can pry love never dies out of my cold dead hands that show is GORGEOUS. oh and roméo et juilette: de la haine à l'amour. favourite shakespeares are mackers, the tempest, and twelfth night. i've unsurprisingly seen (and read) a lot of plays; a small selection of the ones that were very formative for me are sarah ruhl's eurydice (saw a production that singlehandedly convinced me to go to theatre school), tennessee williams' cat on a hot tin roof (i love this play so fucking much, i did it for my third year directing class), and tom stoppard's arcadia + rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead (read both of these in high school lit class). there's a ton of really small scale stuff that's been very influential on me also, but i won't get into that bc it will either doxx me instantly or no one will know what i'm talking about.

[gothwizardchick]

A Long-Expected Journey

In shortly over a month from now, I will be departing on a pilgrimage. I will be walking from Mineral Wells, Texas USA to Anchorage, Alaska USA, and perhaps as far North as the Arctic Circle. A distance Well in Excess of Four-Thousand Miles.

This Journey will be done entirely on foot. I will be doing this for multiple reasons.

-Firstly, this is a journey I have wanted to make since I was a small child.

There were several times I tried to run away from home when I was young, perhaps because of what is considered by some to be abuse. Regardless, I have wanted to walk from Texas to Alaska since I was around eight years old. I began studying survival around that time, I suppose because I knew I liked walking. I was enamoured by the Natural world and the techniques we used to navigate it. My grandmother would often take me on long road trips, during which I acted as Navigator, reading the maps and watching for signs and such (I got way better at this once I received my first pair of glasses).

If this were the only Reason, then I would say I was probably running.

-Second is that I feel this is necessary as part of my Apprenticeship.

I said before that I was an Apprentice Universalist Wizard. What I did not say, is that I am studying under no specific master. I am, by virtue of the fact that I created it, "The Head" of my order. There is only one other wizard in the order. He liked my vision and felt that it was appropriate to stay in touch.

The Order of Modern Arcana's ranks are thus,

Apprentice - An initiated Wizard, Someone who has signed the Order's Ledger.

Journeyman - a Master of a Field, Someone who can take on an apprentice related to their Field of Study.

Expert - a Doctor of a Field, Someone who has shown great work and dedication to their craft.

Master - a Doctor of Multiple Fields of Study, Someone who can Truly call themselves a Master Wizard.

My Field of Study is Universalism. I study The Universe as a Whole. As a result, the Journeyman requirement for my Specialisation is quite rigorous.

To qualify as a Journeyman Universalist, I need 1,000 hours of different trade schools combined. I currently have about 450 hours split between metal, wood, leather, cloth, electronics, construction, Aerospace Manufacture, and composite bonding. I have experience working in Factories, Workshops, Warehouses, Cleanrooms, retail storefronts, as well as as a stage performer. I sing, act, and dance and can play quite a few musical instruments, in addition to learning Calligraphy and Oil Painting.

I will also need three Master's Degrees. I currently have One (1) Semester of proper college. I forget how many credit hours it was, probably eight? either way, Someday I may start My own University, or other such learning institute, and that means I will need to be competent enough to teach at a Master Level.

Additionally, I will need to wander and ply my trade to those who need it. What good is Wisdom and Skill kept only for the Self?

-Which brings me to my third reason.

I am a member of a Faith occupied by Myself and Only Myself that I call The Order of Death's Embrace. This is not an Official Religion. This is just how I feel personally, and The Name felt appropriate. I do not feel like Death is a punishment. It is part of being Alive. You cannot Live without Death. In order to Live, you must consume many hundreds of thousands, if not millions of Lives. No matter Your philosophy about whether it is right to eat Animals, You must still eat plants. You still need beneficial bacteria that die in service to Your existence.

While on this Pilgrimage I will be hunting and fishing for survival and buying bread and water when I have a spare dollar. I will have to Personally take those Lives, and the Responsibilities of Ending them.

To know what it means to be alive.

Choosing to value my own existence over the lives of those around me. Because I can't Help Anyone if I'm Dead.

Usually, When I tell people that my Principle Deity is Death, they make strange faces and act as though I murder people (which, for the record, I have not). To them Death is something scary.

In Truth, what it means is that to qualify as Clergy of my Faith, I am going to visit Old Graveyards in old towns and tend to the graves of those who no longer have anyone to remember them. Afterall, isn't that what we all want? To be remembered when we Die? For someone to acknowledge that we were Here?

To begin with, I will be wearing Grey Robes. Once I cross the Desert on foot, during the Summer, I will have passed my trial to don my Black Robes.

-The Fourth Reason is something of a Complaint. Everyone, seriously, If I was playing Chess with someone, and they kept inventing new rules, making me stick to the rules, and then cheating even more, I would quit playing that game. I don't know that I can continue playing the game that everyone refers to as Society. I hate it, it Fucking sucks.

Likewise, Everyone is so caught up Blaming each other and fighting over things that don't matter that they never solve the problems they are complaining about. We know there's a problem, let's work on a solution. Doesn't matter who caused the problem. No reason to even bring it up unless you mean to find out more about how to solve the problem by asking the one responsible for its creation.

-But finally, and I suppose most Importantly,

I'm doing this because I want to. All trappings and excuses aside, I want to do this. That's why I'm doing it.

[xmint-conditionx]

tongue tied | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader, f2l

w/c: 3.5k

summary: you've been best friends with yoongi for almost a decade, and you're hopelessly in love with him. he's the most important person in your life, and you don't want to mess that up, so you can never be anything more... right?

written as a response to a request from the old blog -- the requestor was @yoongi--enthusiast; thanks again for your request, i loved doing it!!! "I had an idea... something based off of the song “tongue tied” with yoongi. I feel like it would be super soft with soft smut... I just think it would be nice to read so can you please wright it 🥺👉👈"

tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, outdoor sex, overall a little angsty but super cute too

a/n: i did not know that there was a song called tongue tied by marshmello before i wrote this so... i hope the person who requested this didn’t mean that song because I wrote this drabble over the grouplove song lmaooo but anyway, here goes! thanks luv, enjoy! also reposted from the old blog!!

Yoongi’s laugh is so beautiful. It’s rare, so when you see it, you soak up everything you can about it. The way his eyes crinkle up into crescent moons, the way his lips curl back putting his gummy smile on bright display. You can swear you see his eyes sparkle.

You are in love with him. You are in love with your best friend.

He makes loving him such an easy thing to do; bringing you into his inner world, showing you the sweet and warm center he conceals from everyone else. The way he looks at you, the way he says your name, the way he pouts when he wants a back scratch, all of those little things that make him who he is only deepen your infatuation with him.

You’re with him again this Friday night, making the drive to Bom’s house. It’s been a long week for the both of you; he’s been wrapped up in producing a track and you’ve been nose deep in college textbooks. His track is completed, and your exams are over. It’s safe to say that you both could use a good break.

It’s the end of the spring semester and the weather is going to be gorgeous tonight. The racing summer breeze coming through the open car windows is exhilarating. The sun is setting, and the warm evening light on Yoongi’s dewy skin makes him appear absolutely radiant as he navigates the highway.

You’re just listening to fun little summer jams as you speed off toward the city’s suburbs. Ones with funky little basslines that are easy to groove and sing along to. Ones that make you shout and laugh into the rushing wind. Ones that make you drink in the moment you’re having with Yoongi; ones that make you soak up all of his joy.

And when he steals a sly look your way, one hand still on the top of the steering wheel, you can swear your heart stops.

You’ve loved him as long as you can remember really knowing him. Since you were both 12, bonding over games of tag and basketball and the spilling of secrets to each other. You’d sit beneath the big tree in his backyard and share the snacks you’d bought at the corner store. He’d always let you have the last chocolate.

The only secret you’ve ever kept from Yoongi is the matter of your infatuation, and you are pretty resolute in keeping it that way.

He is the single most important person in your life. He had been there with you through it all; when your parents split up at 13, when your dad got you your first car at 15, when your long time boyfriend cheated on you at 16, when your dream college denied you at 17, when you got a full ride scholarship to a smaller university outside of the city right after that, when you were drugged at a house party at 20, when you were diagnosed with depression at 21, and when you were accepted into your masters program at 22.

You needed him, and because of that, you could never tell him.

You pull into the gates that surround Bom’s neighborhood. Her parents are pretty wealthy, so they live on a golf course. As you pull up into the driveway, you see some other students milling about, catching Frisbee. There’s Eunha, Ireum, Ji-Ah, and Miyeun that you recognize from some of your classes, but there are a few more that you’ve never met.

After a few rounds of drinks and a few lost games of flip cup, you all head outside to the back patio with all of your schoolwork from the year. Bom turns on the bluetooth speaker and sets it on the railing. You take in the night air and gaze up at the sky, wishing there was a shooting star to wish upon.

“Alright, everyone,” Bom begins, “essays and lab reports first, then tests, then miscellaneous homework.” Yoongi helps you dig through your stack to fish out the cursed papers. You all toss the stapled packages into the fire pit, one by one, each hitting with a soft thud. Once everyone has thrown their woes into the pit, Bom tops it with actual firewood and unceremoniously sets the whole lot of it on fire. You gaze into the center of the flame, watching your entire year catch fire. All the hours you spent doing that research project, all the disappointment when your group members wouldn’t follow through. Gone, like it never existed.

Yoongi’s holding your hand in his, and he’s busy drawing little circles with his thumb on your palm. Your head rests soundly on his shoulder, and you sigh into him, comfortable in where you are. The whole group piles in more papers, as you lament about the shitty professors and the shitty group projects and the shitty caf’ food and the shitty grades. Yoongi turns into you and nuzzles gently on your forehead. You feel his soft lips graze your temple, breath warm on your skin, tingles rising through your body, and you’re right where you want to be. Under the moon’s gaze with the person you love.

Before long, the breeze sends a chill through you that even the fire won’t remedy. Yoongi feels your shiver and unceremoniously removes his hoodie and puts it on over you, pulling up the hood and kissing your forehead. You always love when you wear his jackets; they surround you in his warmth, his smell. A smile plays across your lips until you notice Yoongi’s goosebumps.

“Hey,” you pout, “I don't wanna wear this if you’re gonna be cold.”

“I don’t wanna wear it if you’re gonna be cold,” he snaps back, smiling.

“Here,” you say, standing up from your deck chair. You take the step to get you to Yoongi’s chair, and sit in his lap. “This way we can both be warm, yeah?”

It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms firmly around you again, mumbling a “yeah, that’s fine” when you glance at him over your shoulder.

Your attention is called back to the group with Bom asks if you’re going to the Summer Romance Festival by the river next weekend. She’s been pushing you to get yourself out there more. The last time you were in a real relationship was high school, after all.

“I’d love to go; I hear they have the most beautiful fireworks display,” you start, “but I don’t think I will this year.”

“Well,” Bom says, “Why not?!”

“Because I don’t have a date, Bom!” you say, covering your face in the sweater paws you’ve made from Yoongi’s hoodie. “I don’t think I could find one in enough time.”

“Ya, just get Yoongi to go with you! You already do everything together anyway,” Eunha quips.

You notice that the steady rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest has stopped.

“Hey, you know we’re just friends, right Yoongi?” you look to him for backup.

The man nods, looking down and to the left.

“Okay,” Ireum speaks up, “In that case, do you want to go with me?”

“Wait, what?” you say.

“Do you want to go to the Summer Romance Festival with me? As a date?”

Yoongi tenses beneath you.

“Oh, I don’t know…” you breathe, “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. We can even get dinner before we go. Not too much, though. I’ll want to get us a treat from one of the dessert stalls.” Ireum says with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling back at him, “Okay. We’ll go together.”

Yoongi stirs beneath you. “Hey, can you get off of me?”

“What, why?” you pout.

“I said get off.”

“Yoongi, wh--”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish before he abruptly stands up, forcing you to catch yourself. When you look back at him, he’s walking toward the French doors that lead back into the house.

“Ya! What was that about?”

He keeps walking. You storm after him and slam the door, trapping you both inside.

“Yoongi, I’m talking to you! What’s your fucking problem?”

He whirs around.

“Oh, I have a problem?”

“Well, it sure seems like it.” you spit back, hands on your hips.

“Why don’t you go talk about it with your date, huh?” he says, gesturing out the window to Ireum. “Don’t you have some details to work out? He gonna pick you up? You gonna let him hold your hand? On your nice little extra special romantic date? I guess I’ll just fuck right off and leave you two alone, yeah? That’s what you want, cause we’re just friends and all.”

“Yoongi, we… are friends! You’re my best friend!”

“Did you ever for a second think that I could want more?”

“What?!”

“I fucking love you, Y/N! Isn’t it obvious?! I’ve loved you since the 7th grade. You remember when we played spin the bottle at Ha-joon’s house? Do you remember when you kissed me?”

“Yoongi…”

“No, let me finish. Do you remember the frat party we crashed junior year? Remember when we got up onto the roof and made out until we fell asleep? And then you weren't there when I woke up so I walked back to my dorm and then we just pretended it never happened? What the fuck was that, Y/N?!”

You reach for his arm, but he backs up, flinching away from you.

“I am so in love with you it hurts!”

“Yoongi.”

“But I guess if that guy can make you happy, then whatever,” he sighs.

“Yoongi.”

“Go on your little date and have fun and I’ll just go write some more goddamn songs about you--”

“Yoongi!”

He stills, pain flashing through his eyes.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, easing toward him, “I had no idea. I left the roof to go inside and get you some water. When I came back, you were gone. You had been drinking a lot that night… and I felt really bad because… I thought I had taken advantage of you… Ever since I first kissed you at Ha-joon’s house, I wanted to do it again. And again. And, you looked so good that night and up on the roof when you were laughing about the quarterback I just… I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I thought surely you didn’t want to actually be kissing me.”

“Why the fuck would I have kissed you back, then?”

“You were drunk, and I--” you’re cut off when he grabs your wrist.“I have wanted to kiss you every time I’ve seen you since you first kissed me,” he says, glancing down at your lips. ”I want to kiss you right now.”

You take no time in closing the distance between the two of you, your lips crashing desperately. You’ve tasted his kiss before, but this time feels different. His hands are winding through your hair, pulling you deeper into his kiss. You moan against his mouth, and he responds with his tongue teasing your lips, asking for entry. You grant it, and he explores. One of his hands holds your jaw, the other still intertwined with your hair. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before he sucks it in, drawing out a small whimper from you. Taking his hand from your jaw, he runs it down your neck and décolleté and then down over your stomach and latches it on your hip, sinking his fingers into your skin. He gives your hair a small tug, just enough to break the kiss and expose your neck. He breaks off and trails kisses up your jawline and then onto your neck, speaking in between kisses.

“You have… no idea how… much I’ve… wanted to tell… you everything,” he breathes onto your neck, and you feel a heat pooling in your panties.

“Please, Yoongi…” you say as you begin to run one hand under his shirt. He stops kissing and looks up at you with the softest expression.

“What is it?” he asks as he grabs both of your hands in his, bringing one of them up to his mouth to sprinkle kisses along your fingers.

“You…” you begin and sigh, “you have no idea how much I want you.”

He stills.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to, I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, eyes getting lost in the way his jacket is draped on your figure.

Him eyeing you up doesn’t make it any better.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you say, eyes pleading up at him. “I’m tired of waiting.”

After a beat, he sighs.

“Neither of us are waiting another minute,” he says, landing a quick peck on your lips and going across the room to the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that rests on the arm.

“Come on, I have an idea,” he says, grabbing your arm and leading you out of the front door, across the street, through someone’s back yard until you reach the top of a hill on the side of a fairway. You watch as he scans the area, holding the blanket tight. His gaze lingers on two hills near the green of whatever hole this is, where there are a few more trees and hills to block you from the sightline of those second story windows. He looks at you, eyes asking the question. You smile and nod, and that’s all he needs.

He tugs your hand and you both go running down the fairway, laughing along the way. Once you reach your spot, he quickly puts down the blanket and lays on it. You’re still standing at his feet, hands fiddling with the ends of the jacket sleeves.

He smiles up at you and holds his arms up in your direction and says, “come here, beautiful,” while doing little grabby hands.

You slowly walk up to where he’s laying and sit on top of his hips, feeling how hard he already is. His hand rests on your hip underneath the fabric of his jacket, the other holding the side of your face.

“Let me see you,” he says with a tinge of whine in his voice, and that gives you an idea.

You reach under the still zipped jacket and fiddle around. Yoongi looks up at you befuddled, the corners of his lips turning down slightly as he tries to figure out what’s going on. When your hands emerge, one is holding your strapless bra and the other is holding the halter top you had been wearing. You can’t believe you managed to unzip the back by yourself.

You throw the garments to the side, and watch as understanding hits his face. His eyes glaze over and he licks his lips, clearly shaken up by your little trick.

He carefully dips his fingers below the waistband of your shorts and eases them down. You put your weight on him and give him a few kisses as he continues to move them down your legs. Once they too have been tossed to the side, you sit back up, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

He gently reaches up to the zipper of the jacket and begins to slowly pull it down, letting the cool night air in. You feel your nipples harden at the exposure to both the night air and Yoongi’s hungry eyes. He swallows and licks his lips as he runs his eyes over every new inch of you that is revealed. Memorizing your form, your perked nipples, the way your chest rises with each anxious breath.

He reaches back up to the collar and eases one shoulder of fabric off. You move to take the rest off despite the cold, but he stills your hand with his.

“Keep it on, please. I love seeing you wear my clothes,” Yoongi says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing them against his knuckles as you slowly grind your still covered core on his length. He groans in frustration, his pants getting tighter. You let go of his hand and run your fingers up beneath his white cotton v-neck, his ab muscles flinching under your touch. You help him remove his shirt, taking in the way his pale skin shines under the moonlight.

Seeing you look at him makes his cock twitch in his pants, and you think it’s time to provide him some relief.

You scoot back and start to undo his belt, getting low and staring up at him through your lashes. His breath hitches when you make eye contact with him, and then it starts to pick up as you undo the button and zipper. You shimmy down the denim, but leave his black boxer-briefs where they are.

You come back up to the waistband after releasing his jeans, and you take the elastic in between your teeth. You tug them down with your teeth while your hands pull them on the sides. His erection springs free, and he sucks in a fast breath when his cock meets the cool air. You take the opportunity to let your warm breath ghost over his throbbing cock, coaxing a deep groan from Yoongi. He puts his hand to your cheek, and you look up to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think I can last if you put me in your mouth, baby girl. We can do head next time,” Yoongi says, and your heart soars at the pet name. You ease back up so that you’re straddling him once more, and reflexively start to grind on him again.

“Please let me take care of you. Look how wet you are,” he says, running his fingers over your clothed slit, dipping one finger in to collect a bit of slick. He tastes his finger and says. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to need to do head next time.”

You blush at the thought of him buried between your thighs, vulgarly slurping up everything you have to give him. You clench just thinking about it, and Yoongi notices. He pulls your panties to the side, takes the head of his cock and presses it to your clit, teasing your entrance. His precum mixes with your wetness, and you can’t resist him any more. You’ve resisted him for years, and you’re done.

You slowly ease yourself down on his cock, only making it halfway down before you have to wait for you to adjust. You both look at each other; Yoongi’s jaw is set and his eyebrows are furrowed together. Your mouth drops open as you raise and lower yourself again, feeling the delicious stretch that accompanies it. You bottom out and begin setting a slow and gentle pace.

Your body is rolling steadily, moonlight creating beautiful shadows on your body as you take him in over and over. As many times as you’ve dreamed of this, you still didn’t fathom it being this good or it feeling this right.

Yoongi is everything you had imagined he would be and then some. The way he is looking up at you, the way his soft little moans escape every time you bottom out, the way his eyebrows furrow together at the sight of your dripping heat enveloping him. Perfection.

He takes his hands and trails them up the curve of your waist, stopping just below your breasts. He runs his thumbs over your nipples, making you shudder and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hands. He palms them, kneading little circles around your areolas.

You lean forward, putting your weight on him again, and he meets you eagerly with another kiss. He wraps his arms around your back, keeping himself under the jacket, and you pick up the rhythm. Yoongi scratches his nails all the way down your back. Once he gets to your ass, he cups it, squeezing gently. You place your forehead against his, and your eyes meet.

“Y/N,” he whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “you look so beautiful on top of me like this. Please let me see this sight for the rest of my life.” You whimper at the praise, and pick up the pace.

“Please,” he continues, small grunts mixing in with his words, “Don’t wake up tomorrow and pretend like this never happened. Please... don’t break my heart,” he pleads.

“Not a chance, Yoon. I can never let you go. You’re everything to me. You’ve always been.”

“Baby, I am so close. Can I--”

“Come with me, Yoongi. Let’s do it together,” you say. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips and he’s thrusting up into you with an unrelenting pace. At this angle, you can feel his head graze against your cervix with each thrust, sending white spots in your vision.

You both reach your end at the same time, breaths mingling as you come down from your highs. You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat gradually slow. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head and sighs into your hair.

“So…” he begins, “do you wanna go to the festival with me?” Yoongi asks.

“Are you gonna pick me up? Let me hold your hand? Have a nice little special romantic date?” you fire back, trying your best to sound like him. You sit up on your arm, letting your hair hang over to one side, and watch the light dance in his eyes as he laughs.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I might even get us a little snack from one of the desert vendors.”

[talesofarcadia78]

Sorceress of Arcadia || Gnome Your Enemy

Summary: Y/n Lake is Jim Lake's older sister. She discovers  that she is sorceress and her brother is the Trollhunter. She and the Trollhunters go on adventures together, they save trolls and humans. Along the way, a friend becomes more than just a friend and discovers their secrets.

Warning: None 

Word count: 5,784

Tags: @lunariasilver

Previous >> Wherefore Art Thou, Trollhunter? • Next >> Waka Chaka! 

“For centuries, the troll and human worlds stood seperate and at peace, divided by bridges that acted as doorways between our two realms. But the Gumm-Gumms wanted to devour all of mankind. They were led by Gunmar ‘the Black’. The rest of trollkind fought against him, culminating in the great Battle of Killahead Bridge, the portal to Gunmar’s Darklands. After many moons, good triumphed over evil, and our great Trollhunter, Deya ‘the Deliverer’, lock Gunmar away, exiling him to the Darklands, and sealed the Killahead Bridge with the sacred amulet. After, we tore it apart, stone by stone. We left the old world in search for peace. We stowed away on a ship called the Mayflower, just a handful of us and some gnomes we’d brought along for companionship and nourishment. Finally, we arrived in a strange and exotic realm,” Blinky explained. 

“New Jersey,”Aaarrrgghh commented.

“We kept walking. Eventually, we came across a new Heartstone, and we realised we had found a new home… under Arcadia,” Blinky finished as you heard Jim snoring.

Blinky groaned and walked over to Jim. He slammed the book in front of his face.

Jim startled up, "¡Lo siento, Señor Draal! ¡No me mates!"

You had done Spanish in middle school, so you knew what he had just said.

"I'm sorry Mr. Draal! Please don't kill me!"

You giggled at his outburst. Jim glared at you quickly before he turned his attention to Blinky.

"The training of troll history might seem like a minor duty, Master Jim, but--" Bliny started to explain but was cut off by Jim.

"Sorry, I pulled an all-nighter studying for my Spanish Comprehension exam and my brain is muy gooey. I don't know. I guess I thought if I'm facing Draal in a week, my training would be a little more… active" Jim yawned, standing up.

"Yeah, like, when is he going to learn Troll-kwondo? Or Rock-itsu?" Toby inquired.

"Well, Jim has to learn why he fights, so it's kinda important to learn this," you explained.

"Miss y/n is correct. Before one fights, Toby D., one must understand why one fights. For these precious early steps will decide whether a young Trollhunter will become a Deya ‘the Deliverer’…" Blinky explained.

"Or Unkar ‘the Unfortunate’," Aaarrrgghh added.

"Well, tomorrow, my Spanish exam is with Señor Uhl ‘the Unforgiving’. My main concern is for my immediate future," Jim informed Blinky.

"A-ha! But, to learn what will happen in the future, one must only look to the past," Blinky explained.

"Ugh!"

"I recommend A Brief Recapitulation of Troll Lore by the venerable Bedehilde. Volume one of 47," Blinky recommended.

"Wow, that's a big book," you commented as Blinky gave Jim the book.

Due to the book being so big, Jim struggled to hold it. He eventually got a good hold of the book. Jim placed his Spanish textbook on top of the other book.

"Okay, but if I don't pass the exam, I'm grounded and I can't be the Trollhunter. Sorry, Blinky, but the amulet chose me, and now I have two lives to keep up," Jim explained.

Then, Bagdwella came running in stopping in front of you, panting.

"Are you okay Bagdwella?" you asked, putting your hand on her shoulder.

She shook your hand off, not wanting your comfort.

"Oh, no. Is it the Heartstone?" Blinky panicked.

"No! No!" Bagdwella denied.

"Stalkling?" Aaarrrgghh asked.

"Is Gunmar out?" you also asked.

Jim gave you a look that said 'Who's Gunmar?". You just rolled your eyes in response. He really should've been paying attention to Blinky's lecture.

"Is Bular in Trollmarket?" Jim guessed.

"No! Gnome! Rogue gnome!" Bagdwella yelled, her voice echoing throughout the Forge.

The six of you walked to Bagdwella's shop to investigate what the matter was.

"Get your toasters here!" a random troll exclaimed.

"First, I couldn't find my monocle, then my collection of bed coils. Now something disappears every minute!" Bagdwella explained.

Suddenly, a gnome whizzes past, stealing an item and making Bagdwella fall over.

"Ah, yes. Gnome," Blinky said, lending his hand to Bagdwella, but she slaps his hand away and gets up herself.

"Oh, dirty little pests. Up to last week, the glue traps were working fine," Bagdwella said, showing you all a skeleton of a gnome.

Just before you could say something, the gnome snatches the skeleton, making everyone gasp.

"Fix it, Trollhunter!" she begged.

"Uh yeah, I'm really sorry about that. See you need a gnome-catcher, and I'm well, the Trollhunter, so--" Jim explained, but got cut off by Blinky.

"Oh no, Master Jim. The Trollhunter cannot refuse the call. And what better a call for you to train with than a pint-sized quarry?" he explained, coming up behind Jim.

"Blinky's right, Jim. This'll be a start to your Trollhunting. Plus, I think the task will be easy for you," you agreed.

You heard rapid footsteps around you, then a guitar play. You all try to look for where the sound was coming from. When you did, the gnome revealed itself. The gnome started to play his guitar once again and started to sing.

"He's trying to distract us! Hold tight to your valuables," Blinky warned.

"Well, I don't need to hold onto anything, I got nothing valuable," you chuckled.

"Yeah, right," Jim scoffed.

"Seriously, I don't have anything valuable. Unless if you consider my a hundred year old phone 'valuable'," you retorted.

"Okay, maybe you don't have anything valuable," Jim agreed.

Then the two of you see Toby going up to the gnome.

"Why? He can't be that bad," Toby chucked, clapping.

Before you knew it, the gnome had taken Toby's belt.

"Oh, no! My belt!" Toby cried. Then he sighed, "At least he didn't take my Nougat Nummy."

"Uh, Tobes, I don't think you should--" you warned Toby, as he took out his favourite chocolate out of his pocket, only to be taken by the gnome.

Toby gasped, "We need to catch that gnome."

All of you tried to catch the gnome, but he was way to fast for you. One time, Jim had caught him, but somehow, it escaped from his grasp. Jim then realised that his amulet got thieved.

"Oh no!" Blinky cried.

Jim and you chased after the gnome until it went behind a wardrobe. Aaarrrgghh pushes the wardrobe aside to reveal a small hole, which the gnome was probably hiding in.

"Hole," Aaarrrgghh stated.

"Yes, it appears the plot quite literally deepens," Blinky said, looking into the hole.

Jim slides his hands through the hole opening, hoping that his amulet would come back to him.

"Come back, come back. Shouldn't the amulet be coming back to me right now?" Jim questioned.

"Dolefully, that rule only applies if you've rejected it. When thieved, it's another story. If you had read A Brief Recapitulation you would have known that," Blinky explained.

"Technically, Jim didn't even have time to read the book, since you know, we're right now doing some Trollhunting business," you pointed out.

Jim gave you a quick smile, before Bagdwella spoke up.

"Some Trollhunter you are. Jim ‘the Baby Handed’.”

You glared at Bagdwella, as she snatched a bag of food from Toby.

I'd like to see how good you are at being the Trollhunter.

You turned your gaze over to Jim and Blinky.

"Master Jim, press on. This is not the moniker you want," Blinky said.

"What else can I do? I can't fit in that hole," Jim shrugged.

"Hmm, currently," Blinky thought.

"Bad idea," Aaarrrgghh warned.

"What's a bad idea?" you asked, but no one answered the question.

"No Trollhunter has ever lost his amulet. We'll need time to procure the Furgolator," Blinky argued.

"Uh, the Furgolator?" Jim doubted.

"Uh, don't you worry about anything, Master Jim. tend to your studies. We'll watch over the hole. Tomorrow, you'll return refreshed to deal with this, uh... little problem," Blinky said, and the three of us headed to the surface.

Toby and Jim headed to Arcadia Oaks High, while you headed the opposite direction to Arcadia Oaks Academy.

Once you had gotten your books, Izzy and Rachael both ran up to you.

"Y/n! Guess what just happened!" Rachael exclaimed.

"Uhh, you won the state lottery?" you replied.

"Nope, way better," Rachael denied.

"What can be better then winning the state lottery?" you asked, getting a bit curious.

"I got into the state math comp!" Racheal squealed.

"Wow! That's great, Rachael. So, when are you going?" you asked.

"Tomorrow, that's why I was texting you the other day, I wanted to hang out with my two besties before I headed off to the competition," Rachael replied.

"Oh, sorry about that, I was... busy," you said.

"Well, are you free after school?" Izzy asked.

You thought about it, you didn't need to go to Trollmarket or have any other plans.

"Yeah, I'm free," you nodded.

"Great! We'll meet at Sam's at 4, then we'll go from there," Rachael said.

You nodded. Suddenly the bell rang, making you jump a little.

"See you guys at lunch," you called, as you ran to your first class.

As you took a seat, you noticed that everyone was focused on the board. You glanced at the board to see everyone's name with a bunch of classes next to them. You searched for your name and saw your classes. You had chemistry, biology, calculus, literature, geography and history as your subjects for the next semester. Then, you noticed a certain name that you had not been expecting to have the same classes as you, well except biology. Tyler. You heard someone sit down beside you.

"Hey, y/n," it spoke.

You turned to see none other than, Tyler.

"Hi, Tyler," you smiled.

"I guess we have almost the same classes. What a coincidence, right?" Tyler chuckled.

"Ha, yeah," you commented.

"Hey, wanna sit next to each other in classes, you know since you'll be the only person I know," Tyler requested.

You hesitated. You didn't know Tyler that well, and seeing his anger the other day in the cafeteria, you weren't so sure.

Then you were saved by the bell.

"I'll see you in class Tyler, and I'll think about it," you said, rushing out of class.

You headed towards the lower office, since you needed your new timetable. As you were walking to the lower office you bumped into a certain emo-boy.

"Sorry," the two of you apologised.

You looked up at the person, to see Douxie.

"Oh, hey, Douxie!" you smiled.

"Hey, y/n! Going to get your new timetable?" Douxie asked.

"Yep," you responded.

The two of you got your new timetable. The two of you looked at each other's timetable, wondering if you had any classes with each other.

"Hey, we have mostly the same class, except instead of geography, I have economics," Douxie pointed out.

"Cool!" you said.

"Wanna head to class together?" he asked

You nodded and the two of you headed to class.

When you entered the classroom, you noticed two seats at the back of classroom weren't occupied so you nudged Douxie. Once you had gotten his attention, you pointed to the seat and headed there.

Once the two of you had taken a seat, you saw Tyler walking in. You groaned.

"You okay, love?" Douxie asked.

"Tyler wants me to it next to him in every class. It's a coincidence that he has all the same classes as me," you explained.

"Ahh. Understood. You can sit with me in every class then, well, except for geography of course. You'll have to deal with him then, but other than that, you can always sit with me," Douxie offered.

"Thank you," you grinned.

Soon after, Tyler started looking around the room. When his eyes fell on you, you were in a deep conversation with Douxie.

"Wait, so your actual name is Hisirdoux?" you asked.

"Yeah, I have no idea why, but it's my name!" Douxie nodded.

"It sounds very 12th century," you commented.

"I know right!" Douxie exclaimed.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see Tyler fuming at Douxie.

Huh? Why does he look mad at Douxie?

You thought he was going to come up to Douxie and start arguing with him, but instead he took a seat at the front of the class, right in front of the teacher's desk.

After a few minutes, your class started.

You had a hard time figuring out what the teacher was saying, since she had a very quite voice, luckily, she was only a substitute. The actual teacher was just away on leave because he was sick.  

After an hour, the bell rang to indicate next class, which was calculus, great. You sucked at calculus and science. You and Douxie headed together to calculus, avoiding Tyler.

The next two lessons kinda sucked, they all just introduced your new teacher's and what you're going to be learning for the next semester. Luckily for history, you had an assignment not an exam.

Soon, the bell rang for lunch.

While, you and Douxie were walking to the cafeteria, you were suddenly surrounded by all of Douxie's friends. Well, band mates.

"Hey, Douxie! How'd all your new classes go so far?" Henry asked.

"They went good. I found a friend that's doing the same classes as me," Douxie replied, gesturing towards you.

"Hey," you shyly waved.

"Wait, you're the girl that Douxie brought back stage at our last concert, right? Y/n, was it?" Jason recognised.

"Yep, that's me," you confirmed.

"Well, we're going over to the band room to practice, wanna come?" Jason asked both of you.

"Sure, why not. I'll just grab some food," Douxie replied. "Y/n, I'll grab you some food as well, you head over to the band room with the other's."

"Oh, no. I don't want to disturb you guys with your practice, I'll find my other friends," you denied.

"You're not going to disturb us, in fact, you can give us some feedback!" Jack said.

"But, I promised my friends that I'll sit with them today," you mentioned.

"What about, you and Douxie find your friends, and bring them to the band room? We really need someone else's point of view of our music," Jason suggested.

You thought about it for a moment.

Izzy wanted to meet the Ash Dispersal Pattern for a while now, and Rachael, well, she can make some new friends, since she doesn't really hang out with anyone else other than you and Izzy.

"Okay," you agreed.

"Great!" Jason exclaimed, walking away with the rest of the band.

You and Douxie saw your two best friends in the line to get food.

"Yo y/n! Where were you?" Izzy asked as she saw you going up to them.

"Just talking with Douxie's band. Want to go meet them? They're in the band room. They said that you guys can come," you offered.

"Oh, you had me at 'Douxie's band'," Izzy grinned.

"Just let us grab some food first, "Douxie said, walking into line, pulling you along.

After grabbing some food, you all walked over to the band room, getting welcomed by a lot of laughter.

"What's so funny?" Douxie asked, grabbing a seat for you and your friends before grabbing one for himself.

"Nothing, it's an inside joke. You won't understand," Henry said.

"Okay..." Douxie nodded, getting a bit suspicious, sitting down. "Anyways, meet Rachael and Izzy."

Rachael shyly waved, while on the other hand, Izzy waved very energetically. You instantly saw Jason blush when Rachael waved at him while she also blushed.

Who knew, Rachael had charm. She's usually not the type to get involved with the boys and crushes that much.

"Looks like we have a fan," Jack pointed out, looking at Izzy energetically waving at them.

"I'm your biggest fan! I go to every single one of your concerts!" Izzy beamed. "Well, I couldn't make it to your concert last week. But other than that, I've been to every single one!"

You, Rachael and the entire band laughed at her enthusiasm.

After getting introduced to one another and getting autograph from every single ban member, they started to practice.

"Wow, Jason is good," Rachael commented.

"Of course you'd say that. You have a crush on him," you teased.

"I do not!" she retorted.

"Sure," you and Izzy smirked.

After about 10 minutes, you heard the door open. You glanced towards the door to see Tyler.

"Hey guys!" Tyler waved.

"Hey, Tyler! Wanna practice?" Jack said.

"Jack, I don't see any of our guitarists away right now. There's no point," Douxie claimed.

"Well, Douxie, I see you're getting a bit tired of playing. Tyler can fill you in while you rest," Jack said.

"I'm not tired," Douxie stated.

"Uh, Doux, not to be rude, but you're kinda missing some chords and not keeping up with the beat," Henry commented.

"What?! I'm not missing any chords! You guys are just going faster than you're meant to!" Douxie exclaimed.

"And you're getting a bit short tempered," Henry added under his breath, but you all heard it.

"I am not getting short tempered!" Douxie fumed.

"Yeah, dude, take a pill and chill. Y/n, can you take Douxie for some fresh air?"Jason requested, snatching the guitar off of Douxie and handing it to Tyler.

"Sure," you nodded, lightly pushing Douxie out the room.

As you closed the door, Douxie started walking down the hallway. You ran up to him and made him slow down.

"Douxie, are you okay?" you asked.

"I'm fine. Those guys over there are just going faster," Douxie grumbled.

"They're not, Doux. You just need to take a break," you advised.

"I don't need to take a break, they need to take a break," Douxie scoffed.

"Doux, this is not you. This is not the person I have met and befriended with," you said.

"Well, this is me! Get used to it!" Douxie yelled, stopping in his tracks.

Your eyes widened at the tone of his voice, making you step back away from him.

Douxie's eyes widened at what he just said to you.

"I-I'm sorry y/n, I didn't mean that at all. I've just been so stressed out lately. I just exploded," he apologised.

You smiled at him, putting your hand on his shoulder, "It's okay. Everyone has those days. You know you can talk to me about it you know?"

"Thank you, y/n. It means a lot," Douxie smiled.

"We should probably head back," you reminded.

"Yeah," he agreed.

The two of you headed back into the band room, getting greeted to everyone just chilling.

"Hey, y/n, Douxie," everyone said.

You noticed that Tyler had left.

"Is Douxie...?" Jack questioned.

You nodded and took a seat next to Izzy.

"What happened to band practice?" Douxie asked.

"Stopped a few minutes ago. We were discussing on hanging out this afternoon," Izzy informed. "Y/n's already coming, what about you Hisirdoux?"

"I'm free. And how do you know my actual name?" he inquired.

"Your mates here told us," Izzy explained.

"We're meeting at Sam's at 4," Henry told Douxie.

Soon after, the bell rang for class.

After three hours, you headed to your bike and peddled home.

You finished up some chores and waved goodbye to your brother and headed off to Sam's.

Once you met with the others, you all headed over to Lucia to watch Danger House 2: More House, More Danger. You were going to sit with Izzy and Rachael but there were seat numbers, so you didn't have much of a choice. You ended up sitting at the end of the row next to Douxie. The two of you shared popcorn while watching the movie. At times, you didn't want to see a scene, so you hid your face in Douxie's shoulder. While you weren't looking, the others snuck some photos of you two, especially when you hid you face in his shoulder.

After the movie, all of you headed across town to The Bluff to watch the sunset. Everyone hated the bike ride up the steep hill, but surprisingly, you didn't. It was kinda easy for you.

Must be the advantage of running from danger.

In the end, the ride up the hill was worth it, since you all got to see a beautiful sunset afterwards. As everyone was enjoying the sunset, taking pictures and goofing around, you saw Douxie leaning against a rock, staring at his phone. You strolled over to him and leaned against the rock with him.

"You know, you can't enjoy the sunset without, y'know, looking at it," you told him.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I know. I'm just looking at something," he mumbled, not taking his eyes of his phone.

You peeked over his shoulder to see what exactly he was looking at.

He was looking at his email, more specifically, emails about bills. The numbers weren't huge, but if you're Douxie that worked 2 jobs and hardly got tipped, that would be a lot.

"You worried about the bills?" you whispered, making sure no one heard.

He nodded. "I don't know how I'm going to pay all this. Thankfully, I requested the companies to give me more time to pay them. I got a few extra months, but I don't think that'll be enough."

You nodded, trying to think a way you could help your blue-tipped friend.

"Do you have any extra rooms in your apartment?" you asked.

"No, but I do have a lot of space in the bedroom. I’ve got two double beds that have been lying around," he explained.

"What if you get a roomie? Like they would give you rent every week, while you provide them shelter, food, etc.," you suggested.

"That's a great idea!" he beamed. "Thanks! I'll start to work on your plan tomorrow!"

"I'll come to help," you offered.

"Oh no. I don't want you putting time aside for me," he denied.

"I'm not, I have a lot of free time. And even if I did, it would be worth it. Helping a friend is always worth my time," you said.

"Okay. I'll text you my address and tell you what time you can come over. Probably on the weekend, but I'll just text you," he explained.

You nodded.

"Now, let's enjoy the view."

After the sun had set, you all rode over to Stuart's Taco Truck. Jason, Jack, and Rachael all went to get the burritos, while Douxie, Izzy and you chatted, waiting for your friends.

"So, y/n, have you been thinking about what you'll be doing after graduation?" Izzy asked.

"Uh, I don’t know. Maybe go to college, like every person does?" you guessed.

"Wow, I'm just gonna get a job and do that, it's just easier," Izzy said.

"Yeah. You never wanted to go to college," you agreed.

"What are you going to do, Douxie?" Izzy asked, turning her focus onto him.

"Well, I'll probably pursue my dreams of being a guitarist while having a job," Douxie replied.

"That's cool," Izzy commented.

Soon after, your burritos arrived and all of you dug in.

Once you had finished your burrito, you checked your watch to see it was starting to get late.

"Okay guys, I'm going to head back, it's getting late. I'll see you all tomorrow," you declared.

"Wait, y/n, I'll come with!" Douxie added.

You waited for Douxie to throw his rubbish in the trash and peddled your way home with him.

Before the two of you went your separate ways, Douxie thanked you for your suggestion.

"Thanks for your suggestion before, y/n."

"It's no problem."

"Well, I'll see you soon, love," he grinned, giving you a flirtatious wink along with a two-finger salute.

You blushed and returned the two-finger salute, riding your separate ways.

Once you got home, you saw Jim was finishing up washing the dishes.

"Hey, Jimbo!" you sang.

"Hey, y/n!" Jim called. "How was your hang out?"

"Good, but I'm beat. I'm heading to bed. ‘Night," you yawned and trudged to your room.

"‘Night," Jim called.

The next day after school, you, Jim and Toby headed down to Trollmarket. You were glad to take a break from everyone. Today was just not your day. Everyone from the hangout had uploaded to social media of the photos of you hiding your face in Douxie's shoulder and the both of you sharing popcorn. The post made you attract the crowd at lunch. People bombarded you with questions related to Douxie. Most of them consisted of 'Are you two together?', 'Are you a couple?' and 'How long has it been?' Luckily, Douxie came in time and saved you from the crowd, again.

You approached Blinky, Aaarrrgghh and something covered with a piece of cloth.

"Remember when I told you all Trollhunters must start small?" Blinky asks, revealing the Furgolator.

"Full disclosure, I'm a little worried how I let you talk me into this," Jim doubted.

"A 'little worried'? I'm full on concerned!" you gulped.

Blinky turns on the Furgolator, making the doors open up.

"Still bad idea," Aaarrrgghh warned.

Jim steps inside and the doors start to close, "Wait a minute. So, how does me going into this thing help me get a gnome out of a hole?"

"If a gnome won't come out, the Trollhunter must go in," Blinky informed.

"Wait, what?" Jim questioned.

"I think Blinky plans to make you small enough to fit inside that hole," you hypothesised.

"Yeah, right," Jim scoffed.

"Exactly! We often use the Furgolator to compress minerals. And now for the anthracite!" Blinky agreed.

"See?" you teased.

Jim rolled his eyes playfully, but you saw the fear in his eyes.

"But you've done this a few times on flesh and bone, right? Right?" Jim yelped.

Blinky placed the rock inside a compartment, "Not exactly." Then the machine started up, "But I'm not concerned."

"Well, that's because you are not the one trapped in this thing," Jim complained.

"Nothing to worry about, Master Jim. We work best under pressure," Blinky shouts.

"I can't see anything!" Jim coughs. "Why is there so much smoke?"

The machine started to make weird sounds. You and Toby ran to the Furgolator, trying to get it open.

"Come on, you guys gotta get him out of there!" Toby cried.

Blinky rushed over to help us, "Don't just stand there, Aaarrrgghh!"

Aaarrrgghh comes over and pulls the doors open.

"Looks like it didn't work. Hope you have a plan B," Jim began, but then realised he had shrunk.

"On the contrary," Blinky said.

"You sure we need a plan B? I think plan A worked fine," you chuckled.

"He's like an action figure!" Toby gushed.

"The Furgolator functioned perfectly!" Blinky laughed.

He picked up tiny Jim, holding him in his palm. Jim looks at his tiny figure. You quickly took out your phone and took a photo of your little brother. Jim groaned, not liking you taking photos of himself.

You all made your way to the hole that the gnome had escaped into. Blinky placed Jim just outside of the hole.

"Real subtle. ‘We've got to start small. Deal with the little problem.’ This is a huge problem! I can't be shrunk! I have exams to take! I have sinks to reach!" Jim raged.

"You have a gnome to catch. Now, onward, Master Jim, and fetch your destiny!' Blinky reminded.

Toby grabs a pencil and hands it Jim to use as a sword, "Your sword, my liege."

Jim pokes the pencil on Toby's palm, earning a yelp from him. He attempts to walk into the hole, but he falls down, earning a giggle from you. But he eventually got into the hole.

"Oh, and one last thing to know when dealing with a gnome, Master Jim, and this is of dire importance: Do not touch its hat!" Blinky forewarned.

"Of course. It's right there in A Brief Recapitulation," Jim taunted.

"You remember!"

"Of course not! Nothing in this world makes sense!" Jim yelled.

You backed away from the hole to see Vendel walk pass.

"Miss y/n, you should go and continue your training with Vendel. We will handle things here," Blinky advised.

"Are you sure?" you asked.

"Completely."

You nodded and jogged over to Vendel.

"Hello, Master Vendel. Do you have time to teach me how to make objects move?" you inquired.

"Hello, Miss Lake. I am not known to any troll as 'Master', but it sounds good coming from you. And yes, I can instruct you how to make objects move," Vendel said.

The two of you walked over to the Heartstone and began your lesson.

Soon after, you could move objects easily, with just a quick gesture of your hand or finger.

"Thank you, Master Vendel!" you beamed.

"Your welcome. Next time you come, with some spare time, I will teach you something new," Vendel replied.

You nodded and jogged back over to the hole to see Toby backing away from the hole.

"Why hasn't he come out?" Toby asked, his voice full of worry.

"What happened?" you asked.

Aaarrrgghh explained to you what happened to your brother.

You all waited for Jim to come out safe and sound. You then saw the gnome walking out with Jim following behind him, wearing the gnome's hat.

'You summoned the armour and caught the gnome! Well played, Master Jim!" Blinky beamed.

You all clapped at his heroism.

"Thank you, thank you. I don't want to forget the little people," Jim smiled.

"Expedient and-" Blinky started.

"And good humoured," you finished.

"Oh my hero!" Bagdwella praised.

Toby captures the gnome into a bag and sets aside.

"And what about this shrinking stuff? When does it wear off?" Jim asked.

"Don't worry. Sleep it off. By morning, you'll be as good as new. And how you have earned it! Jim "the Gnome Slayer!" Blinky reassured.

"He was so young. There was so much music left in him," Toby commented, playing the little guitar.

You ignored him.

"All that is left is for you to take care of it," Blinky instructed.

"Wait, what? Take care of it?" Jim puzzled.

"Rule number two," Aaarrrgghh reminded.

"‘Always finish the fight’," Blinky quoted.

"And by finish... " you began.

"Deaden. End. Le coup de grâce," Blinky finished.

Aaarrrgghh moved his thumb across his throat, indicating to kill the poor gnome.

You and Jim shared worried glances. Neither of you were killers, but you had to follow the rules. But, it was up to Jim, since he was the Trollhunter.

You headed home, while Jim stayed at Toby's house.

As you opened the door, you saw your mom unpacking food.

"Hey, Mom. What are you doing?" you asked.

"Just unpacking the food I got. As you already know, I'm not a good cook, so I thought some takeaway would be good," she explained.

Soon, the two of you sat down and dug into your food.

"Y/n, where's Jim?" your mom asked.

"He's staying at Toby's place," you answered.

"Well, since he's not here, want to have some girl time?" she asked.

"I'd love to," you replied.

Once you two had finished dinner, the two of you sat down and binged watch watched Mistrial & Error together.

After a dozen or so episodes, the two of you started to play truth or dare.

"Okay, y/n… Truth or dare?" Mom asked.

"Truth," you answered.

"Hmm... so, that friend of yours, Douxie. Is he just a friend or...?" Mom questioned.

"Douxie?! He's... uh... um..." you stammered.

"And my question is answered," Mom cheered.

"What?! He's not. Uhh..." you cried.

From that, you and your Mom started to talk about your love life, more specifically, Douxie.

"I saw on one of your friends posts that you were hiding behind him during your little movie night," she said.

"It was a scary movie! Some scenes were just absolutely terrifying, so of course I’d hide behind him. That's normal," you defended.

"You could've just shut your eyes," she suggested.

"Um... well... uh..." you stuttered.

"I guess my suspicions are true," she smirked.

"Mom!" you cried.

"Okay, okay. We'll have this conversation another day. I'm tired, so I'm heading to bed, kiddo," she said, getting up from the couch.

"Me too. I need to go to school," you agreed, following suit.

Next morning, you woke up to the sound of clattering downstairs. You got up and got dressed into a t-shirt, pair of jeans and sneakers and rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was about. You found the source of the commotion, your mom.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

"Nothing for you to worry about, kiddo," she said.

You shrugged and realised that there was nothing for you to eat for breakfast.

"Sorry, y/n. No breakfast. Maybe grab something in town," she suggested.

"Will do. I'll head out, love you!" you called and rushed out your door, hastily grabbing your bag on your way out.

You made your way to Toby's house, checking on Jim. You knocked on the Domzalski's door. It opened to reveal Toby.

"Hey, Tobes!" you grinned.

"Hey, y/n! Checking in on Jim?" he guessed.

You nodded and you followed him to his room. On the way, Toby's Nana forced you to eat a blueberry muffin.

As soon as you entered his room, you noticed Jim's absence. But then you realised he was in a doll house.

Toby opened the doll house to reveal a startled Jim.

"What's wrong, Tiny Jim? Did you not sleep well in Nana's dollhouse?" Toby asked.

"Why am I still small, guys?" Jim whined.

"Maybe the stuff works different on trolls than it does on humans?" you theorised.

"Oh, my gosh. The gnome! You did it? I told you I was supposed to-- Oh no! School!" Jim panicked.

"We have to call you in sick. Tell them you ate too much chocolate. That always works," Toby ordered, shoving his phone into Jim's little face.

"No, Señor Uhl can sniff out a lie a mile away," Jim refused. He thought for a second when his eyes lit up. "That's it! Toby, I need you to do me a huge favour. Well, maybe a small one. But huge."

You gave him confused look.

"Look, I have a plan, just trust me on this," Jim explained. "Plus, you should be heading to school right now."

"Fine, but I want you to be normal size by the end of the day. I can't take you home like this," you said, gesturing to his size.

"Okay. Now, go!" Jim said.

You rode off to school, hoping your brother would return to his normal size.

[missameliep]

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Thanks for the tag @dalishessence 😊

Nickname: Dani

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Height: I'm 1.57 meters (I'm even shorter, Nanda lol)

Last Movie I Saw: The Green Knight

Last thing I googled: news about a crime that happened in the city i live in 🥺

Favorite Musician(s): Marisa Monte, Alanis Morissette, Norah Jones, Pearl Jam, and many others.

Song stuck in my head: Under a violet moon - Blackmore's Night

Other blogs: I have three others, but only my The Wayhaven Chronicles blog @detective-odell has seen some activity at all besides this one.

Blogs following: hundreds lol mostly are Choices, but there's also many with Star Wars/Rogue One content and other fandoms I enjoy, and many writing blogs and some writers too.

Sleep Patterns: I'm a night owl. I'm not in bed before 1am, but I need to wake up early, around 7-8am. If I wake up any earlier, I'll be a total zombie. I'm not even functional before 10am and I'm envious of people who can do a lot of things in the mornings and even workout. Seriously, my dudes, how??

Lucky numbers: I don't know 🤷‍♂️ but I like 6

What am I wearing: right now? my comfy pyjamas with a Maneki Neko print.

What would I do of capitalism didn't exist: definitely be a writer, and maybe work at a bookstore or at a library too. I'd love to be surrounded by books 💗

Dream trip: right now it's Mexico, I'm daydreaming about beaches, and Turkey too (I'm in love with the sights from the Turkish series I watched)

Favorite Food: pasta

Instruments I play: I had piano lessons as a kid and learned to play the guitar later, but I don't play anymore.

Languages I speak: Portuguese, which is my mother tongue, English, and French.

Favorite Song: I have so many favorite songs as my Spotify playlists can testify, but I'd say Marisa Monte's Ainda Lembro.

Random facts about me: 1. I like to draw and I'm glad that I got to go back to it with my daughter. We have so much fun drawing together; 2. I started reading fanfic around 2018, and I never knew there was so many talented writers and so many content for free... How amazing is that? I was in awe. Fanfic kept me entertained during many sleepless nights ever since; 3. I started writing fanfic in 2018; 4. I always loved to photograph and took classes in 2016, and almost considered changing career around that time; 5. I'm finally pursuing a Masters and I finished my first semester and I'm really excited.

Tagging: @princess-geek @noesapphic @lorirwritesfanfic @thequeenofpixels @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire @lxncelot

[fly-underground]

six hundred and seventy six: 2020

I briefly considered not writing this post, my annual recap on New Year’s Eve. I started writing these back in 2010. So, if I didn’t do it this year, I could argue that it was just an old 2010’s tradition, something for that decade. But I decided to write it anyway. I decided to post it anyway, for the future me, who will want to know what 2020 felt like.

I’m sitting in my room in Somerville, illuminated by the LED ring light on my new tripod. Playing in the background is an old episode of Gilmore Girls. It’s almost 4pm. I want to rush to write this, so I can play with makeup and take some pictures and eat my lunch and my dinner and call the people important to me and drink with them on the phone. So I’m going to give myself 30 minutes to write this and then it’s over. The year is almost over.

Here’s what happened this year. I brought in the year with Liz, in our pajamas, with a giant pepperoni pizza. I don’t remember what we did exactly, but I’m sure we talked a lot about life and love and work. At midnight, Nate texted me. Nate was my boyfriend and he told me that he couldn’t wait to see me in 2020. And a few weeks later, after he saw me, he told me he wanted to break up with me. He said other things too. That I wasn’t like his friends. That we didn’t have the same sense of humor. That he didn’t think he would marry me. And later, when those friends told him to be mean, to be so mean to definitively end the relationship, he told me that he didn’t have fun with me. I remember his little face and how small he looked and how I couldn’t believe I ever felt love for him.

And so from January through February through that first week of March, I dated. I went out. I texted men. I made out with men. I went home with men and standing in their little bedrooms, listening to their little problems, I felt that occasional stirring of something more. Affection or intimacy or genuine care. And it would fade away like a bad dream. I cried a lot. I felt like such a loser, what a word. But such a loser.

Because at the same time, in the early months of 2020, those PhD programs I applied to wrote back telling me what Nate told me, that for whatever hard to name reason, I wasn’t the right fit. They didn’t love me. They didn’t think I was fun.

Then the pandemic hit. My last semester at Harvard moved online. Two of my roommates moved out. I felt alone and weird and scared, so scared about the future of the world. I cried every night for a week.

I met someone in March. That’s a lie, because we didn’t meet in March. We met in June. We started talking in March. I’m texting him right now. He is this good thing that has gotten me through this hard year. His voice, his laugh, that feeling when someone knows you and still likes you. I thought I had it before. I guess I didn’t. Because this feeling is new and familiar. He makes me laugh. I make him laugh. If I write about it too much, I’ll cry. When I think about it too much, I cry.

In May, I graduated from Harvard. I graduated alone in my room. The ceremony was virtual. My mom and brother and Vivian and Yuan and Janelle and Liz and Rachel tuned in. My mom sent me a cake and flowers. Yuan sent me flowers. I have a master’s degree in theological studies. I know Sanskrit. I went to Harvard. I did that thing and I did it alone, except not really. There are all the people who love me.

I wrote more this year and submitted to places and fellowships and got rejected and kept trying? I’m still trying. I wrote a chapbook and I hope it finds a home. That’s a goal for 2021, to find my work homes.

I’ve been freelance writing for AppSumo. Who knew my friends from high school would eventually be my coworkers, my editor? I’m paying my bills with my writing talent. It’s such a crazy achievement, maybe the thing I’m secretly most in awe of.

I started this year hating my body, hating that I weigh 127~ and now that is still my weight, and I think it’s so amazing how the human body finds stasis. I’m alive in spite of all the bad thoughts, that I should die. I’m alive and feeling the joy the world has to offer— which is of course more than any of us can imagine

I saw my family twice, in August and in October. I miss them so much but I also think it’s ok. I remember wishing my dad would get better soon— like if it didn’t happen right away, it wouldn’t be worth it. I was wrong. Sure, I was just a child, but I was wrong. I should have felt more patient. The truth is, the beauty of life is that we have time to get it right, to get better, to improve. I’ve held onto that this year, when I celebrated my graduation and birthday and halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and now New Year’s alone— that there is time to get this right, to get better, to improve. Maybe next year or the year after that or the year after that. If I’m lucky, I have my entire life to get it right.

Right now in this moment, I am hungry and excited and grounded. Tonight will be a good night because people I love will call me and I will watch good TV and the next year will be ushered in with so much hope and goodwill and then it’ll be happening.

My hopes are so big and so small: that I’m happy and healthy and never wanting for too much and never afraid to think about the possibility of some elusive more. I’ll keep writing and hey, if you’re reading this and you’re not some future version of me, thanks. Whoever you are, thanks for everything. Happy New Year.

[yeojaa]

❪  TO THE MOON AND BACK!  ❫

You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  kth x named f!reader.  jjk x named f!reader.

genre +  rating.   non-idol!au.  fluff, a bit of angst.  general.    

tags / warnings.  none!  this chapter is pretty sad but also pretty happy?  “balanced, as all things should be.” - thanos, and also me.

wc.  3.9k

chapter 11.

“Are you ever going to do anything with them?”

You’re so focused on the melody that you don’t recognize the words immediately, his voice playing somewhere beyond your recognition.  It takes a long few moments of staring at Yoongi’s face, his moving lips, for you to realize he’s speaking to you.  

Headphones are tugged off your head and carefully returned to the stand at your elbow.

“Sorry?”  

“I said ‘are you ever going to do anything with them?’” 

It feels like you’re missing an integral part of the conversation.  Forehead furrows, following the lead of your mouth as it purses, little indent forming between your brows.  “With what?” 

“The songs.”  He doesn’t have to say much more.

“Oh.”  Your lack of answer doesn’t seem to deter him, his expression politely interested, if not a little tired.  You feel a pang of guilt for the fact that you’ve had such long nights lately - sessions passing the stroke of midnight more often than not. 

While it wasn’t your fault, you saw the toll it took on him - found evidence of it in the bags beneath his eyes, heavy enough to incur an additional charge at the airport counter.

He refocuses your attention:  “Yes?  No?”

“I… don’t know.”  You hadn’t considered it, honestly.  The songs had originally been written to give your misery an outlet.  You’d never considered what would happen to them once they were fully formed.   

You’re also not sure why he’s asking.  It’s been at least four months since you’d even thought about them.  Now they sat in the back of your mind, tucked away in a dusty box labelled JUNGKOOK along with a hundred other memories you weren’t sure you were ready to face yet.

“Can I use one then?”  

That certainly isn’t what you’d expected.

“What?”  It catches off your teeth, shattering over your tongue.  You wonder how you look - if the surprise is glaring beneath your skin like neon light.

Yoongi grins, low and slow and full of gums.  He must mistake your emotion for something else - excitement, maybe? - because he’s joining you in front of the computer, the imprint of his body still worn into the soft leather cushions he’s just vacated.  

The same instant he drops into the seat beside you, he takes over the mouse, flicking through file folders with purpose.  “I’m working on a new mixtape.  I thought one of your songs might work well on it so I took the liberty of recording some vocals and mixing it to see.”  

In any other situation, you’d be preening from the praise.  Now, it only settles discomfort in your stomach.

“I don’t know,”  you repeat, finally, after what seems like forever.  He’s already pulled up the audio file and the beginning notes fill the enclosed space, sinking into your ears.  It sounds amazing, of course.  Everything he touches turns to gold.  His voice is distinct, the delivery of lyrics so masterful you still don’t really know how he does it.

You listen in silence, admiring the way he’s managed to lay your original refrain with his effortless rap.  It thrums in a low bass - utterly brilliant - and then your voice starts.

It hits you like a ton of bricks then, two thousand pounds of weight dropping your heart into the pit of your stomach.  You don’t expect the reaction to be so polarizing.  You hardly realize you’re locked into place, gaze trained on some freckle in the wood grain of the desk, until you’re physically pulled from it.

A hand settles on your shoulder, hesitant yet unyielding.  It frames the bone and squeezes once, twice.  Yoongi’s voice follows, softer than you anticipate.  “Are you okay?”

The question repeats on a feedback loop.  It turns over and over and over until there’s nothing left but a distortion of your own voice in your head.  Were you okay?  You’d thought so.  Now, you weren’t so sure.  Hearing the familiar melody is like reliving those eight excruciating months all over again.

“It sounds great,”  you answer earnestly, in a voice that wobbles with emotion - a trapeze artist barely hanging on. You’re not lying;  you wish your voice wasn’t so feeble. 

“You’d get full credit, obviously.”  Yoongi’s trying to soothe the ache he can’t quite understand.  Not that he hasn’t tried.  After all, he’d helped you bring all of this to life.  He’d already done more than enough.

“Oh, thanks.”  It’s a little watery and a little weak but you’re laughing and that stretches an almost triumphant grin across the producer’s face.  It splits the casual indifference he normally wears, throwing the roundness of his cheeks into stark relief. 

You can’t help but smile yourself, however small.

Still, it’s enough for him.  You’re past the one-two sucker punch and he’s nearly all business again, studying the screen now that he knows you aren’t about to start bawling.  You have to hand it to him - he’s a professional through and through.

“Did you mind if I took a look at your notes?  I’m thinking we might want to do some ad libbing but I wasn’t sure if you’d considered that.”  

You don’t think twice about it, handing your worn notebook over.  The edges are tattered and it’s nearing the end, only half a dozen blank pages remaining.  All the rest are filled with nonsense:  half-formed lyrics, melodies stuck in your head, and—

“Are these about Jungkook?”

The question quite literally knocks the breath from your lungs.  It takes you what feels like ages to regain control of your own anatomy, your jaw falling and rising in tandem with the drawn out beat of your heart.  It feels strange - like you’re moving in slow motion.

Laid out before you - before him - are pages you’d poured your heart into over half a year ago.  You recognize them because of the dogeared edges and the almost concerning pen strokes decorating the margins.  Half the time you’d been writing about nothing at all, just putting your jumbled thoughts onto paper.  The lyrics had only come after that, once you’d word vomited as much as you could. 

You know what he’s reading now - not the verses you’d brought to life, but the heartbreak.  

“No?”  You’re not a great liar.  It’s never been an issue until now.

He doesn’t do the disservice of belittling you or questioning you on it further.  Instead, Yoongi remains decidedly silent;  the quiet isn’t quite like any other.  It’s careful and considerate, formed by unspoken questions and curiosity he holds close.  Almost as if he’s giving you time, he flips through the pages with the strangest expression on his face.

Even when he’s done, he says nothing - meeting your horrified stare with something close to compassion. (Or pity, but that feels a whole lot worse.)

He waits for you to speak first.  You don’t. 

Finally, because it’s almost suffocating now, he hands your notebook back to you.  Two hands - deeply respectful.  You accept in the same fashion and try to ignore the tremor that runs the length of your fingers, slotting the journal back into your bag.

“Does he know?”  There’s no judgment, no expectation.  

You have to hand it to him - he’s handling this spectacularly well.  Far better than you would be if you’d found out one of your best friend’s girlfriends had history with another of your best friends. 

“Sort of.”  

It’s the first reaction he gives that feels like it isn’t restrained, carefully packaged and offered only after it’s been perfected.  “Sort of?”  It rolls incredulously off his tongue.  

“It’s a long story.”  You don’t mean how defensive you sound.  It’s just hard not to when the wound has been festering for so long and you’ve let it turn to rot, weeds sprouting around the Jungkook-shaped sadness you’ve tried to cover with a sheet.

“I have time.”  He doesn’t mean it in any way but comforting.  It still doesn’t feel right.  

You begin with fiddling hands and eyes that won’t quite meet his, bouncing around the room like you’ll find solace in the muted light or the KAWS figurines that line the side wall.  “We met in school - second year.  He asked if the seat beside me was empty.”  You’re proud of the way your voice doesn’t break - how it steels itself through the acid that boils in your veins.

“We… were friends.”  The word has never quite matched what you’ve felt for him, even now.  But then?  It didn’t hold a candle to the torch you’d carried.  “He honestly became my best friend, or something like that.”  You try not to get too lost in the memory, holding tight to the present with white-knuckled fists.  “We did everything together.  We visited our families.  We went to Disneyland.”

Surprise fits itself into the sea of his stare, recognition flickering like a lighthouse.  You wonder how much he knows - if the nameless girl in Jungkook’s stories finally has a face.

“We were inseparable.”  The smile you offer is mostly playful, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.  “I guess, except for when he was with you guys.  But at some point, the friendship changed.  For me, at least.”  You fiddle with the long end of your belt, scraping indigo nails over the glossy fabric.  “I never acted on it, though.  I knew I couldn’t.  I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”  

“Then how…”  It trails off but the question lingers, hanging in the spaces between you.

“You know how hard he works.”  Yoongi nods - of course he does.  “Our last semester was… a lot.  I don’t think I’d ever seen him so stressed out.  We kind of let loose once we submitted our final projects.”

The little puzzle pieces you’re offering are slowly taking shape.  A part of you - the part that hates picking at the poorly healed wound - wishes you could take it all back.  You’re so close to the climax of the story and yet, you know it’ll be lacklustre.  It’ll fall miles short of the cinematic masterpiece you’re sure Yoongi’s expecting. 

There will be no grandiose declarations of affection and no heartbreaking rejections.  

“I made the mistake of asking him to spend the night.”  Heat eats up every surface of your skin, starting at the apples and ascending up over your temples.  “And then…  I left in the morning.”

Seated not two feet from you, Yoongi’s quiet breath is far louder than he means.  It puffs out of his cheeks in surprise.  “What do you mean you left?”

Whether the warmth is embarrassment or shame now, you’re not quite sure.  It all feels the same, red hot and humiliating.  “I left a note on my pillow.”  You won’t meet his stare even as you can feel it digging into your skin. 

“What did the note say?”  By the way he speaks, you think he has an idea.

“Sorry.”  

“Sorry for what?”

“No, the note.  It said sorry.”

If looks could kill, you’d likely be six feet under.  You’ve never seen so much exasperation - not even on your professor’s face when you’d beg for an extension literally seconds before a project was due.  “And what else?”  

“Nothing?”  You say it like a question despite the fact you know the answer.

He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  You’re practically gnawing a hole through your cheek.

“Then what happened?”

“We didn’t talk.”  

“At all?”  Watching him grow incrementally more frustrated is like observing an overworked stay-at-home mom losing her cool at the supermarket.  It feels bad, discouraging, but you can’t look away.  Not even when he stares at you like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met.

“I mean…” 

His expression begs you to spit it out.

“He tried once or twice, a few weeks later.  But I still felt so bad so I didn’t say anything back.  And then he stopped trying.”  You know you’d let the silence go on too long, allowing the awkward tension to mutate into something worse.  You’re not stupid.

The longest sigh greets your ears.  “You guys slept together and then you ghosted him.”

When he puts it like that, it sounds infinitely worse.  You frown deeply, shaking your head.  It wasn’t like that.  It was different - necessary. 

“I didn’t ghost him!”

“You left a sticky note!”

“Because I didn’t want him to regret it!  I didn’t want him to feel weird.”

“You honestly thought leaving your so-called best friend a note was better than talking to them?”  The way he utters the title makes you squirm in your seat.  You shouldn’t be surprised, though.  If you’ve learned anything over the last ten months, it’s that Min Yoongi does not mince words.  Not when it’s important.

“I was scared.”  It’s not an excuse;  it sounds like one. 

“Things are scary.  You get over it.”  He has a point.

“It doesn’t matter now.”   Unfortunately, so do you.

“I guess not.”

FLASHBACK Friday, June 21, 2019.  12 PM. 

When he wakes up, it’s like the end of the world - except not with a whimper, but with a bang.

The evil monkey that comes out of hiding after he’s had too much to drink is loud and unbothered, clanging its stupid gold cymbals hard enough to rattle his teeth in his skull.  The sound bounces around in his ears, digging past his usual post-drinking haze to directly assault his senses.

Rolling over doesn’t help.  In fact, it somehow makes it worse, the sudden motion bringing about a tidal wave of nausea.

The feeling rises and crests, threatening to swallow him whole when he rolls onto his front and yanks his legs up beneath him.  Face pressed into the warm topside of the pillow, he curls his arms around the underside and takes three deep breaths, trying his best to alleviate the discomfort in his chest. 

It works albeit poorly, like the second wave is coming, creeping up just beyond the horizon.

“Fuck.”  It’s grumbled into the soft cloth he’s presently trying to suffocate himself with.  Jungkook whines another sound - not as loud as the clattering in his head or even very clear - and presses deeper into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

God, he feels awful.  You were right - he definitely shouldn’t have had so much to drink. 

You.  

The same you who had tried to go shot for shot with him over dinner, only to tap out when he wrenched another glossy green bottle open.  The same you who had held his hand on the way back to your side of campus and laughed when he’d crowded you in the elevator, pressing sloppy kisses all over your neck and shoulders.  The same you who had moaned his name so prettily he can feel it even now, stirring something in the pit of his stomach that feels a helluva lot better than the liquor-induced ache.

The you that should be at his side - and yet isn’t.

He blinks owlishly against the straining morning light, how it fades in through your half-drawn blinds and spills over your side of the empty bed.  A hand reaches - slow, because he’s still not in full control of his motor functions - and slips over the cotton.  

It’s cold.  

Another blink, another pat of his hand.  

He’s definitely in your dorm.  There are photos strung up across the walls - taken by you or of you - and your familiar leather jacket is hung over the back of your desk chair.  Your too-many coffee cups sit beside your keyboard but your familiar canvas backpack is nowhere to be seen.

“Jiyeon-ah?”  It’s more gravel and sleep than anything remotely coherent.  He tries again.

Silence settles in the enclosed space and he wishes it’d do the same in his head.  Where were you?

The flat of his palm roves across your sheets, fingers seeking out the cold hard surface of his phone.  Maybe he’d left it in his pants?  That seems probable but they’re also not on his person, likely left in a pile at the foot of the bed - along with his underwear and socks - and well, he’s terribly lazy.

Lazy and still way too hungover.  

So Jungkook lays there and waits, comfortable in the bed he’s been in more than once, more than twice, more times than he can count on both hands.  He tosses and he turns, not quite patient but also not ready to face the day.  He figures you’ll be back soon.

Truthfully, he doesn’t mind.  Your dorm’s like a second home to him, somewhere he’s crashed a few too many times after you’d both trudged back in the dead of night after losing track of time across town.  He knows the sweet spot on your shower - where he needs to get it right before the water turns from mild to scalding - and the fact that you hide your favourite coffee in a crate under your bed.  It’s nearly as much his as it is yours, though he’s sure you’d disagree.

Either way, he could very, very easily fall back asleep.  He almost does.

The nausea settles and while moving too fast stirs it uncomfortably, he’s doing a lot better than he normally does.  It’s just this-side of relaxing, with time that doesn’t pass in screeches and lulls, rather simply sliding by in the transition of red numbers on your bedside clock.

It’s only when he realizes that it’s been nearly two hours that he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should get up. 

With an exaggerated grunt, he pushes himself to his elbows, entire body groaning with the effort.  While he might’ve felt fine mentally, his poor aching limbs were doing decidedly less well.  It’s almost like he’d been hit by a fourteen-wheeler loaded with booze. 

He sways with the force of it, nearly faceplanting back down on your pillows when he sees it.

A little neon yellow square with your messy, rounded Hangul scrawled in black Sharpie.  Three characters, one word, one broken heart.  

Mianhae.

It comes when you least expect it, straight out of the blue.  Your eyes are trained on the same colour that spills across the sky, the hazy clouds drifting in and out of focus;  the sun is playing hide and seek, splashing rays of warmth whenever you pass between tall grey buildings.

“I love you.”  Three words.  That’s all.

They roll off Taehyung’s tongue as easily as a breath from his lungs, filling the spacious interior of his German-built sports car.  There’s nowhere for the proclamation to go, caught between four walls and two bodies and your wide-eyed stare.  Not that he can even turn to admire the way your eyebrows have shot into your hairline, how your mouth gapes open like a fish out of water.  He’d still probably call you cute.  You know him.

“What?”  You’ve found yourself repeating this same word a lot lately.  With Jungkook, with Yoongi, and now, with your boyfriend, who seems terribly smug and not at all bothered.

He’s staring straight ahead, focused on the road in a way that you know isn’t wholly natural.  You’ve spent enough time in this car with him, with his hand gripping yours, to know that driving is second nature and he does it like he does everything else - effortlessly.

“I love you.”  It comes without missing a beat.  The edge of his mouth curls, revealing his perfectly straight white teeth, and you can’t miss the mischief.  You’d feel wary if you didn’t recognize it so well, how it lights up his insides and spills out brighter than the sun above your heads.

You ask because it’s funny and not because you care.  “Are you pranking me, Kim Taehyung?”

He levels you with a look then, one just from his periphery.  You can hardly make it out amongst the dark of his lashes, the velvet that brushes over his eyes because it’s just a little too long now.  The hand on your knee squeezes experimentally, the cold metal of his rings digging into the soft of your thigh.

“Is my love a joke to you?”

“Maybe.”  It’s a challenge - a playful, proverbial pat on the cheek.

The sound he makes is a mix between a growl and a laugh and 100% adorable, sweeping affection across your face in stretches, apples of your cheeks pulling wide.  “You’re lucky - I still love you anyway.”

Every time he says it, it’s a little less jarring.  

“You love me.”  You repeat it not for the sake of doing so but to taste it on your tongue, to feel its weight.  It’s much lighter than you’d anticipated, spun fairy floss and strawberry-scented bubbles rather than a newfound burden.  It fills you without expectation, fitting itself in the little cracks and crevices without demanding more.  Still, you want to give in return.  It feels right.  “I love you, too.”

Just like you love the smile that spreads like wildfire, boxy and distinctly him.  It’s so endearing you swear you feel your heart trip in your chest, lovesick and enamoured.  

He says it more to make you laugh than anything.  “I know.”  

You roll your eyes and meet him over the centre console, grateful that he’s found his familiar spot right down the street from his parents’ expansive home.  You appreciate the little moments kept just for the two of you;  you cherish them more than you can say, tucking them neatly into your pockets and behind your ears.

He presses forward for a kiss.  You smell like citrus and floral - Sicilian lemons and just-bloomed lilacs - a scent he thinks he’ll never forget.  When he rearranges himself in his seat, turning enough to drag you just that bit closer, he’s greeted with the sticky sweet musk - tonka beans and neroli - hidden beneath the curtain of your dark hair.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve got dinner in ten minutes or you’re sitting in the brightly lit street like two nervous high school students after a first date.  

This time is for him and for you - a celebration of sorts.

So he kisses you again, though it’s not quite kissing.  It’s more like worshipping and he takes his time doing it, wordless devotion roving over every inch he can possibly reach.  He treats you like a god or a deity, treasuring you like you might grant him his heart’s greatest wish or that maybe you already have.  It’s nice to imagine that.

“I love your bedhead.”  Which is where he starts, right at your temple.  They’re the softest presses - barely there trails of his dry, slightly chapped lips.  He inhales that familiar lemony scent as he deposits sweetness in its wake - over your eyelids and down.  

The line of his nose meets the contour of your cheekbone and he’s littering tender kisses along the rounded edge, all the way up to your ear.  There’s a beat of hesitation - a will he, won’t he - before he drops his head further, nosing past the sensitive spot where neck and shoulder meet to brush over the column of your throat.  It’s almost innocent until enamel catches, not nearly hard enough to blossom any colour but enough to draw forth the quietest sigh.

“And I love the way you sound.”  The lecherous grin he offers is far too handsome.  It doesn’t pull disgust and reproach as it should, especially not paired with the dainty kiss to your wrist.  He lingers there, over blue veins that jump beneath his touch, and only moves onto the back of your hand once you huff an almost imperceptible sigh of impatience.

You receive five more kisses - one to each of your fingertips.

“I just love you.”  

author note.  three more chapters to go.  ty for reading, as always!  xo

[etherealwaifgoddess]

But Then Came You - Chpt.1

Summary: Loki tries to plan his next moves after being dropped off in a post Decimation New York City. Master list can be found HERE.

Content Warnings: A sassy reader not afraid to call Loki out on his bullshit

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! The first chapter is here! Woo. I know I said 6pm but I literally have no chill when it comes to this fic. There’s no long build up in this one, just straight to our main characters meeting. I hope you enjoy! Chapters will be posted daily. XOXO - Ash

Chapter One

New York is a shell of the bustling metropolis it once was. Loki wanders the half filled streets quietly planning his next move, still unsure of what to do. The Eluskans had been kind enough to drop him off on Earth since he had nowhere else to go. The fall of Asgard still weighed heavily on his mind, his home planet which thrived for millennia gone in a fiery apocalypse. He had been given a few thousand dollars of US currency and a change of clothes to help get him on his way. They really were the kindest people. Loki had to perpetually bite his tongue so as not to lash out at them for trying to help. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t understand what they had done in bringing him back. Their intentions were good but it doesn’t erase the dreams and memories that have haunted Loki since his resurrection. 

The city feels empty in the wake of The Decimation. It had taken Loki a full day of walking through the abandoned neighborhoods to fully understand what had occurred on Earth over the past few weeks. New York was doing what it did best though; the communities were rallying round each other, helping support those displaced by the loss of family and friends. 

The summer heat wears on Loki and he starts looking for somewhere he can cool off for a bit. He’s hesitant to use his seidr to relieve himself of the heat as it’s been spotty at best since he was brought back. The healers advised it would take some time to return to its former strength after all he’d been through. They had encouraged him to practice with it daily to help strengthen it, like one would do for a weakened muscle. Loki wants little to do with his seidr however. It was the reason they had found his body, the incessant little spark that refused to die, and had also led to his resurrection.

The cafe is empty except for the two baristas who are deep in conversation when Loki enters. He’s running on three days of no sleep and needs the small relief caffeine will bring. The icy blast of air conditioning is helping his fatigue as well and Loki hopes he will be able to linger with his drink for a while without disturbing anyone. 

“What can I get you?” The overly cheerful blonde barista asks him. Her name tag reads “Sunny” and Loki almost chuckles at how appropriate that is.

“Espresso, please. A quad shot.” Loki requests. 

“Anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

“Name for the cup?”

“Loki” 

Your head snaps up at the name. It’s too rare to be anyone else. “Holy forking shirtballs you’re him! I mean, you’re… you.” You blurt out at an embarrassingly loud volume. 

Loki stares at you like you’ve sprouted six heads. “I beg your pardon?” His tone is almost offended, but mostly baffled by your outburst.

“Sorry, I binge-watched The Good Place on Netflix last weekend. And I didn’t mean to call you out like that, I just… know of you. Never expected to meet you face to face like this though.” 

“The Good Place? Netflix?” Loki is still lost, now bordering on irritated. You speak in the hurried way he’s come to associate with youth, your gestures animated as you talk. If he can’t be served his drink here he’ll have to trudge along for who knows how long until he can find another cafe or, Norns forbid, a Starbucks. 

“It’s a show. And you know, Netflix. The streaming service?”

Loki stares blankly at you.

You’re certain your face is the same shade as a tomato as you continue to flounder for words around him. “Or I guess you probably don’t know. I’m sorry. You know that filter most people have between their brains and their mouths? I don’t have one of those. So I’m gonna go get your espresso and leave you alone now. Sorry, again, really.” You slink away to the espresso bar and start queuing up his shots, praying that the ground will just open up and swallow you whole so you don’t have to face Loki again. 

Sunny gives Loki a grin and a half shrug, “You’ll have to forgive Y/N. I wish I could say she’s not normally quite that awkward but she totally is. She means well, you just got her a little starstruck.” 

“Starstruck?” Loki raises an eyebrow at Sunny in disbelief. 

“Yeah, totally.” Sunny nods enthusiastically, “You’re a literal god. Who wouldn’t be?” 

“It’s not the reaction I get from most Midgardians.” He confesses. 

“Oh right, because of the whole ‘trying to take over New York’ thing.” 

Loki nods at her assumption.

“You don’t have to worry about that with us.” Sunny assures him, “Matter of fact, Y/N did a whole paper on it our first year at Columbia. I think she did it just to piss off our psych professor but it was some of her best work. She argued that it was proof anyone can be peer pressured into anything.”

“Peer pressure?!” Loki sputters incredulously. 

“Well, yeah. I mean, Y/N can explain it better, but basically she drew parallels between Thanos preying on your weaknesses, ie. your desire to rule somewhere, and getting you to do his dirty work for him, to a bully preying on a weaker kid’s insecurities and pressuring them into doing something bad.” 

Loki scowls over at your back, displeased to have a deeply traumatic event reduced to something so simplistic. “I don’t think it was quite that simple.” Loki grumbles. 

You hear his grumble, unable to ignore the conversation going on behind your back. “It kinda was though.” You mutter beneath your breath. Or at least, you meant for it to be under your breath. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, was it?” Loki’s tone is bordering on venomous. “Please, come tell me how you know better about a part of my life than I do.” 

The blush that had started to recede flares up again and you force yourself to remain calm and steady as you finish pouring the espresso and turn to face Loki. You spent a whole semester working on that paper and stand by your conclusion. Like hell were you going down without a good fight. “I’m not saying I know your life better than you do.” You clarify, “But I do think the whole ‘Battle of New York’ business is a prime example of peer pressure.” 

Loki’s eyes widen, he’s surprised you’re standing by your preposterous notion even with him glaring daggers at you. “Do I look like an emotionally fragile child to you?” He demands.

“No, but that’s the point. It can happen to anyone. Maybe I’m wrong, but let’s get a few things straight first.” Your brain has gone into investigator mode and you’re in your element now. Loki waives a hand dismissively letting you continue, “Who sought out who? Did you go looking for Thanos or did he find you?”

“He found me.” Loki replies evenly.

“Before you met Thanos had you ever considered attacking New York?”

“No.” 

“Would you have tried attacking New York or any other place by yourself?”

“Well, no. But…”

“Nope. No buts, mister.” You ignore his scowl, you’re on a roll. Excitement is thrumming through your veins, his answers lining up just the way you want them to. “And how did Thanos convince you to try? Did he by chance remind you of all the awful things your adoptive family did to you? Hiding your heritage, denying you of your rightful throne?” 

“It was common knowledge.” 

“Mhmm. And he offered you a place to rule. You only had to help him with one simple, little thing. You knew your brother favored Earth, right?”

“He is overly fond of this planet, yes.”

“And Thanos probably hinted that you’d be ruling the place that was special to your brother. The brother that was given the throne that should have been yours.” 

“Thor and I have reconciled since…”

“But not six years ago you hadn’t.” You shot Loki a cocky grin, you had him right where you wanted him. “So let’s recap, shall we? A more powerful person reached out to you, reminded you of the alienation of those closest to you, played up your supposed right to rule, offered you a chance to do so, and get back at your brother in the process. He offered you everything you could possibly want and the means to get it. Despite the means being wrong and you knowing they were wrong. Sounds like a bully and peer pressure to me.” 

Loki scowled harder to suppress the smirk that was trying to upturn his lips. You had impressed him more in five minutes than anyone else had in five hundred years. “Insightful little Midgardian. I don’t agree with your theory but you clearly put a lot of thought behind it.” 

“I did, thanks. But how are you here? The news said you died in transit to Earth from Asgard. Not like you haven’t fake died before, but still. It seemed pretty legit this time.” 

“The news was correct, I did die. And now I’m here. Waiting on that espresso you’re holding.”

You look down at the steaming cup in your hand, “Oh, right. Sorry. Here you go.” You pass the drink to him and his surprisingly cold fingers brush faintly over yours making goose bumps prickle along your arm. “So, what are you doing here in New York? Other than getting a caffeine fix?” 

Loki takes a sip of his coffee, sighing softly in relief before replying. “I’m not sure yet.” 

You give him a half smile and a shrug, “Well, enjoy your drink.” 

“I will.” Loki nods and moves off to the table in the far corner by the window. 

You turn your back on Loki to face Sunny, eyes wide, your face splitting into a grin. You mouth oh my god to her dramatically and she stifles a giggle. Loki is only across the room and you’re not too keen on making a fool out of yourself again in front of him. Unsure of how long he plans to stay, you busy yourself cleaning the espresso machine to pass the time. You’ll have a lifetime of gossiping with Sunny once he leaves.

Loki sits quietly watching people pass while he drinks his espresso. The dark brew hits his system like a gut-punch and he can feel the drowsiness retreating a little. It’s enough to keep him going a bit longer and that’s all he can ask for at this point. He knows he will need to sleep at some point soon, god or not he’s still flesh and bone. Sunlight hits the curly golden brown hair of a woman across the street and images of his mother blossom in his mind unbidden. The ache in his chest threatens to double him over but he steels himself, clenching the cup in his hand as hard as he dares without crushing it. 

Your eyes keep wandering back to Loki who’s transfixed looking out the cafe window. You try to keep busy but it’s difficult with him so near by. You’d seen many pictures of him and learned so much while working on your paper; it’s no surprise he’s attractive but you had clearly underestimated how attractive he is in person. You notice the second Loki sees something upsetting, the way his eyes darken and his face takes on a haunted expression. You give up pretending you’re unaffected by his presence and head across the room, settling down in the chair opposite him at the table. “You okay?” You ask him softly.

Loki’s eyes remain staring outside and you wonder for a moment if he’d heard you. “I’m fine.” He says finally. 

“I doubt that.” 

Loki’s reply is a perturbed frown in your direction.

“Look, I don’t expect you to talk to me. But I’m guessing some shit went down or else you wouldn’t be sitting here sipping espresso and looking like you’re about to pass out.”

“Some shit indeed.” He bites out deprecatingly. 

“Do you at least have a place to stay?”

“I’ll find one easy enough.” 

“Not right now you won’t. It’s move in weekend for the colleges around here. Plus all the people displaced by The Decimation. There won’t be a free hotel room in the city until at least  next week.” 

Loki curses internally. He can’t just wander around aimlessly until he passes out somewhere like a homeless person. Showing up at SHIELD’s front door asking for a room isn’t an option either, he’s still persona non grata with the organization. He doesn’t think they’re still actively hunting for him though. Loki had been told Thor was unavailable when he’d tried to reach out the day he arrived on Earth and he didn’t push, mostly out of fear of rejection. He’s momentarily consumed with agony and anguish again, thinking of his brother and his current aimlessness in this changed world. This is what he had been brought back into, a painful, useless existence. 

You watch him struggling internally and you can’t just sit idly by. “If you need a place to crash, Sunny and I live a few blocks over with our friend Chelsi. We had another roommate but she graduated and we haven’t found a new one yet. You’d have a bed and a safe place to stay until you find somewhere else to go.” 

Loki looks at you then, meeting your eyes and it makes your breath catch in your throat. He makes a hum sound that isn’t a no and it spurs you on. “I know I’m a stranger but you probably don’t have many friends in the city and I really just want to help. Take your time deciding, we have books over there to be borrowed if you want to just hang out and read for a bit. My shift ends in two hours and….”

Loki cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “Stop talking for a minute, will you.” He knows he’s in a tough spot and you have managed to both intrigue and amuse him in the short time since he met you. It’s entirely possible you’re being genuine and want to help but you could also be an assassin. He can't be too careful and he has to be certain. Taking your hands in his, he stares into your eyes and lets his seidr flow through him into you. You feel a sight rush, like when you stand up too fast and your blood pressure drops, and you hold on tightly to his cold hands. Loki searches quickly through your memories and thoughts, digging deep down to the core of your being until he’s satisfied he’s seen enough. There are things buried deep he knows you probably won’t appreciate him seeing but he can be discreet. 

Loki holds on to your hands just a moment longer than he needs to, letting your memories wash over him. You at five, running around the playground with your friends and inviting a sad looking little blonde girl to join you. You at ten, laying outside in the dark with the same little blonde girl looking much happier as you study the stars. You and the girl, recognizable as Sunny now, at fifteen when your parents died and you move your things into the guest room next to hers. You at twenty, moving into your first real apartment off campus, excited and terrified all at once. Hundreds of other memories flutter by as well, blurring together to make up your lifetime. School days and old friends, boyfriends and a few bad breakups, vacations and quiet moments spent at home. Loki is soothed by the simple ordinary memories distracting him from his own past. Regretfully he pulls his hands back, breaking the spell of the moment. 

“What did you do?” You ask in a hushed tone. You aren’t angry, just curious.

Loki swallows hard, relieved you have forgiven his intrusion. “I had to be sure you weren’t a threat.”

“You could have just asked.” You point out. 

“And you could have lied.” 

“Touché. So, what did you find?”

“Nothing of concern. I’ll take that room you offered.” 

You’re pleased he’s agreed to come home with you, hoping that you might get to know him a little while he’s there. “Okay.” You agree, unable to hold back your excited smile. “I’ll text Chelsi and give her a heads up. Sunny heard us for sure but,” you raise your voice pointedly, “she’s too damn polite to admit she was listening while she pretends to wipe down a perfectly clean counter top!” 

Sunny laughs and throws the rag down. “Mi casa es su casa, Loki.” She calls back. 

“Thank you, Sunny.” Loki calls back with an indulgent smile. He can’t help but be slightly amused by the pair of you. You’re both so young, the cheery optimism of youth still clinging to you and it's a breath of fresh air to him. He doesn’t look much older than you but he’s pushing 1,500 and after all that he’s been through he feels every single year of his age. 

“Grab a book or play on your phone or whatever until my shift is over if you want. Alex will be in at five so we can head home.” You tell him as you stand up and head back to the barista bar with Sunny. 

Loki wanders over to the bookshelf and pulls down a copy of the first book that catches his eye. Settling into a padded, dark blue velvet chair by the bookshelf, Loki loses himself in the book. He almost doesn’t hear you coming hours later when you stop over with a steaming mug of something topped with foam and sprinkled with cinnamon. “I figured you probably shouldn’t risk more espresso, god or not.” you tell him. 

“What is this?” Loki asks, accepting the warm cup from you.

“Chai tea latte. I don’t know what you like but this felt like it might be a good fit.”

“And why is that?” Loki takes a sip and waits for you to speak before he passes judgement on the taste.

You feel your cheeks heating. You won’t dare tell him your thought process in choosing the drink. Spicy but sweet, complex, an acquired taste, just like the god sitting in front of you. You swallow past the lump of nerves in your throat, “Just a guess, I guess.” 

Loki doesn’t believe your simple answer for a minute but he doesn’t push. “Well you guessed correctly. It’s good.” Loki takes a longer sip, enjoying the rush of sugar across his tongue. He would never admit to something as undignified as having a sweet tooth, but he will admit to himself that he’s enjoying the drink more than anything else he’s had since arriving back on Earth. 

“I’m glad.” you say over your shoulder, walking away to help a new customer who just walked in. 

Loki hums in appreciation, letting himself have just a few more decadent sips before his self control kicks in and he sets the cup just slightly out of reach on the table next to him.

[readysetstarker]

KINKTOBER DAY 19: FILMING

Read on AO3

warnings: underage peter at 16, peter/quentin, blowjobs, attempted blackmail, filming, psuedo-incest

tag list: @sleepy-and-depressed

—

The bass of some shitty EDM song reverberated through Tony’s chest, vibrating around his heart, and his head spun and swam with a pleasant dizziness. He was drunk as hell, barely tasting the bitter tang of the cheap beer in his cup, and the low-lights had been replaced with a cheesy multi-colored disco ball was perched on top of the coffee table.

His friends were scattered amongst the crowd of people Tony barely even knew, or didn’t know at all, which left him to wander aimlessly around until he found a body to pull against his own. Maybe he’d crash on the couch and join the potheads passing around a joint, maybe get some time in on the next round of beer pong. After all, the three hundred dollars he had given his little step-brother ensured the phone lines wouldn’t reach their parents.

Not that they were really step-brothers; Howard had married the kid’s aunt, not his mother, so they were more like step-cousins, if anything. To Tony, Peter wasn't even family, just some brat that he was forced to live with until Tony graduated the following semester and was gone for good.

He tried not to think about it for now. Tonight was for drinking and letting go off his stress. He was going to get drunk, maybe get high, and have some fucking fun. Step-brother be damned.

Or, so he thought. The house was dark, but Tony was pretty sure he saw Peter slinking off to the master bedroom, where their parents normally slept. Why was he going in there? The last party, Peter had forgotten to lock the door and had to ask Steve to kick out a pair of horny teenagers who found his empty bedroom and decided to have some fun. Tony never heard the end of it, so why was he wandering around now, after all that?

Tony downed the rest of his drink and tossed his cup off to the side. The cleaning crew would be there first thing in the morning to clean up the mess. He felt no remorse while watching it roll across the carpet.

The master bedroom was illuminated only by the light from one of the lamps perched on the nightstand. Tony slipped inside the bedroom and frowned, brow pulling tight together. He had been so sure that he had seen Peter, or someone, slip in here. Did he have the wrong room?

A pair of hushed voices, one of them giggling and excited, proved him right. Tony had the right room, and the right culprit, by the sound of it.

Peter had made such a big deal about not wanting to be seen, heard, or even thought about during the night. Tony half-hoped that maybe he had managed to invite a friend over and was just performing some weird fucking science experiment with them in the bathtub. Tony shuddered to think about his last escapade when that geek Ned was invited over. Tony’s hair hadn’t completely recovered.

If Tony was being honest, he had completely expected to find something as weird as an octopus in their parents’ bathtub. He wouldn’t put it past the kid to be hiding something like that over the weekend. And he would have preferred it over what he actually saw: Quentin Beck, the only student that came close to ruining Tony’s chances of graduating valedictorian, perched on the closed lid of the toilet.

Between Quentin’s legs, spreading further thanks to the hands on his thighs, was Peter, grinning up at him from underneath a messy mop of brown hair.

Tony saw red. Peter was a year younger than both of them, and Quentin would be eighteen in a week. What the fuck was he doing messing around with Tony’s little brother?

“You ever done this before?” Quentin asked as Peter’s hands slowly traveled up the dark, worn denim of his jeans. Peter tilted his head. “Sucked dick, I mean.”

“I’ve had some practice,” Peter answered. His fingers played with the button above a very sizeable bulge in Quentin’s pants. “Why, worried you’re going to get some shitty head?”

“A little bit. I don’t see you get around as much Tony does.” Quentin ran a hand through Peter’s hair. His button was undone, zipper pulled down, and his bugle strained against the thin purple underwear beneath. “But maybe that’s a good thing. Not as nasty, huh?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he palmed at Quentin not so gently. Quentin's hips jumping off the toilet seat. Peter’s grip punched a gasp out of him.

“Mention my brother again and I’ll leave you hard as a rock.”

Quentin could only nod as Peter followed his hand with a slow run of his tongue across the thin fabric. His fingers ended back up in Peter’s hair as he worked at leaving a wet spot over Quentin's cock. Quentin moaned with each stroke of Peter’s tongue.

It was when Peter’s fingers slipped between his skin and the waistband of his boxers that the proverbial lightbulb went off in Tony’s head. Sure, Quentin would probably not brag to their entire school about getting a blowjob from Tony’s little step-brother, but Tony could use that knowledge to his own advantage. Blackmail was the name of the game in the Stark household, after all. Maybe he could get the little shit to back off his wallet whenever he wanted to have fun.

Tony quietly fished his phone out of his pocket and opened up the camera. Recording started the moment Peter pulled Quentin’s dick and balls out, ducking his head to drag his tongue along the base, one of his other hands coming up to play with Quentin’s sac. His hips jumped again, a hiss spitting between his teeth. Quentin’s fingers tightened in Peter's hair.

Oh, this was going to be good, Tony thought. Instead of having to pay for his little brother’s silence, he could flash the video and mention their parents. How would poor, sweet May feel if she saw her nephew sucking cock at his age, huh?

Tony could already see the mortified look on Peter’s face when Tony revealed his new ace.

Peter dragged his tongue up along the side, licked around the head, wrapped his fingers around the base to pull along the shaft and draw more moans from Quentin’s throat. His fingers seemed to tighten around Peter’s hair, pull him forward, urge him on to take more of his cock in his mouth. Peter took his time, though.

His lips wrapped around the head and he hollowed his cheeks. Quentin’s moan echoed in the bathroom. Tony shot a look over his shoulder, just in case anyone outside the bedroom might have heard them. When no one walked through, he turned back to the bathroom and his phone.

Peter had taken more of Quentin in now, bobbing his head. Drool dribbled out at the corner of his mouth and eased the way for his hand to stroke up and down where his mouth couldn’t reach.

The thought of Peter deepthroating, as fleeting and momentary as it was, made Tony’s dick twitch in his pants. He willed the thought away as quickly as it came, but the arousal lingered, much to his dismay. It was the act of seeing someone getting their dick sucked, he decided. It had nothing to do with Peter. He wasn’t turned on because the person sucking cock was his not-step-brother.

He reminded himself of that as he watched Peter pull off and let out a wet gasp for breath, moaning as he slapped the head against his tongue, sucked it back on. Quentin squirmed and threw his head back when Peter swallowed around him.

Tony hated how hard he was now.

It seemed to get better, when Peter’s eyes just so happened to slide towards him and catch him with his phone in his hands, halfway hidden by the doorway. Tony glanced up from the phone screen and met his eyes, face blank. He wanted to smirk and mumble  gotcha!  at him before running off. He already had enough to blackmail Peter with. Quit while you’re ahead, and all that shit, right?

Peter froze, eyes wide, lips still wrapped around Quentin’s shaft. Was he going to reveal Tony’s position, mention something to Quentin about it, jump up to his feet and chase him through the hallway to get his phone or bargain with him? Tony almost wanted him to. Maybe then he’d feel better about this idea now.

Peter did none of that. He blinked once then smiled the best he could around the shaft in his mouth. He kept his eyes on Tony as he took Quentin down until he gagged. It was a wet, gargled sound that sprung tears to Peter’s eyes and reddened his cheeks. More drool spilled down the shaft of Quentin’s dick, and Peter came up to suckle the tip while Quentin’s eyes clenched shut and he leaned back until his head hit the wall.

Whatever he said next, Tony heard none of it. He was too focused on his step-brother’s mouth and hands. Each stroke and movement demanded his attention. Fuck, this was getting out of control.

Peter came off of him with a quick breath, hand working hard while his tongue teased and swirled around the dark red head. Quentin was close, his breaths coming out harder and faster, and he pulled harder on Peter’s hair to get him to swallow him down again. Peter fought against his grip, eyes on Tony, as the last few strokes of his hand had Quentin shooting streaks of white across his face.

Tony bailed. He shoved his phone, still recording, into his back pocket and ducked out of the room before Quentin saw him. He intercepted two partiers from entering the bedroom, threatening to leak their credit card information if they so much as touched the doorknob. How he was going to keep anyone from seeing Quentin leave the bedroom with his brother in tow, he didn’t know.

He was thankful for the lack of light in the house; it made hiding the absolutely painful boner he had that much easier.

Tony pulled his phone out of his pocket and stopped the recording, unable to tear his eyes from the frozen frame of his brother’s hands on Quentin, drawing him from his underwear, with an absolutely hungry look in his eyes. He should delete it. It would be hard to explain to anyone if they used his phone and found it, or dangerous, in case they decided to spread it.

Against his better judgement, though, he didn’t touch the video. He closed it out, shoving his phone as deeply into his pocket as he could, and went straight for the newly-tapped beer keg in the backyard. Tony needed a drink.

[brennkinn]

Playing the Wild Card

Nov. 23, 1992, Columbus, Ohio; A prayer rally will be held for Buckeye Star running back, Tony DiNozzo, who was critically injured during Saturday’s game against long time rivals Michigan State. After leading the Buckeyes to a respectable 8 out of 10 wins, DiNozzo was on his way to securing a ninth win for OSU, running a routine push to ‘gain yards’ for the Buckeyes  - when he was almost simultaneously tackled by the Wolverine’s quarterbacks causing fracturing severe injury. The second tackle - striking DiNozzo as he was already tumbling from the first tackle - hit the OSU running back two low, and at a twisting angle that fractured DiNozzo’s T9 vertebrae. With that one small twist, innumerable lives are changed for better or worse, including four a world away and in Washington DC, who will feel the effects of this change but will never know his name or that he was the catalyst.

ブレンキン

Columbus Observer: Local Sports, byline Marcus Plennic. (pg. D1) Prayer Vigil Called for Injured Buckeye

Nov. 23, 1992, Columbus, Ohio;  A candlelight vigil will be held for Buckeye Star running back, Tony DiNozzo, 21, who was critically injured during Saturday’s game against its long term rival Michigan State.

After leading the Buckeyes to a respectable 8 out of 10 wins, this season, DiNozzo was on his way to securing a ninth win for OSU, running a routine push to ‘gain yards’ for the Buckeyes - which he'd probably done hundreds of times before - when he was almost simultaneously tackled by the Wolverine’s quarterbacks. The initial tackle landed awkwardly on DiNozzo’s left leg, resulting in a complete hyperextension of his left knee, which tore three of the four major knee ligaments and severe fractures. The second tackle - striking DiNozzo as he was already tumbling from the first tackle - hit the OSU running back two low, and at a twisting angle that fractured DiNozzo’s T9 vertebrae.

DiNozzo was immediately taken into surgery on arrival at Ohio State’s Wexner Medical Center to remove any blood and bone fragments that may have accumulated or were threatening his spinal cord. After a close inspection of DiNozzo’s spine is unstable, surgeons determined it was necessary to implant steel rods to stabilize his spine and prevent additional injury. While his surgeons have classified the injury as "life-threatening", Dr. Laurence Ogilthorpe stated that it is very possible that the young athlete, whom many believed was on the short list for this year’s Heisman, will likely never walk again; however, the medical staff will not be able to know the extent of DiNozzo’s injuries until the young running back wakes from his latest surgery and they can assess the extent of paralysis. According to Ogilthorp, DiNozzo stands a better chance of recovery if paralysis is partial and if movement or sensation starts to return within the first week after the injury. If neither movement or sensation are regained within 6 months, DiNozzo may be permanently paralyzed.

Steve Walker, the RA of the Alpha Chi Delta Fraternity and DiNozzo’s fraternity brother, has asked friends, classmates, and OSU supporters to join the Fraternity, Football team, and Basketball team (whom DiNozzo lead to the Final Four this past Spring) in sharing their well-wishes and support for the young athlete in the absence of family, who are currently unavailable. The vigil will be held in the North East Courtyard of the Wexnar Medical Center, facing the intensive care unit, where he is expected to remain for the foreseeable future. The vigil is expected to run from 7:00 PM - 10:00 PM, tomorrow, Tuesday,  Nov. 23rd.

ブレンキン

Columbus Observer: Local Sports, byline Marcus Plennic. (pg. D3) Student Athlete will Not be Returning.

Jan. 8, 1993, Columbus, Ohio; OSU officials announced, today, that fmr. Buckeye running back Tony DiNozzo will not be returning to this semester after having underwent multiple surgeries following the Nov. 21st injury during the OSU vs. Michigan game. In mid-December, he was placed on a medical hardship scholarship and removed from the Buckeye roster while he pursues an extensive rehabilitation program. As of last report, DiNozzo remains confined to a wheelchair with only limited movement below the waist.

ブレンキン

Columbus Observer:Local News, byline Lucy Tolliver. (pg. A2) Israeli Prime Minister and Peace Prize Winner, Shimon Peres, to Give OSU Commencement Address.

May 31, 1995, Columbus, Ohio; Ohio State University announced today that they will be hosting Shimon Peres, Israeli Prime Minister and Peace Prize Winner, who has been invited to offer the June 9th OSU Commencement Address. Noting that while other universities may be inviting Hollywood Celebrities, OSU administration explained that OSU’s administration and supporters wished to honor their graduates by instead selecting a distinguished and reserved leader who could truly speak to the promise of their future. Due to tensions in the Middle East, OSU has received mixed feedback from students with overseas ties; however, after meeting with these students has confirmed that commencement plans will continue as announced.

On an interesting side note, the Israeli Prime Minister will have a possibly unexpected tablemate. In addition to the Valedictorian, this year, another student will be sharing the stage with the University President, Board of Directors, Ohio Governor, and Prime Minister Peres - Former OSU Running Back and graduate student, Tony DiNozzo, whom some of you may remember as the star athlete, who was tragically paralyzed in his 1992 bid for the Heisman trophy. After withdrawing from OSU on a nine-month medical leave, for physical and occupational rehabilitation, DiNozzo returned the following Fall semester to complete his Bachelors of Science before commencing on and simultaneously earning two Master’s. During the commencement ceremony, the Alpha Chi Delta Fraternity requested the opportunity to honor their brother with a presentation, the details of which were not released to this reporter outside of a blanket invitation to remain after and celebrate their brother’s personal, academic, and athletic excellence.

ブレンキン

Columbus Observer: Local News, byline Lucy Tolliver. (pg. A1) OSU Alpha Chi Delta Fraternity Recognizes Former Athlete the First Ever Award of ‘The Transcending Adversity’ Scholarship Created in His Honor.

June 10th, Columbus, Ohio; The intrigue alluded in my May 21st article regarding OSU’s planned commencement speaker turned out to be well worth the wait. The well attended commencement ceremony, opened with a moving speech from Prime Minister Shimon Peres was a poignant and impressive ceremony providing that provided a stunning glimpse of true academic excellence (see ‘OSU Commencement’ article above.); however, what may have been the most memorable element of this humbling event was the Alpha Chi Delta recognition that came after.

As noted previously, due to the DiNozzo’s wheelchair-bound state, DiNozzo had shared the dias with the Prime Minister and other Officiates during the commencement ceremony, and had appeared to believe that he would be escorted out after the hall cleared - up until the entirety of the fraternity chapter and both the basketball and football teams gathered at the base of the dias - when Prime Minister Peres, whom had apparently been conscripted or kind enough to distract DiNozzo as his friends gathered directed his attention to the assembled students and graduates before making his apologies and shaking stunned young man’s hand before departing. Whether or not DiNozzo noticed the Prime Minister’s departure was hard to say as I was too far away to hear his comment at that point.

Once the hall cleared of families who were intent on leaving, I and the families of the remaining students, moved forward and quickly settled as a young man identifying himself as the Alpha Chi Delta President began turned the microphone back on and began to explain the award:

"As Prime Minister Peres attested so passionately, today, we have been surrounded by so many leaders, our own age, who are idealistic and will be future leaders, who are conscientious and driven, who will find their determination and spirits tested as they work toward the future of their dreams… but there are few among them who have already been tested, in body and soul, in conscience and drive, and on having their future and dreams denied them have risen and fought to regain their determination, to conquer their flagging spirit, and to transcend the adversities they’d faced with humor, humility, and humanity.

In all honesty, to my knowledge, there was only one among us who can claim that he has done so; though, those of us who know him, recognize that he would never claim that recognition for himself, which is why we are here doing it for him. Tony DiNozzo, will you please come forward.”

After reading these words, it should not surprise you that the fraternity president, Peter Flomich, graduated with a Bachelors in PolySci and a Masters in Communication. The remainder of his presentation was equally excellent and poignant; however, our editors did not feel we had the available space to print it in its entirety, so what follows is a summary of what followed. After giving each of his assembled friends, teammates, and classmates the opportunity to share touching and often heartbreaking anecdotes of how the devastated athlete had struggled to not only overcome but excel after being forced to give up both his intended careers (a short-term football career to pay off his college loans, which would almost have been certain given his status before the injury, with only the Citrus Bowl remaining in what would have been his last season, followed by his long-term career goal of law enforcement), the fraternity president explained how - to a one - his fraternity and former team members found it unacceptable that he had felt forced - by financial reasons- to defer on the invitation from MIT to continue in the prestigious university’s doctoral program on completion of his Masters in Forensic Accounting and Computer Science - neither of which could be currently be continued through OSU.

Their solution, Flomich explained, was approach their fraternity and chapter alum, Buckeye Donors, boosters, and notable OSU to successfully raise a scholarship fund large enough that with the conservative oversight of the college’s scholarship foundation will be able support another six to eight full scholarships injured athletes at the same scholarship level, without any additional donations. With intervention from the University’s President, the fraternity arranged for MIT to hold DiNozzo’s deferral until after the award, allowing him to make the decision without financial concerns intervening.

The astonished scholarship recipient was understandably struck speechless for several minutes before he chokingly accepted the scholarship and was summarily - if gently buried- in hugs and congratulations from his friends, teammates and their families.

After having heard the many anecdotes that they shared about this impressive young man, I cannot fault their recognition of his inspirational qualities, but hope that they too recognize the inspirational nature of what they have done - and count themselves among the leaders whom we will be looking toward with respect as they make their marks on the future.

ブレンキン

Read More @ https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755071

[copper-wasp]

Ignis Scientia x Reader: Kisses (Part 2/?)

From an ongoing series of short one-shots regarding kissing our favorite pretty boy quartet.

Also posted to AO3

Rated: T

Words: 1512

You were humming to yourself softly, eyes flitting over the pages of the books opened in front of you. Your research paper was taking years to complete, and you rubbed at your eyes, trying to make yourself vision come back into focus. There was a few other tired bodies at tables near you, most likely all of them Masters candidates like yourself, everyone looking worse for wear as the semester drew to a close.

“I had all and then most of you, some, and now none of you...” you sang softly, flipping the page. “Take me back to the night we met....”

You stuck a post it on the book in front of you, closing the cover and moving it to the single bare corner of the table you were sitting at, pulling another huge volume towards you to try to glean some information from it that supported your thesis statement.

Mindlessly, you started singing softly again, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you.... Oh, take me back to the night we met....”

“You know,” a voice said, and you jumped, a loud yelp escaping from your lips. “You should be quiet in the library.”

You mouthed a ‘sorry’ at a student who had shot a disgusted look at you before catching eyes with Ignis, your fellow graduate candidate. You had met him at orientation, the both of you traveling hundreds of miles to attend this school, and you clicked with him immediately, sharing his dry humor and perfectionism.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you whispered at him, hand still clutching at your chest, willing your heart to return to its regular rhythm.

He chuckled, pulling a chair out and sitting down at your table. He was finished with his paper already, of course, and you narrowed your eyes at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear a single word about how I’m not finished with my paper yet.”

“...I didn’t say a thing.”

“But you want to, I can see it in your eyes,” you said as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Not all of us are as gifted with the written word as you are, Iggy.”

He looked like he was about to retort, but wisely kept silent at the steely look you gave him. Your fingers flew over your keyboard, typing out a few more sentences before the thought left you. You saw Ignis staring at you in your peripheral vision and you quickly glanced at him. He gave you a soft smile, fingers toying with the band on his wristwatch.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked, scooting his chair a little closer to you. A little shiver of relief flowed through you, grateful for his offer.

“Actually,” you began, pulling another post it off of your stack. You navigated to your university’s library site and wrote down a call number you had up on your screen. “You could find this book for me, if you’re up for a short walk?”

You handed him the note, watching as his eyes danced over tour handwriting, “It’s all the way on the third floor, in the art history section.”

“I think I can handle this,” he said, standing. He smoothed his hands over his shirt before turning to head for the stairs. You openly stared at his ass, lovingly hugged by the pair of tight jeans he was wearing for a few seconds as he walked away, not wanting that view to go to waste. You smiled to yourself, feeling your face get a little hot.

You took a big gulp of water, trying to focus back on your paper. Just 1,000 more words. Just a page or two. You added in a couple more sentences, and a juicy block quote for good measure, when your phone vibrated on the table.

Swiping to unlock it, you quickly read the text that Ignis had sent.

Iggy 👓 (9:33 p.m.): Can you come up here? I can’t seem to find the book you’re looking for.

You groaned, thumbs firing on the phone’s keyboard.

[Y/N] (9:34 p.m.): Ugh... yes. I’ll be right there. What did I even send you for?? 😋

Iggy 👓 (9:34 p.m.): 🤷🏼‍♂️ Sorry...

You put your phone in your back pocket, and hid your laptop in your backpack under the table. You made your way to the stairs at the back of the library, each foot feeling like lead as you trudged to the third floor.

This floor was creepy during the day and even more so at night, completely deserted, everyone who was here having parked their tired corpses on the first floor.

You walked over to the art history books, but didn’t see Ignis anywhere. “Iggy?” you called out, looking down another long row of shelving.

You felt an arm slide around your waist and you squealed loudly, pushing away, heart pounding out of your chest. Iggy was there, nearly doubled over in silent laughter.

“You fucking asshole!” you yelled, before clapping a hand over your mouth. “You fucking asshole!” you yell-whispered again at him. “I am actually going to kill you!”

“I couldn’t resist,” he replied, closing the distance between the two of you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders in an embrace. You squirmed, trying to get free, still incredibly annoyed at him. But he was warm and soft and comforting, and you took a few deep breaths with your forehead resting against his chest. “You looked like you could use a break, anyway.”

Tilting your head up to look at him, you met his clear green eyes for a split second as they flitted around your face, landing for a long while on your parted lips. Entranced, you moved a hand up to his face, placing it gingerly on his neck, thumb rubbing back and forth on his jaw.

He moved his gaze back to your eyes, and you sucked in a breath, face heating with anticipation. He pulled you closer to him, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. You gasped a little at the contact, letting your eyes slide shut as he moved against you. Your hand snaked around his waist, grasping at a handful of his shirt as you let him direct the kiss, your lips working perfectly in tandem with his.

Feeling bold, you snaked your tongue out of your mouth, licking at his bottom lip before he met your tongue with his. You looped both of your arms around his neck, as you didn’t quite trust your legs to keep you up. You lost yourself completely as you kissed him, a pleasured shiver working its way down your spine.

He pulled away first, drawing in a deep breath, and you leaned your body against his until you could will your eyes to open again. He placed a couple of light kisses to your cheeks, and you smiled at him, your fingertips playing with the ends of his hair.

“Not exactly what I had in mind when I said you needed a break, but I’m not complaining,” he said, grasping your chin in one hand and tilting your head up to place another sweet kiss on your mouth.

“I am definitely not complaining....” you replied, a little drunk off of his kisses.

“How about we get you some coffee so you can finish that paper?”

You nodded at him, finally releasing yourself from his grasp. He grabbed your hand, weaving his fingers between yours as you started for the stairs. He picked up the book you were looking for off of a table on the way, tucking it under his arm.

Sinking back into your chair post-coffee run, you heaved open the tome in front of you, groaning at the tiny, tiny print.

“I have zero motivation to finish this,” you lamented, giving a pleading look to Ignis, who was sitting next to you, taking a long sip of his drink.

“I have some ideas,” he said, moving his chair so that he was thoroughly in your personal space, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. He proceeded to whisper the most dirty things you’d ever heard into your ear; how he would touch you as he stripped off your clothes, where exactly he would put his tongue, and how he looked forward to what your face would look like as he made you come.

Your face was on fire, eyes wide with embarrassment as you felt his hand trail up your inner thigh under the table, mouth still forming more and more ‘motivations.’

Right before his hand reached its destination, he paused, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “But you’ll need to wrap that up before we can have any fun together,” he said, motioning to your laptop, paper staring at you in black and white as he scooted his chair away once again.

You had never finished a paper so fast in your life.

Thank you for reading!!

The song Reader is singing is The Night We Met by Lord Huron.

Find me on:

AO3: copper_wasp

Twitter: copper_wasp_

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 42

read chapter one 

read on ao3

The blinking cursor seems to be taunting him and Magnus doesn’t know how much more he can take before he throws the whole damned laptop off his balcony.

Dot had sent over his latest draft-- always so full of red pen-- but Magnus was ignoring the technicalities for the moment. September was officially in full swing and the next few weeks were dedicated to finishing the last hundred or so pages that would tie everything together. Magnus could pontificate all he wanted about how imperialism had fucked up so many colonies during WWI until he was blue in the face but none of it meant anything if he couldn’t also discuss the long ranging effects on the lands and people that were still being felt today in the twenty first century.

All things considered, his book was coming along swimmingly. Maybe the smoothest it’s ever gone, Magnus reflects with a wry grimace. But still, writing was never easy and he was wading through a mountain of information and condensing it for the everyday reader who didn’t have an academic interest in the topic, who probably just held an idle curiosity when they picked up his book from the history section of their local bookstore.

Deciding to take a break, Magnus stands, rolling his shoulders as he grabs the glass of wine he’d been enjoying while staring at a paragraph discussing the similarities between Zimbabwe and India that seemed unaccountably wordy.

He leaves his office, draining the rest of the wine with a sigh. He’d left his phone on the kitchen counter and as he picks it up, he smiles at the text that’s waiting for him.

Hope you’re having a good evening, babe. I miss you:(

Setting his glass down, Magnus takes a minute to reply to Alec. He feels warmth in his veins and it’s a familiar sensation, even if it does seem absurd.

I figured that if I wasn’t going to be seeing your pretty face, I’d get some work done. My book is becoming a pain in my ass, Alexander.

I miss you too-- How’s recording coming along?

Tucking his phone into his pocket, Magnus goes to refill his glass with the pinot he’d had with dinner, thinking about the past few weeks as he does.

Both he and Alec were busy as hell and a little stressed with it. The fall semester had started and with it, Magnus’s workload had increased immeasurably. Summers were notoriously slow and so the fall was always completely ridiculous. Magnus was only teaching two classes this semester-- an intro to modern Europe and a senior thesis course that he taught each semester-- but as students flocked back to campus, the department was inundated with stressed freshmen and panicked seniors. He had a handful of students he was mentoring this year during their Masters or Doctoral programs and there were two new professors who needed shown around and settled in.

Add his writing-- the book and a lengthy article he was a contributing author on-- and Magnus was in his element, albeit a little more aware of just how much was on his plate than he’d been before.

He blames Alec for that.

Before, Magnus had been able to lose himself in academia and its rigors. He’d loved every second of it even if he did want to tear his hair out and dreamed of nothing so fondly as running away and opening a bar on some far flung Caribbean island.

He still loves it but he's only managed to see Alec once in almost a week, so busy that it felt like he was running around like his ass was on fire. Alec’s schedule didn't help anything either, as he’s also inordinately busy.

Magnus is faintly concerned that Alec hasn’t left the studio in days. Every time they talk, Alec is just leaving the recording booth or getting ready to lay down another set of vocals. The past few weeks, he’s been at the studio all hours, working late into the night. They’d spent a few nights together last week and Alec was a dervish, writing and listening to demos and running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

With a small smile, Magnus wonders that it’s a good thing Alec’s birthday is next weekend. They could both use a day or two to forget about work.

Ah, but who is he kidding. Magnus shakes his head a little, exasperated with himself. He loves this, too. They check in when they have a free moment and they’d grabbed a harried lunch off campus late yesterday afternoon. It’d been twenty minutes of them inhaling burgers and catching up before Magnus had ran off to meet with his strategic planning committee and Alec had hurried off to a photoshoot.

They’d both leaned in for a quick kiss, only for it to devolve into something entirely inappropriate and edging on desperate before they remembered themselves.

It’s nice, this. Magnus has never been in a relationship that was so easy before, even when both parties were consumed with other responsibilities. He’s had partners who’d broken things off because when Magnus was under deadline, when work consumed him and he lost himself in the daily tasks that accumulated so fast in his position, they couldn’t handle it and resentment swelled. They always wanted Magnus to pick them, to cast aside his work and that was something that Magnus would never do. The very thought was abhorrent.

With Alec, however, there’s mutual understanding and exasperated amusement. They steal little pockets of time when they can and sometimes it’s enough just to collapse into bed together and sleep wrapped around each other before dashing out of bed the next morning to face another day.

Magnus is just set to head back to his study and finish his self-imposed goal-- another thousand words before he can call it a night-- when his phone’s vibrating. It’s after nine, too late for anyone to be calling, really, but when he takes out his phone an instant grin lights up his face.

He answers with a quick swipe before bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Alexander,” he greets warmly, resolutely putting off work for a few more minutes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just missed your voice, is all,” Alec says gruffly as something plays in the background. Magnus can’t help but wonder if it’s something from his upcoming album, curiosity killing him while he tries not to ask.

“You just saw me yesterday,” he teases lightly as he settles into one of the chairs in the living room, turning his wine glass absently as he loses himself in a few minutes with Alec.

“Yeah, well, that’s not today, is it?”

Laughing a little Magnus just shakes his head, amused at them both.

The sun sets as they talk, shadows dancing at the edge of the room. Magnus doesn’t notice the time going by until he hears someone yell in Alec’s background.

His lips turn up, tired now that he’s had a little while to decompress with Alec. “Duty calls?”

Alec sighs heavily and Magnus can just imagine his boyfriend running a hand through his hair, annoyed. “Yeah, we want to finish this song before we call it a night. I’ll see you soon?”

Raising a brow as he thinks over his schedule, Magnus offers, “I’m free tomorrow night after eight? I have class until then but we could grab a late dinner?”

“Sounds great, babe-- You could spend the night at mine after?”

“You read my mind, darling. I’ll see you then,” Magnus agrees and then they’re ending the call with last minute goodbyes.

As he hangs up, Magnus plays over the last few minutes. There’d been an odd pause on Alec’s side of things before they’d ended the call and he briefly wonders what it was about before dismissing it.

Maybe he’d ask Alec about it later, he thinks with a shrug.

Looking down at his watch, Magnus groans and tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling. At the rate he’s going, he won’t be in bed until dawn.

Sighing, Magnus stands and resolutely heads back to his study.

His book won’t write itself, after all.

The September sunshine spills through his office window as Magnus grades quizzes from his Intro class. His windows are open and he can hear the sound of students milling about on campus, even from the fourth floor. It’s perfectly mundane and as Magnus marks yet another question wrong on this particular quiz, he’s perfectly content.

The radio is playing low from his laptop and the rest of his afternoon rolls out as he plans to finish grading sixty multiple choice quizzes and entering them into Blackboard before going downstairs for his senior seminar.

His attention fractures, though, as he hears Alec’s name from the radio DJ.

“Hey everybody, welcome to the top of the hour. This is Deluca from Q92 and we have a special treat in store for our listeners this afternoon. Everyone’s seen Alec Lightwood’s Instagram recently-- he’s been posting pictures and teasers from the studio and rumours have been circulating that he’s going to drop his next album soon without notice. While we can’t attest to that, we do have exclusive access to the next best thing. Here’s Lightwood’s brand new single, Feel Something, reportedly the title track for Album number seven.”

Deluca laughs before offering one last teaser. “I, for one, can’t help but think that Alec must be getting some inspiration from that new boyfriend of his, the professor.”

Abandoning his work, Magnus’s total focus is on the music that’s started and he listens with rapt attention. It’s a little different to Alec’s usual stuff but he’s immediately enamored over the muted tones, the thoughtful, almost meandering tempo before he’s swept up in the chorus.

The words wrap around him and he bites his lip, thoughts racing. His own heart aches at the emotion in Alec’s voice and it feels like he’s pleading, full of hope.

It’s strikingly similar to how Magnus has felt the past few months.

The song ends and Magnus turns the radio off, instead opening Spotify and searching for Alec’s profile. The single is already available and so Magnus selects it impatiently before clicking on the repeat button.

He listens to the song a handful of times, losing himself in the lyrics and music and what he hopes to God is the intention behind it before running a hand through his hair and blowing out a heavy breath.

He doesn’t know what it means-- if it means anything at all. Deciding to ask Alec about it tonight, Magnus puts all the questions out of his head as he turns back to the pile of quizzes that need handed back tomorrow.

He keeps the song playing in the background, relaxing in his chair and smiling faintly as he draws a red line over another wrong answer.

The smile is wiped from his face a couple of hours later as he picks up his mail from the department secretary and sees a letter from Otisville.

He can’t help the dread that starts gnawing in the pit of his stomach as he carelessly tosses the rest of the bundle onto his desk, holding the thin letter from Upstate New York with tense hands.

Sitting heavily into his chair, Magnus debates for several minutes before sighing and reaching for his letter opener. Sliding the single page out of its envelope, Magnus unfolds the piece of paper and starts reading against his better judgement.

My darling son,

It has been a while, hasn’t it? You didn’t come to my parole hearing a few months ago and I have to admit, I was disappointed. I had hoped to lay eyes on you again, for the first time in years.

How are you doing, Magnus? You don’t write, you don’t call. You certainly don’t visit. I sometimes feel like I don’t have a son at all but then I am swamped in memories of your childhood, before everything went so terribly wrong.

I listen avidly for any news from the outside. You’re a professor now, I hear, and an excellent one at that.

I’ve read all your books. They’re quite good even if I wasn’t overly interested in the topics discussed.

But your life is so much more than just your job, is it not?

I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re in a relationship now. But not with just anyone, isn’t that right? You managed to snag one Alec Lightwood and for that I couldn’t be more proud.

I’m impressed, Magnus, even if I am a little surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you but here you are, following in the old man’s footsteps.

I couldn’t be more proud.

Tell me, what are your plans? If I may, I’d like to offer a few tips, tricks of the trade I learned along the way that might help you.

Above all, it’s imperative that you act demure. Don’t always make the first move. It’s important that you not rush him-- or at least make Lightwood think that he’s in charge of the pace. That way, before he quite knows what’s hit him, you’ll have maneuvered him exactly where you want him.

However, I’d advise you to say I love you first, if you haven’t already. Emotions are weakness son, so pitifully human, and people fall for soft words and sentiment faster than you’d believe possible.

I can only imagine that you have grand plans for marriage and so I must add this final point: Marry him as soon as you can and do not-- absolutely do not-- sign any sort of prenup or legally binding document. While I’m sure Alec’s a nice enough boy, this is not a love match, after all, and you certainly have nothing to prove.

A year should be sufficient before filing for divorce. I have a few lawyers you can call when the time comes and they’ll squeeze Lightwood for every penny he’s worth.

The truth is, I’m hurt that you didn’t come to me with your plans. I am an expert, after all, and your father. I only hope that now that I’ve bridged the distance between us, you will not hesitate to reach out as well.

I’ve missed you, my darling boy. I’ve been an outsider looking into your life for far too long.

I look forward to your call-- or letter, or perhaps even a visit.

Otisville is only two hours from the city, after all.

Love,

Asmodeus

P.S. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that my sentence was commuted. I will be released in eight years, not the thirty plus I was originally saddled with. I’m very much looking forward to seeing the outside world again, and most importantly, my only son.

Magnus feels resentment and overwhelming bitterness rise in his throat at his father’s words, so cool and cold. Really, he wonders, what could he have expected. Asmodeus could smell an opportunity a mile away and he did so love keeping a thumb on the pulse of the outside world.

It’s just like his father to assume that Magnus couldn’t possibly have feelings for Alec, that he was just playing the long game.

And don’t get him started on the postscript. He’s angry at the panel who allowed Asmodeus’s sentence to be shortened. He’s angry at his father for slithering back into his life with a letter that’s as insidious as it is unwanted.

He’s angry at himself for wishing, even for a moment, that he could have his father back, that they could go back to the way things were before his world fell apart over a decade ago.

Angrily refolding the letter, Magnus shoves it back into the envelope before grabbing his folder for his evening class and dashing out the door.

He doesn’t have time for this, for his father’s vile nonsense.

He’s built quite a nice life without his help or presence and he has no plans to backtrack now.

Magnus lets himself be pulled into Alec’s apartment with a laugh. He finds himself pinned against the hastily shut door and looks up at Alec with amused eyes.

He feels better than he has since he read that damned letter earlier in the day, Alec warm and distracting and just what he needed to mostly throw off this bad mood that had clung to him since he checked his mail all those hours ago.

Dinner had been lovely as always with the two of them enjoying a leisurely meal in a Chinese restaurant that Magnus had been dying to try for months but whose wait list was a mile long.

He has to admit that Alec does have some lovely tricks up his sleeve.

Relaxing against the door, Magnus merely raises an expectant brow as Alec studies him without saying anything. He’s just set to ask if there’s something on his face when Alec speaks.

“What’s wrong,” his boyfriend asks, apropos of nothing.

Magnus’s tone is arch as he replies and he tries to ignore the undercurrent of defensiveness that clings to the words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Alec dryly explains, “That you were your usual charming self during dinner and I’d go so far as to say we both had a good time. However, I could tell something’s wrong and now I’m asking you about it.”

Breath catching as Alec brings a hand up and sweeps a thumb over his jaw, Magnus lets his eyes close as he feels Alec lean in before nosing along his cheek.

“I’d like to think that I’m getting to know you pretty well. I know when something is bothering you.”

Magnus sighs before opening his eyes just to see Alec considering him with a steady gaze, patient and open.

Swallowing hard against the words that don’t quite want to escape, he manages to smile just a little.

“And I thought that I was hiding it so well,” he mutters to himself before resting his hands on Alec’s back, bringing him a little closer.

Alec huffs out a laugh. “It took me until the appetizer was almost gone to realize,” he admits. “But once I did, it was pretty obvious that something was going on in that brain of yours.”

He doesn’t say anything else, lets Magnus take his time to fill the expectant silence and he has a moment to wonder if Alec wouldn’t have made a great soldier, ducking and weaving and lambasting through the most stalwart of defenses.

He’s grateful for Alec’s patience, even if he’s well aware that he’s not getting out of this without telling Alec the shit he had to deal with today.

“Well, I had nine students fail a quiz that was multiple choice and open book today,” he offers, smiling a little as Alec rolls his eyes.

“That does suck,” Alec agrees. “But that’s not all.”

“I put a dollar in a vending machine on campus this morning and it did that stupid thing vending machines do where you almost get your snack before it stops turning and it's some sort of sugar purgatory where you can just glare through the glass as though you can will your snack to fall down.”

Alec laughs but still shakes his head. “That’s still not it,” he insists softly.

Magnus glares at Alec with little heat as he finally relents. His hands sweep under Alec’s shirt to land on warm skin and it grounds him for a brief moment before he’s sighing and straightening from the door. Taking Alec’s hand in his, he doesn’t say anything as he guides them to the balcony that runs the length of Alec’s apartment. The two of them settle outside in the warm evening air and look out over the city, settling on a couch.

Magnus lays an arm over Alec’s shoulders and his boyfriend doesn’t hesitate before crowding a little closer and resting a hand on Magnus’s thigh.

It helps being outside, out of the silence that was growing a little oppressive. The background hum of a city that never sleeps helps ease some of his doubt.

He’s mostly over it, is mostly secure that Alec won’t run for the hills, that this won’t be the final straw and he’ll decide that Magnus really is too much effort.

But still, the unease is there, niggling just enough to ache.

Taking a breath, Magnus says, “I had a letter waiting for me in my mailbox this afternoon from Otisville Prison Upstate. From my father,” he tacks on at the end so that there’s no confusion about just why he’s in such a mood.

Alec doesn’t say anything for a minute and Magnus feels the thumb sweeping over his thigh like lead.

“And what did he have to say,” Alec asks.

Magnus looks up and tries to decipher Alec’s expression to no avail. There’s no judgement, no condemnation. Alec’s just studying him with warm curiosity, acting for all the world as though he has no worries.

Magnus laughs caustically. “He said a great many things, most of which I’m loathe to repeat. However, if I want this thing between us to work, I should probably be up front.”

Alec arches a brow before turning to look in front of him, over the landscape. It helps, not to be the total focus of Alec’s intense attention.

“He told me that I ought to snap you up so fast that it would make your head spin.” Shaking his head, he continues, “He told me not to do anything that would interfere in taking at least half your fortune and he assured me that he could connect me with a fabulous divorce lawyer after I put in my due time.”

“How long is our supposed marriage to last,” ALec asks idly.

Magnus scoffs. “A year.”

Looking over at Alec, Magnus is a little surprised to see him smiling as though amused.

“Darling?”

Laughing a little, Alec just offers a half assed shrug. “What?”

“You’re not upset,” he asks hesitantly.

It’s Alec’s turn to scoff as he nudges Magnus with his shoulder. “Of course I’m not upset. Why the hell would I be when we’ve established that your dad isn’t the best guy around. This seems pretty in keeping with his character, if we’re being honest.”

“Still,” Magnus can’t help but prod, unsure at the easy acceptance he reads in Alec’s eyes, in his posture. “I’d think most people would be angry, maybe a little hurt, at the idea that I’m nothing but a gold digger.”

Alec shrugs again. “I’d hope that we’ve established that I’m not most people by now and in any case, what your father says has nothing to do with you. You told me and it’s obviously bothering you. I hope you’re not feeling guilty or whatever the shit.”

Magnus opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Alec just watches him, amusement glinting in his eyes at the way he’d managed to confound him.

Finally, he gets out, “That’s-- that’s it. That’s all you have to say.”

Alec makes a show of thinking before nodding slowly. “Yup, seems about it. What else is there to say?”

Swallowing hard, Magnus offers, “And if I told you that the letter also mentioned that his sentence was commuted over the summer and instead of getting out in 2041, he’ll be released in 2025?”

Humming, Alec just says, “Then I’d say that we’ll deal with Asmodeus’s release whenever it happens. No use worrying about it until it slaps us in the face.”

Magnus laughs incredulously. “Yeah? I didn’t take you for the devil may care sort.”

“I’m not usually,” Alec replies dryly. “But we have, what? Eight years until his release now? That’s a long way away and it seems like an awful lot of effort to worry about something we have no control over.”

Alec pauses for a minute before continuing, “Whatever happens, whenever it happens, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Magnus’s lips quirk up in an approximation of a smile as he plays over Alec’s words. “Together,” he repeats, question in his tone.

“Yeah,” Alec says quietly. “We can deal with whatever happens when the time comes.”

Magnus knows that his voice is overwhelmingly fond, that it’s betraying his emotions as he softly replies, “Whatever you say, darling.”

The two of them relax in the fading light for awhile afterward. Magnus focuses on deep breathing, relaxing his tense shoulders. All around, that’d gone much better than he’d anticipated and he wonders that Alec seems so relaxed.

The two of them open a bottle of wine and bring it out to the balcony as twilight deepens. Magnus has just poured his second glass and is taking a sip with a quiet, contented sigh when Alec breaks the easy silence that’s fallen over them.

“We should go somewhere.”

Lowering his glass, Magnus looks over to see Alec studying him with something indefinable in his eyes.

“Did you have somewhere in mind, darling?”

“Maybe,” the blasted man says cryptically and Magnus grins as he relaxes into Alec’s side.

“Okay, then,” Magnus agrees. “Let’s go somewhere.”

It’s Alec’s turn to look surprised as he asks, “Really? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Magnus confirms. “We’ll have to look at our schedules but I love travelling and I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than travelling with you.”

“How’s this semester looking for you?”

Thinking, after a moment Magnus offers, “I have fall break this time next month? I have about a week off. We could make something happen then?”

“Sounds great,” Alec agrees with a private smile. He takes a sip of wine before turning his head and nosing along Magnus’s hair, ducking to place a kiss under his ear.

Magnus sinks into the warmth that envelopes him at Alec’s easy affection, lets it settle into his chest and chase away the lingering shadows from earlier.

He starts thinking about plans and where they might go, what they might do. It all seems terribly romantic, if he’s being honest with himself.

A few days away from everything is just what he needs. Distantly, he thinks wryly that he certainly has incentive to finish his book’s deadline now.

As his thoughts switch to another route, Magnus bites back the question that lands on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t want to put Alec on the defensive, after all, and Magnus has always prided himself on being an adept hand at picking up on context clues.

The answer is staring him right in the face, he reflects with a grin, looking down as he takes another lingering sip of wine.

Settling back, Magnus lets everything fall away except this quiet evening with Alec, the two of them taking a few minutes from their hectic, busy lives to enjoy each other.

It’s enough for now. It’s more than enough.

[bountyofbeads]

Howard University to add golf teams after receiving sponsorship from NBA star Stephen Curry

https://wapo.st/2z5KgUj

“I was blessed at a young age that we could afford to play,” said Curry, who launched a mini-golf reality show on ABC this summer and is a frequent golf partner of former president Barack Obama. “I just think about how many kids, especially from underserved communities, have the talent to play but just don’t have the funds or the resources.”

Howard University to add golf teams after receiving sponsorship from NBA star Stephen Curry

By Wesley Lowery | Published August 19 at 4:00 AM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 19, 2019 9:56 AM ET |

Following a January screening of “Emanuel,” a documentary about the deadly 2015 shooting of nine black worshipers at a church in Charleston, S.C., a throng of Howard University students jockeyed for handshakes and selfies with the film’s executive producer, NBA star Stephen Curry.

Otis Ferguson, then a junior at Howard, hung back for a moment before catching the ear of the Golden State Warriors guard.

“Hey Steph!” Ferguson called out. “Let’s get in a round of golf before you leave.”

It was a well-calculated shot: In addition to being a three-time NBA champion, two-time MVP and perhaps the best shooter ever, Curry is a passionate golfer.

Ferguson didn’t hit the links with Curry, but they did engage in a brief conversation about their mutual love of the sport. In fact, Ferguson said, he had turned down an offer to play collegiately to attend Howard, which, like many historically black colleges and universities, doesn’t have a golf team.

That chat made such an impression on Curry that he is returning to Washington on Monday to announce that he is sponsoring the creation of men’s and women’s golf teams at Howard — bringing competitive golf to the university for the first time in decades.

“To hear somebody as passionate about the game as I was, all the while still pursuing their education at Howard . . . impacted me,” Curry said in an interview Saturday.

The cost of a collegiate golf program, including both operating expenses and scholarships, can add up to hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. While declining to reveal the exact amount, Curry’s team said he will make a seven-figure donation paid out over the next six years, aimed at giving Howard time to raise an endowed fund that would make the program self-sustainable.

“No matter where you come from or what socioeconomic background you had, we all were that kid once upon a time that was just excited about finding out who they were as a person through athletics,” said Curry, who is encouraging these players to make an impact, as well. The student-athletes who join Howard’s golf program also will agree to volunteer in Greater Washington with Eat. Learn. Play., a foundation run by Curry and his wife, Ayesha, that encourages healthy development in children.

For decades, Howard had a Division II team, which university officials believe was discontinued in the 1970s. The new program being financed by Curry is believed to be the first time Howard will have a Division I golf program in the university’s 152-year history.

University officials say it will take about a year to hire a coach, recruit athletes and figure out where the golf teams will practice and play. One option, they hope, will be Langston Golf Course, the District’s historic black golf course — named for John Mercer Langston, Howard Law School’s first dean and Virginia’s first black congressman. Curry’s announcement Monday will be held at the course in Northeast Washington.

“It’s a big opportunity for us to expose students to a game that oftentimes is played as business deals are decided and a game that generations of families can play together,” Howard President Wayne A.I. Frederick said.

Curry’s announcement comes as the sport — more than 20 years after Tiger Woods became the first black golfer to win the Masters — continues to see deep diversity struggles: The PGA Tour is nearly as white today as it was in the 1980s, a number of historic black golf courses across the nation have shuttered, and golf programs at HBCUs are struggling to survive.

Observers and historians note that while there have always been black golfers and caddies, the sport requires too much money and space to be accessible to many black children.

“It’s not a sport that is cheap for people to play, you have to travel long distances to get to golf courses, and golfers don’t get all of the ballyhoo that basketball and football players get,” said Calvin Sinnette, author of “Forbidden Fairways: African Americans and the Game of Golf” and a retired professor at Howard’s medical school.

“As a result,” he added, “the game doesn’t attract many young black people.”

Most often, it’s a sport passed down from parents to their children, which was the case for Ferguson, who spent his boyhood in Bloomfield Hills, Mich., swinging a set of plastic golf clubs, eager to join his father on the green.

He was playing competitively by middle school and made the varsity team his freshman year of high school.

That same year he took at trip to Howard, where his father and uncle had gone, as well as all three of his older sisters and several cousins. Captivated by Howard’s homecoming, Ferguson decided at 14 he would someday enroll, too.

But attending Howard would mean giving up competitive golf.

Few HBCUs prioritize golf programs, instead focusing the bulk of their resources and scholarships on sports more likely to generate revenue, such as football and basketball. Out of more than 100 HBCUs in the country, about 30 have golf programs — and none have their own golf courses on campus, Sinnette said.

“I think black collegiate golf is going to die unless we come up with another Tiger Woods,” said Eddie Payton, who coached Jackson State University’s golf program, among the best in the nation, for 30 years. In 2017, just one year after Payton retired, the university announced it would disband the golf program.

“It broke my heart,” Payton said. “It’s a damn shame that our university leaders don’t see the value.”

During the spring of his sophomore year at Howard, Ferguson posted fliers suggesting the formation of a campus golf group. He was unsure of what to expect, but nearly 40 people showed up. It took until the following fall for Ferguson to work out the logistics, and by the time Curry arrived in January, the club had begun figuring out where it would practice.

Curry was now squatted in front of him, offering to help in any way he could and providing his email address.

They touched base once, then Curry suddenly stopped responding. It was basketball season, of course. Ferguson decided to keep sending updates.

He emailed Curry to say he had found sponsors for the golf club and to cover the cost of tee times. He sent additional messages as the club competed in each of its first two tournaments. He emailed again to relay that he had had a short conversation with the university president, who seemed receptive to the idea of expanding the golf club into an official team.

Still having not heard back, Ferguson sent a fifth and final email to Curry in May, to congratulate him on the Warriors winning the Western Conference finals. Still nothing.

But Curry had been reading the emails and was determined to figure out how he could bankroll a golf program at Howard.

Like Ferguson, Curry picked up golf from his father, former NBA player Dell Curry, first joining him on the course when he was about 10, then spending three years on his high school golf team.

“I was blessed at a young age that we could afford to play,” said Curry, who launched a mini-golf reality show on ABC this summer and is a frequent golf partner of former president Barack Obama. “I just think about how many kids, especially from underserved communities, have the talent to play but just don’t have the funds or the resources.”

Once the NBA season had wrapped, Curry’s team reached out to officials at Howard to ask what it would take to restart the program.

“It was sort of a jolt for us,” said Kery Davis, Howard’s athletic director, adding that university leaders had in the past discussed the idea of reviving the golf program.

“Golf has always been a game of privilege,” Davis said. “An association with the sport can break down barriers.”

University administrators began working with Curry’s representatives to figure out what it would take to sponsor a team and whether it was possible to get things in place before the coming fall semester. Amid the flurry of calls to work out details, they realized that in the scramble, no one had told Ferguson.

He found out from a message on Instagram sent by Jeron Smith, a former Howard basketball player who now runs Curry’s creative and business ventures.

“I don’t know what you said,” Smith wrote to Ferguson, “but you inspired Stephen.”

The next day, the long-awaited phone call finally happened.

“I don’t know how to describe how I felt when I realized the power of that moment,” Ferguson recalled. “I was pretty much speechless.”

[xmanicpanicx]

What it’s REALLY like to major (and master) in Creative Writing

First of all, let me say that this was my own personal experience with a four-year-long B.A. in Creative Writing and subsequent two-year-long M.A. in Creative Writing. This is post is not reflective of everyone else’s experience in the same program or similar programs. Warning: This may sound like a ranty revenge article, but I’m not writing this because I’m bitter. I’m not all that bitter. Just a little bitter, like a splash of vinegar in salad dressing or something. Really, I’m writing this so that anyone who is considering a Creative Writing major can make an even more informed decision, and hopefully this will help them figure out if that path is the right one for them.

I started off with a Bachelor of Arts in English Language, Literature and Creative Writing, and after a semester, I decided to make it a double major with Communication, Media, and Film. I wanted to go into publishing. I held onto that aspiration for a very long time. It had been budding in me since high school.

But as far back as I can remember, I’ve made up stories and wanted to be a writer. Eventually, I got it into my head that if I always spent time working on other people’s writing, I would neglect my own, and I started to feel iffy about going into publishing.

There’s a lot of “advice” from my Creative Writing professors that I am going to challenge in this article, but I think one of the most practical suggestions they’ve ever given me and my peers was to get a job that doesn’t involve a lot of writing.

Not because you won’t be able to find a job doing so. Contrary to popular belief, English majors actually can find jobs after college. Some become technical writers, some go into marketing, some become freelance or ghost writers and editors. The problem is that if you spend your 9-5 being forced to write or edit for someone else, you lose momentum and motivation when you get home. Even if you’re one of those people who think they couldn’t possibly get tired of writing, the fact is that your eyes will be strained from staring at a screen for most of your life and your wrists will develop carpal tunnel syndrome as a result of your incessant typing.

It’s not that you’ll never make any money from the writing you love to do, but you will need a day job, at least for a while. And it is okay to pick something that has nothing to do with writing, something that will make you crave a return to your writing routine at the end of the day or the end of the week.

I understand, though, if you’re really dedicated to your craft and you think that the best way to hone it is to major, and quite possibly get a master’s degree, in Creative Writing. But if you truly are dedicated to your writing, you don’t necessarily have to major in Creative Writing in order to improve it. In my program, people from outside of the department could take the Creative Writing classes if their writing was deemed strong enough. Also, there are plenty of great online resources out there and books about writing that can help you strengthen yours. It can be intimidating to wade through them all, but make no mistake: a Creative Writing major and even a Creative Writing master’s degree won’t cover all your bases.

In my particular undergraduate program, Creative Writing courses started during the second year. We needed to apply with a portfolio showcasing what we believed was our strongest work. Around sixty people would apply, but only twenty would get accepted. Then in the third year, everyone had to apply again, and more people would be eliminated, so we would end up with about sixteen people in class. And then for the fourth year, everyone had to apply yet again, even more were eliminated, and we’d end up with twelve people in the class. By the time I got accepted into the master’s program, there were only six of us. It was kind of like an academic, artsy-fartsy version of “Survivor.”

Everyone was judged anonymously by the committee of Creative Writing profs, based solely on the strength of their portfolios. This sounds ideal, but it’s actually where things got problematic — because “strength,” unfortunately, was a subjective term in this department. We were encouraged to have diverse portfolios, meaning we should try to write in more than one genre. Profs wanted to see both fiction and poetry from everyone, even if some people didn’t want to be poets. Even if some didn’t want to be fiction writers. Creative non-fiction was okay, as well. What wasn’t okay? Genre fiction.

That probably sounds confusing because I just said that we were encouraged to write in a wide range of genres. But not genres within fiction. Literary fiction is what the profs wanted to see. Even after all this time, I’m still not sure I understand what literary fiction is. But I can tell you what it is not. It is not fantasy. It is not sci-fi. It is not romance, chick lit, horror, mystery, or most historical fiction. In other words, aside from the few literary fiction novels and short story collections that win the Pulitzer Prize, it is not popular fiction.

I’ve heard the profs refer to genre or popular fiction in many ways: trash, crap, the kind of thing that you can read while watching TV. One of my profs even said that Nora Roberts wasn’t a real writer. She’s written hundreds of books and has very high ratings from her readers, so what makes her less of a writer than, say, that particular prof I was speaking with?

But this was all stuff that I heard — and silently chafed against — after I had gotten into the very first creative writing class. Because I myself prefer to write popular fiction. I love fantasy. I love contemporary. And I would’ve submitted that stuff in my portfolio if my college boyfriend, who was a year ahead of me in the program, hadn’t warned me that I had to play to the tastes of the professors. What they didn’t like to see: genre fiction, poetry in the same style as Shakespeare’s or Wordsworth’s, and poetry that was left-aligned on the page and had a capital letter at the beginning of each line. What they did like to see: experimental poetry (think e.e. cummings) — HEAVY emphasis on that — short literary fiction, and fragments of literary novels that were strong enough to stand on their own.

Since the professors ran the program, they could ask for whatever they wanted, I guess. But here’s my problem with their preferential methods: as professors of Creative Writing, a term that encompasses almost every genre, their job should be to help students develop whatever kind of writing they’re into. No genre is better or lesser than the others. There are some marvelously-written romance novels out there, while there are some so-called literary novels that are complete disasters. The focus of Creative Writing classes should be to improve writers’ sentence structures, plot holes, character development and dialogue issues, grammatical errors, telling rather than showing, and so on. The focus of Creative Writing classes should not be to create clones of the professors.

And the thing is, I wasn’t alone in wanting to write genre fiction. About half of the people in each class I went through were right there with me. The others, though — the ones who willingly wrote the types of pieces the professors liked — were quite obviously favored. But I guess that was to be expected. What I did not expect was the way the profs, and even fellow students, would sometimes embarrass the people who wrote genre fiction. On top of that, much of their feedback wasn’t helpful.

There was one person in one of my creative writing classes who wanted to write a paranormal romance featuring a broody, mysterious guy. Sure, it’s been done before, but it was what she wanted to write. Instead of helping her improve the story for what it was, the class on the whole tried to make her steer it in a completely different direction. They latched onto a quirk that her protagonist had, something that may have hinted at OCD (I speak as someone with a partial medical diagnosis of OCD). It was just a random detail that she had included, but the rest of the class seemed to think that was the most interesting detail of her story and encouraged her to expand on it. In the subsequent chapter she gave us, the quirks were definitely more flushed out, but it got so far away from the actual point of the story that, to me, the whole thing just seemed like even more of a mess. The class told her what they liked, and she gave it to them, even though it ultimately did nothing to help her. They had their own reading preferences in mind rather than her best interests.

So, knowing that I probably wouldn’t get the type of feedback I needed for the writing I was truly passionate about, I spent years churning out pages that I didn’t care about all that much. I was a faker just to please other people, avoid embarrassment, and get good grades. Normally when you hear of someone “selling out,” it means that they’ve abandoned their style in for the sake of producing something with more mass market appeal. What I truly want to write already does have mass market appeal, but I abandoned that style, and I felt like I had sold out. I shamefully wrote in my preferred genres on the side, in secret. What a waste of time for me and everyone else in my boat, right?

It wasn’t until my M.A. when I took a course on writing children’s literature that I dared to submit a couple things I wanted to or might have wanted to expand into novels someday. My long-time Creative Writing prof gave them the thumbs-up. And one day, she gave me one of the most encouraging compliments I’ve ever received: “I think you’ve got a lot of books in you. Maybe you won’t write a hundred, but I can definitely see you writing thirty or forty.” She did not give compliments out easily, so I knew she meant it. And it was realistic. She didn’t tell me “Yes! Aim for a hundred! You can do it!” Most writers won’t even complete thirty books in their lifetime, so that alone was huge for me to hear.

But I couldn’t help wondering if she would’ve said that to me if, throughout my years in those previous creative writing courses, I had written the stuff I truly wanted to write. Was she encouraging me based on my contributions to the the children’s lit classes, which were closer to my heart? Or was she judging the entire body of my work that she knew of and therefore missing a large part of the picture? I’m afraid to know what she would’ve said about the things I wrote on the side. I have a feeling it would’ve been mean in the most unhelpful of ways.

Yet when these Creative Writing professors (and many students) are asked why they hate genre fiction, they say, “We don’t. It’s fine. It’s just that you don’t need Creative Writing classes to write that kind of thing.” It seemed like a polite way to say that writing for genre fiction doesn’t need to be good; you don’t need to learn anything; those publishers don’t care about quality writing. I thoroughly disagree. I think that the quality of the writing matters across genres. I think characters and plots need to be developed whether you’re writing a mystery novel or a literary novel. People who read genre fiction aren’t stupid. They can recognize poor writing, and to many of them, it matters a lot.

Not every creative writing program out there will have this snobbery, but I have a bad feeling that most of them do.

So here is my advice for anyone looking into a creative writing program for university:

Always do your research thoroughly. Look into the profs’ interests, dare to reach out to the department secretary so they can put you in touch with current students who would be willing to answer your questions, check out the graduates of the program and see if there is anyone you know of whose style you admire. If the professors (or at least some of them) are open to working with your preferred genre and the students don’t feel constrained by arbitrary rules, chances are it’s a decent program. Bonus points if the program has alumni you’re a fan of.

There are specific Creative Writing programs out there in universities for people who want to write genre fiction, if that is your main interest. Look into those.

If you’re considering post-grad education, an M.A. (Master of Arts) is not necessarily the way to go. An M.F.A. (Master of Fine Arts) might be a better option for you. Professors will warn against this one because getting an M.F.A. means you can’t go on to pursue a Ph.D., but if you don’t plan to get a Ph.D., that’s not a problem. M.F.A. programs are usually shorter (a year as opposed to two) and have a more intense focus on the craft than on essays.

Consider pursuing your Creative Writing education independently. There is absolutely no shame in being self-taught. You can also find critique partners and writing groups of people who have the same writing interests as you and who will be able to give you solid feedback on your work because they’ll have a stronger knowledge of the genre than a literary Creative Writing professor will. You have to do the same for them, though.

That’s my spiel. Long-winded, but it needed to be said. If you truly care about your writing, remember to put it first. Don’t invest in a program that won’t invest in you. Happy searching! And while you’re here, tell me, what’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever heard?

[thenyouturnedbitch]

Homecoming (Billy Hargrove x Named!Reader)

AN: This is so super fucking late I am so so sorry @writing-hargrove . I didn’t like the ending and I wanted it to be perfect for you and then I kept forgetting to post it. I hope this wait was worth it. Happy (belated) Birthday!

Warnings: Swearing?, mentions of Billy’s abuse

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Named!Reader (romantic), The party x reader (platonic), Billy x the party (platonic)

Word count: 2.3k

You and Billy Hargrove have only been friends for a few short months while at university but it feels like you've known each other forever. You both have a chic 80s revival style and you both are fans of a band called Waterparks. You moved to Texas to escape the drab life you had in Hawkins, you wanted to feel the sun but couldn't afford anything in California. Billy was in the same boat as you, though he moved from California to Texas, mostly to get away from his abusive father.

You had three duffle bags in your arms as you moved through the crowded hall, hitting people with your bags. It felt like you were saying "Sorry" every three seconds. Once you reach your room you put your bags on the floor and reach in your pocket for the key they gave you. You feel around for the key and realize that it's not there. You press your back on the door behind you and sink to the floor, "Hey doll, can you get up you're kinda in the way." You look up to see who was talking to you and your eyes meet a pair of  Prussian blue eyes.

You scramble to get up "I'm sorry I just walked all the way up here to realize that I forgot my key in my car and I didn't want to go back down."

"So you were having a mental breakdown against my door?" He says with a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Exactly!" You say lighting up and laughing at yourself. "I'm Rae by the way."

"I'm Billy, Billy Hargrove." You stick out your hand for him to shake it and he just looks at it.

"Are you not going to shake my hand?"

"I would but my hands are a little preoccupied at the moment." He says lifting the boxes he has in his hands.

"Oh, uh sorry. I'll let you get unpacked and maybe we can head down to the quad to check out the clubs." You offer.

"Not much of a group activity guy but I'll go with you."

You smile brightly "Great! Then it's a date. Well, not a date but like you know what I mean." You say slightly flustered that you embarrassed yourself in front of a cute stranger.

Billy was not a group activity person that's true, but you had managed to convince him to do Basketball and Skateboarding since he was good at those things, or so he claimed. You, on the other hand, joined the Drama club and the newly formed MUA group as you had an interest in makeup.

"Billy, sit still, please. I'm begging you." You say as you're trying to apply foundation to his face.

"And I'm begging you to stop, Rae."

"Billy please I just need to practice contouring on someone who is not me, please I'll be done soon if you just work with me." You say putting your hand on your hip.

"You owe me for this Rae."

"No, I don't my birthday is in three weeks."

"What, how did I not know about this?"

"I guess it never really came up."

"You have the same birthday as Sailor Moon?"

"Yeah, I think it's pretty cool. Now sit still so I can do this."

A few minutes later you finish and hand Billy a mirror, "Take a look."

"Am I supposed to looks different?"

"Yeah, it is supposed to 'shade areas you'd like to define or reshape, like your nose, forehead, chin, and cheekbones'." You say reading off of the paper that you were given.

"Really I think I look the same?"

You playfully push him "are you saying my contouring is bad, Hargrove?"

"I'm not saying it's bad, I just don't personally see a difference."

"Wow, if you're such an MUA then you try doing it."

"Okay," He says shrugging his shoulders getting up off the chair he was seated in "Sit down Rae, let the master show you how it's done."

A few minutes later Billy held up the mirror to your face "Mira, es bello como tu."

"Thank you, Billy."

"You speak Spanish?"

"Yeah, I took it for a few years in high school. Your contouring could use some work though. I look like I got into a dirt fight."

You heard your phone ringing from across the room and you jumped up to get it. Looking at the screen you saw that it was Dustin Facetiming you. You accepted his call and smiled when his face popped up on your screen.

"Hey, Rae- What happened to your face?" He says cutting himself off and laughing at you.

"Haha, Dusty. I was letting a friend practice makeup on me because he insisted he was better at it than I am."

"Oh, how is he? I still haven't gotten to meet him yet."

"He's right here, do you want to meet him?"

Dustin opens his mouth but there was a chorus of 'yes' from off camera.

"Is the whole party there?"

"Yeah, and they were supposed to keep it a surprise." He says slightly irritated as the faces flood the screen around Dustin.

"I miss you, Rae." You heard El say.

"I miss you too, El. I'll ask Hopper if you can visit me or I'll see if I can visit whichever is easiest."

"Hey, Rae, who you talking to?"

"Oh, Billy come here," you say waving him over "I have some people I want you to meet. They're some old friends from Hawkins." You shove your phone in Billy's face.

"Woah, Rae, calm down," He says laughing as the voices on the other end compete to be heard. Mike's voice came through the clearest "Wow, Rae he is as hot as you said he was."

"Michael Wheeler!" You scream through the phone whipping it back to face you "I know Nancy has talked to you about that."

"Aw, you think I'm hot Rae? That's so cute." He says while pinching your already red from blushing cheek.

You hear Karen Wheeler from the other end of the phone telling the boys and El that it's time to go home since it's a school night. "I'll talk to you guys later okay? I love you all and I'll try to come home during spring break I've been saving up for it all semester.". You hear a chorus of 'goodbyes' mixed with 'we miss you too's' from their end of the phone before the call ends.

"So, you really think I'm hot?"

"Oh my god, I may have mentioned that you were good looking to them once when I first met you. It was partially because I didn't think we were going to become friends and thought I would just get fleeting glimpses of you going in and out of your dorm." You say the last part very dramatically gripping onto the front of Billy's shirt.

"You're so dramatic you know that?" Billy asks placing his hands on your hips.

You feel your heart skip eight beats at once and you're much more aware of how close you two are, "I am in the drama club Billy, you watched me sign up for it the first day."

"I can be pretty dramatic when I want to be too ya know?"

"Oh really?" You say loosening your grip on his shirt as you look up at him with an eyebrow raised.

"I am one of the most dramatic people you know."

"Billy, I know the entire drama department of this university so I highly doubt that."

Before you were even done saying the last word Billy had his lips on yours and you were tasting the menthol cigarettes that he always smokes. As soon as the kiss started it was over, Billy pulled back and mumbled an awkward apology before leaving your dorm. You stand there stunned from the compulsiveness of the two acts.

You wake up to the sun shining on your face and you nearly jump out of bed when you realize what today is, the mood is dampened by the fact that you haven't talked to Billy since the kiss you shared. You go through the motions of the day and you try to facetime the kids at your normal time and no one answers, not even Dustin and he always makes sure to answer you, you were pretty sure that was because he had a tiny crush on you. The worst part of the day was the fact that you were completely alone on your birthday.

Climbing onto the bed with your laptop, you wrap yourself in a blanket burrito and turn on Brooklyn 99 when there is a knock on the door. Groaning you pause the show and unwrap yourself you head over to the door and open it but no one was there. You look both ways down the hall to see if you could catch a glimpse of the person who might have done it or seen who did it. You lean your head on the door frame and sigh reality setting in that you truly, one-hundred percent are alone on your birthday. You see a piece of construction paper taped to the white door and peel it off to look at it.

'I am the place where I first fell in love 'under the sea' with you'

The paper didn't have a clue as to who wrote it, so that made the riddle even more confusing and you didn't know anyone who loved you. The 'under the Sea" part had some significance to you since you were in a production of The Little Mermaid in one of the first few months that you were in the first semester. Still confused out of your mind you throw on some actual clothes to walk across campus in and head to the theater.

You saw another note on the door of the theater this one reads 'Where you left your room key on Moving Day'. Staring at the paper you start to want to kill whoever made this scavenger hunt riddle thing 'I left my key in my car and that's on the other side of campus by the dorms, which is where I fucking started.' you think to yourself and you begrudgingly start the trek across campus again.

The note on your card wasn't even a riddle it just said 'Go to the quad'. 'Why am I letting this paper tell me what to do?' you think to yourself as you make your way to the quad. On arrival at the quad, you see that it is set up for an event or something but it was eerily quiet and deserted. On one of the tent legs is a final piece of paper 'Facetime Dustin.'. 'Why is this paper telling me to call Dustin when I did once today and he didn't answer? How did they know I know someone named Dustin?' you pull out your phone and Facetime Dustin.

You hear your end of the phone ring, then you hear Dustin's ringtone which happens to be the Ghostbuster's theme song. You look around to find where the noise was coming from and you couldn't find the source because after a few seconds the sound is cut off and Dustin answers.

"Dustin, what is all of this? I am so confused, why didn't you answer my call earlier? I'm all alone on my birthday. Maybe I should move back to Hawkins, I don't have any friends here." All your emotions from the day came pouring out over the phone.

"Okay, first of all, Rae, calm down. This was all Billy's idea to surprise you so turn around." Dustin hangs up and you sigh, tired of this game and you turn around begrudgingly.

"Dustin, what are you doing here?" You say walking up to the boy and pulling him into a hug.

"Billy saw how much you missed us and offered to fly us all out here for your birthday on such short notice."

"Us?"

"Yeah, Us, Rae." You hear Mike's voice from behind you and you turn and see all of the kids standing in front of you. You feel the tears start to pick at your eyes.

"Get over here and give me a hug you little assholes." You say as your voice cracks everyone encloses you into a hug.

"Hey what am I?" Billy says left out from the hug.

"You can get over here and hug me too dumbass." You say as you are full on crying.

After the hug fest everyone is hanging out and you see Billy sitting by himself and go over to thank him.

"Billy, thank you so much for this. I don't think you understand how much this means to me." You place a kiss on his cheek.

"Can you not do that, God Rae."

"What's wrong? What did I do."

"Can't you see, I don't want to be your friend, I want to kiss your neck."

You get a really dizzy and slightly nauseous feeling, as the rush of all these emotions is catching up with you. You push your lips against his fervently, making him fall back a little. When Billy regains his composure he puts his all into this first kiss that you have shared.

"Wow, I didn't think he had the balls." You hear Lucas say and you break the kiss resting your forehead on Billy's laughing at the boy's statement.

"These kids are little assholes you know that?"

"They're a package deal with me."

"I'll keep this package forever"

"When do I get to meet your stepsister?"

"I'll plan a trip for that. I want to show you my beautiful California." He adds with a cheeky wink at the end.

You push him playfully "Billiam, you are so inappropriate."

"That's what you love about me."

"You're right."

[tired-pokemon-boi]

Pokemon FanFiction Chapter 1: Who is this Girl?

“Charizard use Flamethrower!” Alex yelled from below to his Pokemon.

He loved this, the feeling of a Pokemon battle. He could see his Pokemon high up in the air, dodging and flying around his opponents Pokemon. Soaring as it battled a large cream colored Pidgeot the large orange fiery lizard pushed itself backwards and blew fire from its mouth. The bird screeched in pain as it took the hit and started to descend from the air. “Use Hurricane!” his opponent yelled to his own Pokemon. Pidgeot opened its eye and caught itself a few inches from where it took the hit. It lifted its wings and started flapping faster, its wings started to glow brighter and brighter until pure white. From the flapping wings, powerful bursts of wind smashed into Alex’s Charizard sending it flying backwards and smashing into the nearby wall. Alex could tell that Charizard had taken a lot of damage, and the Pidgeot’s attack seemed to never end. The gusts of winds were pushing Charizard further into the white walls, he needed to act fast. Was there any move he had that was super effective against a flying type? He needed a plan or he would lose, there had to something he could…

“HELLO, I’M TRYING TO TALK TO YOU!”

Alex blinked as he remembered he wasn’t really in the battle, it was a battle simulation on his computer and he was actually in the school library. He turned to see who had poked his shoulder and yelled into his ear for his attention, rarely anyone talked to him from school. It was a girl, which confused him more. The first thing he noticed was her long red curly hair, she had it in a bun, the bun wasn’t like normal ones he could tell she had a lot of it and it seemed untamable. She was about as tan as he was, but her face was covered in small darker freckles. She wore a black tank top with a regular Pokeball in the middle with the words “PokeAcademy” underneath the Pokeball to symbolize the school they both attended. She also wore a red and black checkered flannel over top completely unbuttoned. He was confused as to why she was even wearing it if she didn’t have it buttoned all the way, I mean it was September and starting to get kind of chilly but why have it all unbuttoned? I mean didn’t she know he could see… He quickly made sure he was staring into her eyes. Her green eyes stared back into his for a moment and then looked away and he thought for a second she was blushing before her lips puckered, her eyes narrowed, glancing away from his and said to him:

“Is it okay if I sit here? All the other people are weird…”

 He looked around the library and knew she was totally bluffing. The library was huge, the university was made for hundreds of students that came from all over the world, so there was no way the library would be that crammed that you had no room to be by yourself. He could see there were hundreds of other places to sit, other tables, chairs, computer areas, and he knew there were many more seats past the vast number of bookshelves and cubicles. But she was cute and she did ask him. Fine. He shrugged and motioned to the chair in front of him. She plopped down in the cushioned seat, opened her messenger bag with a black laptop that looked as heavy as a brick. He smirked at her laptop that had stickers of Ponytas and Mubrays all over it, so she was a horse girl?

She blushed and glared at him, “This is the only laptop I had at home, I’ve had it since I was little, so hush. Plus, it still works… I mean it has kinks and stuff but… hush.”

 He smirked and continued to work on his holographic screen laptop that he bought a year ago. She began to boot up her laptop and fish through her backpack for a textbook. After finally grabbing her textbook she grabbed her pair of glasses that looked like something a very small child would wear and started flipping through the pages of her textbook. His smile widened, wait why was he smiling so much? He didn’t usually talk to people on campus, but more importantly he didn’t even know this girl! Yet though, her presence felt inviting and warm, he felt like he wanted to know this girl more. Usually the people on the campus annoyed him and he didn’t want to make friends. Everyone was an obstacle for him to obtain his goal, and he didn’t want friends, plus they especially didn’t want him…

“So are you going to stare at me all day, or are you going to tell me your name, small one.”

 His smile faded, he blushed for not realizing he had spaced out and had been blankly staring at her. He then quickly changed his face to be glaring at her after realizing what she had just said. Small one!? He ignored the nickname,

 “ummm… the name’s Alex, what’s yours?”

 She smirked as she began booting up her laptop and flipping through pages of Pokémon Types, The Advantages and Disadvantages,

 “Bethany.”

They talked for a while and he found out she was in the same degree and year as him. He also found that Bethany was a transfer student from the Kanto Region Academy school.

“Oh hey, I’ve been to Kanto! Well kind of… more like the Sevii Islands with my family. But that still counts, right?”

 She rolled her eyes, “No.”

 She then placed earbuds into her ears and began typing away after reaching the page she was looking for and began to start working on something.

Okay, back to what I was working on then, he thought to himself. He started at this school two years ago, took every class possible to get his degree finished as soon as possible and now he was almost done with this school. That meant that in two more semesters he would get to take the exam and get his trainer license and be able to become a real Pokemon Trainer. I mean, everyone can become a Pokemon Trainer, however if you go to college, get good grades, and do really well on the exams, you can have sponsors who will pay for your journey, since for some reason his parents didn’t want to support his expensive dreams. Alex used to live in Opelicud City, a place where you could see the beautiful and powerful dragon type Pokemon flying through the night sky, where the powerful gym leader, Drayden lived and battled trainers that dared to challenge him. His parents had always wanted him to follow in their footsteps and become researchers, but that was not something Alex was really interested in. True he loved to over-analyze, theorize and plan out everything when it comes to certain Pokemon and the way a battle could play out, but he didn’t want to be what his parents were.

 Boring. 

Plus, there wasn’t a lot of money involved into it unless you were famous like Professor Oak or Juniper. The most important reason however was that becoming a researcher took a lot of time, so you didn’t have time to battle and train and stuff. That was a passion Alex could not just pass down. Alex wanted to become a Pokemon Master. He wanted to go out and experience the world, battle really strong trainers from tons of different regions, use many different kinds of Pokemon, and become a champion in every region. He worked so hard for his degree practicing every night on the battle simulator the school provided. He started to go back to his simulation when Bethany chimed,

“You know those computer battle simulations do not help you become a better Pokemon Trainer, right?”

 He tensed and looked over his laptop again, “What do you mean? Of course, they do.”

He exited from the battle he was losing, opened the chart, and flipped his screen over to her.

“The Battle Simulator teaches you the idea of the 16 different types of Pokemon, it can show their EVs, IVs, Abilities, and gives you the ability to look at certain moves and whether or not they work for each Pokemon. It’s the closest thing to teaching everyone how to properly battle against all 807 different Pokemon including the legendary Pokemon and Ultra Beasts.”

She sighed, pulled out a notebook and opened it into a bunch of her scribbled out notes, “Yes but think about it, in the real-world Pokemon know more than just four moves. Plus, type advantages and these so-called “EV and IVs” don’t always mean everything in battles, they just might give you a slight advantage. You need to look at certain ideas like terrain, the care you give the Pokemon, the experience you have as a trainer, trust the Pokemon has for you, and the fact of the matter is, moves like flamethrower don’t have 100% accuracy boy, almost all moves can miss because Pokemon don’t just stand still in battle and let themselves get hit. How many battles have you participated for real anyway?”

Wow. He never thought of that before. He blushed at the second part of her statement- dang she could really make him blush,

“Not yet… I just got my first Pokemon since the academy only allows students to have their beginning Pokemon to second semester juniors and seniors. Plus, I never really participated in the school funded battle tournaments because well, I never had anyone to really participate with…”

 He had always been considered the loner since coming to this campus, and also the big nerd. Nobody really talked to him unless you count the professors who might know his parents, or some students looking for tutoring lessons on certain classes he was excelling in. Other than that, nobody asked him to participate in real battles. Probably because he was boring or too nerdy…

Her eyes bugged out, she took off her small glasses and closed her laptop loudly, making him jump because he was kind of scared for that laptop seeing how old it was,

“Hey… ummm, I know we are talking about something important and all but… could we get lunch first… I actually have no idea where the cafeteria is because today is my first day here,” she then poked his shoulder from across the table, “and I pick you to take me there.”

He sighed but smiled, who was this woman?

Hey guys this is the first chapter of my FanFiction that I will be posting every Friday at noon! From now on the chapters will be broken into parts so they can be shorter and quicker reads for everyone! So the next chapter might be 2 weeks long rather than just one.

If you liked what you read please like, reblog and/or comment! Feedback is super important for me and it will make me want to keep writing! You can also ask questions or send me stuff in my ask box if you want more in depth stuff about my story or you just want to tell me how I’m doing! Hope you enjoyed!