#i wrote this on a whim and half of it during class or instead of eating lunch dljfh

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

being right

Trent's opinion of Ted Lasso goes from utterly dismal, to slowly wearing down into something generally negative but with an edge of reluctantly impressed, to, abruptly, turning on a dime, into something glowing.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Dance With Me Under the Stars

@yeah-im-a-fae-deal-with-it, I hope you enjoy this! I had a lot of fun making it and I hope I did the wishes justice. Happy Holidays!! (Much of the imagery was based on the song Volcano by The Vamps.)

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

Word Count: 3993

It was mid semester and Virgil had arrived late to class for the first time in his three years of college. He hurried in quietly, taking his usual seat and pulling his books out. Almost shamefully, he grabbed his homework and walked between the desks to put it on the teacher’s.

He must have had the worst luck in the world as, just then, she turned around. “Ah, Mr. Storm. I was wondering when you’d show up.” Her tone was kind, no note of malice anywhere.

Virgil nodded. “I forgot to set my alarm.” His voice was quiet, barely reaching past the professor.

She nodded with a smile that seemed genuine. “Go back to your seat, please. Just as discussed yesterday, you’ll be debating Mr. Croft in a few minutes.”

Virgil trudged back to his seat, slipping past the others to sit in his usual corner. Feeling eyes on him, he looked up to find Logan Croft, a double major in zoology and astronomy who was taking this class for fun, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Virgil ignored him, turning back to his notebook and doodling in the margins as he waited for the professor to finish taking attendance.

He got through half the page before he was being called up to debate, as per usual. He and Croft were only put against each other as examples or if the lecture finished early. This was mainly due to them both being stubborn in their ways and being able to debate things for hours. Thus, they were both called into her office the day before to confirm the topic and style of the debate.

There they stood, on opposite sides of the same plain. It was a familiar position for the pair during their debates. While many would have seen a peaceful place within that plain, maybe even a spot to build something, the two students only saw a battlefield with the fight yet to be fought, yet to be won. Their words danced across the plain, leaving wounds that didn’t mean a thing outside of that moment. A struggle for dominance raged before, as it always did, they came to be equals that saw eye to eye.

Their debate lasted for the first half of class before they came to some sort of agreement on their topic and sat down to listen to the teacher give a lecture on what just happened. After class, Croft caught up with Virgil on his way out. “That was a good debate today, Storm.” He said. The battlefield was back to a plain, nothing special about it.

Virgil looked at him briefly before just shrugging and walking up the stairs. He didn’t bother to look back or wonder why the student who usually avoided him unless it was during these debates was talking to him. He just knew he needed to get to class.

A day later, he was running to dance class and missed a step. Crashing down the stairs, he landed at the bottom in a haze of pain. He tried to move but found that his vision was blurry and his ankle was broken. Someone nearby gave a shout and he heard footsteps on the stairs. A hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched, coming face to face with the person who lived across the hall from him.

“Virgil, what happened?” Emile said, eyes looking concerned.

The dancer didn’t even lie to the psychology major he knew only in passing. “I fell.” He shook his head, trying to get his vision to focus on something, anything. “My ankle hurts.”

Emile nodded and moved to look at it. Gently pressing, he inspected the joint. Virgil hissed when he pressed on it and Emile sat back. “Yep, that’s broken.” Sighing, he moved to help Virgil to his feet, throwing the dancer’s arm over his shoulders. “I’ve got time before my next class so I’ll take you to the nurse before I go tell you’re dance teacher you won’t be able to make it today.”

Virgil shook his head, hobbling along beside him. “No, I’ll tell her later.”

Emile frowned. “You know Professor Kim is not going to be happy about this development. She was counting on you being there through the whole semester.”

Virgil just laughed, shaking his head. “Since when do you talk with her?”

“Since I came to drop off your lunch that day and she was the only one there. We struck up a conversation about you.”

Virgil nodded. “Fair.”

Emile pushed the door open and sat Virgil in the nurse's office before leaving with a wave, tossing an, “I’ll be back in a bit,” over his shoulder. Virgil waited for the nurse to come and diagnose him, soon being rolled out on a gurney on his way to the hospital to get a cast on his broken ankle. He’d also been told that he had a concussion but that wasn’t the main concern.

A few days later, debate class was back in session and Virgil was there in a cast, crutches by his side. Croft came in and eyed the crutches before setting his bag by his usual chair. He didn’t sit down as Virgil thought he would, rather coming over to stand by Virgil’s seat. He nodded his chin at the cast. “What happened there?”

Virgil was taken aback by the care in his voice, a voice that had previously remained so neutral while talking to him that it was borderline monotone. He shrugged as he continued to grab his books out of his bag. “I fell.”

Croft raised his eyebrows, looking about as convinced as he would if Virgil had just told him the sky was magenta. “You fell? Why don’t I buy that, Storm?”

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t believe the truth, Croft.”

He huffed, his eyes melting into the concern that was evident in his voice. Opening his mouth, he seemed to be about to say something but thought better of it, going to sit down instead just as the professor walked in. She paused by his desk. “Professor Kim told me about the ankle. You don’t have to debate for the rest of the semester if you don’t feel up to it.”

Virgil shook his head. “Standing won’t be a problem as long as I have the crutches.”

She nodded. “Still, I’d like to let you rest for a bit.”

Virgil shrugged. “I’m fully capable of standing and debating but I’ll follow your lead on this.” She gave a final nod and moved to stand at the front of the room to begin class.

Thus, six weeks went by. Virgil did essays on dance and movement instead of performing the dances. Professor Kim insisted on recording the lessons so he’l still be able to do them when he’s recovered, which he was immensely grateful for. Debate class went similarly in that he wasn’t called up as often to debate Croft anymore. Instead, he wrote most of his debates as argumentive papers.

That summer, Virgil stayed on campus. He wasn’t taking a summer course, he was simply trying to follow the videos Professor Kim left for him. He lived nearby anyways so it made sense to keep using the studio on campus. That’s how he ended up running into Croft again on the stairs. 

“Oh,” the other student said, bag in hand as he was clearly trying to put his books back in it, “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Virgil smiled, holding up the gym bag that had replaced his book bag. “The studio is allowing me to catch up on my dance lessons over the summer.” He paused. He and Croft had never been too cordial with each other, merely remaining civil. However, toward the end of the semester they'd come to some sort of academic truce. Now, they were just normal strangers, just two students. So, Virgil took a chance. “What about you? Why are you still here?”

Croft finally shoved the last book into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m having to retake a class due  to low grades.” He shook his head. “I just can’t grasp the subject.”

“What is it?”

Croft sighed. “Psychology.”

Virgil nodded and, on a whim, gave an offer. “I passed Psych with flying colors if you want me to tutor you?”

That plain, that had once been a battlefield before lying dormant, became a meadow in that one moment. No longer a place for duels or violence, but peace and healing. Their once shaky truce seemed to settle, becoming something more permanent, as Croft smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They walked side by side as they discussed times and tactics for studying. They concluded that their only overlapping free time was directly after Virgil was finished with dance practice as that was when Croft got out of his classes and clubs but before Virgil had to go to Professor Kim’s office for office hours.

So, the very next day saw Virgil walking out of the shower room, towel he’d been drying his hair with still in hand, to see Croft leaning against the wall in the hall. “I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes or so.” Virgil said as he approached.

Croft looked up from the book in his hand. He briefly glanced at the page number before snapping it shut and picking up his bag. “Apologies, I like to be early.”

Virgil just waved his hand as they fell in step beside each other. “It’s fine. Next time, you don’t have to wait in the hall if I’m not in the shower, you can just sit in the room. As long as you’re quiet, you’ll be fine.”

Croft nodded. “Noted, thank you.”

They made it to the library and sat down, both pulling out books. When Croft gave Virgil a puzzled look, he laughed a bit. “I’ve brought my notes and blank copies of homework to use as practice problems. First, I want to gauge just how bad off you are.” he set down the cumulative final review. “Fill this out to the best of your ability.” Croft set to work, a serious expression on his face. Virgil didn’t want to twiddle his thumbs while waiting so he pulled out his phone and opened it to a new note, beginning to plan out his evening.

Once that was done, he looked up to see Croft with his tongue sticking out slightly, hair in his eyes, and eyes focused on the page. Strangely, there was something beautiful about the concentrated look on his face. Maybe it was the way the sunlight dramatized it and cast his eyes into shadows, making Virgil want to stare until he could see where the iris ended and the pupil began; maybe it was the way his hair framed his face in a way that made Virgil want to pull out a sketchbook.

Feeling self conscious at that thought, he looked back down at his phone and ignored the other student until he heard a pencil connect with the table. “Alright, Storm, I’m done.”

Virgil nodded and slid the page over to himself, quickly checking it against the answer sheet he’d made up. He gave Croft a grade, circled it, and slid it back. A sharp intake of breath came back as Virgil pulled a clean piece of paper closer to himself and began to write down what needed to be worked on.

“Is it really that bad?” Croft’s voice came from Virgil’s side.

He paused in his writing to look up at his former academic rival. He shrugged. “It could be worse. You don’t seem to be too bad off right now and we’re gonna try to get you to where you need to be as soon as possible.”

Croft nodded and away they went. The next few weeks were spent in a new routine. Croft would wait in the hall if Virgil was in the shower but most times Virgil had lost track of time and gone over, resulting in Croft sitting in the corner reviewing definitions. A few times, one of his clubs wouldn’t meet and he’d get out earlier than normal. Those were the times that Croft would sit in and make sure Virgil wasn’t putting too much strain on his ankle and was properly hydrating. Those were the times they’d strike up a bit of witty banter that reminded them of their debates but on a personal level that the debate class was lacking.

One step at a time, they came closer on that meadow until they were standing side by side, leaning on the other. As they grew closer, the meadow rose as if two tectonic plates were pushing it toward the sky. Over the course of that one season, the meadow had become a mountain of a friendship. Their banter began to spread outside of just those rare moments, becoming a constant part of their meetings, tutor sessions, and walks. 

It wasn’t long before the summer semester ended and they had a few weeks of vacation before the next semester. As the days shortened and the leaves turned colors, Virgil almost expected Croft to go on his way. After all, the agreement was done. Virgil had finished learning all the moves he’d needed and Croft had passed his classes with the usual flying colors. 

Still, tutor sessions turned into chats over coffee, dancing changed to walks in the park, but their late night talks on the way back to their apartment building stayed the same. Virgil enjoyed that constant, knowing that no matter what else happened that day, he could walk back to the apartment building with Croft. It was one such walk that it struck him. In all their time together, he’d gotten closer to Croft and no longer saw him as the academic rival they’d been at the start of the year. Instead, he saw him as a friend, or even more than that.

Just when Virgil was satisfied and comfortable with the balance they’d created together, fate tossed a spark gently onto the mountain. In that instance, the mountain turned into a volcano. In that one instant of time, Virgil had fallen for Logan Croft and he knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t have it any other way. He had no idea how he’d tell him, or even if he would tell him. After all, volcanoes can stay dormant for years before going extinct or erupting. Virgil could just wait and hope it was the former or deal with the latter.

The next few weeks were much the same as that with the exception that Virgil was noticing every little thing that Logan did. He noticed the way he leaned toward Virgil as they talked, the way his focus was entirely on the dancer during conversations. Logan was always walking on Virgil’s left side, the ankle he’d broken mid spring semester that acted up occasionally but especially on stairs. He noticed Logan holding doors for him or smiling at him for no particular reason.

All of this gave Virgil a spark of hope in his chest that had him wondering if Logan liked him back. That spark was almost crushed one afternoon. They had just gotten their coffee and started their usual round about the park when Logan spoke. “I might not be able to do the full rotation today, Storm. I’ve got a date with Roman later.”

Virgil felt like his chest had just been stomped on. “. . . A date?” He didn’t know how he kept his voice steady when his heart was breaking, getting closer and closer to shattering the more he thought about those two words.

Logan tilted his head to the sides. “Maybe ‘date’ is the wrong word for it. It’s more like a meet-up.”

Virgil nodded, pretending he hadn’t been holding his breath through that whole exchange. “Okay, when do you have to leave?”

“About half an hour.” He turned and smiled. “Plenty of time.”

Virgil smiled and walked ahead, turning to face Logan as he walked backwards. Logan shook his head. “That’s not the safest way to travel, you know.”

Virgil just shrugged. “There’s worse ways to travel.” He also got to see the rare grin that spread across the zoology major’s face, not that he would tell said student that.

Their walk in the park ended with them standing at the entrance. “I’ll see you later, Storm.” Logan said by way of parting.

“Wait! Later as in tomorrow or later as in-”

He laughed, something that was even more rare than his grin but something Virgil longed to hear more often. “Later today.” Virgil nodded, walking back to his apartment alone.

On a whim, he grabbed his gym bag, stuffing his dance shoes in it, and went to the studio. He scrolled through his playlist as he entered before just hitting shuffle and letting the music play as he got ready. He waited for the next song and took a second to identify it before throwing his hoodie off and moving to the center of the room. 

He went with the music, letting his body flow in whatever way it wanted. Incorporating all the moves he’d learned over the past few months into a cohesive whole that was both as graceful as saplings in the wind but as sharp as the flapping of cloth. He danced to forget his troubles and anxieties, letting them bleed into the movements. A faster song came on and he changed his movements to match, becoming sharper as he let himself get lost in the music, lost to the beat of his feet against the floor, the feeling of the air on his sweat, the feeling of dancing and being free and feeling on top of the world.

When the playlist ended and his muscles were screaming for him to rest, he collapsed onto the floor, panting for breath. When he felt like he could stand, he moved to check his phone clock and found that he’d spent the whole afternoon dancing. Quickly, he showered and made his way back to his apartment. He was still overheated after dancing for a few hours straight so he just had his hoodie slung over his arm, his gym bag over his other shoulder.

He got back to his apartment to see Logan with a fist raised to knock. Smiling, he moved around him and unlocked it. “Come on in.” He dropped his keys in the little bowl on the entrance way table. “I’ve just gotta put this stuff away but it won’t be long.”

Logan smiled, standing comfortably in the entryway. “Take your time, Storm, I’m not going anywhere.” 

For a brief moment, Virgil wondered what his first name would sound like in Logan’s voice. He didn’t dwell on it, instead he nodded, ducking into his bedroom to store his bag where it belonged. Taking a second to put on some extra deodorant and move his hair around so it looked semi-styled instead of the mess it was before, he took a deep breath. The scare of losing him that afternoon had made Virgil realize that he needed to act fast before he lost Logan for real.

So, he kept the hoodie across his arm as he went back out and picked up the keys again. “Ready to go?”

Logan nodded. “Quite.”

Virgil held the door open for him, locking it on his way out. They started down the path in relative silence, the only noise being the crunching of gravel beneath their feet and the sounds of life coming from nearby buildings. Virgil was hesitant to break the silence despite the feelings and words bubbling below his surface. Logan also seemed comfortable in the lack of conversation. They made it to a bench that was out of the way and sat on it to stargaze for a bit.

Virgil tilted his head back, resting it on the back of the bench. His eyes scanned the sky, resting on different stars and connecting them into constellations. After another while of silence, Logan shivered beside Virgil and the dancer turned his head, looking at the astronomy major. “Are you cold?” His voice broke the silence like a sheet of ice falling from a slope.

Logan shrugged. “A bit. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Virgil hummed and threw his hoodie over the other. “No use in you getting cold when this is right here.”

Logan didn’t react beyond tilting his head down just the slightest bit. He hummed, taking a breath before speaking. “Apologies again for having to end our afternoon walk early.”

Virgil waved his hand. “It’s fine. In fact, it actually gave me time to think.”

Logan looked over at him, eyes inquisitive behind his square black frames. “What about?”

Virgil took a deep steadying breath of the night air before he turned to face Logan just a bit more on the bench. “About you, actually. I realized something when you said you had a date with Roman.”

Logan nodded, his gaze sharpening as his attention seemed to hone in on Virgil. “Okay.”

Virgil fiddled with the rips in his jeans, suddenly anxious. “I realized that if I didn’t act now, someone else might be walking by your side in the park, laughing with a coffee in hand. Someone else might have the door you knock on late at night when you can’t sleep, be the person you debate with over the phone into the early hours of the morning.” He took another deep breath, not looking up at the wonderful human sitting in front of him, the one who deserved the world. “I realized that I love you and can’t stand the thought of another person getting to hold your hand and kiss you goodnight.” He turned his head so he was staring out into the night rather than at Logan. “There, I said it. I love you. I love you so much my chest aches.”

Logan hummed in a way that Virgil couldn’t interpret before there was the rustling of fabric and Logan was kneeling before Virgil, one hand hovering near the dancer’s cheek. “I’m glad you told me as it makes what I’m going to say much easier.” Virgil’s eyes widened slightly, fearing the next thing to come past Logan's lips.

“I love you too. Honestly, I think I’ve loved you since the start of the fall semester. The way you helped me study, putting things into ways I can understand and bending over backwards to do so. The care you take with everything you do, the grace in your every move, the fire and passion you put into your dancing, I love all of you.”

Virgil couldn’t believe what he was hearing but his nerves settled when Logan’s soft expression didn't change, didn’t turn to a sneer, he didn’t laugh or mock Virgil. Elated, he leaned forward but paused before he could connect their lips. Logan smiled at the quiet ask for consent and leaned in with him, closing the distance and bringing him into a kiss. His hovering hand settled on Virgil’s cheek as Virgil’s hand came up to cradle the back of Logan’s neck, neither wanting to let go.

When they pulled apart, they were both smiling. Logan pulled the hoodie tighter around his shoulders before standing, offering a hand to Virgil to stand as well. An idea came to him and Virgil put his hand in his pocket, pulling his phone out to play a few ballads. “Dance with me under the stars?”

Logan grinned, sliding his hands to be around Virgil’s neck. “I’d love nothing more.”

So, the two did just that, dancing the hour away under the midnight stars. In the arms of the one they loved, the same person who had been their greatest enemy at the start of the year, neither could ask for a better way to spend their time.

[sword-of-the-writer]

Hi ik it can suck reading an x reader where the reader feels unlike how you’d act, but I REALLY like writing a dense reader with Felix because it makes the pining really funny/interesting imo. Sorry lol

Anyways idk what this is I just wrote it on a whim during my econ class I kinda dislike it but like hhh whateva I have a lot of felix loving gremlins to feed...

Haha that moment when ur emotionally constipated so u don’t know what to do when ur crush makes a cute expression 😳

—

I’m Not Going to Tell You Why || Felix Fraldarius

You had found Felix Fraldarius at the training grounds, slashing at the training dummies relentlessly. Bits of hay, foam, and other materials were being tossed to the ground with every new swing. Clearly, he was upset.

“Felix?” You started, anticipating an angry response.

He said nothing. Maybe he hadn’t heard you?

“Felix.” You say firmly “Felix!”

He stops. Chest heaving with every breath, he turns in your direction. Still, he says nothing.

“Why are you attacking the training dummies as if they’re going to kill you?” You refrain from making your voice too soft because any hint of sympathy will just further agitate the boy

“I’m training. The whole point is so I won’t die on the battlefield.”

“Well, yes, but—“

“What is it you want?” He‘s too impatient to let you finish

“Well you look—“

“What?” He interrupts again “I look upset? Fuck off.”

“You look crazy.” You counter, your own patience running thin.

He doesn’t respond to that, instead tossing the words back and forth in his mind.

“Whatever.” He huffs in half laughter “I’m not supposed to look very distinguished when killing, now am I?”

He did have a point... only Ferdinand could pull off being gentlemanly on the battle field.

Another angry swing disturbed your thoughts. This one lacked any grace or coordination his last few seemed to have.

“Stop fucking doing that!” She spat

“What—?”

“Don’t play innocent!”

He was furious, but you couldn’t place the origin of his anger. He was mad at you, yes, but what is it that you did that set him off? You were wracking your brain some more when Felix tossed his training sword aside with a loud thunk! and began to walk away

“Felix, you have to talk to me!” You call after him “I don’t know what I did!”

With an exasperated groan, the ravenette turned on his heel to face you. Unfortunately you were so caught up in chasing after him that you noticed too late, and subsequently slammed into him.

“By the goddess— what is wrong with you?!”

“I...”

Felix’s words stunned you into silence. You had seen him snap at other like this, sure, but he had never done so to you before. It was strange, not to mention how it hurt.

Realization seemed to dawn on Felix’s face as he watched tears well up in your eyes. Realization with a hint of guilt.

“Look,” placing a hand on your shoulder as if to steady you, he sighed. “I just don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m trying to get my thoughts in order and you distracting me is just making it worse.”

So he was mad at you for distracting him? Yeah that’s definitely it.

“I’m sorry.” You admit quietly “I just thought that I could help.”

He shook his head and pulled his arm away. Before he could rest his hand at his side again, you snatched it within your own two.

“I just don’t want to see you upset.” You say, clinging to him in effort to show that you’re serious.

Felix once again fell quiet, but he turned his face away from you fast enough so you hadn’t the chance to see the hint of a blush that had crawled its way up his features. He pulled his hand away before he turned his whole body from you.

“If I tell you I’m not upset will you let me keep training?”

“Mmm...” you hummed, mulling it over for a moment. “I will leave you be if you tell me what it is I did to make you upset.”

Felix scowled, dissatisfied by your reply but not surprised that you wanted answers.

“Fine. I’ll tell you what you did most recently, but you don’t get any follow up questions.”

“What do you mean most recently?!”

“Do we have a deal or not?”

“Fine.”

“You were making that stupid thinking face of yours.”

You paused. That’s it?

Felix paused as well. Fully expecting an immediate response, he was a bit stunned when you fell quiet.

“It’s just distracting.”

“How come?”

“I said no follow up questions! Now go away!”

“Aw!”

[jamgrlsblog]

2020 Fic Roundup

When I started 2020, I had no idea I would write as much as I did! I was starting my first Ineffable Wives fic, which became a theme of the year 😂. When I finished District of (un-)Certainty in 2019, I thought that would be my last idea (except for a sequel I started and never finished: whoops). Instead, I completed 8 fics and 2 podfics and wrote a little more than half of an ongoing WIP I still haven’t finished. That’s a total of 11 works listed under 2020 on AO3! (And 130k words.) Here’s a roundup ☺️.

Peaches, Apples, and Other Forbidden Fruit (Fic & Podfic) 

55k, E

This was my first wives fic and started with a prologue that just popped into my head one night. I really wanted to write about what it was like to be a woman, with all those little vanities and insecurities that complicate self image, and with a deep connection to classic books about women influencing and shaping how she might interact with the world. And then I made it Southern and threw Aziraphale into a sorority with Crowley 😂. And it became about internalized biphobia and about unlearning biases and about love formed of long time friendship and deep knowing.

I decided to podfic it as I was writing because I wrote Crowley as dyslexic and I decided, out of honor for her, to make a more accessible version of the fic 😅. This was a total whim- I had no idea what I was getting into, but boy did I learn on the job! I read the entire fic in a Southern accent and had a lot of fun. I also drove my spouse crazy because I made him stay quiet while I was recording, but he bought me a “how to podcast” book for Christmas, so maybe you’ll get more podfic in the future 😉.

I made friends, thanks to this fic, including @miss-minnelli and @tawnyontumblr, who I can’t imagine not knowing now! I also made friends with @leoswork, who made 3 art pieces inspired by this fic, which I am still amazed by!

Oil Paint Stains

498 words, G

This was written for a “Name that Author” game in the Good Omens Events discord server and was such fun! I hardly knew anyone at that time and threw myself in anyways. It was a great way to get started making friends and a great little challenge to write a fic under 500 words! This, I think, is when I firmly established myself as a Wives writer 😂. 

Class Action

500 words, M

Listen, this was another “Name that Author” game, and I wanted to try a new pairing to change things up (I knew if I wrote wives again, I would be known) and I wanted to try writing exactly 500 words as an extra challenge. I didn’t know I would post it. I certainly didn’t know it would have the most kudos of 2020. Literally just a silly Warlock/Adam thing.

Strawberries Aren’t Forbidden (Fic & Podfic) 

8k, E

This is a companion piece to Peaches, Apples, and Other Forbidden Fruit about just how Crowley was doing all that time that Zira was pining 😂 (hint: she was also pining). Writing this on the side tempered my writing of the first fic by helping me remember how Crowley was feeling the whole time! This is pretty angsty, tbh, but we’ve got a fun and happy ending. I podficced this because I had to to keep with the first one! This one is in Crowley’s valley girl accent (aka, mostly just how I usually talk 😅.)

Summer Swims and Strings

5k, M

I wrote this for @suvroc as part of the Wives October gift exchange. This was my first exchange and I was so nervous about my giftee liking it! I really enjoyed writing reconnected lovers. The general tone and feel of this fic was heavily influenced by Folklore, which I was very into when writing this, so we’ve got a calm, reflective, and full of love lakeside fic!

Frights and Feelings

4k, T

This one was for @sk3tchid, also for the Wives gift exchange! I got to do something spooky and Halloweeny, which I was thrilled about. I took a big risk with this fic- I wrote two stories in one fic. I decided “ooh, what if they are watching a spooky movie!” so I could somehow fit spooky and cozy homey feels in one fic. And it worked? I guess 😂. Regardless, it was lots of fun!

cowgirl like me

6k, T

This fic started as me shouting about Evermore on the Wives discord server and I happened to mention that cowboy like me was giving me ineffable spouses feels, and being on the wives server, I got the response of wives? Wives! And I was like, nah, I don’t have time. And then I thought, well, and I wrote this fic over the course of one weekend. @tawnyontumblr made it readable 😂.

lover

4k, T

This was a companion to cowgirl like me. I had just gotten married and was having feels about Crowley and the late husband I invented for the first fic (which is Eric the Disposable Demon! So cute!) and also feels about marriage in general. So I wrote this little vignette thing, and my first f/m fic! I didn’t think anyone would read it, but @tawnyontumblr encouraged me to write it anyways ☺️. She really made this readable. I gave her a skeleton of a fic that she encouraged me to actually flesh out!

Star of the Wooded Mountain

WIP, 46k+, T

Listing this one last, even though it was 4th to start posting and the 2nd to start writing. I started posting this in June!! I actually believed that I would be able to write and post my entire summer camp fic during the summer and it would be like “ooh, seasonally appropriate!”. Lol. I’ve got 6/10 chapters up currently.

This is part of the Good AUmens event and how I was introduced to the Good Omens Events discord server!! I’m so glad I signed up for this event because this server has become such a huge part of my life and has been a place where I’ve made so many friends!

I signed up for the event saying I was going to write a wives fic, as was my 2020 theme. But when I actually sat down to write, I started writing Crowley as a non-binary/agender character instead. This fic became an exploration of gender and identity and navigating early adulthood. I met @parmejeannecheese thanks to this fic, who stepped up, never having sensitivity read before, and has put so much time and thought into helping me with this fic. I cannot overstate how amazing they are and how lucky I was to find them. 

I have learned so much writing this fic!! And it has become so much bigger and better than I could have imagined. I’m excited to keep posting this one into 2021 ☺️.

And that’s all my fics of 2020! I hope some of you have enjoyed them or might enjoy them in the future! Here’s to what may come in 2021! Maybe I’ll write a husbands fic again one day? Literally wrote none in 2020 😂.

[serenasoutherlyns]

Full of Surprises ch. 1-3

casey/alex, past alex/olivia. semi-au & fuzzy timeline, set post season 9. cross-posted from ao3 so the first three chapters are coming at ya all at once. TW for series-typical violence, SA, and discussions of mental illness. less graphic than the show. Fluff, romance, angst! First three chapters are totally SFW.

And yet, as she scanned the place, she caught someone she recognized. Sitting at the bar, bent over a notebook, was Casey Novak; her deep red hair tied back in a casual ponytail, an empty highball glass in front of her, chewing on the end of a click pen.

1 .

This wasn’t where Alex would usually find herself. Or at least, it didn’t used to be. Maybe it was now.

Emily had spent her evenings sat at a booth in the back of the local pub, watching and sketching. The books she’d filled, she kept them safely tucked in a box in the back of her closet, initialed “EC.” Alex couldn’t find it in her to draw much anymore.

Anne was alone more than not, spent long evenings reading philosophy, went running early mornings, yoga classes, taught herself guitar, filled hours on hours with ideas and exhaustion. Alex didn’t spend much time poring over The Republic these days, her guitar was long covered in dust.

In law school, her friends had a favorite table in the window of a little cafe, they would go from morning coffee to afternoon study to sharing bottles of red wine, coming and going as they pleased, debating with hopeful glimmers in their bright eyes. Late into the night, arm wrapped around Sylvia’s waist, listening to her classmates carry on, she’d watch the candles burn down. Sylvia had called her Lexi, whispered in her ear on night walks in the cold Cambridge air to their little apartment, gentle hands soothing her most anxious times. Alex hadn’t felt like that in years.

College weekends were spent at punk shows in basements, though she knows now nobody would believe it, young Alex Cabot (the nickname had been coined in those years, sharper edged than the elaborate Alexandra) knew how to have some fun, at least back then. She’d dyed her hair black and worn studs on her collar, had a reputation for being a player, and it seemed like the back of her right hand was constantly stained with marker residue. Sticky floors and lipgloss on her neck, so many firsts all at once.

Her evenings during her years in the DA’s office were usually full of work, except the odd night when she’d meet the detectives for a drink at their haunt or head out with the other ADAs to some upscale cocktail bar. Two different crowds with two different mentalities, the detectives were dedicated to a fault, while the prosecutors were insufferably full of themselves. The detectives would tire her out by 11:30, but she’d find an excuse to leave the ADA excursions before 9. Far more special were the many evenings spent in Olivia’s apartment drinking two beers each and filling the quiet air with soft laughter and conversation.

But a little library themed speakeasy? Not her typical place. Well. No time like the present to change one’s habits. She’d been recommended it by an old law school friend a couple weeks ago, bumped into him on a whim in a coffee shop, was surprised she wasn’t dead, had been there last night, said it was right up her alley. Its illicit vibe wasn’t exactly to ADA Cabot’s tastes, no. But it scratched something in Alex, that hadn’t been satisfied since those basement nights and cozy cafe afternoons. From the place’s shelves she’d pulled a book of Pre-Raphaelite poetry and sat in a comfy chair with a scotch and a San Pelligrino, pleased, at least, to be out of the apartment for the evening.

She didn’t need the money, but she’d been copyediting textbooks freelance, filling up her time with grammar and word choice. She’d been reading a lot of fiction. She adopted two extremely fluffy cats. It was a pleasant, if mundane, life. It turned out, Alex had realized, that there were plenty of eager and capable young attorneys who could do her former job as well as she ever had. She felt, finally, like she deserved a bit of a rest. Needed one, really. Someone would do the prosecuting. The thought of stepping back in the courtroom, looking at the bench, examining witnesses, made her feel sick to her stomach, though she had once loved that life. It wasn’t her anymore— maybe it never really had been. She decided this was her kind of place after all. This iteration of Alexandra Cabot would drink bubbly water in secluded speakeasies while reading poetry.

Alex didn’t expect to see anybody she knew, not somewhere you needed a password to get into, where the music was indie folk and old jazz from a vintage record player, the drinks had names like the “Lady Brett” and the “Daisy Buchanan,” and most of the patrons were dressed in flannel with their noses buried in old books. And yet, as she scanned the place, she caught someone she recognized. Sitting at the bar, bent over a notebook, was Casey Novak; her deep red hair tied back in a casual ponytail, a half-empty highball glass in front of her, chewing on the end of a click pen.

This was surprising. Alex, though she hadn’t ever known Casey well, before her first brief return to life as Alex Cabot, only as one of the white collar ADAs (they ran in a bit of a pack, didn’t shy away from imitating the lifestyles of those they prosecuted). After knowing her as a prosecutor, Alex would expect to see Casey in a sports bar watching a game, or in some chrome-gilded bar with high ceilings drinking designer cocktails and cheering on a verbal showdown between her colleagues. Or in the center of a showdown like that. Not alone, writing in a moleskine, wearing a red flannel over a simple black dress. Casey was striking, Alex realized, before she realized she’d been looking a little longer than was considered normal. She hoped she didn’t seem like a creep watching from afar. She considered getting up, saying hello, but felt that Casey may not even remember her, may not want to be disturbed as she wrote, may not even recognize her anymore. She’d changed her appearance when she’d gone back to being Alex Cabot, cut her hair in a short bob, dyed it dark brown, wore thick rimmed glasses and simple clothing, too painful to be the formal blonde she used to be. Barely the same woman who’s once-murderer Casey had put behind bars those years ago.

Alex didn’t have to consider talking to Casey, however, because almost as soon as she returned to her book, she heard the sound of rubber soled sneakers against the old hardwood floors and a voice beside her.

“Hey stranger,” she said.

“Hi Casey,” Alex said as she slid her bookmark into place and looked up at the familiar face with a smile. “Care to join me?”

2 .

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Casey said as she sat down. “I’m allowed to, uh, talk to you right? Though I guess if I wasn’t you wouldn’t acknowledge me, which would be fine, by the way.” There was the Casey Alex remembered, her words getting ahead of her.

“It’s fine, I’m me again,” Alex said calmly, “It’s really good to see you, though I wouldn’t have imagined you to be the writing type, or the underground-library-bar type” Alex gestured to the leather notebook in Casey’s left hand.

“I’m full of surprises, Alexandra Cabot.” Casey said in a tone that suggested she was sarcastic, yet convinced Alex she was telling the truth. Alex sipped her water.

“What were you working on?” She asked, not wanting to pry, but very eager to catch up, to know why she was alone in a place like this.

“Oh, nothing, nothing interesting. Just some little bits and pieces.” Casey replied.

“Not argument notes on a Saturday night, I hope?” Alex asked, though she knew that she would’ve done the same thing back when she was in the DA’s office. Casey looked pale, uncomfortable for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Alex said, trying to soothe any pain she may have caused, though she couldn’t fathom why. “I don’t mean to bring up work when you’re trying to relax.” At this, Casey just looked confused.

“Alex, have you not heard?” Casey said, searching for signs of recognition in the woman’s eyes, but finding only further confusion continuing, her voice low, “I was censured a few months ago. I can’t practice law for at least three years.” Alex’s eyes opened wide and she set her glass down on the table between them. “I’m surprised the rumor hasn’t reached your circles yet, though I admit I’m glad I get to be the one to tell someone for a change.” Alex noticed Casey cross her arms together over her chest, closing herself up, making herself seem smaller.

It was quiet for a while, the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald on the speakers, quiet conversations, and pages turning filling it. “I’m sorry, no, I hadn’t heard. That’s too bad. Do you want to talk about it?” Casey grinned at the suggestion, oddly intimate for the two women who, while they hardly knew each other, had shared some of the most intense moments either of them had experienced in a courtroom.

“I think I’ve gone over it enough in my head, but uh, thank you.” Casey said, her voice wobbling on the thanks, “You know, you’re the first person so far to actually ask me that?”

“I’m sorry.” Was Alex’s reply. Surely Casey had people who were interested in her feelings?

“The circumstances were,” Casey trailed off as she looked for the right wording, “I was at fault, for sure. But I was just trying to do the right thing, and I made a mistake.”

“Nothing shocking, I hope?” Asked Alex, still trying to ascertain the nature of the censure, wondering about what the woman sitting across from her could’ve done.

“I violated due process, technically.” Casey replied, attempting to gauge Alex’s reaction, but seeing that it continued to be contemplative rather than condemning, continued, “I shouldn’t’ve, but I think all of us have done worse in our time. But I was not in Donnelly’s good graces, so…” instead of ending her sentence, Casey sipped the last of her drink and looked up at Alex nervously, hoping the woman wouldn’t judge her too harshly.

“Oh man, Casey. That’s really tough. I’m sorry.” Casey searched for any sign of disapprobation in Alex’s tone, but finding only genuine concern, relaxed.

“So I’ve been doing other stuff for a little while. Using my undergrad,” she said, truly sarcastic this time. “What about you Cabot? What’s keeping you from your old haunt? And what’s with the brunette look?”

Alex wanted to answer, but wasn’t going to let Casey get away completely with deflecting. “You didn’t answer my question, Novak. What’s in the notebook?”

Casey laughed. “You really are relentless.” Alex just raised an eyebrow smugly while sipping her drink, as if to say, go on. “It’s a poetry journal. I’ve kept one since college.”

This admission broke the unflappable Alex Cabot’s reserve and she couldn’t keep herself from a few giggles. “I apologize,” she said, “for laughing at you. Just, the idea of Casey Novak the poet would not have occurred to me.”

“Like I said,” Casey started, “I’m full of surprises. And nobody has laughed at me in a long time,” she continued, beginning to laugh herself. “Believe it or not, I have an English degree.”

“Ok, ok, stop. I’m not sure I can take many more shocks tonight,” teased Alex.

“And you, didn’t answer my question. What’s with the brunette? You look beautiful,” Casey said before realizing what she was saying, shutting herself up before she said anything embarrassing.

“I needed a change,” Alex said, “Something to distance myself from my old selves. I never dyed my hair before, or switched up my look at all really. Just, a change.”

“I get that.” Casey said, and Alex felt like she really did get it, somehow more than anybody else had to this point. She’d seen a few old colleagues and friends, and they all had looked at her with this mixture of fear and pity that made her wish she was invisible. But Casey seemed to say something deeper in just three words.

They talked together late into the night, about books and drinks (Casey had been a bartender in college, her knowledge on pairings was unparalleled) and everything but law. It was close to 2:00 am when Casey started to yawn.

“I’m really glad I ran into you, Alex,” she said as they left the bar, her voice scratchy from talking quietly, a subtle accent that Alex couldn’t quite place showing through under the influence of sleepiness and her light buzz. It was adorable, Alex found herself thinking.

“Me too, Casey,” Alex replied, and before she could turn to start walking towards her apartment, only a block or so away, she was met with a hug. It was brief, but Alex took in the scent of Casey’s coconut shampoo, sweet and pleasing.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be much of a hugger either,” Alex said as she pulled away, brushing her hands on Casey’s elbows.

“I guess you have a lot to figure out,” she said, playfully, as Alex handed her into a cab.

As Alex walked up the stairs to her apartment (she could afford a bigger place, but this one, this one felt right), Alex replayed the evening and regretted not asking for Casey’s phone number before she left. When she pulled her keys out of her pocket to unlock the door, she found a piece of paper, with a number and a note:

text me, so I can learn some of your surprises.

3 .

Alex was awake.

The same old dreams kept her restless. It had been a bad night, she’d slept less than 3 hours before she woke, startled, as the sun just began to rise, 5 am on a Saturday in September.

Foggily, she attempted to reconstruct the details of her pieced together dreams, her therapist, Julia, had convinced her to keep a journal. She said the nightmares of being shot, of nobody recognizing her, those made perfect sense, classic PTSD symptoms. With what happened to her it would’ve been stranger to not suffer it. But these hadn’t been those dreams.

Clare Cartwright, age 15 stood in line at the coffee shop. Her face was pink with tears but nobody saw anything out of the ordinary except for Alex, watching her from a table. Clare’s cheeks were wet and covered in running mascara but the barista didn’t bat an eye as she ordered an iced chai and sat down alone with her laptop. Tears turned to sobs turned to screams, thrashing, but she just kept typing, sipping her tea, nobody did a damn thing. Alex tried to rise from her seat, go to the girl, hold her and scratch her back while she cried, but the heavy weight of her own body kept her seated, powerless to do anything. She tried to yell across the room, tell her that it was going to be ok, she was going to put whoever hurt her behind bars, protect her from them forever. But when she opened her mouth all breath was sucked out of her lungs, she collapsed. Clare’s cries echoed ceaselessly.

Trevor Hamilton, a 20 something pro, had been turning tricks all night but one guy had taken it a little too far. He was sure his neck, hips would be covered in nasty bruises the next day. Oh well. Nobody believed a pro who cried rape. He stuffed his cash in his briefs and made his way towards the van he slept in with three other guys but before he could get there, he fell, body bloody. Nobody heard a sound but Trevor must have been shot. His blood was cold as it poured out of him onto the sidewalk but he stood up. He wasn’t dead. In the morgue, Melinda Warner ruled the cause of death a fatal gunshot wound to his back, probably a stray bullet, but he’d had sex the night he died, maybe an angry John. Alex told everyone that he wasn’t dead. Trevor whispered in her ear, asked her how could she let them say he was dead, how could she let them get away with saying such a thing like that, how could she let them call what had happened to him sex. Alex repeated herself over and over but all she got in return from the detectives were sympathetic looks of confusion as they sent her home for the day. She must’ve been too tired, Alex heard Olivia tell Elliot, maybe her mind was acting up again, sleep deprivation can kickstart psychosis. Someone would check in on her that night, make sure she wasn’t relapsing. Alex knew she wasn’t hallucinating, because Trevor had spoken to her in the clearest voice she’d heard in months. Alex wept for Trevor the whole way home and then some but nobody seemed to notice.

Annabelle Lamm wore a fuzzy pink nightgown when her grandmother brought her into the precinct one snowy night. Olivia called Alex to come to the precinct, they needed a warrant for the apartment, they found fluids in the girl’s hair of all places, grandma handed them an envelope full of pictures of Annie that nobody in the family admitted to taking. It was a no brainer warrant, Alex didn’t even mind waking up a judge for it if it meant getting whoever had been hurting this little girl as soon as possible. When Alex arrived to the building, Olivia wasn’t there and all the lights were off. Alex clicked on a lamp, wondered if Liv had found another ADA and rushed off without telling her anything. But the room was unfamiliar, empty, concrete. In the center of the room standing perfectly still was a 5 year old girl in a pink fuzzy nightgown. Alex ran to her but couldn’t get any closer. The little girl had a hollow expression and didn’t move an inch. Alex kept running and running but her feet stayed in the same spot, powerless.

Yeah. Powerless. As she awoke she felt like she was still running, head still spinning, still heard screams.

She wrote it all down in her journal. Julia had said that it was unusual for people whose jobs involved consistently levels of high stress and disturbance to have the severity of symptoms she had; that there was usually a tolerance that was built up to being horrified. Alex had either never had that tolerance or it had been washed away during the years she’d spent in WITSEC because her very brief return to the practice of law had nearly broken her.

“Sleep deprivation can kickstart psychosis,” Olivia had told her once when they first worked together, ostensibly referring to a case of statutory rape where the perp didn’t recall a single piece of the event; but Alex knew the comment was pointed at her, not the perp. Olivia could tell that Alex’s patience was growing thin, her mind unfocused; she must’ve deduced that Alex wasn’t sleeping much. But Alex already knew the warning signs.

Alexandra Cabot, age 16, sat shaking in a hospital room. It was almost finals week, she’d pulled a few all nighters, it was nothing serious, she’d told her school counselor a week prior when her friends had noticed her speech patterns growing muddled. She stayed up another 24 hours and the last thing she remembered was her roommates grabbing her wrists and pulling her inside off the balcony. After that, the school had installed locks on all the windows. Alexandra was freezing in her hospital gown, brain numbed out from the IV antipsychotics she was attached to. A few days in the hospital to take care of her injuries (she was informed that she had thrown herself against the wall while school officials took her to the ER), then a summer of residential treatment, hopefully she would be able to return to boarding school in the fall. Her father looked at her with a shattered expression, her mother treated her with cold indifference, her friends didn’t talk to her. Major depression with psychotic features.

Alex knew the consequences of not sleeping enough. She considered taking her cup of mint tea and heading back to bed, cuddling up to her cats, reading a book maybe, just trying to screw her head on right. Her body fought her though, nervous energy ran through her veins, so she elected to have a walk instead. Besides, it had been years since she’d had any serious episode. Anxiety, sure, and the occasional month or so of depression, a few close calls, but regular therapy and medication kept her more or less in the clear since college. Her family, her therapists, had suggested she go into a different kind of law, something stimulating but less distressing like, intellectual property, but she had refused, felt called to prosecuting. But her experience was what made her a great prosecutor, and it was why she had been so adamant about the proper handling of cases involving those suffering from mental illness, especially victims, but perps as well. She knew how it felt, more than she admitted to almost anybody, but she also knew there were paths through it.

The same old nightmares, but Alex was a different person. The old Alex would’ve thrown herself even harder into work than usual, won her cases even more viciously, assuaged her feelings of powerlessness by asserting control. This Alex knew that complete control was unattainable.

The September air was cold this early in the morning, but bracing. The contrast between her thermos full of hot tea pleased her, she pretended she was a dragon as she breathed steam. She smiled to herself at the thought and at the bright orange sun rising through the treetops in the park by her apartment. This had been the right choice, sunrises were her favorite magic. Content covered her like a well fitting dress, shaking off the nerves slowly. The most dedicated joggers and newsstand operators were the only other people out this early, the quietest time in the city. Alex’s phone buzzed.

Casey: Nice coat, Cabot.

Alex looked up from her phone, confused. What? Maybe it was delivered late. She’d seen Casey two days ago for coffee— they’d developed a friendship. Texts, coffee, nothing too deep; but then it had only been a couple weeks since they’d run into each other at the library bar. Alex liked Casey. She was funny and a good listener, and she always had something to say. She didn’t walk on eggshells around Alex either, making Casey unique among her friends. She’d tried to meet up with Liv right when she’d gotten back to the city the second time, but the way she looked at her cut way too deep, like she was a hero, like she was a victim. Both of those she may well be, but she needed to be treated as a friend. Casey did that for her, down to playfully teasing her over her eccentric habits. Another text:

Casey: Turn around, Clueless.

Not many people had ever called Alexandra Cabot clueless. Alex turned around, and Casey waved at her excitedly from the jogging path and without waiting for Alex’s reaction began to run up to where she was sitting. Alex was surprised to see her, happily so. She knew Casey was athletic, but didn’t take her to be the 5:30 running type. She wore tight leggings and a running jacket, and the biggest smile Alex had seen from her. She looked beautiful in the soft early light, Alex thought, then immediately blushed at that thought.

She’d never been one to shy away from her sexuality, especially when she realized the destructive role repression had played in her life before she came out. Alex had been out since college, but she tried very hard not to crush on straight women. She knew she couldn’t control who she was attracted to, but it always made her feel a bit dejected, so. Nip that in the bud.

Alex didn’t have much time to consider the ethics of her thoughts, because Casey was right in front of her, grabbing her hands.

“It’s so good to see you! A second surprise encounter, must be fate, Cabot,” Casey said in a quiet voice, a wink in her words.

“Something like that,” Alex replied, “What are you doing out so early?”

“I could ask the same of you; I’m just finishing up my run. You are wearing a fancy coat and looking deep in thought, in fact, you are being far more suspicious than I am, look at how many people are out here jogging, I mean,”

“Oh my god,” Alex cut her off with an eye roll, “Ok, stop cross-examining me.”

Casey gave Alex a genuine laugh, “Old habits die hard.” She paused for a second. “You look pale, did you sleep?”

“Thanks, Casey.” Alex gave her a playful glare. “If three nightmares in three hours counts, then yes, I slept.”

“Oh you poor thing. I’d hug you but,” She gestured to her sweaty figure. “You wanna get breakfast? I’ll pop back to my apartment, shower, and meet you at yours in say, half an hour?”

Alex started slightly at the familiarity, but responded, “Yeah, sure, sounds fun. Uh, here I’ll text you my address.”

Did Casey blush? Alex couldn’t be sure due to her post-run glow and the chill in the air. “Sorry if that’s too familiar, I know we usually plan these things out, and I guess I just assumed you didn’t have plans, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, you know, runner’s high and all,” but Alex cut her off again with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Are you retracting the offer, Novak?” Alex couldn’t resist the urge to tease the woman in front of her. “Because if I recall correctly, I said yes.”

Casey grew more flustered, replied with a quick, “Nope, still happening, see you in half an hour,” and took off running, leaving Alex behind as she laughed in disbelief.

[monaownsmyass]

It’s Complicated/Uncomplicated - Part 1/2

Requested fic by @ineedskyecrandall (if you have any fic ideas or requests you’d like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: My Two First Loves, (after) Chapter 38

Pairing: Ava Lawrence x MC (Emma Price)

Genre: Fluff

Rating: G, none

Word count: 1,896

A/N: This takes place after Ava dropped MC off at her house after homecoming. Later, Ava asks MC out on a date. It’s technically a continuation of my previous Ava x MC fic (read here) but you don’t have to read it, all you have to know is that they share a kiss. Also, this wasn’t meant to be a two-parter but as I was writing I noticed how long it was gonna be lol so I split it up.

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics.)

Part 2 here!

I watched as Ava's car drove away, sighing with a stupid grin on my face. God, I felt like I've been waiting for eternity for that to happen without even realising it. I quickly went to the bathroom to get changed and plopped myself onto the bed, sprawled out, that damn grin never leaving my face.

I stared at my bedroom ceiling, the fairy lights I had hung around my bedroom providing the only source of lustre. The soft glow dancing against my skin in a way that made me feel as if I were in another world. After that kiss, I'm pretty sure I was.

That kiss, it was all I was thinking about. How have I gone so long without kissing Ava? It felt as if I've always been craving to know the way her lips felt on mine. That made me think, have I always wanted this from her? Or was it a whim of the moment? So caught up in each other that kissing her was the only way I could express that intense feeling between us?

I thought back to all the times I've spent with Ava. I thought about how I accidentally tripped over myself while walking to class and Ava laughing at my clumsiness. Instead of scolding her, I was transfixed by the sound of her laugh, bright and dazzling. And that time she was comforting me as I cried into her shoulder, holding me and rubbing my back, reassuring me everything was going to be alright. I felt so safe and warm in her embrace.

Then there was that other time when we were at the beach together. I pushed her into the water and ran to shore as fast as possible while laughing. I remember my giggling stopped dead in it's track when I saw her resurfacing from the water, walking towards me like an avenging goddess. I felt nervous but at that time I thought it was because I was scared she was going to get her revenge on me. She did, by the way. Being much stronger than me, she dragged me towards the ocean and ultimately ended up lifting me and tossing me into the water.

I also thought back to the first time we had a sleepover. Both of us awkwardly trying to fit together on my single bed at that time. I've upgraded to a queen size since then because Ava started sleeping over a lot more frequently after that but at that time, we had to squeeze onto my bed that was definitely not made for two. I remember feeling anxious but excited and thinking it was because I've never been this close to anyone before, physically and emotionally.

Right before the kiss, I had recollections, moments with Ava flashing before me, passing by too quickly to process but long enough to know what I felt. However, looking deeper into them right now, I realised that that kiss wasn't because it felt right in that instance. It wasn't because we were caught up in the moment. No, it was because I have liked Ava for a while now.

My eyes widen in comprehension at my epiphany. I knew I liked her after kissing her but looking back now, it hit me that I've liked her for a long time, I just couldn't tell if it was just purely platonic or also romantic.

I’ve always liked Ava Lawrence, my best friend.

Just the thought alone made shivers run through my body. It all finally made sense now, all those unexplainable feelings I would just brush off as close friendship. I've never had a friend like her before. I mean sure, Mason and I had been friends since we were kids but I've never had this kind of connection with him or with anyone else. Except for Ava. So I'd just assume that's what inseparable friendships were like, but maybe not.

Okay, definitely not.

Still staring at my ceiling, I bit my lip as memories ran through my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder how on earth I've never figured out sooner that I liked women in general. Subconsciously, my hand slapped down against my face at my oblivion.

"Ow!"

I probably shouldn't have done that.

I won't deny that Ava was the main girl that I always thought about but there were times where I would see a pretty girl and catch myself getting flustered or blushing or even acting shy. Well, I guess I know why now.

I rolled onto my side and looked at my phone. Noah and Mason had been blowing up my phone and I didn't even notice. I just continued to stare at the screen lighting up when a message would come in. I didn't feel like talking to either of them right now but that didn't stop my mind from spiraling once again.

Noah and Mason. My first two loves. I definitely had feelings for them, heck, I definitely loved both of them. But was I in love with either them? I cared for them both and I definitely found them incredibly attractive. But then there's also Ava, the girl that was always on my mind. Wow, this crap was confusing. But one thing wasn't, not anymore.

"I'm... bi?" I whispered into the dimly lit room.

As soon as I spoke it, it was like a flip switched in my brain. It felt right. This was who I am, this is me. I'm bisexual and it felt.. great. That dumb smile that I had as I watched Ava drive away found it's way back onto my face. Relief washed over me, incredibly comforted by the idea that I figured one part of the puzzle that was my life.

My phone lit up and buzzed again, the different ringtone catching my attention. It was Ava's personal ringtone. During our first sleepover, she insisted that we set special ringtones for ourselves on each other's phone. Reason being that even if we were near our phones but weren't on it, we could tell that the other was thinking of us, wanting to talk to us. The idea back then made me blush and it still worked it's wonders now. Years later, we still haven't changed it.

I immediately grabbed my phone off the nightstand and opened the message.

‘Hey, nerd, you still up?’ the message read.

Seeing the term of endearment made me let out an involuntary grin. I knew she meant it lovingly because I do the same to her.

‘Yeah, I was just thinking,’ I replied.

‘About?’

I paused. Should I admit that I was thinking about her? Screw it!

‘You.’

I saw her typing a reply and then stopping. I began worrying if I shouldn't have been so upfront before a message popped up.

‘I was thinking about you too. About that kiss.’

My heart leapt from my chest, the smile on my face grew wider as I read the message over and over again.

‘I miss you,’ I wrote back.

‘I just saw you, loser.’ I could almost hear and see her giggling at my text. The image caused butterflies to dance in my tummy. ‘But yeah, I miss you too...’

‘I wish you were here,’ I responded and I didn't realise how true that was until I typed it out. It suddenly felt much colder in my room, much too big despite having the smallest room in the house.

‘Me too,’ her text read back. I rested my phone against my chest and let out a deep exhale. I just wanted to hold onto her again like I did after our kiss. The idea made my heartbeat increase rapidly.

I lifted my phone and saw her typing again. ‘Not to ruin the mood or whatever, but I have to know, what do Mason and Noah mean to you? What do I mean to you?’

Funny how my heart went from pumping like crazy to almost stopping entirely. In fact, it sank down to my stomach. How was I gonna answer her when I didn't even know myself?

‘Ava... I care about them but I care about you too, and you know that. And I definitely see you as more than my best friend if that’s what you want to hear.’

‘More like what? Sisters?’

I scrunched up my nose. ‘Eww, that's so gross! I don't kiss my sister on the lips!’

Once again, I could hear her unadulterated laugh, a laugh that could brighten anyone's day. ‘Lol then be more specific.’

Of course she'd make me spell it out for her, she has always been so demanding and persistent. I admired that about her. ‘Fine, I see you as someone I could be with, romantically. As someone I could date. I can imagine us together in the long run. You by my side, as my other half. I can see you as my girlfriend.’ I hesitated before sending the next text. ‘But my feelings are complicated... ‘cuz I don't think you're the only one I feel that way about, and I don't know who's the right one for me.’

After I hit send, it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't have done that, that I may have blown my chance at being with Ava. But then it hit me. I knew Ava wasn't gonna stop being my friend and I had two great guys as alternatives. So why did I care so much if she takes it the wrong way and stops pursuing me?

I saw the screen of my phone light up with another notification from Ava.

‘Let me help you uncomplicate your feelings then. Can I take you out tomorrow evening? On a date?’

A sense of relief washed over me, thrilled by the prospect that she still wanted me. I knew what she meant, but I just wanted to make sure. ‘We've been on many dates before.’

‘I know but I mean it this time. A proper date, not a friend date.’

My heart started beating so fast I was sure I was going to go into cardiac arrest.

‘I'd love that!’ I quickly shot back. I was elated that she didn't back down from wanting something more out of our friendship.

‘Oh, thank god.’

I giggled to myself, happy to be reassured that she was just as nervous as I felt.

‘I really want to hear your voice,’ I confessed.

‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘But it's getting pretty late, you should sleep.’

‘Ava :(’

‘Haha, sorry beautiful, but we have a big day planned ahead of us tomorrow so you should rest.’

‘You’ve already planned what we’re gonna do tomorrow?’

‘Let’s just say I’ve thought about it. Now go to bed.’

‘Alright, fine, good night I guess :(’ I typed back sulkily even though I was smiling so hard.

‘Sweet dreams, Emma<3.’

I send her back a heart in reply and finally put my phone down on the nightstand again. Once more, I found myself staring at the ceiling, wondering how the heck I was supposed to go to sleep now when my heart felt like a roller coaster and when butterflies were invading my tummy.

Eventually, after hours or tossing and turning, I finally drifted off the sleep with a small smile on my lips and Ava on my mind.

(More fics!)

[jungleuniversity]

How I Improved My MCAT Score (509 -> 518)

Hi Everyone! I got back my new MCAT scores awhile ago, but I thought I’d write a post about how I achieved my score, with hope that it could potentially help another student. I know that while I was studying, a lot of the advice I saw on the internet was overwhelming and made me feel that my level of studying would always be inferior to what others were doing. The vast array of available courses, practice tests, and other services available certainly did not help either, as there is no reasonable way to complete every single resource that exists. In this post, I’ll go through a timeline of my basic study plan and explain which resources I used and why I think they are worth using. 

Stage 1 - Kaplan 7 book set and other content resources

I had trouble coming up with a time frame for how long it should take to go through the Kaplan set, which is why I simply called this part the “first stage.” Many guides I have read online mention strictly separated “content review” and “practice exam” phases of studying. Personally, that would never have worked out for me because I would have gotten anxious every time I got a question wrong during the exam phase. Instead, I spent about 3-4 months simply reading and taking notes out of the books, and then doing a mixed exam and content review stage. I used each book in the following ways, especially the second time I studied: 

Biochemistry - For the first half of the book I took detailed notes as if I were learning from an ordinary biochemistry textbook for a class. For the second half, I eased on the notes and started drawing out the different pathways. I think I wrote down the Electron Transport Chain pathway 10-15 times and the Citric acid cycle path about 50 times. I did not draw the shapes of compounds, but I won’t tell you not to do that either. 

Biology -  Same as the Biochem book. I did spend extra time on “high yield content” that's more difficult to memorize, such as actin/tropomyosin activity in muscle. 

Physics - I cannot stress what I am about to say enough. The absolute most important things to know from this book are the units. If you are truly stuck on a physics (or often chemistry) question, there is a very good chance you can use dimensional analysis to force your way to the right answer in a relatively brief amount of time. If nothing else, PLEASE learn the units behind every concept. 

Chemistry - Use the advice from physics, but I also took pretty heavy notes, especially in the first half, since there’s a lot of content that, despite being easier than biochemistry in my opinion, are foundational and will cause problems if you skip it. 

Behavioral Sciences - This was the section that brought down my first attempt score. I found that the premed95 anki deck that’s in circulation was helpful, but it made me incredibly lazy in studying to the point where I would pretend to be productive, while just looking at slides. I was desperate not to repeat my mistakes, so I brute forced my way through the Kaplan book this time instead. I didn’t take notes the way I did for other subjects - instead I hand wrote every single bolded word and definition in a notebook, organized by chapters. This took about a week and I did not study any other subject during this time. I don’t know if I would recommend this method for Behavioral Sciences for everyone, but the truth is that after I did this, my practice section scores went from 124 to 128-130. One thing to keep in mind though, the last few sections of the Physics/Math book are absolutely critical to the Behavioral Sciences section as they are the only resource within the Kaplan set which explain the research methodologies for both Psychology and Sociology. 

Organic Chemistry - I took sparse notes on this book. I think it's the least useful out of the 7 book set, and I often had to look to the internet and old organic chemistry class notes to clarify mechanisms and pathways. Nevertheless, make flashcards or write down reactions such as the Aldol condensation, which more likely than not will show up at some point. 

CARS - Skip this book. In my opinion, there are better ways to study this section. Most importantly, use the CARS question packs from AAMC. 

Stage 2 - CARS, Mixed Content Review and Practice Exams (2-3 weeks)

This is around when I started taking CARS much more seriously, so I would recommend starting earlier. I mainly focused on using the two AAMC question packs, although the KhanAcademy passages were also useful. The first question pack was definitely a bit more difficult and you might feel discouraged after going through half of it. However, I promise it does get better. Part of the change is that as you read explanations for why you get questions wrong, your skill will begin to improve. The other part is that the second half of the question pack, as well as most of the second question pack are more closely aligned with the difficulty level of the actual test. 

This was also when I began taking NextStep full length exams. (Insert surprised Pikachu face) My first score was a 501. Definitely not expected at the time, but it was a necessary wakeup call to understand where my content gaps were. 

After each exam I took from this point on, I would take the rest of the day off after taking the exam. Just relax, after taking a 7 hour exam, you deserve it tbh. The next day, go over the entire exam, question by question and take notes where you need to. I wrote very brief 1-line notes for questions I got right and understood, and more detailed notes for all incorrect questions as well as correct questions that I did not fully understand. This is important for two reasons: First, this allows you to know exactly where your content gaps are and understand how you can improve applying the concepts that you already know. Second, there’s only so many different things they can ask you on the MCAT. It might sound endless, but there are a finite number of concepts and you are bound to see very similar questions on future practice tests and also on the real MCAT. In my experience, writing down the explanation for the correct answers on missed questions ensured that I never get a similar question incorrectly in the future. Overall, next-step exams were alright, but their content felt incredibly low-yield. Now, studying low yield concepts is extremely important, but it's obviously detrimental if that's all you study. 

For the next month, I would alternate between taking next-step and AAMC full lengths, with breaks in between to review my content gaps. My highest Nextstep exam was a 512, but I tended to score around 507-508. My aamc exams, in order, were 519, 517, and 515. The downward trend was concerning, but I was honestly happy since all of those scores were higher than my target at the time, 513. Also, I falsely began to think that NextStep exams were extremely deflated. (They are, but not nearly to the extent that you might think.)

Finally, the day before my first exam: I couldn’t sleep at all, and I went against common advice of not studying on this day. As for exam day, just trust yourself and the studying you have done. My main advice beyond what anyone else will tell you is to keep a close eye on the clock. Several people who tested with me lost up to 5 minutes on CARS because they forgot to take into account the time during their lunch break. Not every test center will have digital clocks, and the one I went to only had a tiny analog clock near the area they check you in. When I asked a proctor for the time, he just laughed. So make sure you look at the clock and remember the time when your break starts. 

My score on the first exam turned out to be a 509. Not necessarily a bad score at all, but this score was much lower than what I was aiming for. It was disappointing, mainly due to the time I put into studying, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. My behavioral sciences section severely pulled my score down, and there were a few content areas that I truly was not prepared for. I felt bad about it for about a week, and afterwards started studying again. 

Stage 3: Final Preparations 

Initially, I found it relatively difficult to study during the semester. One of my friends recommended I use UWorld questions to effectively use my time. This resource definitely helped me out when I felt like I simply did not have enough time to finish studying. They provide you with 1500 or so questions, categorized by section and sub categorized by topic. You can choose how many questions or passages you want to do in one sitting, and if you want it timed or not. After you finish, they provide you with personalized statistics for the session, as well as explanations for each question, which are saved and can be viewed at any time. Alongside simply rereading the Kaplan books, this is the best way to reinforce content knowledge. 

The final resource I used were the Altius exams. I purchased a pack of 5 on a whim because 1) I ran out of practice tests and 2) someone on reddit said these were severely under-appreciated. Well, that gamble paid off because I believe these exams are about as close as you can get to the AAMC full lengths, BUT they give you much more detailed explanations, and are just a little bit more difficult, so you actually end up feeling like the AAMC practice exams are a bit smoother and easier to pace yourself on. After purchasing, I had one month to take all five, as well as the then-recently-released AAMC FL #4. Altius exams were great, and honestly, my only “complaint” was that CARS felt a little bit too difficult to be as useful as it could be. I also studied Behavioral Sciences and Biochemistry the way I described in Part 1, since I felt like I underperformed on those sections. 

When second exam day approached, I forced myself to get a full night of sleep this, and it absolutely paid off. I was noticeably more aware during this test than my previous attempt, and corrected myself before making a bunch of silly errors. 

A month later, I found out I got a 518, which was higher than my original goal. 

Tl;dr: 

Studying for the mcat is expensive, and it can be hard to find advice on which resources are useful. 

In my opinion, only: Altius exams are amazing. UWorld is a great resource for content gaps and reinforcement, especially when you have sharp time constraints. Kaplan books are awesome for content review, but it should be fine if you buy an older edition (I used 2015).

[currentfandomkick]

Miraculous Team and the Batboys

Longer update, wrote the ao3 version first this time. if you want to find me there, crazyjc.

--

Thankfully there weren’t any akuma attacks that day or that night. Marinette was glad to get some sleep for once. Her body, confused and used to a few hours a night, got her up early.

Marinette decided to help with the morning rush—quick to handle the register and make adjustments to some people’s orders (no extra charge for the exhausted high school and college students) when she managed to find someone as dead as she was after an akuma messed up her commission schedule and sleep was skipped for a week.

“Wow, you’re getting the ‘Please Don’t Let Me Die Again Yet’ special.” Marinette turned before the zombie could speak. “Maman, watch the register, someone looks worse than midterms and commissions me.”

Once Maman took the register again, Marinette worked on her disaster drink that only a few particular customers knew of from her personal menu--mainly the dead college and high school students insane enough to pull a weeks worth of all nighters like her. And baby parents that liked her parents bakery.

Gurarana beans instead for the extra caffeine with her special blend of licorice root, peppermint and green tea poured in--double the caffeine with less effort, glucose for the brain fuel, sweet and mint for wakeup and focus, and green tea for lasting energy boost.

“Here, this should keep you up and a bit more functional than usual.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Oh my god, what got Finals Angel up this early?” One of the regulars almost yelled, staring at her with a look that screamed the universe was going to collapse in on itself, and they were now anticipating this outcome until they got their morning fix.

Marinette shrugged, moving to the next customer as the dead man took a seat and pulled out his laptop. She continued to help until it was getting close to class.

“Maman, the rest of that brew is under the cabinet for the laptop zombie, I’m taking my morning delivery now.”

Maman took over while Marinette made her way to school, passing out the usual deliveries as she moved about.

“Adrien, your insult to caffeinated monstrosities everywhere.”

“Thanks Marinette!” The blond held his (essentially) hot chocolate with one pump expresso, and five three shots of caramel on top of whip cream.

“Chloe, why you have me grab something this sweet this early is only further proof of your crimes against humanity.”

“You’re welcome Dupain-Cheng.” The girl nabbed her (in Marinette's opinion) low caffeine sugar water--licorice root with half a bottle of honey, and lots of ice with whip cream and honesy drizzled on top. She would never understand that order, but was too afraid to ask at this point. She might be taking the Bee thing too far.

“Alya, thank you for being a sane coffee person, Nino, we are having a talk about your scheduling.”

“Thanks gurl." Because close or not, Alya was an addict with a simple and reasonable coffee that restored Marinette's sanity while making it.

Nino groaned as he took his pastries and three cream, one expresso. “Not again, I still haven’t recovered from the last time.”

Marinette shrugged. “Your mistake, not mine.”

“Oh, did you get my cookies?” Sabrina asked.

Marinette rolled her eyes with a fond smile. She likes Sabrina when she isn't in full cling mode, and giving her boxes of pre-paid cookies put together on Marinette's whims? Very calming after dealing with Adrien and Chloe's offending orders. “Yes. You paid for a different set everyday.”

“Thanks!” Sabina examined her current mix, more obscure cookies since Marinette got them before the morning rush.

“Markov, please tell me Max got some sleep last night?” Marinette asked as she handed another of her special “Max needs a nap but is to stubborn to” order--which is essentially an energy drink blend with a few slow-release teas mixed in.

“Affirmative. He got the requested minimum of three hours. I will ensure he gets more once school is out.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” He was less prone to akumatazation with more sleep, and Hawkmoth does like using Max. Marinette likes knowing she can have her teammate in the field without wondering if he'll pass out.

Marinette took her seat by Alya. They weren’t as close anymore, but it did mean Lila was alone in the back and didn’t see the group document.

“Class, we have a new student today!”

Marinette frowned. She wasn’t informed of any newcomers. She looked over at Chloe who huffed. She didn’t know either then.

“Class, this is Damian Grayson from America. His father is here on business and will be joining us for the semester!”

Chloe and her shared a look. With Chloe as the current president and Marinette as the head of the welcome committee, this was very last minute for them not to be informed. Especially as Bustier had the time to since both were here early.

Alya shot her a look.

Marinette shook her head. She really didn’t know, and it bugged her.

Alya narrowed her eyes as the new boy came in. Black hair, stood too straight and Middle Eastern. She wondered what his first language was briefly--someone in school was bound to be fairly fluent. If it was related to Arabic, Rose would be a good translator. Her and Adrien both have Mandarin now, and her English was passable to Americans--not so much for the UK. Alya has Spanish while Nino has Portuguese covered. Chloe was good for UK English and so was Adrien, but those two weren't good for new kids... especially from the America. Mylene, Ivan, Nathaniel and Juleka were bad at talking most of the time, so they were no-gos...

And she still had to finish Ali's commission… This would be a headache if they were an old Chloe-type.

“Damian, why don’t you tell us about yourself.”

“No need to. I do not plan on making friends.”

And he was worse than an Old Chloe-type. There went her free period for commissions.

The entire class shared a look, and Marinette wanted to groan. This boy would be in for a rude awakening—there was no escaping friendship in Bustier’s class. And anyone difficult? They would sent Marinette as envoy--hopefully Alya didn't make easy.

“I presume my seat is in the back?”

“Actually,” Alya stood up with a grin, “I was going to sit back with Lila to help her catch up in our next class.”

Marinette froze as she realized what Alya was doing. Keeping the new kid from Lila was good, but she also needed to keep Alya from falling for Lila’s lies again. And she has no clue on his preferred languages and uh!

“Alya,” she hissed.

“Don’t worry, I got this.” Alya moved to the back with ease before the boy could say a word.

Marinette hit her head. Why was her friend like this?

“I guess that means you’ll sit next to Marinette. Marinette, can you show Damian around during your free period?”

Marinette knew that tone. There was no refusing without a lecture on being a good role model and another reprimand for stepping down from class representative and student government when she got more commissions and needed more time.

“Of course Miss Buster.”

Damian took his seat without saying a word.

Marinette decided it was better to stay silent with this one--he didn't want friends, and would only be here briefly. She could respect that, even if she could feel the others scheming otherwise.

“What do you mean you know—“

“Oops,” Lila grinned. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

And that was what Marinette was hoping to avoid.

Damian twitched next to her. Marinette sighed, “One sec, I need to remind someone to check her sources before getting ahead of themselves… again.”

Nino shot Marinette a sympathetic look while Marinette linked three redacted articles that starred Lila as her main source.

“And done.”

Damian raised an eye brow at her. “You aren’t going to pester me, correct?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. Honestly? “You made your stance clear. I’m here as the actual head of the welcoming committee, and during free period I’ll just need to know your interests so we can avoid the parts of the school that aren’t relevant for you, and to make sure you have an idea how to handle akuma attacks since I’m going to guess they didn’t tell you about that before you applied.”

“tt,” Damian leveled her with a scowl. “Of course I know about them.”

Marinette didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “So you know where to go for shelter, the drills, the apps and news sources that are good for tracking, which hospitals are contactable during attacks and which ones go into lock down, oh and what actions are allowable and not as civilian aides to the miraculous team?”

The boy froze before her. He didn't then.

Her face slid into a more neutral one--keeping her gloating to herself.“That’s what I thought. I have a few flow charts in the committee room to grab since its an info dump and no one processes those well, and your learning style may benefit from it for all I know.” Marinette made sure not add ‘since some people can’t be bothered to tell me.’ The new boy clearly wasn’t interested in friendship, and despite what the class thinks, she is not friendship-nip.

“I…”

“Class, turn to page 67 of your textbook. Marinette, make sure to share with Damian.”

“Yes Miss Bustier,” Marinette moved the book between the two of them, ignoring Damian besides checking where his eyes were on the page before turning as they followed along.

Once their free period began, Adrien had a Chloe guarding him against the Lila octopus, with Sabrina flanking his other arm as backup.

“I take it those three are together?” Damian asked once they left.

“No, Chloe doesn’t share her friends well,” Marinette explained as they moved through the halls. “And it keeps away his fans, so no one stops it anymore.” Not unless they wanted the Mayor’s ire at least. It was very effective against Lila.

“I see…” He was watching her. She wasn’t sure if it was an American thing or just a tic of his. Possibly both.

“That’s where the teacher’s offices are for before and after school,” Marinette gestured to one wing. “All the doors are labeled, so its easy enough to find who you’re looking for as long as you have a name. You’ll find most of the school services there as well, minus the nurse who’s room is closer to the quad.”

Marinette smiled when they got to welcoming committee room. None of the other members were there at the moment, but the file cabinet was. She grabbed one of the ready-made packets and grabbed a spare Bustier Class packet too.

“Here’s the information for being new in Paris, everything from common places to eat, the good hole-in-the-wall places itemized by what you’re looking for, everything relating to akumas is on the red papers, and the yellow is the school’s map and procedures.” Marinette handed him the blue folder, then the orange. “This one is the Bustier-class specific one approved by Miss Bustier. It lists everything from class rules, what caused various akumatazations with the victim’s consent to disclose it, so not all are listed, and it has your schedule and the class outing dates plus who’s interested in what on the pink pages for possible friends, but you said you weren’t interested so we can skip that.”

Marinette watched him look over the papers for a moment, waiting until his attention was back to her. “Now, anything you have a vague interest in that you might have some random inclination to do at Dupont during your free periods, before or after school?”

Damian raised an eyebrow at her.

“Its you let me tailor the tour for you, or you have to go all over the school and talk to me the entire time, when we both know you’re really not interested.”

“Tt.”

Marinette shrugged. “Have it your way, now, on with the tour!”

--

Damian gawked at the core ciruculum including what he knew was more college level than high school level. Then there was the fact these students had access to multiple state of the art facilities tailored to current students interests on campus, with little issue getting them apparently.

“How does your school get all of this?”

The pigtail girl almost laughed at his question. “I guess they just sent you here since we have the most flexible curriculum routines then.” The girl shifted how she stood. “Dupont is an experimental school, everyone is given high expectations on entry but as long as you keep up with grades the school gets whatever any student requests—a few years ago we had one kid that was allowed to do rocket science as part of his program, he went to some German facility with a translator every other day. Alix has a blanket permit to do street art and installations on public property, as long as she gets her design approved and can give them her schedule as long as she helps other student with history classes. I get full access to any designing materials as part of my deal with the school in exchange for doing any school event costumes and tailoring jobs that I get a two week notice on.”

Damian nodded along, processing this new information. Suddenly, the high amount of akumas from graduates and current students of Dupont made sense. They were specialists, extremely skilled at their crafts and more likely to be knowledgeable than the general population on a variety of topics.

--

Marinette was glad for their hour-long lunch. “I’d ask if you wanted someone to eat with you, but you look like you need some time to process. I’ll check in before school ends.”

She ran home, noting that the man from that morning was still there but looked much less like he would keel over sometime soon. She knew that brew would help. She grabbed a croissant and ran upstairs to finish Prince Ali’s latest commission—a variant on his usual princely attire that was more maneuverable but still formal enough that no one would notice when he wore that one instead of the traditional one.

She had a feeling he was going to use it to sneak away from his guards.

She set an alarm and got to work.

She was quick to leave once the alarm sounded—she gave herself an extra five minutes this time.

“Hey, you’re the coffee angel, right?”

Marinette turned to see the man from that morning, now much more alive.

“I guess.” Marinette knew not to give out names to customers unless her parents deemed them not-stalker-y.

“Thanks, that thing actually worked. What’s in it?”

Marinette smiled at that. “Sorry, that’s a secret not even Maman and Papa get to know.”

“Huh,” the man processed her words. “Guess I’ll have to keep coming when I’m low then.”

Marinette nodded. “Guess so, good to see you’re no longer a zombie monsieur!”

She ran off at that, not sure what to think of them yet, other than if they needed that drink regularly, they might be worse than her. And she has heroing as an excuse. He doesn’t.

--

Holy shit was not expecting this response.

Thank you all so much, was not expecting this much positive response and i think my brain broke a bit, in the good way.

So, we have a new fan to Marinette's secret menu, and a Damian slowly realizing why the school is targetted who is also going with the 'I don't do friends' thing, again.

leaving this one as a poll: Damian calls out Lila by the end of the day for how Marinette and him end up as friends, or he puts together Marinette is doing a lot for the class by the end of the day and wants to figure out why, especially after reading the Ladyblog during lunch, or any other ideas.

Any ideas on how Marinette meets Dick and Jason for when she meets the next round of Batboys?

@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @littleredrobinhoodlum @northernbluetongue @kceedraws @pirats-pizzacanninibles @theatreandcomicfreak @daminett4life @catthhay @weird-pale-blonde-person @amayakans @chocolatecatstheron

[anotherscenarioblog]

One And Only | Kim Junmyeon (I)

genre: highschool!au/demon!au/smut/teacherxstudent

warnings: I wrote this on the train.

authors note: This is going to have a couple parts according to my whim and fancy haha. Also I’m traveling today so this was edited in a rush, I’m sorry if there are any mistakes! :(

"Sir.." I placed the sheet down.. "My family can't afford these books!" I exclaimed looking at him while my head shook. "Excuse me?" Mr. Zhang cocked his head as if I had uttered a curse. "We can't afford these" I muttered keeping my gaze on him. I could feel my heart begin to pick up speed. "Well then, I suppose you need not come to this school anymore Ms. (Y/L/N)" I widened my eyes, not come? I'd rather die. Even though this new system may be propaganda and worthless. My friends, my love for learning, the only other option was the brothel schools or getting a menial job which was the second worst thing to becoming a prostitute in the new generation.

"Please Sir, isn't there anything I can do instead? I can clean, help out with paperwork I can-" Mr. Zhang glared at me instantly silencing me. I looked at his shoulder blade avoiding his gaze. "Come with me, we can talk to the Head about this" I nodded slightly before making my way out of my seat and quietly following Mr. Zhang out of the classroom and down towards where the new Head of the School was. Mr. Zhang knocked lightly on the door and I heard a faint "Come in" from the inside. We made our way inside. I looked up to see a man with a hard gaze stuck on me. My head fell low, intimidated and nervous. "Ms. Y/L/N cannot afford the school books and she begs that she pays for them through service"

I shuddered at the way the word service fell from his lips.

"Very well then Yixing, I'll see what I can do" I looked up slowly to see a wicked grin falling over the Head Teacher's face. I bit my lip wondering what the hell was going on. "I'll take your leave" Mr. Zhang stated exiting the office leaving me alone with he who could only be the Devil.

"Come here Ms Y/L/N" He stated coolly. I slowly walked my way over in front of his desk, right opposite him. "Not there doll, here" He motioned for me to stand between his legs. I gulped before turning around and making my way towards him. My legs were trembling and I fiddled with the base of my skirt as I stood between his legs, not looking up. I felt his fingers brush against my skirt as he gave them a sharp tug. I gasped lightly my head shooting up. I tried to take a step back but his hand caught my waist and prevented me from moving further. His fingers trailed along the side of my body brushing against my breasts and my hips before he drawled "Exactly how much are you willing to do to pay it off doll?".

I stared at him, unable to say a word. I was in absolute shock and didn't utter a word. I heard a faint 'tch' before he harshly tugged at the hem of my skirt, forcing me to fall against him. One of his hands slid around my waist while the other held my hand. "I asked you a question doll and I like answers" I loomed up briefly, his crimson eyes staring into mine sent goosebumps along my arms. I swallowed as hard as I could before giving a faint nod. "Use your words" he whispered, a faint smile ghosting his lips.

"Whatever it takes" I mumble defeated.

"Good girl" he whispered pulling me to rest on his thigh. My head stayed down, unwilling to meet hid gaze. His hand came up to cup my cheek. It was warm, so warm, I almost melted into his palms but my mind kept me steady. He pulled my face up to look at him, after a short stare his lips hesitantly pressed against mine. I stayed still, I didn't know what to do. He pulled back giving me a confused stare before pressing his lips against mine again. This time it was harder, more sure. I pinched my waist slightly causing me to let out a squeak which he used to slip his tongue into my mouth. I moaned softly kissing back. It was too warm, too addictive. He had barely touched me but I already felt like giving myself to him.

His hand reached to side of my skirt quickly unzipping it and tugging it off. I pulled away "What if someo-" he cut me off by placing his lips against my lips again. His fingers reaching up pulling my tie off and beginning to unbutton my shirt. I whimpered at his force, my shirt almost ripped open at his speed. He pulled away pressing his lips against my neck. He kissed and sucked along the side of my neck, leaving faint kisses on my jaw before leaving marks on my neck. Alternating between a stinging sensation and relief.

I reached for his shirt, tugging against the black button up. He took his hands away from my waist and used one to hold my wrists together while the other undid his tie. "No touching" he growled before discarding his tie and soon discarding shirt. I let my eyes trail down his torso, it was defined and pale. I wanted so badly to reach over and trail my fingers along it. In my state of awe, he reached back and unhooked my bra pulling me against him.

I took in a breath while he then lifted me up and pressed me against his desk. I whimpered at how cold it was. His lips began trailing down my collar and my chest leaving little purple bruises like the ones he had left on my neck. He took one nipple into his mouth and twirled his tongue around it, tugging slightly giving me little bouts of pain and soothing pleasure. I whimpered trying to fight his hold on my wrists. I wanted to hold onto something. He was relentless, making me squirm at my inability to avoid his lips and fingers. He kept ghosting his fingers over my inner thighs and my waist, riling me up further.

"Please" I moaned, he leaned slightly back, a satisfied look on his face. "What was that doll? Do you want me to touch you?" He asked teasingly. I let out a slight whine. "Darling I can't understand that, use your words" he repeated seeming as if to mock me.

"Please touch me" I mumbled turning my face away. I heard a low chuckle after which his fingers pushed into me. I let out a load moan, feeling pleasure at last. His fingers kept moving in and out of me, not stopping while he pushed in and out and pinched my clit. I felt my stomach tightening. "Go ahead doll" he muttered. I arched my back and came around his fingers. His hand slipped away from my wrists allowing me to grip the desk. His fingers were around my waist as he then flipped me over. I gasped softly before he wrapped a fist in my hair.

"We can finally begin" he groaned in relief. I heard the sound of his belt unbuckling followed by clothes hitting the floor. I bit my lip in anticipation, I shivered slightly feeling his tip run along my entrance. "Mine" he growled before pushing himself into me. I let out another moan as he pulled me back by my hair. He thrust into me as if chasing his own release and disregarding my own, grunts and groans kept falling from his lips while I was a moaning mess underneath him. "Fuck, so tight, so pretty" he growled before gripping my waist and thrusting in deeper. I gripped the table trying my hardest to retain my balance.

"Please please" I moaned feeling my second release approaching. "Come on doll" he muttered before thrusting into me harder and me finally coming undone. I came around him with a scream. He grunted pushing himself into me and finally he spilled himself into me. His grip around my hips loosened as we both came down from our highs. I felt loose bits of come trail down my thighs as he pulled away turning to get dressed, I slowly lowered myself off of the desk reaching down for my shirt. Both of us got dressed in silence. I finished pulling my belt around my waist when he spoke. "Beautiful" he chuckled. I turned to him,

"Pardon?" He smiled before coming up to me and with his hand on my waist, turned me to face the long mirror in his office. My lips were swollen, my hair completely ruffled and half my shirt hanging off my skirt and the collar just barely hiding my love bites. I gasped at my reflection, my cheeks heating up. "It's beautiful doll, especially cause everyone can see" his tugged at my earlobe "and smell that you're mine" he growled. My cheeks heated up even further at his statement.

"Get to class love and come meet me during Lunch" I gulped softly. I nodded running my fingers through my hair and making my way out.  

How much more can he do in one day?  

_____________________________________

I’m back!! Kind of... I was away for a while wasn’t I? Well I posted a mood board some months back and this is the first part to that series >.< It seemed better in my head but I hope it’s bearable?? Thank you for all the love on my other imagines and I hope you like this one just as much :D

Love Always,

Admin Peter Pan

[redemptions]

waiting for you

relationship: mark x reader

genre: fluff, soulmate!au

length: 1476

summary: you’ve known that mark was your soulmate since you were a child and now you were meeting him for the first time. for @jagimark .

-

I’ll be waiting for you.

The words that sat in a messy scrawl on the inside of your arm brought a smile to your face when they had appeared that morning. You found yourself reaching out and touching it, tracing the letters and mouthing the words to yourself. To anyone who saw them, the words might little to nothing, but to you, they were everything because they were a message from your soulmate.

Soulmates weren’t an uncommon thing in the world, and everyone had their own version of how they would know that they had met their other half. A name inked across a hip, a world that would fill with colour at first contact, emotions shared that grew stronger the closer they were to each other. Your version was the marring of shared flesh - whatever happened to your soulmate happened to you, and vice versa.

From a young age, you had memories of felt tip pen left on the side of your hand where it had smudged miles away or bruises that appeared without explanation. Your parents had been the one to explain it to you, about soulmates and the connection you shared, and it was that night that you first put pen to your skin and wrote to your soulmate.

You were five so your handwriting was a mess and your spelling phonic at best. You drew lines under letters that were ‘special friends’ because it’s what your teacher told you to do in class to help you remember.

You had received a name two days later. Mark.

From then on, a day hadn’t passed where you hadn’t spoken, even if it was just to apologise for the doodle that had appeared on your hand in the middle of the night because Mark and his friends had been bored during his lunch break and he was a bit scatter-brained as a youth and forgot that the image of Super Mario was going to be imprinted on your skin too.

Sometimes you’d send messages asking about your day and cover your body with sharpie ink so you conversed with each other. Sometimes Mark would note music notes against your flesh, the only way he could share his passion with you, and you’d line your arms in poetry because you’d wanted to share something that was important to you as well.

But despite all this, you had never actually met. You didn’t know what he sounded like, you didn’t know what he looked like. You didn’t know how he laughed or how bright his smile could be or his frustrated face. If it weren’t for the replies you would get, you would have started to think that this relationship was a lifelong delusion.

Mark, it seemed, felt the same way. You were out with friends when the words appeared.

I wish I knew you. It’s silly because I do, I have for a long time, but I don’t really do I? Just like you don’t know me. I don’t know your face or what your voice sounds like. I don’t know what your voice sounds like when you sing or how you look when you’re reciting your work. I don’t know. There’s so much that can only be shared in person and I love reading your words, but it’s not the same is it?

There was a space and then –

Sorry, that was too much wasn’t it? I haven’t slept yet. I’m tired. Ignore me. Sorry.

You hadn’t realised the words were being read over your shoulder until SooYong made a humming noise. ‘So why haven’t you guys try to organise a meeting again?’

You jerked, held your arm against you and your eyes widened in surprise. ‘W-what?’

SooYong arched an eyebrow. ‘You and Mark. Why haven’t you met yet?’

‘He lives in Seoul,’ you muttered, ‘the other side of the world. We can’t just meet up on a whim.’

‘So make a plan, have a holiday – you’ve been wanting to travel for a while right?’ SooYong reminded, ‘Or, invite him here.’

You bit down on your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing. Thinking about it made your heartbeat pick up with nerves.

SooYong must have noticed because her eyes softened slightly. ‘Do you want to meet him?’ she wondered.

‘I do,’ you answered honestly because you did. A lot. Sometimes you’d dream about what it would be like when you could finally see, touch and hear the person who had been so important in your life so far. ‘I’m just…’

‘Scared,’ she supplied.

‘Absolutely terrified,’ you corrected.

‘I’m willing to bet he is too,’ SooYong commented.

You didn’t reply and SooYong let the conversation drop, instead diverting your attention to the nearest shop window. You smiled and chatted as normal but your mind was on Mark and his note against his skin, his apology that almost seemed defeated and the way that it made your chest hurt.

Later that day, when you were laying in bed, you pulled your sharpie from under your pillow and wrote your answer.

                   You’re right. We don’t really know each other. But I want to. I want to meet you.

A week later, you’d booked your tickets to fly to Incheon Airport and it was all set.

You were going to meet your soulmate for the first time.

Mark, it seemed, was the most excited and had taken to leaving reminders that made you smile warmly at the sight of them.

Two weeks and I get to see you.

I can’t wait to hug you in ten days.

I’ll see you in seven days.

Three days.

Let me know when you’re boarding.

Nine hours and I’ll see your smile.

And now – I’ll be waiting for you.

Oh, the promise of it made you feel warm and weak and nervous. So nervous. It had gotten worse when you got off the plane, increased when you grabbed your suitcase from the luggage carousel and was only building more and more with each step you took towards the pick-up point.

People rushed to meet their loved ones. There were smiles and laughter and hugs and tears. You skirted around them carefully, eyes scanning the faces around you. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth anxiously the longer you looked. What if Mark wasn’t there? What if he changed his mind? What if he was there and you didn’t see him and he thought that you had changed your mind? What if he saw you and changed his mind? What if you weren’t what he expected and he didn’t like it? What if – your mind whirled with all the ways this could go wrong and your stomach tightened considerably to the point that you thought you might be sick.

And then you heard it. Your name. Multiple voices. You frowned in confusion and glanced around you for the source and in the distance, you could see signs. There were seven of them, held up by people bouncing on the balls of their feet and dancing amongst themselves. You took hesitant steps forward.

‘Come on,’ one of the boys cooed and flung their arm around another, his hair a deep red, ‘Smile. You don’t want the first thing your soulmate sees to be a frown.’

‘Why did I let you convince me to let you guys come along?’ the redhead muttered darkly, rubbing his forehead.

‘Because we’re charming,’ another shot back.

You were getting closer, the voices coming clearer. Your eyes scanned across each face and lingered on one – the redhead with his expression pinched in the centre. Was that? Could it be?

‘Mark?’ you didn’t realise you’d spoken out loud until faces turned to you. They made you pause, a flush rising to your cheeks and you ducked your head in embarrassment. Through your fringe, you watched as the redhead was shoved forwards and he stumbled.

‘Yes,’ he muttered, ‘I’m Mark, and you’re–‘

‘Yes,’ you answered back swiftly, just as breathless.

‘Wow,’ he breathed and smiled, lips tugging into a crooked and goofy grin that you couldn’t help but return. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi.’

(Even though they were sitting beside each other for the first time, he still had his pen on his wrist, writing words to his flesh for your eyes only.

You’re so much more than I expected.

             Oh, is that a good thing?

Definitely. You’re beautiful. I got lucky.

             You’re not exactly hard to look at either.

Jackson objected loudly to not being involved in the conversation, exclaiming how rude it was to have a private conversation when there were others around. Mark shot back that the boys had invited themselves and they were welcome to leave if they wanted to. You didn’t bother hiding your smile at their bickering and thought, yes, this was something you could get used to. 

And you would, if Mark had anything to say about it.)

-

a note from author to @jagimark : you’re a joy to have on my dash and even if we don’t speak, you still make me smile when i see you. I hope this fic makes you smile too! 🌟🌟

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

A First Date - Dunkirk Characters Preference

Requested by anon: Hey Ash, I was wondering... would it be okay to request a preference, but instead of the cast, using the characters of Dunkirk? I was thinking about them trying to ask on a first date, like who panics, who get sweaty...? If you can, you can set it in modern days, whatever is easier/ more comfortable for you, really!!

AN: I wrote about the asking and also the first date he would take you on because I’m soft

Masterlist

Alex

Alex knew you well. You’d practically grown up together, holding hands, open discussions with nothing to hide, and such support. Many times he’d often thought that you were so close it was like being in an ideal relationship – just without the romantic interest. That jinxed it because he found out that he was very much smitten with you.

By God, his palms were sweating up a storm when he decided he should tell you his feelings. The poor boy didn’t want to ruin what he had with you and he started to cry out of frustration. After some cuddles coaxing him out of his shell in the solitude of your room, Alex stumbled out with it, hiccups breaking up his speech pattern. You were also a little overwhelmed by his revelation but you simply cuddled him closer until his crying ceased. Then you agreed to go on a date with him and he started crying again as he tackled you with a hug.

When the date began at the museum (where Alex planned to go with you to see the new exhibit) he was very stiff and nervous and trying way too hard to be a sweeping gentleman on this date. It was you who put him on edge and so it had to be you who put him at ease. You acted like you normally would with him, joking about the amount of dicks on show in the art and the nonsense of cubism. Alex relaxed and you both fell into the normal routine of your friendship by the time you were in the new exhibit. He almost forgot it was a date until you kissed his cheek to which he froze and flushed at your pleasure.

Collins

He’d seen you before during his walks, looking in the far distance where coloured kites soared above the hill. They would swing about in the breeze and flourish in a rainbow of fabrics. You looked rather wistful as you watched. Collins strode home with new impulsive purpose.

Rifling through the trunk on top of his wardrobe, he found his old box kite from when he was a child, fabric fragile. Blowing the dust off it, Collins then collected his ration card and counted his points. Since it was autumn, therefore only a few months before he would receive more points, he expected that he would be fine as long as he didn’t tear any of his clothes. With those points, he purchased some polyester and spent the entire night mending his kite for he knew from the weather report that tomorrow would be the perfect day to fly it.

The next afternoon, a little tired but ready, Collins went to the park with box kite in hand. When he saw you, he tapped you on the shoulder and introduced himself. Almost instantly you pointed out the kite and that you’d seen him before – you’d spoken before at the newsagents. Nervous, he babbled away. Only when he took a breath did you respond with equal excitement to fly his kite. You both dashed to the hill and prepared to fly. Yelling “ready?”, Collins threw his kite into the air and watched its lustrous new blue catch in the wind.

He was back at your side when you gestured to your shaking hands wrestling with the string and asked him to “show you the ropes.” With that pun, Collins was head over heels for you. He stood at your side initially but then moved behind you. His hands cupped yours and guided the kite. It swooped about and you both laughed into the wind as it whipped your hair.

Farrier

You met in a dance hall where you tagged along with some friends to dance in a group as singles. But then you began to split off to dance with others and you were the first to be asked. He introduced himself as Farrier, charm masking his nerves because he asked you on a whim, spontaneity fuelled by the drinks. He was surprisingly good at dancing in spite of his alcohol consumption and proved to be a good laugh on the floor.

When he offered to walk you home at the realisation it was almost closing time, Farrier suddenly transformed into a little boy shyly offering a homemade Valentine. You thought that even more charming, watching the drink wear off and awkwardness kick in – a real character. His left thumb and forefinger pinched the right palm between them as, at your door, he asked slowly to see you, to take you on a proper date. You agreed, freeing his hand from its pinch to squeeze it in comfort before saying goodnight.

For a first date, you weren’t expecting him to take you to a show. To start with, you thought that he was just flashing the cash. But this was not the case. You sat back and enjoyed the performance about various comedic forms. As you walked out of the theatre and headed into the bar upstairs, Farrier began to discuss the show, an animated conversation which he often asked for and listened to your opinion. You realised Farrier had chosen this show because you’d spoken about comedies on the night you’d met. Relief washed over you as you engaged in conversation with him over another drink with him, smiling with him, recalling the funniest parts and snorting together.

(AN: I know this is from Child 44 but I love this gif please and thank you)

Gibson/Philippe

You worked in a grocers and Philippe was a frequent visitor. Not because he needed many items the store had to offer but because he was constantly trying to ask you out. Everytime he would go to one of the aisles to psych himself but he would then chicken out and end up buying an unnecessary vegetable without making much eye contact but with the pleasantries of his upbringing.

But one day he finally had the nerve. He waltzed into the store and stood before your counter. Before you could even get in the standard greeting, Philippe asked in a jumble (rather than a mumble) if you would join him for lunch one day, during a break or after your shift, whatever was good for you. He finished by clapping his hands once to clasp them together in silent prayer. This was not expected at all by you since this man had never said more than ten words to you but now he had more than enough tumbling out of his mouth in the most adorable way possible. You nodded, telling him your shift would end in half an hour if he wanted to go then.

Philippe ran that confidence high all the way through that half an hour and a little beyond. Returning on the dot, he showed you to his favourite café with (in his humble opinion) the best baked goods in his town. Once sat at a table, he asked how work was, the usual carbon copy small talk that he’d practised in his head. He found himself jumping between barely speaking and speaking all too much but you didn’t mind. You offered him some of your cake and even though he’d had it a million times Philippe accepted your cute offer and paid you the same respect. He felt a flutter of his heart as hummed pleasantly with eyes closed and lips shaped not in the customer service smile but this winsome close lipped beauty that he wanted to see every day.

George Mills

He would bump into you doing his paper run, leaving the house to go do your chores before school. There was always a rushed but smiling “good morning!” from you and he would have a dopey grin on his face for the next hour, making the early rise worth it everytime.

With classes separated by sex, George didn’t get to see you as often as he’d like at school. Even worse you were always with friends so he could never get you alone to ask you out. Not until one day, he was walking back and planning how he would revise that afternoon when he saw you alone, walking just twenty feet ahead. Increasing his meander to a trot, he made it to your side and said good afternoon. You responded with the same eagerness and commented how it was good to see him actual daylight for once. Your comment would allow you to see his blush. Your comment would also light the very short fuse inside George, sparking the urge to ask you out again. He straightened up and came out with it.

Now George had taken you to the penny arcade and was determined to win you something. He had an entire bag of money he’d saved up from his paper round and loose change on the street or from expenses. That weight in his pocket gradually faded, lessening as each time either of you failed to win at the machines for the entirety of the afternoon. It was with the few remaining pennies that he bought gobstoppers from the sweet shop over the road. Together, you sat with your legs dangled off the pier and worked at your gobstoppers with the sun basking in your faces. Oooing at the various coloured layers, you leant your head on his shoulder and took his free hand in your not sticky one. Let’s just say George was pleased as punch with this end.

Gif Credit

Peter Dawson

Peter was your childhood sweetheart, having sent you many scribbles of your future wedding at aged three and given you his favourite spade at five. Unlike many fickle five year olds, he never asked for it back. That meant it was true love in his opinion, an unorthodox form of proposal.

At the ripe old age of sixteen, nine years into your “relationship”, Peter decided now was a good time to take you on a first date. For some reason, he was very nervous. What if it had all been just a running joke for you? Pushing those (quite frankly, rude) thoughts from his head, he bided his time and waited for the right moment. Waiting was awful. It was like he had been put in a slow cooker to simmer in his anxieties. His palms were profusely sweating when he finally asked you after tea at your house. He had to constantly wipe his hands on his trousers and jumper. Then you stole one of his strawberries and said that you would love to.

He didn’t really know what to do, figuring the day would take you somewhere. When you reached the edge of the bay and the start of the beach, you had a brain wave. You challenged him to a sandcastle building competition with the entire beach at your disposal and the same bright yellow spade he so adored a decade earlier. Grabbing some buckets too, you competed against the ticking clock of the tide. Soon it came in and demolished half of Peter’s structure, but only one turret of yours. You cheered in success and, accepting Peter’s (surprisingly not sweaty) hand as a prize, jumped over the waves together with your trouser cuffs rolled up. Both of you still got wet and had to explain to your parents respectively what you had been up to but in that moment you didn’t care about anything and neither did Peter.

(AN: A good soft boy)

Shivering Soldier

It takes him a very long time to ask you on a date, almost too long. But he knows his priority is on getting better and in the worst days, where his self-hatred is strongest, his motivation is to become a better man who can give you, his neighbour across the hall, everything you deserve. Because you’re so sweet, checking on him and helping him out, his anchor and he appreciated everything you did. He always planned on making sure you knew that

It was a gradual realisation that he was well enough to deal with his PTSD and, after careful preparation, he went to your flat and knocked. It took a lot to ignore the doubt, the dread that maybe he should wait a little longer. But as soon as you opened the door, he was too stubborn to turn back now. He was inside and you’d just offered tea like usual. Unlike usual, he said no. Quickly, he followed on saying that he would like to take you out for tea if you would like that as well. On a date. With him. That was when the doubt of such a wonderful person settling for a sick man filled his gut. But you said yes. To his utter delight and the man felt butterflies in his stomach.

You knew what he liked – routine – so you reminded him that you were wholly happy to just spend a day in with him. He was so relieved to hear that, without reluctance or compromise. He wanted everything to be perfect and having the first date in an environment he could control was the best possible option. Once you were in, he made tea. He remembered how you liked it which you thought was quite lovely. He asked the usual questions but saw that your eyes were straying to an incomplete chess board on his coffee table. When you noticed that he saw you wandering, you moved to the opposite side of the table and challenged him to a game – something he’d spoken about often in your flat. Three games later (with two victories to you), he felt completely at ease once again but still felt the butterflies as you hugged him in farewell.

Gif Credit

Tommy

This travelling market was a pleasure in Tommy’s life. An annual tradition of which he would spend the culmination of the year’s savings, one such pleasure he kept to himself because it gave him the freedom to wander about with restraint, embarrassment or accommodation of anyone else. But it was such a lovely experience he wanted to show you.

You were a friend of a friend, someone he wouldn’t say he was close too. Not close enough to share this treasure of his yet somehow Tommy was compelled to do so. In order to achieve that, he had to make sure that you didn’t hate him. With your mutual friends in the park, you were all finishing off a game of footie before heading back to your respective homes. His path followed yours just a few streets extra. That was when, with a dry throat, he asked if you would like to accompany him to the market. You had no knowledge of such a thing which then led to a titbit of what you would see Tommy like as he explained. His restricted joy for the place was enough to convince you to join him, with the affirmation of “it’s a date” before you left him to get home.

The hint of his joyous behaviour could not compare to his completely uninhibited. Tommy looked simply at bliss when you both stepped off the bus before the entrance. Both jogging into the pathway formed by terraced stalls, he began to tell you about it. He was lost in his enthusiasm, talking a mile a minute about everything he saw because everything he saw had a story attached to it. You could not be happier to see his awkwardness drop, seeing him ramble about his delights. He was so beautiful when he was lost in awe. His cheeks were red with cold and embarrassment when he silenced himself. But you looped your arm through his and asked a question which slowly built to another glorious discussion about this market, this time over a large hot dog that you split between each other. Tommy also bought you a little trinket – a wooden carving of a elephant half the size of your thumb – before you caught the bus home. The travelling market became a pleasure for you because it was when you got to see Tommy in such beauty like there never was before.

Gif Credit

Perma-tag: @tomgcsglasses, @lowdenglynnstyles, @prettyboytgc, @lowdensnose, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @scottishlowden and @from-the-clouds

Dunkirk tag: @blondeeee-e

Jack tag: @londonr26

[exxar1]

Episode 4: Waking Up

11/14/2020

Good morning, folks. As I write this, I’m sitting in my living room, listening to an Apple music channel of classic Christmas carols, while late morning sunshine streams through my front window. I have just finished putting laundry in the dryer and washing the few dishes in the sink that piled up during the week. My McDonald’s iced coffee is almost gone, and I’m feeling ready to face the day.

I have a couple hours before I have to start getting ready for work, so there’s not a lot of time to hammer out this blog entry. I don’t have a lot to say for this episode, but I have been feeling somewhat strange for the last couple weeks. Not ‘strange’ in the physical sense, but ‘strange’ as in ‘there’s something happening with me that I can’t quite explain’.

And now I’m going to try to explain what I’m talking about.

Per my usual work routine, I spend 5 ½ hours every morning, Monday through Friday, in the lobby of Walmart, greeting customers and making sure everyone is wearing their face mask. And, as usual, I have nothing but my own thoughts and the occasional conversation with co-workers to keep me company. But mostly just my own thoughts. And boy, my brain lately will just not shut down – or even go into standby mode. It seems that all I can do lately is just think, think, think. Here’s a sample of what tumbles through my head from morning until night every day:

·      Is the ballot recounts for the national election close to being done? Will Trump retain his presidency (I hope), or will America finally get its first female president? (Yes, you read that correctly.)

·      Spencer Klavan of the “Young Heretics” podcast so damn good looking, and the fact that he’s also a “Super Mario Bros” fan in addition to being ivy league educated and possessing near-savant level human intelligence has forced me to finally admit that I have had a massive crush on him for almost four months now. (I just wish he wasn’t such an avid gym rat. That’s such a turnoff. Well, that, and the fact he already has a boyfriend.)

·      I need to start working on the story ideas that came to me a few weeks ago. There’s two really good ones that I know would make excellent short stories, or, at the very least, novellas. One’s about a superhero called The Red Mask, and the other is about cats and dogs that are created with a sophisticated AI that allows them to look, feel and behave exactly like real animals but without all the maintenance and mess that pet owners have to put up with (such as feeding them, combing them, bathing them, walking them, training them, cleaning up their poop, etc.).

·      Oh! A circuit court judge in Georgia just ordered a bunch of ballots to be thrown out in that state’s recount!

·      Spencer Klavan liked one of my tweets about Young Heretics!!!!

·      Should I have McDonald’s for lunch or the apple I brought with me? The apple. Definitely the apple. Need to stay healthy.

·      I can’t believe all the idiots on social media that not only voted for Biden/Harris but actually think that he will make a good president. What the hell is wrong with them???? Anyone with half a brain can easily recognize what Trump has done for this country, and it scares the shit out of me that the radical left (capital ‘R’, capital ‘L’) just might get their foot in the door of the White House. What the fuck is wrong with half of America right now??? It’s all that “white fragility”, “systemic racism”, “white privilege”, “black lives matter” bullshit!!! How the fuck did that horseshit gain such powerful traction in this country????Robin Deanglo and Ibram X Kendi and all their pathetic followers are so full of shit they ought to open their own manure factory!!!!

·      Yay! The 2021 “Super Mario Bros” and “Star Trek” wall calendars I ordered on Amazon have shipped! They’ll be here Tuesday!

·      And that reminds me, I need to start working on the photo calendars that I give to my family every year for Christmas. Maybe I should do that this Saturday morning before my shift at Check City.

·      Oh. Time for my break. Yay! Coffee!

And…repeat. That. All of that. Over and over all day long – creative story thoughts, political thoughts, work thoughts, checking my phone three times an hour to review the latest posts on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram to stay on top of all the latest news and current events that serve to fuel my new woke self. Texting friends and family about this and that. On and on and on...

Hhmmm. My new woke self.

The other day, as this new thought occurred to me, I mentally reviewed everything that’s happened to me this year, everything that I wrote about in that first blog episode. I also thought about my recent self-examination of my whole life up to this point, the stuff I covered in episodes 2 and 3 of this blog. Then I thought back over the last two weeks: the sudden and unexpected passing of Aaron; his memorial service that I made an emergency trip home to Idaho to attend; and, finally, this new, strange…’wokeness’, for lack of a better term, that I now find myself in.

I honestly don’t know how to precisely describe it. I’ve been trying all this week to come up with apt, specific words and/or phrases, and then, finally, I thought of something. I’m a huge fan of the reboot of “Battlestar: Galactica” that was done by Ronald D Moore on the SyFy channel in 2004. It’s been a few years since I last binged all 4 seasons of that terrific show, but I was thinking about it the other day as my mind wandered, and it suddenly occurred to me what this new ‘woke’ state that I’m in feels like: the Cylon sleeper agents (who looked and acted like real humans) that were suddenly awakened to their true nature.

Yeah, I’m not kidding. Yes, I know how that sounds, but let me explain. I really feel like that, somewhere deep in the core of my brain, a metaphorical ‘switch’ was flipped from ‘off’ to ‘on’ along about late August or early September of this year. The world around me did not change, but my perception of it – as well as my perception of my place in it – did fundamentally change. I realized this week that for pretty much all my life I’ve been coasting through it. Everything that I’ve done and accomplished took no real effort or sacrifice on my part. Everything after high school pretty much just happened naturally. I decided to join the Army on a whim. When that didn’t work out, I came back home and enrolled in college. I spent 4 ½ years doing what I loved – reading, writing, discussing reading and writing – and I came out with a Bachelor’s in English. Again, no real effort. I coasted through on my natural talents. The only real work was in the core classes that I needed for my degree, like math or biology. But those were few. And then, after college, instead of putting my degree to use, I just settled for a day job in retail and then, later, in an elementary school. And then, in 2012, on a whim, I quit my job and moved to Las Vegas. Once again, I found a cushy day job where I make really good money, and…then 2020 happened.

In other words, I’ve never been an active participant in my own life. I just kinda let everything happen and went with the flow. I even had this same attitude in high school and it drove my parents and teachers absolutely mad. I didn’t care about being valedictorian or captain of the sports teams or even being the best damn piano player this side of the Rockies. All that mattered was hanging out with my friends and making sure the VCR was set each week to record the newest episodes of “Star Trek: DS9” and “Star Trek: Voyager”. And, without consciously realizing it, that’s been my attitude for my whole damn life. I’ve never cared about the world beyond my own front door. If it didn’t affect my life directly, I never paid it any attention. That’s especially true for politics. No matter who sat in the White House, my life never changed. So I figured, why bother? I’m perfectly content to live a quiet, solitary existence, and the rest of the world can do its own thing.

Except that now I’m no longer content with my quiet, solitary existence. Something within me fundamentally changed this year, and there’s no going back.

I am awake. (But, unlike the Cylons, I’m not about to start murdering humans.) I’m certain that it was God’s hand that reached down to flip that invisible switch in my brain, but now that I have rejected my former sleeper state, I don’t know exactly what to do. For the last couple weeks, I have felt nervous; anxious; excited; jittery; like a live wire that’s been cut and is now flopping on the ground, shooting sparks and energy. I have to constantly resist the urge to grab total strangers off the street and shout at them to “Wake up!” The world around us is changing, and we can’t live as sleeper agents in our own lives. Everything that’s happened in 2020 is going to shape the future of this country and the lives of everyone in it, and no one can afford to not care and just keep living their quiet, solitary lives.

This is why I scream on social media about the stupid mask mandates, and the ‘lamestream’ media, and politics, and everything else that I’ve been ranting and raving about for nine months. And yes, I’m sure some of my friends think I’ve gone crazy, and more than a few have probably unfollowed me. I don’t mean to alienate folks, but I have to put this energy somewhere or I’ll go crazy.

One of biggest changes that I have noted is that I no longer have a desire to park in front of the TV in my time off. I still have a few regular shows that I watch each week, but my passion has turned to reading and podcasts. I renewed my Audible.com membership a few months ago, and I have started stockpiling audiobooks on various subjects: biographies of the Founding Fathers of America, non-fiction books on artificial intelligence and other new forms of technology, books on world history, western literature and Greek philosophy. (I recently began listening to a series of lectures from Boston University on Plato’s “Republic”). And, of course, the highlight of my week is a new episode of “Young Heretics” every Tuesday. (And no, it’s not just because of my crush on Spencer Klavan.) I also have started carving out an hour here and there each day to grab my laptop and write a few paragraphs of new stories or just jot notes for upcoming stories.

I really, honestly feel as if something is coming. I don’t know what, I don’t know when, but God woke me up for a reason. He’s got something planned for me, and I need to be ready for it. I’m pretty certain the world is not coming to an end anytime soon, and I’m sure 2021 will be a better year for our nation than 2020, no matter who’s sitting in the White House. And yes, Lord willing, this stupid “pandemic” will also be over sometime soon. For me, personally, 2020 was the year that changed me and got me ready for whatever is coming. A fire’s been lit under my ass, but I’m not sure where yet where I’m supposed to be jumping up and running to.

I am sure, however, that It’s time to be an active participant in my own life.

Hey mom and dad, I really do care now, and I really, truly want to do my best. I want only top grades and to be the captain of…something. It only took twenty-six? Twenty-seven years? But now I’m going to be that grade-A student that you and Mrs. Tutty and Mrs. Jones and Mr. Walker always knew I could be.

Better late than never, eh?

[pixiealtaira]

Important Qualities in a friend

Pairing: None.  Friendship fic.  Starring Kurt and Elliot and Dani.

Kurt didn’t actually ever stop and write out what he thought were the most important qualities in a friend until much later in his life than he ought to have, really.  Especially considering he did the whole ‘journal by listing things about yourself’ thing at the start of high school…when one of the online helps he saw said write things down and journal and he himself thought he’d rather not be depressed for life and writing what was upsetting him seemed counterproductive.

He didn’t even think about it at all, except for constantly finding himself disappointed in his friends, until Elliot made a comment about making sure his friends were meeting the qualities he consider important and not just him meeting their whims or needs…that friendships were a two way relationship, just like romance and sex. Of course Kurt hadn’t focused on the friendship part because he was rather mind blown by the romance and sex reminder at the time (and realizing he wasn’t getting that either, and that Elliot assumed he was).

It wasn’t until after Blaine and he broke-up after the engagement and Rachel was off in LA and Mercedes was off touring with Santana and Brittany and NO ONE would answer his calls at all that Kurt got drunk and wrote out his list.

He was so drunk he didn’t remember writing it.  Instead he went to the stupid therapist that he found in papers Rachel had left when she departed who told him everything was all his fault…he was supposed to give everything he had to a relationship if he wasn’t the alpha male in it.  If he wasn’t the alpha male he needed to be the wife and the wife’s job was to cater to her husband…or his husband if he was the effeminate one, which he always had to be with a voice like his. Of course she also told him that he should never ever top and even if he’d rather top he needed to train himself to be the ultimate submissive bottom so men would like him, because that would be the only reason men would like him.  Then he went speed dating, trying out his new ‘I’ll be whatever you want’ tone…which he never really got to show because speed dating was stupid and there wasn’t time for anything. And the idiot said he wasn’t over his ex and he wasn’t really over Blaine…it hadn’t been but a few months. He still wasn’t sleeping and eating properly. And then NO ONE showed up when they were supposed to and he was alone and knew it. Alone was scary and hurt and thoughts just echoed in his head.  So when Rachel showed her face again and demanded his attention again and her face was in Lima and Blaine was there too…Kurt decided to run home.

He was pulling out his suitcases to pack when he found the list.

A good friend has time for you…as much time for you as you have for them.

A good friend picks up the phone when you call and talks about what you want to talk about…not just themselves.  Sometimes a good friend just listens just like sometimes you just listen, but a good friend won’t make you always just listen.

A good friend calls before canceling plans.

A good friend respects your time and effort and person and things.

A good friend does what you want to do, watches what you want to watch, listens to what you want to listen to, about half the time when you are together.

A good friend makes you laugh and lets you laugh, but a good friend also lets you cry and provides comfort and support.

Oh and they let you cry when YOU need to, not when it is convenient for them or on their timetable.

A good friend asks and does not constantly demand.

There were more listed, but Kurt was shaking so hard he had to set down the paper and seat himself before he fell.  When Rachel had called, breaking her silent treatment of the world…or returning from her retreat from the world, whichever way you’d like to put it, and Kurt definitely put it in the silent treatment category…she told him he had to come home to Lima, she needed him.

Sure, she briefly told him she’d love to hear about his side to his break-up with Blaine, but she also insisted he do so in person while he helped her run glee club.  Then laid out how he would help her and everything she hoped to do with it and she needed him to work the music and such, because she didn’t take those courses in NYADA, but he had to make sure she had songs to sing to showcase what could be done.

She also lectured him about letting Blaine go and how he had been petty and Kurt knew she’d been talking to Blaine and it had fed into the echo chamber in his head of “Blaine is always right, you were wrong and always were wrong, and you needed to have done whatever it was Blaine wanted’ and just bounced around in there.  On the other hand he was NOT ALLOWED to say anything about Rachel’s show bombing or talk about anything she could have done different, which of course just made him itch to say ‘I told you so’.

And really, as much as Rachel ‘needed her best friend…her best gay’ to ‘get her through the tragedy that is her life in ruins’ and ‘help mourn the destruction of her blazing star’ and ‘gather the ashes of her entire future so he can rebuild her’, her offer to help him was to ‘listen to see if he could actually explain how he could let Blaine go and break the poor dear’s heart’.

Kurt curled up on his bed. Had he ever had a friend like he listed? Rachel didn’t fit the description, nor did Santana or Brittany.  He wasn’t even sure Mercedes and Tina did way back when.  Blaine never did, either.

Adam could have met his requirements for a friend…had they had the chance to get to know each other better and develop a relationship.  Kurt was certain he would have, given a chance.  Adam had let him laugh and cry…made him laugh, even…and encouraged him to have fun and be silly, without worrying what other people might think. And once when they were going to meet for coffee between classes… just grab it and go, not even sit down and enjoy coffee…Adam called because he got held up in his class and was running slow, giving Kurt the option of skipping the meet-up if he was worried about being late. And they watched shows and movies they both liked, taking turns picking things out.   Now looking back, Kurt wanted to cry over it.  He’d kept secrets…big ones like his dad’s cancer and exactly what happened to cause the first break-up…which affected his behavior and never gave them the chance to get to the point of sharing that deeply with each other. Heck, he gave Adam less than two months to share deeply before letting Blaine and Rachel and his dad and others convince him that Blaine was the one for him, since they knew each other so deeply.

Elliot fit his friend description.  Kurt was the bad friend in that relationship at the end.  He kept breaking plans because Kurt having plans with Elliot made Blaine upset.  Kurt always called when he did so, though. He’d been glad when Elliot got to opportunity to go to the yoga retreat to learn how to be an instructor…and not just for the break it would give Elliot in terms of supplemental income.  It made it so talking to Elliot was easier to hide and made it so Kurt didn’t have to actually break up the band, like Blaine had been pushing for him to do.  Dani had been a good friend, as well.   Even Chase had fit more of Kurt’s list of friendship needs than everyone Kurt had been calling friends and thus listening to.

Kurt called his dad and said he was staying in New York and called the rental place and canceled the rental car.  He called Rachel to tell her he wasn’t going to make it, at least not right away.  She didn’t answer, so he left a message.

Then he called Elliot, who wasn’t answering his phone but always responded to his voice messages when he had a chance.

Kurt was sure his voice message sounded pathetic.

“Elliot, when do you get home? I miss you.”

He must have sounded even more pathetic than he’d thought, because Dani knocked on his door two hours later with Ice Cream and cheesecake.

“So….” Dani started their conversation.  “What is new?”

And that was that. Kurt bawled and spilled all the details of his miserable life since Dani had been on tour with her roller derby team and Elliot had gone off to the retreat and Dani had found him a new therapist within ten minutes of him speaking of his current one.

He wasn’t nearly as prone to tears when Elliot called a few hours later, during his ‘contact with the world’ time, and was able to just smile during Elliot’s lecture about Kurt not calling them earlier.  Elliot was going to be home in a week and Dani was around for the rest of the fall and throughout the winter, only touring again if her team did well enough during their local season.    Elliot and Dani convinced Kurt to stay in New York with them and start up the band again.

“What were you going to do about school?” Dani asked after Elliot had ended his call.

“Well, it is mid-September. I’ve already put six weeks into a play at the retirement home and I need to find another six week or so project. Rachel suggested I use the glee club. Other than work-study, I have two online classes…both writing…and need to do so many hours of dance and vocal training a week, from other sources than the school.  I’ve been doing an adult tap and jazz at the local gym and I’m taking vocal training from a man who worked at Julliard when he was younger.  I want to get a bit of classical type training. However, I could have done the online courses wherever I was, as well as paid for dance and vocal training.”

“So…what does your work-study have to be in?” Dani asked.

Kurt shrugged. “Something in the field of entertainment.  The course description was incredibly vague. Adam once said one of the Apples did part of his by working as an Usher for one of the Broadway theaters.”

Dani smiled.  “I have some ideas.”

Kurt woke with a start later, looking around and finding Dani snoring on the floor next to him. Papers of all sorts surrounded them and the empty carton of Ice Cream was tipped to the side, making a mess. Luckily it was near his foot and not near any of the papers.  Kurt tidied up the piles…moving bits of lyrics and music into one and costume ideas into another and other bits of notes into a third.  He picked up the ice cream carton and tossed it into the trash bin and then wet a cloth to wipe off the floor enough so he could relax.  He tore into the box he’d packed blankets and such into, grabbing a pillow and blanket to cover Dani with.  He grabbed his own from where he’d packed them away and moved back to where they fell asleep.  He lifted Dani’s head enough to place a pillow under it and covered her up before snuggling up beside her on the floor.

Maybe this time he could get the whole friend thing right and he hadn’t missed all his chances at it after all.

[revwinchester]

Spring Break

Summary: Now that he’s in college, Sam goes on his first ever vacation but when a supernatural creature threatens his friend, Sam has to jump back into the life he had tried so hard to leave behind.

Character(s): Sam Winchester, Tyson Brady, Zach Warren

Word Count: 2478

Warnings: Language, Canon typical violence

A/N: So, I was selected to write a fic for an anthology of fanfic that’s being put together over at @spnshortstories - you should go check it out - and I wrote this piece for that but it ended up being twice the word limit (apparently, I’m a wordy bitch...) and I couldn’t figure out how to cut out half of the words without losing anything important for the story.  So instead I started from scratch on that project and wrote some fun Gabriel/Trickster fluff.  Now that book fic 2.0 has been submitted, you get to read the originally intended story, which is a case!fic set in the cannonverse during the time Sam was in Stanford.  I also edited it to include one of this week’s SPN Hiatus Challenge prompts (thanks to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing for hosting and for the inspiration every week), which is “you’re supposed to talk me out of this” and is in bold in the fic.

TL;DR: This was written for a book and was too long so you get to read it here instead.

Spring Break - 

Brady hadn’t believed his ears when Sam had mentioned he’d never been on vacation.  After finally convincing his friend that it was true, Sam watched in awe as Brady pulled out his cellphone and called someone to make arrangements.  He hung up less than ten minutes later and announced that Sam should find a part time job because they were going to Tijuana for spring break.

“My parents own a timeshare,” he offered as an explanation.

Sam nodded like he understood even though he had no idea what Brady was talking about.

Nevertheless, spring break rolled around and Sam was riding shotgun in Brady’s car.  Brady was behind the wheel and their friend Zach was in the back seat as they made the eight and a half hour drive to Tijuana, Mexico.  They crossed the border without any issues and soon enough, Brady was parking outside of a well appointed condominium.

The boys had left early in the morning so it was only about 2 PM when they arrived.  They quickly unpacked the car and got changed for the beach.

As they walked toward their destination, Sam noticed dark looks on the locals’ faces.  It was a look that went beyond a native person’s disdain for potentially unruly tourists but before he could think too hard about it, Sam felt himself getting pulled into a building.  Apparently, Zach had decided that, since they were of legal drinking age in Mexico, the only way to start their vacation was with tequila shots.  Each of the boys bought a round and the three shots in quick succession worked up a good buzz as they continued their walk to the beach.

Sam couldn’t help but notice the darkness on people’s faces again.  It was a familiar look. One he had seen in so many small, no-name towns across America; one he had worked hard to forget.  Sam did his best to brush it off, to ignore those faces and focus on the smiling tourists.  Hunting wasn’t his life anymore, would never be his life again if he had any say in the matter.  He was Sam Winchester, college student, Stanford University pre-law class of 2005, and he was sure a hunter would catch wind of whatever was happening here and come deal with it.

The three boys settled in on the beach.  Sam was reading through a guide book, thinking about the next few days while Brady and Zach were trying - and failing - to pick up girls using their meager high school Spanish skills.  Every so often they would splash into the water; it was still on the cold side so they never lasted log before retreating to the sunny beach to warm up.  Their afternoon continued on in much the same manner until the sound of music began wafting down to the beach.  The three began walking across the sand toward the road that would get them back to their condo when Zach stopped.

“You guys hear that?” Zach asked. Craning his neck around to look for the source of whatever had caught his attention.  “It sounds like there’s a baby crying.”

Sam listened but all he could hear was the sounds pumping from the bars and restaurants further up the beach.  “It’s probably just something in the music, man,” Sam surmised and continued his trek towards the road.

They got back to their condo and started getting ready for diner.  Sam grabbed the first shower and was dressed and watching the news before Zach and Brady were ready.  Sam was following along with the subtitles for the beginning of a story about a rash of missing people when Brady flipped the tv off.  “You watch enough of that depressing shit at Stanford.  You’re on vacation, give it up for a week! 

Brady wasn’t wrong; Sam did watch a lot of news back in the dorms.  He told himself it was to keep abreast of what was happening in the world but, in reality, it was a habit from his hold life that he hadn’t broken.  Sam’s job had been to check tv and internet news sources for potential cases for their dad while Dean would read through any number of print news sources.  Brady was right, though, this was vacation - Sam’s first vacation - he could take a break from the world.

Once all three were ready, Sam, Brady, and Zach made their way back out into the city in search of dinner and drinks.  They popped into a few bars and by midnight they were stumbling towards the beach with a couple of local girls when Zach started looking around almost frantically.

“It’s still here somewhere!”  When no one else helped him look, Zach turned back to his friends.  “You still say you don’t hear that?  There’s a freaking baby crying somewhere on the beach!”

“You’re drunk!” Brady shouted at his friend but the girl he had his around around turned to him with a terrified look.

“Take your friend home, lock him inside,” she pleaded, “and then leave this city first thing tomorrow.”

Brady turned to her.  “No way!  It’s spring break and we’re just getting started!  Are you tired of me already?” he asked.

“My sister is afraid of an old tale our Abuela told us; a horror story,” the other girl said, rolling her eyes.  

The two girls had a quick conversation in Spanish.  Sam couldn’t make out much but from the girls’ faces and voices he could figure out they were talking about this story.  One word was repeated a few times: “ahuizotl.”

Sam interrupted the girls, his hunter’s instincts on high alert.  “I don’t think the guys introduced us back at the bar, I’m Sam,” he started, needing some kind of in with the sisters, who smiled and introduced themselves as Maria and Valentina.

Sam turned to Maria, the sister who believed her grandmother’s story.  “I really love folklore and local legends,would you tell me about it?  The ahuizotl?”

Valentina rolled her eyes again but Maria looked up at Sam.  “The ahuizotl is like a dog but with hands.  It has two hands where its front paws should be and a third, very strong hand at the end of its tail,” she explained.  “It lives in the waters but hunts from small caves near the water and it lures its… las presas,” Maria turned to her sister for help.

“Prey, victims,” Valentina provided.

“Yes, it lures its victims by crying like a baby.  Then it will grab them with the tail hand and swim into the water to eat their skin and nails,” Maria concluded.

Valentina laughed at her sister’s serious tone.  “Don’t forget the eyeballs.  Abuela said the ahuizotl's favorite was eyeballs.”

Sam could hear the teasing in Valentina’s voice and it made him miss his own brother but he pressed on.  “Did your abuela ever mention how to kill it?” he asked as casually as he could.  Usually he wouldn’t ask that question so quickly or bluntly but if the thing was already after his friend, Sam needed to know how to take it out.  He hoped Maria and Valentina would chalk his curiosity up to the alcohol he had consumed.

Valentina looked at him like he was crazy.  “It’s just a story, Sam.”

“Right,” Sam forced a laugh, “yeah.  Thanks for telling it.”

They pulled Zach away from the beach, Brady assuring him there wasn’t a baby as he ushered the group towards another bar.  The five of them continued with their night but a cloud was hanging over Sam now and he could see the same darkness in Maria’s face, too.

At the next bar, Maria sat beside Sam.  “You look sad, Sam.  I should have never told that story.  My sister is right, it’s just a, um...” she searched for a word, “a tall tale.”

Sam looked her in the eye.  “You don’t believe that and neither do I.  This thing is after my friend and I’m gonna stop it.”

Maria smiled sadly up at Sam.  “How” she asked, clearly humoring what she assumed to be the whims of a drunk man.

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted, defeated.

Sam and his friends made their way back to their condo.  Brady and Zach went to bed but Sam booted up his computer and spend the rest of the night researching.  When Brady stumbled out of his room the next morning, Sam still didn’t know how to specifically kill an ahuizotl but, despite that, he had a plan.

“Beach again today?” Sam asked.

Brady grunted, searching the cabinets for something.  He pulled a small bag out with a tired but victorious smile.  “Coffee first.”

Soon the scent of coffee lured Zach out of his bedroom, too.  Instead of going back to the beach right away, the boys decided to hang out poolside at the condo until Brady and Zach were less hungover.  Sam forced himself to sit still and relax, even managing to catch a nap in one of the lounge chairs.

Sam woke up a could of hours later.  He was alone at the pool but he quickly noticed a piece of paper and Sam recognized Brady’s handwriting:

Needed food.  Meet us at the beach, we’ll grab you lunch.

Sam scrambled up and started toward the beach, stopping in the condo and then a couple of shops and stores along the way to pick up the supplies that he needed.  He thought about his brother as he shopped and all the times that Dean had convinced Sam to let someone older and more experienced handle a hunt.  “You’re supposed to talk me out of this,” he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else, though he intended the words for Dean and he wished his brother were here, now.  

When Sam got to the beach, he only saw Brady.  He trotted up to his friend and put his bags down in the sand.

“Morning Princess!” Brady joked.  “You sleep like the dead, man.  Zach tried to wake you before we left but you just weren’t having it.”

Sam laughed.  He had only learned to be a heavy sleeper since going to Stanford.  A hunter always needed to be on guard, even while asleep, his dad had said.  “Yeah, well, I didn’t sleep much last night,” Sam admitted.  “Where’s Zach?”

“Oh,” Brady rolled his eyes, “he claimed to hear that damn baby again and he went to check it out.”  He looked down the beach toward a rocky outcrop.  “That was about 20 minutes ago.  Honestly, I figured he’d give up by now.”

“Shit,” Sam muttered under his breath.  It would seem that he was out of time.  He gathered up his bags before he spoke, louder this time so Brady could hear.  “I’ll go take a look for him.”

Sam walked towards the rocks that Brady had looked toward earlier.  When he reached them he put the bags down, donned a head-lamp style flashlight, and began assembling a makeshift blowtorch.  He didn't know how to properly kill an ahuizotl but he hadn’t heard of any creature that could survive being burnt to a crisp.

Sam carefully waded out into the water, holding his weapon above his head to keep it dry as he followed the edge of the rocks.  After a few minutes of wading, he was up to his waist in the sea water and he came to a point where he turned a corner and couldn’t see the shore anymore.  Sam was on high alert now as he continued to follow the shape of the rock face.  The rocks curved again, towards shore, but instead of seeing another part of the beach, Sam found himself in a private cove with a cave opening about 15 yards away.  Sam steeled himself for a fight and cautiously made his way into the cave, flipping on the flashlight he wore on his head.

The cave wasn’t very deep and as Sam looked around his light fell onto Zach’s unconscious form.  He hurried to approach his friend and free him from what looked like seaweed that was binding his hands and feet.  Sam kneeled and put his weapon down on the dry rock beside Zach.  He needed to get his friend out of here before the next high tide.  Just as he finished ripping through the dense plants around Zach’s ankles, Sam felt something grabbing at his own leg.

Sam kicked back hard and reached for the flame thrower.  He managed to disengage and turn toward his attacker just in time to see a long, strong limb dart out of the water and grab at him.  Sam dodged and backed up as far as he could.  He had to lure the thing out of the water if he wanted to stand a chance against it.

Luck was on Sam’s side, it seemed, and the ahuizotl followed Sam onto dry land.  He threw some of the flame thrower’s fuel onto the creature as he dodged another attack from the tail hand, feinting his way behind it so that he stood between the ahuizotl and the cave’s mouth.  Sam ignited the flame thrower and pointed the fire at the creature.  The thing screeched and squealed but Sam used ite flames to keep it away from the safety of the water until it wasn’t moving or making any sound. 

Sam flipped off the weapon and slowly approached the ahuizotl, poking at it with the muzzle of the flame thrower and making sure it was dead.

“Sam?” a familiar but scratchy voice croaked.

Sam froze in his spot.  He had hoped to get Zach out of the cave, at least, before he woke up.  He’d been prepared to tell his friend he’d gotten caught in a rip tide and nearly drowned.  Cruel, maybe, but better than Zach knowing what had really happened to him.

Sam splashed over to his friend and tore at the rest of the seaweed that was binding him.  

“What happened?” Zach asked, “and was that a flame thrower?”

Sam’s hands didn’t falter as he dealt with the rest of the seaweed and helped Zach to his feet.  “Nah, man, you’re wasted,” he improvised, “this is all a tequila induced hallucination.” 

Zach blinked a few times and reached out, poking Sam’s arm.  “Woah, you’re really solid for a hallucination.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got a really good imagination,” Sam lied as he led Zach out of the cave and around the rocks.  Once they got to shore, Sam checked him over for a concussion.  Certain that Zach was just groggy and not actually hurt, Sam decided that there were two things he needed to do.  First, he needed to get Zach drunk enough that he would actually chalk the past few hours up to booze.  Then he would pray that neither of his friends found themselves this close to the supernatural ever again.

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[ripple-rp-blog]

EAMON ELDRIDGE, 23                                      DADDY DUKE’S RELIABLE MOTORS

———————— “For someone with such an intense need to be liked you’d think I would have figured out how to be less of an asshole.”

On August 25th at 5am somewhere in Montana, at little boy was born. They named him Stella Eldridge. They looked down at their son and began to lay down the bright future they saw in store for him. He’d have his mother’s eyes and his father’s stubbornness. Mom always dreamed of raising a ballerina, so he’d take dance. Dad wanted a daughter with social skills, so he’d go to public school and summer camp. They’d raise him with love, and encourage him to follow his dreams. He’d be perfect and happy. They never dreamed that his name wasn’t the only expectation he couldn’t meet.

He started elementary school with a keen sense of pessimism. For the longest time, his life was mornings watching TLC with his mom and evenings playing with his hot wheels and weekends going to grandma’s house eating breakfast for dinner. Children his own age were unpredictable and elementary school offered an unwelcome break from routine. Each morning was met with protests and tears until eventually he grew accustomed to his new schedule. Once he accepted his fate, things began to fall into place.

He was never good at making friends. He wasn’t the type to say hi to strangers or go out of his way to talk to other kids. Luckily, there was a girl in his class who was. In second grade, she asked him to sit with her and her friends at lunch, and like magic, he found where he belonged. Suddenly, he had a group of friends that liked him simply because he was a part of 'them’. It was nice to have birthday parties to go to and people to play with at recess. Finally, school seemed to have a purpose!

On August 25th at 6pm at the dining room table, a little boy turned twelve. He only wanted two things for his birthday. First, he wanted music lessons; he wanted to play piano and guitar. Second, he wanted to be called Eamon; he found it in a baby naming book and when he whispered it to himself in front of the mirror, he felt whole. His parents balked at first, but they came around. They had once stood at a path that led to a beautiful, ballerina, and now they stood at the edge of the unknown.

Eamon always hated change and his mom was always trying to push him out of his comfort zone. Usually it was something as simple as switching from 1% milk to skim or making him go to yoga with her. If switching detergents was enough for Eamon to pitch a fit, moving to Arizona was the goddamn apocalypse. He didn’t care that his dad got a new job or that the dry air would be good for Grandma’s old bones. Eamon was old enough to start dreaming of his future and every plan he had involved him starting and finishing high school with the friends he’d known for years. His parents ripped this future away from him like rug beneath his feet. He was hereby sentenced to be 'The New Kid.’

No one can reject you if you reject them first. It didn’t matter if no one at school liked him as long as he didn’t like them first. Eamon set up the foundations for a fifty foot wall before the wheels of his flight even touched down. All the music he listened to was written by the misunderstood, and if he wanted to have deep, meaningful music too, he had to set himself up as a social pariah. On his first day of Freshman year, he wore all black and scoffed at anyone who dared to talk to him. If someone peaked his interest, he’d ask them about their taste in music, and if they gave a wrong answer, they’d be snubbed. Every one saw it but Eamon. He wasn’t 'misunderstood’; he was just an asshole.

Through the grace of some very patient (or at least very stubborn) people, Eamon managed to make a handful of friends in High School. Eamon was pissy and dramatic most of the time, even towards his closest of friends. However, his friends were the only ones close enough to see how deeply he cared about his friends, his music…everything. He was also fiercely loyal. Not that he’d ever be there when someone needed him; He was a huge flake and never kept his promises. Instead, his friends would always be his friends, no matter what they did or whether they felt the same way.

Eamon’s lyrical journals could stack from floor to ceiling in his bedroom. Each was filled from front to back with his neat handwriting expressing every feeling he’s had since seventh grade. At least half of it was incoherent ranting about mean teachers or dull schoolmates. His music painted someone who followed their dreams despite their insecurities. In his journals, Eamon would only give into the fear of failure for a few bars or a song. Eamon wrote each song with the hope that one day he’d write one about how far he’d come. Senior year, he packed up his journals into a box and set them on fire in his backyard.

After high school, Eamon disappeared. He cut off ties with everyone he knew without so much as a 'good-bye.’ He spent his life carrying his sense of superiority with him wherever he went, but now his dreams were sitting in the ashes of his inadequacy and everyone else was making steady steps towards their futures. Suddenly, Eamon’s entire life felt like a waste of time. There was no hope for someone unwilling to take a chance. Depression had deepened it’s claws in Eamon’s heart.

Grandma started getting really sick, so mom started reading the obituaries during morning coffee. She hoped to skim some inspiration on what to write when her mother passed. Eamon was hardly paying attention as she hummed and sighed sadly over those recently lost. It wasn’t until she gave a sharp gasp that he looked up from his own coffee and she gave him the news about Dean. That night he pulled out his guitar for the first time in months and tried to put words to how he felt. He felt like the loss of life deserved some sort of acknowledgement. It was the least he could do, but he couldn’t even write a song for a friend who had so much ahead of him. Dean was worth so much more than a dead end in his parents’ garage. He was worth so much more than Eamon ever was. Grandma made it through to the other side of her illness. The old broad still had years in her.

Eamon’s dad was disappointed. As far as he was concerned, somehow life had cheated him out of having a worthwhile daughter and landed him with a good-for-nothing son. He was tired of helping Eamon float through life with minimal effort. He reached out to an old friend, Duke Jackson, and struck a deal. Eamon was offered a job selling cars and his dad gave him an ultimatum. He’d work for Daddy Duke’s Reliable Motors and his dad wouldn’t stop paying his rent. What Eamon hated most about his new job was how good he was at it. He could fool people into thinking that he was charming and trustworthy all the while he was guiding them into buying a rotten lemon. No, he was wrong. What was worse was how much he liked doing it.

He checked his old facebook on a whim. After long days at work, when he felt nostalgic and wanted to prod at poorly healed wounds, he liked to look at old pictures and see what everyone was up to. No one had tried to contact him in years, so when he saw the little red notification, he thought it had to be a glitch or a mistake. He read the message with an invisible fist around his stomach. His friends were just more people he had grown to disappoint. Despite his fear of being rejection bubbling up, there was a part of him that wanted to see them again. He replied with two, simple words. “I’m In.”

Eamon made a half-hearted attempt at college. He was a bright kid, graduated top ten without trying too hard, so he managed a full ride at ASU. He lasted one semester before depression made it too hard to leave his off-campus apartment and he dropped out. 

Once upon a time, Eamon dreamed of being a singer/songwriter. However, fairy tales have this tendency of being complete fiction. Plans didn’t really pan out. His dad set him up for a one-time gig writing a witty jingle for a used car lot to play at the end of a commercial that would play in between segments of local news and weather. He didn’t expect to eventually be offered a job selling cars. Looking back, Eamon imagined that this was what his dad had planned all along. Now he works at Daddy Duke’s Reliable Motors pushing rotten lemons onto unsuspecting citizens who think they can spot a good deal when they see one. Eamon doesn’t really have a career goal anymore. Now, he’s just trying make bank. 

Eamon has a terrible sweet tooth. He’s obsessed with the sweet and the sour. He loves sour gummy octopuses and anything blue raspberry flavored.

Eamon might sell cars, but he can’t drive. He never got his license because he moved around the time he should have gotten his permit. He’s too lazy to deal with the beauracracy involved.

Eamon suffers from insomnia and has a hard time getting to sleep, but once he’s asleep, he has difficulty waking up.

As a kid, Eamon was really close with his grandmother, but she stopped talking to him after he came out as transgender. Eamon was disappointed but unsurprised.

Despite being so stingy about his music, he’s not actually that picky about the genre. He loves anything with lyrics he feels like he can relate too.

Eamon loves reality TV. He especially loves watching HGTV. There’s something satisfying about watching a rich, bitchy couple try and come to an impossible compromise over whether they should live in the city or the suburbs.

Eamon has two siblings.

Eamon’s near-sighted. He has glasses that he should wear, but he hates the way they look.

[solienna]

i was going to be like 'all of them' but that would be mean so instead im 'just' going to ask for 1, 4, 8, 10, 13, 17, 21, 28, 32, 33, 35, 47, 50,

putting this under a readmore bc meander!!! you spoil me

01: When did you first start writing?      okay i actually am gonna give you two answers to this question bc i feel like i started writing at two periods in my life. the first time i actually started writing was in third grade because i had like. the BEST third grade teacher, he was awesome and in my eyes was like, the best artist i had ever met just bc he had a basic grasp of how to draw shit and i absolutely didn’t and still don’t, every time teachers tell me to draw things for an assignment i lose ten years off my lifespan but anyways!! off topic. he really encouraged creativity and i was in a class with one of my friends, his name was like john or michael or something, and i would write and he would illustrate (i thought he was the second-best artist i had ever met just bc he also had a basic grasp on drawing and i still didn’t). i wrote about like. this dog and his name was super yuff and got his powers through lightning that struck him and he just flew around and like. idk he did a lot of shit, i still have the stories i wrote. but like i was DEDICATED to this character and so was my illustrator friend. i remember one weekend i was just sitting on my bed with a bunch of folded up printer paper just writing about this dumb superhero dog that somehow ended up in like the halo universe bc even back then i was obsessed with video games. that was the first thing i actually WROTE.         HOWEVER. after third grade i just took a huge break. like not intentionally, of course. i loved writing but i didn’t know it was my THING yet. i didn’t really have a thing yet, it was only third grade ok. HOWEVER. when i transitioned into middle school that’s when i picked up writing again. i don’t even remember why. all i know was that my dad had bought skyrim and he was playing it and just by watching it i LOVED it. i adored the history behind the game and i just loved the graphics, and when i started playing the game i got HOOKED. stayed up entire nights just doing random side quests for npcs and feeling a huge goddamn hero, let me save this talking dog from the wrath of his daedric master nbd, just doing my job, let me set all these beehives on fire and get mauled by a bear, cool cool. and one day i just? was like wow, why don’t i write a story about it! about my skyrim OC going to solstheim and falling in love with the aloof nd really sarcastic and interesting teldryn sero (who still remains one of my favorite skyrim npcs to this day)!! and i thought i was Hot Shit too, i thought i fucking invented fanfiction. and then i found wattpad and then that was that folks, i got hooked on writing all over again and i still am

04: Have you ever thrown a book across the room?      mmmm not that i can recall? i’m not really a book-thrower, i’m more of a book-holder. like if something really shocking happens in a book i feel like i’d be more likely to hug it close to my chest than throw it08: What’s the best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten?      tbh pretty much everything you’ve told me meander!! i don’t really think i’d be writing that much if not for you. honestly you flatter me on a daily basis with your compliments about my really pretentious use of metaphors in like every single paragraph and basically just with your interest in all of my writing projects even for fandoms you’re not technically in!! i’ve never really been told by anyone that i’ve got a way with words and when you told me that i was like wow!! people actually like the shit i write, that’s cool! that’s real cool my guy10: What’s your biggest writer pet-peeve?      honestly i THRIVE on feedback. i took a huge writing break like a few years ago just because i couldn’t WRITE the way i used to. to just sit down and spew out 5000 word chapters on a whim wasn’t something i could feasibly DO anymore. i thought i lost my touch or something but it was honestly just because i didn’t get enough feedback. again shout out to u meander because you legit FLOODED me with feedback on like. everything. i’m still over the moon about half the shit you’ve told me like a year ago. tbh half the reason i yell in the tags is because creators read the tags!! they really do!! so i wanna leave some positive feedback for them because i want them to know that i liked whatever it was that they made!!

13: What’s your favorite writing quote?       it’s not really a writing quote but!! “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art…. It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.” -C.S. Lewis21: Do you outline?      i honestly burst out laughing when i saw this question, i do not in any way whatsoever outline anything bc apparently i hate myself. ok the last time i outlined a story was like four years ago and it worked…. really well…… so for some reason i was like wow how about we not make our lives easier. no outlining our fics we ruin our own writing projects like men

28: Which do you find hardest: the beginning, the middle, or the end?      everything, everything is hard, i can’t write in a linear fashion. nah but tbh i feel like it’s the middle? like what do you even do. what is the middle all about. i’ve never met her32: How do you feel about friends and close relatives reading your work?      ABSOLUTELY NOT. get them away. i am very protective of my writing bc it’s personal to me. like i don’t want y’all reading my shit and then going up to me in real life thinking you know all my secrets bc if u read my shit you WILL know all my secrets, i painstakingly pour my heart into everything i write because in everything i do, i try REALLY REALLY hard. if i let u read my writing it’s a show of trust33: Are you interested in having your work published?      in its current state? probably not!! maybe later on down the road would be nice, but i’ve still got a lot to learn //side-eyes all my failed attempts at witty dialogue35: What’s your favorite time of day for writing?      nighttime. like dead of the night, i’m in bed with my phone and should be asleep right now but instead i’m gonna grab my laptop and fucking dump out all the words in my brain onto this word document. other than that i honestly just write during school a lot? like when we get free time i’m either studying for a test or writing.47: If you could steal one character from another author and make then yours, who would it be and why?      i want to take preston garvey out of bethesda’s hands. i’ve fallen in love with him over the course of just writing one scene for his character study. it’s the second-to-last scene (bc i cant write in linear order) and like. gosh. i want him to be my character, he’s so sad but also so optimistic and he tries so hard. ok those kinds of characters are my Type, i love characters who try really hard 

50: If you could live in any fictional world, which would it be?      i’m honestly not really sure? like hardcore i love daydreaming but it’s never about myself doing cool things, it’s about characters doing cool things. i kinda wanna meet an omnic tho, they seem really chill. maybe like live in falkreath? it’s really chill and pretty there and the mountains are really looming and i like that. imagine meeting the dragonborn and they buy out your entire store and then just leave. thats fucking crazy my guy