#it's an older fic but i thought i could transfer it to tumblr as well hehe :3

[irritablepoe]

let this bullet pierce you (evervale)

ao3

cw: canon-typical violence between them; kidnapping?

summary:

It has always been a chase between Victor and Eli. It was only fair that they were doing it in a traditional sense now.

word count: 719

It has always been a chase between Victor and Eli. It was only fair that they were doing it in a traditional sense now. Eli fled. Victor chased. It was just like God had intended. They were made for the hunt – made to run. It was their life and when Eli felt the wind in his hair, he knew he was in the right spot at the right time. This was meant to be.

He almost tumbled over a box full of trinkets. Where he was, he did not know exactly, but it didn't matter anyway. The only thing clear to him in his adrenaline rush was that they were in the cellar of an office building. It was late evening, therefore most workers were at home except those who cleaned the rooms. He had to get to the first floor immediately – or otherwise he would be trapped. Knowing that this worker was known for doing extra hours, Eli and Victor had both tracked him down here. While Eli had searched for the EO to kill him, Victor had tracked him down to kill Eli though. That was why Victor didn't seem to be bothered he was too late for the EO. He was however angry that Eli had had enough time to flee.

Eli had an advantage. He was fitter than Victor.

But then he heard a click that was way too familiar.

A shot.

Eli fell to the ground, pain piercing through his leg. Another shot ripped the silence apart and he felt another bullet hitting his body. This time it was his back.

“Fucking finally.”, Victor said. “Thought you’d never go down.”

Eli couldn’t answer, he choked out incoherent sounds. Victor must have hit his lungs. It didn’t help when he felt a boot at his back, pressing down on the wound and making him scream.

“You know Eli, it’s funny how God let your beloved messiah die but you… he lets you live on. Forever.”

Eli coughed, twisting his body around to look at Victor towering over him. His slim statue veiled him in shadows. The fluorescent lamp behind his head looked like a halo. “I’m not here to offer forgiveness.”

“Hm. That makes two of us then.” Victor shot him in the forehead. “And that’s why I won’t let you go this time.” He shot him again. Eli was able to listen but he couldn’t move. His brain was too damaged for that. “You’re coming with me.”

Eli felt Victor tightening ropes around his wrists. He healed fast but when he was able to move again, the ropes stopped him. “Let me go.” He coughed blood.

“Why would I? I just got you.” Victor leaned down until his face was only centimeters from his ear. He held his breath. “I hunted you down, Cardale.”

Eli hated that the roughness of Victor’s voice was getting to him. He had lost – for now at least – and he knew how thorough Victor was. He wouldn’t escape so easily. He really was at his mercy. Victor had full control over him now. What was he going to do with him? He could torture him, could drown him in the ocean, could lock him away like a doll in a showcase. Something about this was strangely comforting. Victor had finally hunted him down. He was his prey; was everything Vic wanted. Though Victor would get bored eventually. To have Eli was his final goal – what was he going to do when Eli was transfixed all nice and tightly? Hell stood before both of their doors – maybe he could convince Victor to let him go eventually. For now, he played along. He twisted his hands around, grunted against the ground.

“Hm, I love to see you squirm like that. It’s like you never were the glorious soldier of God in the first place.”

“Victor-“, Eli started but Victor straightened up immediately and put his boot to his mouth.

“I’m going to break you Cardale.”, he spat at him. “I’m going to show you hell.”

Eli smiled against the sole. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this. He himself would break apart but the promise to see Victor break down, too, was something he deeply craved. He was sure those steel-blue eyes would never leave his eyes again.

[supernovafeather]

Hi there! Can you make a fic where there is a love triangle between Duke Leto, the reader and Paul? Like Duke and Reader have a political marriage and there’s huge age gap and only a few years older than Paul.

Duke Leto was nice but distant because it’s political marriage and reader is very innocent and naive. Leto secretly attracted to reader but want to take it slowly but reader read it as Leto not wanting/ desiring her because of Lady Jessica

While Paul comforts reader, being a friend and welcoming as his new step-mom but he unconsciously falls for reader

Lady Jessica was supportive of the marriage because it is a duty. She’s civil to reader not cold nor warm.

Lady Jessica notices Paul’s attraction to reader so she warns Paul to stay away coz it’ll cause a political conflict and the father son relationship. Paul obviously refuses

Somewhere around, Duke Leto and reader admit their feelings do some nsfw and become more affectionate

Paul sees and become obsessed of reader wanting to be the Duke to make reader his

Yeah I know its super long but I love your writing and I know you’d make an art out of thus mess of a plot and if you do this request I’ll love you more

Thanks a honey bunch

I am so sorry for that long delay. I got stuck with the length of it for tumblr several times but managed to shorten it as much as possible. Hope you'll like it ! 😊

Illusional Peace

Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Paul Atreides x F!Reader

Content : arranged marriage, age gap, mention of sexual themes, jealousy, love confession, mutual pining, dark!Paul, angst, fluff.

Words : ~2000

Many envy your role as the new Duchess of Caladan. Power, wealth, your husband. Those are the main reasons. Add the easy access to knowledge, travel and food and you get the full portrait of their desires.

How much they wish to possess all that especially at your age. A young grown up that got lucky to marry Leto Atreides himself. It was a dream for you at first. Yes he was much older than you but courteous, patient, easy to talk to. Handsome, charming even. The protective aura around him had been what made you feel safe.

Your role being to bring him heirs despite the fact that he already had one, you thought it would be easy to spend nights in his company. After all aren't the older men all so keen to have sex with younger wives ? Apparently this was a myth. Nothing between you ever happened. Kisses, yes but nothing more. Sexual frustration and hurt ego are getting hard to bare and sometimes you come to regret not marrying some more pervert man. But with this Lady Jessica around, the mother of his heir... could you even stand a chance ? You want passionate kisses not a quick peck in the morning before the leaves for the rest of the day. You want some manly hands grabbing you to throw you onto your bed as this rumoured uncontrollable heat gets your loud moans off your mouth. You want your husband to show arousal if he can't express a love he doesn't feel.

Fortunately, you find some comfort around Paul, his only child. A grown up as well, yet younger than you by a few years. Your habit during your free time is to go see him in his quarters officially to learn to know him but in reality it's more to learn about everything in general. You came here to get pregnant and bring peace and prosperity to your planet so no one really bothered to explain military and cultural matters to you before. You hope your efforts are going to get acknowledged by Leto one day.

"So... It's how books were conceived at that time ?"

"Yes." He confirms as he downloads another hologram. "It was traditional, created by a few artisans from the old cities before getting transfered to the courts and gaining its noble aspect."

"I see." You mutter as you don't leave your eyes from the letters engraved on the image. "I saw several in one of your father's bookshelves. The red ones."

"Yes he loves those ones. They're mostly about geography if I remember well. Geopolitics certainly too."

Knowledge is both demanding and rewarding. With Paul you already feel more at an equal level and his benevolence to help you is refreshing. In himself Leto doesn't refuse to teach you but he is so busy everywhere else that you are not willing to waste his time. He doesn't even want to touch you much so spend the energy to teach you such ancient things ? He still makes interesting conversations and you do think you managed to get his interest a few times with your statements. He's not mean to you, not on purpose.

"Thank you for your help Paul." You always end up to say as you are about to leave his chambers. "And thank you for being patient as well."

What you don't know is that your will to learn doesn't go unnoticed by Paul. You bound so fast thanks to those brief windows of time that you merely have the opportunity to feel grateful. Leto being so distant distracts you too much to notice the pair of hazel eyes following you everytime you join him for your unofficial lessons. Paul watches you, listens to you with a great joy. First he noticed your need to blend in his legacy, culture, planet. Then how charming and beautiful you are once feeling comfortable enough to express yourself more. His admiration grows into fondness. Fondness into instinctive protection despite his lack of legitimacy as your official stepson. Then he feels jealousy whenever he sees you in his father's company.

Sometimes, you make encounters you are not willing to have. Especially when they are linked to your deepest fears. This is what happens when you cross the former concubine's path for example.

"Good evening Lady Jessica." You say politely as you leave Paul's room one day.

"Good morning Duchess." She answers.

This woman has always been civil towards you. Despite the lack of obvious resentment coming from her you can't tell she appreciates you. Maybe she only respects you thanks to your role. If in private you wish to show her how proud you are to have married Leto... in her presence this is completely reversed. She should have been his Duchess. It was obvious. Dignity. Culture. Charisma. Their age gap being minimal compared to yours. Their heir. You are already relieved that she doesn't want to play the fake friend with you.

"Paul has told me about your lessons together and I wanted to congratulate you for your will to learn even more than what got planned after your arrival on Caladan." She explains with a neutral face. "This comforts me in my decision."

"Thank you for your words my Lady." You reply with a half-bow you shouldn't feel obligated to do. "It means a lot to me to do my best here."

Her eyes are always so calculating around you and yet in every gesture you can sense both of this gentleness and firmness in her. No wonder why Leto fell for her so many years ago. Maybe things never really changed between them. This castle is still her home. She gave her agreement for the marriage after Leto asked her consent. She would have been so much better than you in your role.

"Mother ?"

You both turn towards Paul that just walked out of his room, his smile illuminating his face. Briefly. It disappears for some reason and you are quick to see the cold face Jessica is wearing.

"My son. I need to talk about something in private, about your lessons."

"Of course Mother..?" He articulates with an hint of tension.

Despite her cordial goodbye to you, you feel that lump forming in your throat as they walk away from you. You were right to think it was about you as Jessica closes the door.

"Paul. We have already talked about this." She starts as she turns to face him. "Be careful with what you are doing."

She does her best to keep a calm voice despite her hands folding and unfolding the front of her dress nervously. Paul has the same eyes as his father, and seeing them getting angry at her doesn't make her feel better.

"Mother, she wants to learn. She is the new Duchess, I can't tell her that I don't want her."

"The problem is the way you want her. You are a future Duke, and the son of your father. You are his blood and his flesh."

"I don't want her in any bad way how many times will I have to tell you ?" He sighs as he rubs his exasperated face. "I am an adult and I would never dishonor Father, you or her in such a way."

"Please Paul, please, I beg you not to do or say anything wrong or that could get misunderstood for something else." His mother shifts nervously on her feet as she takes her son's face between her hands. "Please try to work on your feelings. I can see it's not easy for you. I know she is around your age and that you appreciate her but nothing is possible between you. Do you understand ?"

"I do Mother. I do."

She noticed it with all the pain of the world. She was keeping an eye on you, the young new and beautiful Duchess coming here out of nowhere. Cautious to anticipate any disrespect from you towards the House, to her son or former concubine. Any knife hidden behind your back to gain even more power, any viper tongue spreading lies, any greed that would destroy this family further. But no. She had witnessed Leto starting to appreciate your presence, the longing gazes he had been sending you recently the more you started to open up together. She felt that enraged remorse at the thought of this marriage you must have brought to your sheets dozens of times since then to conceive other heirs. And even worse, she witnesses her poor son falling harder and faster than that. Leto has the experience to control himself but Paul ?

While she is trying for the hundredth time to keep his distance as much as possible, things are changing for you. In the intimacy of your room you see this pair of eyes getting closer as your husband paces towards you, his hands holding yours.

"I am sorry for making you feel this way my dear." He whispers.

"I'm the one that started to overthink about everything my Lord. I am the one that should feel sorry." You chuckle between two sobs. "We are married. I shouldn't doubt of your loyalty. It's a disgrace from me."

"I sworn loyalty to you. I married you and I am a man respecting his promises." He claims with a comprehensive grin. "You are my wife and I would never come back to her. I made my choice both for my family and my planet. I decided I would marry you, and I ended up loving you and desiring you as well despite your fears."

The series of kisses on your forehead then cheeks get slowed down as soon as they get closer to you chin. This area always remained untouched by his lips, the sensuality of his contact exploding as his tongue slide from there to your neck before getting joined by his lips as well. Maybe this is his desire finally growing obvious to you or the brutal surge of love for him you have felt at his confession but you feel so lightheaded that you don't feel as shy as anticipated. Yes you try to hide your moans and arousal as well as breasts and entrance at first but Leto knows what feels good and you are quick to succumb. You that have grown eager to share such moments with your husband welcomes him warmly, your shy smile meeting his shameless pleasured sighs and moans as he looks down at you.

The following days you get closer to Leto, this irrational joy overwhelming you any time you get to spend time with him. You respect the etiquette indeed but... your interest in him reached new highs. For once, everything sounds great, colorful despite the rain outside. You take any opportunity to lock your arm with his, your gaze, your fingers without getting perceived as an annoying young lady enamoured with the love of her life. It is pure, it is genuine and shared.

Paul does his best. He truly does. But some horrible thoughts start to root in him as sourness fills his soul. He could be the one holding you with love but that stupid fate and politics decided to bound you to his father. What a tragedy. What if he could have kept his mother as his mother and get married to you instead ? What is that injustice ? Why can't he feel that joy of love with anyone ? His father managed to live such a strong experience at least twice but he is certain your presence is never going to equalize Lady Jessica's. You are not made to be his father's wife. This is when for the first time his thoughts wander so far off this world that he feels disgusted. It's not greed or hunger for power that make him impatient to become a Duke himself. It's what he identifies as love. He still loves his father but... but still.

- - - -

Thank you for reading, please comment and reblog if you liked it ! 😊

@salome-c @stevenngrant @lavenderluna10 @one-hell-of-a-disappointment @dailyreverie @thecursivej @lady-targaryen @general-latino @harrys-tittie @laura-naruto-fan1998 @later-gators12

[jinned]

!!adults banding against minors writing smut!!  !!adults banding against adults befriending minors!! 

a lot has been going on this week on tumblr and i want to spread awareness on a very important subject that has been overlooked and enabled for too long. i apologize in advance this post is going to be very long. 

my head is honestly spinning trying to think of the right words to say. I am honestly baffled that there are people in their 20's and over befriending kids that are 13-17. as adults on this platform (and any online platform really) we have such a large impact on those around us, more-so than we even realize. just for the sake of references i am 24 years old turning 25 in four months. when i was 13 years old i was writing fanfiction on deviantart. i gained a large following around age 15 when i started writing about one direction. i had people complimenting my writing and encouraging me to branch out into other genres and such. i had pictures of myself posted on this website as well. i had adults dming me and commenting on my work encouraging me, telling me i was pretty etc and being so young i didn't think anything was weird about this. i made friends with a 26 year old when i was 15 years old. i thought it was cool having an older friend, someone who looked out for me. but what this did was actually desensitized me for when adults approached me. and that is exactly what we are doing when we befriend minors as adults on this platform. there is no "well i'm a good person so i'll protect them it's okay!" NO. you are teaching them that it is okay for them to trust and build relationships with adults. no matter how good your intentions are, you are impacting these children. 

here is how we can be advocates for minors: 

 1. establish boundaries RIGHT AWAY. my blog says 18+. that isn't something i take lightly. i do NOT want minors following me or interacting with me

it is also against the law for minors to interact with nsfw content. if a minors parents sees their child interacting with nsfw content the police could get involved and the person posting the content can get in trouble. 18 U.S.C. § 1466- Engaging in the business of selling or transferring obscene matter (for minors buying nsfw commissions) 18 U.S.C. § 1464- Broadcasting obscene language 18 U.S.C. § 1470- Transfer of obscene material to minors Section 1470 of Title 18, United States Code, prohibits any individual from knowingly transferring or attempting to transfer obscene matter using the U.S. mail or any means or facility of interstate or foreign commerce to a minor under 16 years of age.  Convicted offenders face fines and imprisonment for up to 10 years. There are also laws to protect children from obscene or harmful material on the Internet. It is illegal for an individual to knowingly use interactive computer services to display obscenity in a manner that makes it available to a minor less than 18 years of age (See 47 U.S.C. § 223(d)

2. we as adults should be angry and disgusted that there are people out there who want to be friends with minors. 

 3. no matter what, minors are going to seek out this stuff, i wrote and read one direction smut at 15 not understanding what was going on and had adults encouraging me about it. i'm not going to go around and go "well since i did it it's okay!" this mindset it not acceptable. me writing smut at that age was not okay and i in no way am proud of doing that. 

 4. i wish there was a way to lock our blogs from minors but no matter what platform we go to there's going to be minors writing smut and consuming smut content. the best we can do is really voice that we do NOT feel comfortable with this and if a minor is found on our blogs we block them

5. we need to normalize adults being uncomfortable with minors consuming their content and reaching out to be their friend, and minors have the right to voice their discomfort if an adult is reaching out to them or interacting with their work as well. if you are an adult and you knowingly allow a minor to consume your nsfw content you are disgusting(edited)

minors are going to express their sexuality as they grow up and experience sexual thoughts. THAT'S NORMAL. but as an adult we should have absolutely no interaction or part in that.

as an admin of BU we have created a space for minors and adults to interact appropriately in the sfw chats of discord where the environment is public and monitored. it is also known RIGHT AWAY that we accept minors and adults into the network as well as the discord chat. we also make it very clear when enforcing our rules that there are minors present and it is our sole intent to have a safe space for EVERYONE. making small talk in general is okay but the second it goes into to dms in an attempt to form a friendship that is when it is not okay. not everyone is okay being in a space with minors/adults and that is okay! we personally make sure minors have ZERO access to any nsfw chats/fic posting channels and they are aware that if they are caught writing nsfw content or consuming nsfw content there are repercussions for those actions. we cannot control what everyone does, no, but we can help be an example to minors in our network and help cultivate a safe environment.

as adults we should be an example for kids. we should help them realize that if an adult reaches out to them and is interacting with them, they should have that warning signal in their brain that that is not normal. is it our responsibility as a community to look out for minors? um hell yes. i wish i had someone looking out for me when i was a minor writing smut. i wish i had someone tell me that it was weird grown adults were encouraging me to post more selfies, write more smut, etc. we should not turn a blind eye to minors writing smut or interacting with smut. we should not turn a blind eye when we see an adult form a relationship with a minor

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

[kittybellestark]

Straightening Things Out

Part 2

Hey everyone so this is going to be a two part fic, tumblr told me I hit my limit soooo. 

This is the long awaiting MayxSkip with Bi!Peter fic I’ve been talking about, idk how long a 2nd part will take but I already have a bit written, which is super nice. Uh, yeah, this is heavy stuff, so prepare your hearts, bc mine hurts

TW: homophobia, depression, self harm, homophobic slurs, eating disorder (?), abuse, sexual assault, thoughts of suicide, questioning sexuality, alcohol

He’s not sure how he got here.

Well, he knows, but he just doesn’t understand it.

A year ago Peter was trying to get May with Happy. It seemed logical and safe. May wanted to get back into the dating pool, and while Peter was hesitant about the idea of May being with anyone other than Ben, he felt like Happy could be a good person for her to be with. That was safe, controlled even.

Pushing for May to be with Happy seemed like the right step. Supporting May in her decision to start seeing people again also make sense. Now, Peter regrets it. He should have told her no. That he wasn’t ready or comfortable with that.

He doesn’t understand why he’s in the bathroom cleaning up his own blood. He didn’t even go out as Spider-Man. Peter hates May’s new boyfriend.

Skip wasn’t safe. He wasn’t very kind either. And there was just something about him bothered Peter. And yet when Peter tried to talk to May about it, the complaints weren’t heard or taken seriously.

May doesn’t understand that Skip is a danger, and Peter can’t really talk to people about this.

Six months ago…

“Hey Happy.” Peter smiles jumping into the black ‘inconspicuous’ Audi.

“Hi Pete.”

After a few minutes of talking the conversation finally turns.

“How’s your aunt.”

Peter snorts, rolling his eyes. “She thinks she’s doing great. Still with Skip, he lives with us now. May isn’t very happy that Skip and I aren’t getting along too well though. She thinks that I have a problem with seeing her with other men, amongst other things.”

“Sounds like you don’t like him. I didn’t even think that was possible, you’re like a lab.” Happy chuckled.

“I resent that. I don’t like a lot of people who I don’t need to disclose to you. I was just expecting her to get with someone else, someone who was less I don’t know, just less.”

“You and me both kid. You and me both.”

-

Five and a half months ago…

Peter and May were making dinner together, the radio was playing softly and Skip was sitting in the dining room, beer in hand, listening to Peter and May’s conversation.

“How was school, baby?” May asked.

Peter hums as he chops some carrots. “There’s a new transfer at school. From Tennessee, he even lives with Mr. Stark.”

May pauses mixing the stir fry they were attempting to make. She smiles at Peter an eyebrow raised, waving the spatula at him.

“Is he cute?” She asked in a song-song voice.

Peter rolls his eyes with a smile. He sticks out his tongue, flicking some water at May. Skip watches with a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, yeah he’s really cute. Blond hair, blue eyes, southern charm and he’s so smart too. And tall. May, he’s also like muscular too, his arms? He used to work in a mechanic shop where he grew up, he could probably bench press me without breaking a sweat.”

“Sounds like you have a crush!” May squealed pulling Peter into a hug.

“You have a crush on a man? Are you gay?” Skip huffed with a laugh.

“Bisexual, actually.” Peter deadpanned. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no, not at all. Just surprised.” Skip laughed.

-

Five months ago...

May was at work, it was just Peter and Skip at home. Peter was in his room, the door was closed over, and Skip in the living room watching a sports game and drinking some beer.

While this wasn’t the most common occurrence, it wasn’t necessarily uncommon either. Peter would stay in his room and do homework or play some sort of online video game with Ned, Harley and MJ, typically Minecraft but sometimes they chose something else. Skip would watch sports or the news, but never a reliable source, always the Daily Bugle or Fox News.

Today was supposed to be like every other time. Peter was supposed to be in his room and Skip in the living room. But then Skip was in his room with him. Peter felt uneasy. It just didn’t sit right with him having the older man in his room.

“I think we need to talk, Pete.” Skip said sitting on Peter’s bed, while Peter stayed sitting at his desk.

“Sure, what about?” Peter tried to sound pleasant and kind, doing this for May.

“Well, I’ve been trying to broach this subject with you gently, but May and I have spoken about how we can cure you.”

Skip had the decency to look somber. His shoulders hunched forward, frowning. His eyes held remorse and regret. It only seemed to enrage Peter.

“Cure me? As far as I was concerned I was perfectly healthy.” Peter couldn’t help but snort.

“Of your sin, Peter. You like men, and we know that we have to cure you of it.”

It felt like all of the air had been taken out of his lungs. His heart stopped and the world blurred for a moment before Peter shook himself out of it. He pushed himself up out of his chair trying to back himself up, away from Skip. This wasn’t right. This was really wrong.

“May accepts me. She said so. She’s always supported me and accepted that I’m bi.”

“She didn’t know how to tell you she didn’t. She was crying quite a bit. May just didn’t know how to tell you. So she asked me to help fix you.”

Skip got up from the bed, walking over to Peter, trapping Peter in. Skip put an arm on each side of Peter’s body, resting his hands on the wall behind Peter. Peter felt trapped, his eyes wide as he looked around unsure of what he could do. May and Skip thought he was sick.

“She can’t-“ Peter cried, tears coming to his eyes. He didn’t want to accept it. This couldn’t be happening.

Skip put a hand on his shoulder.

“She does, Einstein, but it’s okay because I’ll fix you.”

-

Peter sat at their usual lunch table, Ned next to him, MJ, kiddie-corner to him and Harley across from him. His leg was bouncing as they all ate, but he couldn’t do more then push his food around his tray.

“There’s nothing wrong with me being bisexual right? Like, I’m still normal, I’m not sick or anything for liking more than just women right?”

It used to be old-hat for MJ and Ned to have to reassure Peter that being bisexual is okay. It was just last year that Peter finally started to feel secure in his sexuality and not question whether he was normal or not. It just always felt like Peter was faking his attraction to other genders.  

The group became silent with shock. None of them were prepared for Peter to have any insecurities about his sexuality, and it certainly wasn’t something that Harley was there to witness. It had been such a long time since he voiced this doubt. Ned and MJ gave each other looks, while Harley sat there starring at Peter slack-jawed.

“Sorry. I’ve just been in my own head recently. Bisexuality is valid and so am I. I know, I’m sorry, I just- what if I’ve been lying to myself this whole time? I’m sorry, I know I’m being silly.”

There was another moment of silence before Harley grabbed Peter’s hand.

“It’s not silly to question you’re own sexuality, Peter. Being bisexual is hard because people always try to invalidate you and tell you to just choose. It’s okay to be confused. Prefaces change from day to day and it is so confusing sometimes. We’re your people, we’re here for you no matter how you identify.” Harley smiled, something sad and soft.

-

Four and a half months ago...

Peter was trying to sleep. It wasn’t coming easily anymore. Skip and May were in the next room over. He should be able to sleep. But nothing felt right. Everything was always off, never normal, almost safe. It didn’t feel good.

There was the sound of footsteps in the hall before Peter’s door opened and closed. Peter tried to pretend to sleep, but the footsteps came closer to him then Skip’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Hey Einstein. I’ve got something for you.” Skip whispered, getting Peter’s eyes to open.

Peter pushed himself up and into the top corner of his bed, knees drawn to his chest. He really hated Skip. Hated his deep voice and pointy chin and crooked nose. He hated Skip’s receding hairline and beer belly. Peter hated Skip and everything about him. But mostly Peter hated that Skip and May knew there was something wrong with him.

Skip dropped some razors onto the bed. All loose and brand new. Peter looked at Skip like he was crazy. It was too late at night to register this.

“May and I were talking again. Anytime you have a sinful thought, any homosexual thoughts or desires just give yourself a cut. Obviously don’t do it in front of anyone other than me, but this should help bleed the faggot out of you.”

Peter gasped, eyes wide and shaking his head. He didn’t want to do this. Cutting himself was not something Peter ever wanted to start doing again. He got away from it, he recovered, and now the blades are being provided to him. Peter is being expected to cut this time. 

“I can’t do that. Anything but that Skip, please.”

Peter didn’t realize the tears that were pouring down his face, or how hard it was to breath. If it wasn’t for Skip wiping the tears from Peter’s face, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Hey, no, no it’s okay, Einstein, it’s not as bad as it seems okay, look,” Skip took Peter’s wrist slicing it a few times, just enough to bring up blood up before handing the razor to Peter, “See? Nice and easy. Now I’m not going to leave until I see you try okay?”

Peter nodded, bringing the razor down on his skin and breathing a sigh of release as he broke his own skin.

-

Tony dropped food in front of Peter, two burgers and fries, before sitting down beside him. They were finally watching a movie after spending time in the lab and now Harley would be joining them too.

“Kid, we’ve talked about your eating habits. You need to eat more than a regular person. I don’t like seeing you lose weight this fast. I just like to see you happy and healthy.”

Peter knew he should say something. The razor in his pocket wasn’t normal and he should tell Tony. And his need to cut every time he thought about Harley, or the need to cut when he realized he was playing into Skips hands. But Peter didn’t want to lose his little therapeutic treatment again. He could do better at hiding it this time, especially with his healing factor now. Peter could keep this.

It’s his little secret with Skip. Peter could keep it safe. It made him feel better, and that’s what everyone wants, right?

“Oh yeah, sorry, I’ve just had a smaller appetite recently, I’ll do better, promise.” Peter nodded with a smile.

At that moment Harley walked into the room, giving Peter a crooked smile, a blush painted across his cheeks.

Peter would have to cut later, for thinking about Harley like that, and for doing what Skip told him and also for scarring Tony. Peter deserved this.

-

Four months ago…

Peter and Skip were alone together again.

It seemed to become more common now. Or maybe Peter was just getting used to having Skip try and cure him. He hated himself for wanting it to work. Peter just didn’t like himself much anymore.

“Einstein,” Skip slurred, “are you still a faggot?”

Peter flushed with shame, nodding. Peter really hated Skip for making him feel like this. For feeling shame for being bisexual and wishing he were straight. Peter hated himself a lot. He just wanted to be better.

“Shame, thought I’d have you straightened out by now. May is going to be disappointed to know you’re still a homo. I’ll have to start getting more aggressive with your treatments.”

Peter shook his head. He was already so tired, and he just wanted to feel safe in his home. He just needed to do what Skip and May wanted and then they’ll like him. All Peter needed to do was be straight, no matter what. He’s doing the right thing.

“How much more?” Peter’s voice cracked.

“As much as it takes to turn you straight.” Skip smiled.

He now gripped Peter’s face in both hands, thumbs on his cheeks. Skip used the hold he had on Peter to bring him towards the bathroom doorframe- the only metal frame in the house.

Peter didn’t fight. He was doing this for May. May wants him straight and wants Skip to do it. Peter scratched at his legs, where most of the cuts were, hoping that would convince Skip from stopping whatever he was doing. But it didn’t, of course it didn’t. Why would it convince Skip, when he’s only doing what’s best for better?

With his hold on Peter’s head, Skip jerked Peter’s head into the doorframe, with enough force to make Peter forget how to stand. Peter was only being held up by Skip's grip on his head when Skip lifted up his knee, forcing it into Peter’s stomach.

Peter groaned with the impact and Skip let him go and Peter fell to the ground. He barely managed to catch himself, resting his forehead on the cool floor. There was barely a moment before an on slate of kicks were delivered to Peter.

“No,” Peter sobbed, “stop, please, stop, stop, you’re hurting me.”

It was another few moments before Skip stopped kicking him with a huff. Skip sat down on the ground, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder to comfort the boy. Peter continued to sob, barely able to support his own weight to get himself sitting.

“Einstein, I just want you to know that I don’t like doing this. I don’t want to do this, but May and I agreed that I have to do this. I’m sorry Einstein, but it’s for your own good.”

Skip pulled Peter onto his lap, rubbing Peter’s back to bring him some comfort. Peter relaxed into Skip’s hold when he realized that there wasn’t going to be more pain. They sat there for a while before Skip finally stood up, as Peter’s sobs were finally ending, bringing Peter to his room and tucking Peter into bed.

-

“Peter I’m worried about you.” MJ said after Academic Decathlon practice.

Peter was wide eyed, holding his book bag in front of him, using it as a shield. His clothing that used to only be a little bit large on him, now swallowed him completely, his cheekbones were sharper and anytime his sweater moved a little bit, his collar bone was revealed to be protruding from his chest. Peter flinched at people who moved too fast and his skin was pale with dark bags under his eyes.

“I’m okay MJ.” Peter smiled, but his eyes were still empty.

“Are you cutting again? You’re acting like you used too. I don’t like seeing you lose your spark.”

MJ moved forward, grabbing Peter’s hands in her own. His hands were cold against hers and shaking slightly. Her head tilted just a bit as she searched for answers on Peter’s face.

“I’m not- no, I moved past that.” Peter lied.

He couldn’t tell her. He needed to cut. He needed the freedom it gave him, the relief. It was one of the only things he had anymore that he still enjoyed. By telling MJ, Peter would lose his sanity. Everything would be okay as long as he had a razor on him, as long as he got to cut his skin open.

But he should tell her. Maybe that would get everything to end. If he just told someone, maybe Skip would stop hurting him. Or maybe they’d push for Skip to continue on with trying to cure him. This was for the best, after all.

“Peter, you’re one of my best friends, okay? So if you were cutting again, hypothetically speaking, know that you can come to me, I won’t tell anyone. Not even May or my parents.”

Peter nodded, looking away from her, hating himself for lying and hating that MJ was trying so hard. It would have been so much easier if he just liked MJ instead of Harley.

“Look, look, MJ, see no cuts,” Peter rolled up his sleeves to show healed skin and no scars, “I promise, I’m just a little stressed out right now, don’t worry about me. I’m just focusing on myself for now, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay, well, when is the last time you ate?”

“Right before practice.”

It felt nice for Peter to actually tell the truth. He was eating almost as much as usual. Typically the same amount unless he had time alone with Skip. Peter was just stressed and sometimes couldn’t keep his food down, but he still ate more than enough. He should be able to keep up his weight, the weight loss just sort of happened.

-

Three and a half months ago…

May was working the overnight shift again. It was a school night so Peter was at the apartment with Skip instead of the Tower like he would be on weekends.

Peter was finally sleeping, well actually he was passed out from exhaustion, but it was still a sort of sleep, technically. Somewhere between Skip moving in and their ever-more-frequent talks “chats,” Peter started to lose sleep. He would stay awake later, slit his wrists longer, and on top of that the surprise beatings from Skip were really taking an affect on Peter. All except the desired affect.

Peter was still bisexual. He didn’t want to be bisexual anymore. He just wanted to be normal, straight. Liking men was wrong, Peter was wrong. May and Skip just wanted what was best for Peter. And this was what was best. Skip was just helping Peter. He was straightening Peter out. This was just want needed to be done.

Skip stumbled into Peter’s room. He saw that Peter was tucked in under his blankets deep in sleep and Skip couldn’t help but climbing into the bed too. He pulled the teen into his body, breathing in how Peter smells, nuzzling his nose behind Peter’s ear.

Peter woke up trapped in Skips arms. He panicked trying to get out, it was just like The Vulture dropping a building on him again. But this time it wasn’t concrete but instead a man. A man who was supposed to be in love with his aunt.

“Skip.” Peter whined trying to wriggle free.

The older man moaned, moving a hand down to feel Peter’s length.

“I didn’t realize that you’d rub off on me. You’re trying to turn me into a homo. Einstein, you’re rejecting your treatment and trying to change me instead, and I don’t tolerate this very much.”

Peter shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. His whole body shook with nerves, and he thought he was going to vibrate out of his body.

“Skip, I promise I’m taking this seriously. I should be straight, I want to be straight. Just like you Skip, I’m trying really hard to be straight. I promise, I don’t want to be a disappointment to you or May anymore.”

The older man laughed, holding onto Peter tighter. He ground his hips further into the teen, making Peter whine and squirm more trying to break free.

“Einstein,” Skip moaned, “You’re ass, I swear it’s a woman’s. Your such a fairy, Einstein. I could just imagine you as a woman, you’re hair at your shoulders, this great ass and a tight pussy, your tit’s would probably be smaller, barely a handful, but you’d be so cute. Too bad you’re just bent.”

-

Harley sat across from Peter, cheeks blushed, watching Peter carefully. Peter no longer felt that the freckles painted across Harley’s cheeks and nose were cute, and he no longer felt comforted by being in Harley’s presence. Now Peter only felt dread. There was no more warmth or the feeling of being safe. 

Peter wasn’t attracted to Harley. He didn’t want to be with Harley, he was afraid of Harley. What Skip was doing was working. Peter was going straight. He wasn’t going to be bisexual anymore, he was only going to like women now.  Peter wasn’t going to be a freak or a fag or a fairy or a homo or bent. Peter was going to be straight. Skip was fixing him.

“Peter are you okay? You’ve been really spacey recently.” Harley asked keeping his voice soft and cautious. 

Peter smiled. It didn’t feel natural and probably didn’t look all that genuine, but Peter felt like he should be happy. He was happy that he this meant that May and Skip will not be disappointed in him. Maybe then Skip will like him. Now they can be a family

This is going to fix all of his relationships. People are going to like him better if he’s straight. He’ll only like women and be normal. It’ll solve so many problems for him.

“Yeah, Harls, I think I’m actually really good. Like, for real.”

Peter laughed, not one of his soft, bubbly and contagious laughs, the ones he was known for. Instead it was hallow and empty, self deprecating even. Harley’s eyes widened, suddenly more concerned for Peter than he’d been previously.

“Peter...” Harley sighed.

He reached out to grab Peter’s hand, watching Peter flinch back hard. Harley saw the moment Peter recognized what he did and how he tried to shake himself out of it, but he also saw how Peter moved to stay farther away from him.

“I’m good, Harls, really.” Peter nodded again.

“No, you’re not. There’s something seriously wrong. I’m going to figure it out. I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

-

Three months ago…

Peter and Skip were finally alone. May had been on a stretch of day shifts and Peter’s friends were more persistent on having Peter go out with them during evenings. They were even tracking his food intake. The group was becoming obsessive over Peter now. And Peter was sick of it.

But now Peter was home alone with Skip. He could finally tell the man the good news. It’s been well over a week since Peter had and romantic or sexual feelings for another man. There’s only been fear, with any he looked at. Peter didn’t want to be attracted to men. Skip was curing him. May and Skip will finally accept him again.

As soon as May stepped out of the apartment Peter left his bedroom and sat down on the couch beside Skip. The man smiled at the boy, licking his lips before pinning Peter onto the couch. Skip groped at Peter for a moment, before pressing sloppy kisses onto his neck.

“No, stop, Skip I don’t like this.” Peter fought. “I just wanted to tell you that it worked. I don’t- I’m straight. You cured me. It worked. You and May don’t have to be disappointed in me anymore.”

Skip laughed. Loud and boisterous, pressing his weight down onto Peter. His hands moved up and down the teens frame, removing Peter’s clothes. Peter struggled harder, tears pouring down his face, sobbing out pleas to be let go. He tried fighting it, fighting Skip to keep his clothes on.

“You see Einstein, while I’ve made you straight, you’ve made me a fag. So this is going to have to continue, just a little until I no longer view your twink-ass as jailbait.”

Peter sobbed harder, trying to use his elbows to get away. Instead, Skip just pressed a hand into a patch of fresh cuts, forcing Peter’s vision to white out for a moment, that was just long enough to take off Peter’s underwear off.

“Skip, Skip no. No. I’m not. I swear, I didn’t make you like men. I didn’t do it. I’m straight now. You fixed me, I swear. You need to stop. You don’t want to go there. You don’t want this.”

Peter tried begging. He tried pleading, but he couldn’t stop Skip. It was too late. Skip had a plan and he wasn’t going to stop.

“Real funny that you think you know what I want, Einstein. This is for the best though, I promise, I’m doing this for you.”

-

It was movie night with May. Skip was out meeting up with his old friend was college. So it was just Peter and May. In their living room.

Peter couldn’t sit on the couch. Well, sitting in general wasn’t really working. So Peter just laid down on the ground, and May took the couch.

“Peter, I’m proud of you, you know that?” May finally spoke, halfway through Tangled.

“You are?” Peter didn’t anticipate his voice cracking, but hearing that May was proud of him? It was worth everything.

“Of course, baby. Skip told me that you let him help you, and I’m so proud of you for accepting help. He said that you’re problem was resolved with his help too. I’m so glad you two are getting along.”

Peter heard the words of confirmation that what Skip has been doing is what May also wants. She’s proud of him. She’s happy that Skip fixed him. May is glad that Peter is straight and that Skip turned him. It breaks Peter’s heart to actually hear it from May.

Peter never wanted to do it anyways.

And yet here he is. Having done it for her. He did this for May. To be accepted by May. So that he isn’t a disappointment in her life. And he isn’t happy. He’s not happy with himself, or Skip or May. Peter thought this would make him happy.

Peter wishes he born properly. Born straight. Born not wanting to harm himself. He wishes that the feeling that he needs to die never existed. Peter wishes he could be himself and be loved by his family. It shouldn’t have to be one of the other.

“Thanks.”

He tried not to choke on the acid rising up his throat.

-

Two and a half months ago…

It doesn’t stop. Skip doesn’t stop. His brain doesn’t stop. The fear didn’t replace the attraction like Peter originally thought. It’s just more confusing now.

Peter just wanted this to end.

Skip wasn’t going to end this.

-

Tony and Pepper had invited Peter, May and Skip over for dinner. Tony had made loads of his famous lasagna, and Pepper made a spinach dip appetizer and they ordered cheesecake for dessert.

All the adults seemed to be having a conversation together while Harley and Peter talked among themselves.

“I have an announcement.” Skip smiled at May, bringing the attention to himself.

“I asked May to marry me yesterday and she said yes.”

Peter was sure that this would be what killed him. Skip was his life sentence for whatever Peter did wrong. Skip was going to be his step-uncle, his new guardian.

Tony, Pepper and Harley congratulated the couple, and Tony patted Peter’s shoulder. Wine was brought out Peter couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m just, I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back.” Peter smiled pushing himself out of his spot.

“Hurry back Einstein, we’re gonna be a family, we have to celebrate together.”

Peter was going to be sick.

He nodded and left the room, shutting himself in the bathroom and throwing up.

This isn’t what he wanted. Skip can’t be there for the rest of his life. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

-

One month ago…

Peter was sure Skip was going to kill him. Or use him forever.

Peter didn’t like either option.

-

“I don’t want them to get married.” Peter confessed.

Happy pulled the car over, turning in his seat to see Peter. The kid wasn’t looking very good, he reminded Happy of 2008 era Tony. It wasn’t a very good look on a kid.

“You feel like it’s too soon after Ben? Or is it because of how fast-paced their relationship has been?”

Peter had tried not to think about Ben since Skip moved in. He didn’t want to picture the look of disappointment Ben would give him. Peter didn’t want to think that he is a failure in Ben’s eyes. Ben would believe that Peter brought this onto himself.

‘With great Power Comes Great Responsibility.’

Ben always said that. And yet Peter failed. He gave away his power, and was completely responsible for where he is now. Peter did everything wrong and Ben would know that. He took his uncles advice, his dying words, and ruined them, broke them, tossed them in the trash and set them on fire. Ben would hate this Peter, and Peter knew that like he knew how to breathe.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I just- I don’t think I’m ready for May to be married yet. It just feels like Skip is trying to replace his spot. I don’t want the to get married yet.”

Happy nodded in understanding, trying to give the teen a small smile.

“Pete, no one is ever going to replace Ben. He was your uncle, your guardian, your parent, he raised you. Skip could never live up to that.”

-

Present day…

There’s blood.

Peter is in the bathroom cleaning up his own blood and he doesn’t understand how he got here.

Well, he knows how. He just doesn’t understand it.

And he doesn’t know where to start cleaning it. Peter doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. This was all horribly wrong.

Peter knew he couldn’t stay here much longer though. Skip had gone back to his own bedroom, after a rough ‘session’ with Peter. And now Peter is alone, and bleeding and he needs to get out.

Peter picks up his phone and makes a call.

“Hey, can you uh, come pick me up, I can’t stay here, I need, uh I need to get out of here.”

“Yeah kid, you got it. I’ll be there in half.”

“Meet me, uh, two blocks up from here actually.”

“You okay, Underoos?”

Peter hung up the phone.

He hoped in the shower hoping the water would get rid of the blood, hoping the soap would wash Skip away. And when that didn’t work Peter put on an oversized sweater and large sweatpants. Peter packed untainted clothing into his book bag and left through his window and down the fire escape, putting his hood up.

This was a mistake.

Leaving was a mistake. Skip was only doing what he thought was- no. No. No. Peter can’t go back.

He won’t live through this. Peter doesn’t want to live through this.

He scratched at his arms as he made it to the spot that Tony was supposed to pick him up.

Peter was going to be sick.

How could he let it get this far? Peter shouldn’t have let this happen. This was all wrong. Why is he relying on Tony to take him away. What if Tony agrees with Skip?

Peter coughed up blood.

New plan.

Go with Tony, make sure his stomach isn’t bleeding, once he’s good, leave. Go fast. Stay away from cameras. Go to Canada. Or Florida. Get out of New York. Go far. Somewhere where May and Skip won’t think he’ll go.

Tony pulls up and Peter hops into the car quickly. Tony doesn’t start driving right away though. Instead he looks at Peter, seeing the fear in the boys eyes, as well the way he is unconsciously scratching his arms.

“What’s happening?”

Peter shakes his head, tears filling his eyes.

“Please, just drive, I can’t be here. Can’t be in the city right now.”

“Is this drugs?” Tony asks as he starts to drive, hoping that Peter won’t leave. “I don’t care if it is, I can get you help.”

“It’s not drugs. It’s probably be easier if it was drugs. Honestly, I wish it was drugs. I can’t go home though, okay? Please don’t tell May.”

“Okay. We can do that for now but I will eventually have to tell her where you are so her and Skip don’t get worried.”

“You can’t” Peter shouted jerking upright and pushing himself further away from Tony. “You can’t. Skip can’t know. He’ll kill me, I swear, he can’t know, I can’t go back.”

Tony nodded, as Peter seemed to fall apart in front of him, hoping that appearing casual while driving will keep Peter talking.

“So we don’t like Skip, alright. Is there a reason why?”

Peter sobbed and Tony was tempted to pull over right then and there, but he knows that scaring Peter would cause him to run, so he needs to keep driving.

“He said he’d help. He did the opposite.”

Tony hummed, bringing them out of the city and towards the compound. Peter was rocking himself slightly, clearly uncomfortable. He started to cough, blood splattering across his arms.

“What the hell, Parker?” Tony said stepping on the gas.

“No Skip, Tony. Promise me, we don’t get him involved even if that means keeping May in the dark. You bring Skip into this then I’m leaving. Okay?”

“Jesus, yeah, okay, promise. We’ll keep him out of this, I got you. No Skip, we don’t want him, I got it Pete.”

Peter nodded, feeling relief wash over him as he was finally in a safe spot. He was out. He was out of that god forsaken apartment. No Skip means he’s safe. Safety means he can finally sleep. So he closed his eyes.

-

Tag List: DM or send and ask if you would like to be added, if you only want to be tagged in pt2 please make that clear  

@peterbeanie @jean-and-diet-coke @dead-inside-pt2 @they-were-cloudsinmycoffee

[show-choir-gal]

"Smart Talk" Zach Dempsey Imagine

Requested by anon on Tumblr: "Hellooo c: could you write a fic on zach dempsey from 13 reasons why? Specifically the reader being a biology nerd and has aspirations of becoming a doctor some day, and zach being interested in her because he wants to be a marine biologist? Thanks! Love your blog btw ^^"

A/N: Heyo! I just wanted to pop in and see how y'all were doing and to say that I kind of switched it up and made the reader want to be a biochemist when she graduated so I hope you don't mind that little change! I cried writing this, so I’m sorry if you cry too

Warnings: mentions of death due to disease, absolutely sad backstory about a father with ALS

Word Count: 6,624

Guide: Y/N - Your Name Y/L/N - Your Last Name

Masterlist of Mastelists

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

The first day of school was always filled with nerves and excitement. But I am new, and a sophomore and that didn't make this transfer any easier. I had moved away from Ohio with my mum at the beginning of the summer, my father passed away after a long and tough battle with ALS. I'm 16 now, he was diagnosed when I just about turned 10. He always wanted to live in California, it was his dream to have a beach house with just the three of us. I was always his little girl. Even when his ALS progressed, he was always working so hard to stay as long as he could. He was such a fighter. Mum and him worked hard on finding a house in California before he would pass, get to live out his dream. We had found a house, the house mum and I now live in, a year ago but had to finalise the selling of our other house before we could move. But that hope soon cam tumbling down due to my father quickly getting worse. We were so close to moving, but it got put on hold. He was deteriorating faster than ever before and it was hard to watch the fighter I once knew look so defeated. Before he lost the ability to speak he told us, "Well if Stephen Hawking can do it, so can I." He was always so strong in front of me and mum, but we knew better. Every day after school I went to my dads hospital room and told him about my day and school and do my homework with him. I came in one day, a big smile on my face as I looked him in the eye and said, "I know what I want to be when I grow up dad. I want to be a Biochemist. I want to make medicine that will help you and the others that come after you. I want to do this for you dad." He smiled as best as he could and got out a shaky, "I love you so much", and then he couldn't speak after that. As days turned to weeks, he just got worse and worse. We had the hope that he could wait until after Christmas, but there were no Christmas miracles this time. He passed away the day before Christmas eve, and I was heartbroken. My dad, my biggest supporter was now gone. Gone but never forgotten. I held his cold hand before the coroner and doctors shuffled him away from us and said through broken sobs and tear stained cheeks, "I'm going to make a medicine that cures ALS. I'm going to make it for you, daddy. I love you so much." I finished the rest of the year and we finalised the selling of our, now old, house and we made the flight to California. A few weeks in and we were finally settling and making this house our new home. I sat out on our enclosed balcony with a cup of tea and cozied up in my hammock chair. I listened to the birds chirping as I took a sip of my tea. My mum came out a few moments later with her own cup of tea and we both stared upon the city for what seemed like an eternity until I decided to break the silence, "Dad would've loved it here." "Yes he would've sweetheart. Yes he would."

Mum drove me in for the first day, mainly because she wanted to pick me up especially if I had a rough first day. We had our usual conversations and I went over my schedule out loud with her. "Honours Chemistry AND Honours Biology huh? Why didn't you get put in the AP sections of those?" Mum asked, noticeably a little insulted that I wasn't placed in the AP classes. "Relax mum, they don't allow sophomores taking AP classes, and this was the best I was getting with them. I could've gotten regular Bio and Chem." I reassured her. She reluctantly calmed down as she pulled up to a parking spot in front of the school. Mum kissed me on the cheek and said our 'I love you's' as I got out of the car and headed up to the front of the building. I tried to blend in and just seem normal. My first class was English so I immediately made my way to the classroom located in the second floor. I sat in the front row like I always had in my previous schools. The teacher went through attendance and stopped on me, "Y/N Y/L/N? Are you the new student?" The teacher asked. "Yes I am ma'am" I replied, all eyes on me. "I was wondering if you would be here today! Please come up in front of the class and introduce yourself! Say your name, where you moved from, and your favourite book." I made quickly got up and walked the short distance to be next to the teacher. "Well, I'm Y/N. I moved here from a small town in Ohio at the beginning of the summer, and my favourite book is The Theory of Everything by Famous theoretical physicist, cosmologist Stephen Hawking." I said to the class with a smile. "That's interesting Miss Y/L/N! And why is that your favourite book?" "I look up to Mr.Hawkings work and I want to be a Biochemist." "That's quite interesting. You may sit down now dear." She said with a smile as she started to clap, the rest of the class followed suit. I sat down and the girl next to me tapped my shoulder, "Nice to meet you. I'm Jessica. I think we could be great friends!" She said with a smile on her face. We talked after class and she said she would meet me after my Bio class to have lunch with me. I'm so relieved to have a friend, or someone I can consider a friend at least. It's still early to tell. Next up I had maths, and pretty much the same thing happened with going in front of the class and explaining who I was. I was pretty much creating and reading a script for the beginning of every class. After maths I had my Honours Biology class. I sat at the work bench like I normally did, as I watched all the students pour in they all looked so much older than I did. The class began at the ring of the bell and the same thing happened like all the other classes before me. I made my way up to the front of the classroom and smiled as I introduced myself, "I'm Y/N, I moved here from a small town in Ohio at the beginning of the summer and I'm a sophomore. An-" "A sophomore? I don't normally have sophomores in my class." The teacher interrupted me, and I just gave an "are you serious?" look and some of the class laughed. "Yes, the school wouldn't let me take AP Biology and AP Chemistry so I had to even fight to get honours." I replied. "AP Bio and AP Chem? What would you want with those courses? They're pretty difficult on their own, let alone together." I cleared my throat, "I want to be a Biochemist." "And where would your concentration lie?" "Degenerative diseases." "Wow that's incredible Miss Y/L/N! I look forward to seeing your work. You may sit down." I took my seat and a few of the "nerdy" kids started to chat me up and we all had a great conversation about what we wanted to do in the future. The bell rang and almost immediately Jessica was outside my classroom waiting for me. "Honours Biology? Girl, you've got to give me your study tips!" We walked to the lunchroom as she talked my ear off about the school and everything I would need to know. We sat down at a table and a boy joined us, him and Jess kissed and then a bunch of other guys started to swarm the table we were at. "Y/N this is Justin, my boyfriend! Justin this is-" "You're Y/N! We have maths together." Justin said as he stuck his hand out. Justin started to introduce me to all the boys at the table, all his teammates on the basketball team. "Y/N why did you move here all the way from uhm..." Jess started to ask. "Ohio." I replied with a chuckle. "Right! Why did you move here from Ohio?" All eyes were on me now and I smiled just thinking of the memory of my dad, "I moved here because my dads dream was to move out to California with my mum and I." "Oh that's so sweet! Why did he want to move out here?" She asked. The smile fell from my face and just the thought started to burn my eyes, "That's a bit of a touchy subject. Can we not talk about that?" "Oh my God of course! I'm sorry, I didn't know girly." She said as she shot me a reassuring smile and rubbed my knee. Eventually I went to the rest of my classes and met some really great people. I knew I had nothing to worry about, it seems like I'll fit in perfectly. The dismissal bell rang and I made my way to my locker. I got all my stuff I needed and closed my locker, Jess was standing right next to my locker with Justin. "Did you have a good first day?" She asked. "It was great, especially because of you. Thank you for like, accepting me and being nice. And thank you as well Justin." I said with a smile. "That's great! We definitely need to keep in touch, hand me your phone and I'll give you my number so we can hang out soon!" She said enthusiastically as she took my phone from me and punched her number in. Her and Justin walked off and waved and said their goodbyes and we parted ways. I made my way to mums car. I placed my backpack in the backseat and hopped into the front and we drove off. "So..?" Mum started. "It was great! I already made a bunch of friends and they're all so nice there!" "That's awesome honey! Celebratory dinner tonight? And you can tell me absolutely everything, you can even spill all the deets!" "Ew mum, don't ever say that again!" I said as I joking slapped at her arm. "What?! I have to stay hip somehow!" We both erupted into a fit of laughter. "Oh by the way, the piano got to the house and is all tuned." Mum said, almost full of sorrow. That night we went out to a fancy restaurant a few towns over and I told her everything about my day and how excited I was for school and making new friends.

A month has passed and I've settled in quite nicely in Crestmont. It was a Friday and Jess is sleeping over for the first time. We quickly became really close friends, I even would say she is my best friend. My mum picked us up from school and I showed her around my house. "This house is so beautiful Mrs.Y/L/N!" Jess said in awe. "I'm glad you like it, you're always welcome here sweetheart!" My mum replied with a smile. Jess picked up a picture of my mum, my dad, and I when I was about 11. She examined it. "Awe Y/N you look so adorable! Is this your dad?" She asked, pointing to the man in the photograph. "Yeah, but that's an older photo of him." "Do you have any more recent photos of him?" "Of course!" I said as I lead her to the living room where a lot of the newer photos of him were. She examined them quite closely, noticing his state of being deteriorating, she was confused. I brought her out on the balcony and she sat in the hammock chair right next to mine. "Where is your dad?" She asked and then looked like she wanted to take it back. I grabbed her hand and smiled, "No no, don't worry about it. It's okay to ask!" I replied with a warm smile, "He passed away right before last Christmas. He had ALS." "Y/N I'm so sorry for your loss." "Jess it's okay. He was a great guy and a great dad." "Is this why you didn't want to talk about it on the first day?" "Yeah, it's just a touchy subject especially since we planned to move out here with him." I told her the whole story, everything. I was comfortable enough around her to tell her. And she listened and took it all in. I reassured her I was as okay as I could be even though some days were better than others and she understood. We headed up the stairs toward my room when she spotted the baby grand piano at the top of our stairs. "Wow this is beautiful! Do you play?" She asked, awestruck by the beautiful Yamaha piano in front of her. "I guess. My dad was the one who played and he gave me lessons and so now when I want to feel closer to him I just play and play until I feel okay." "You're one tough cookie, could you play something for me?" I smiled and pulled out the bench and immediately started to play Op. 28: III. Vivace G Major by Chopin as it was a relatively fast lively piece. I lifted my hands from the piano and her jaw was on the ground. "Girly I didn't know this! You NEED to play in the orchestra! They would love you!" She exclaimed as she brought me in for a hug. The night was great and I finally felt normal again, I felt like a normal high schooler with a normal life. And man did it feel good to feel normal again.

Monday rolled around and Jess dragged me down to the music hall to talk with the orchestra teacher. I played the same piece I did for Jess and the teacher looked beyond impressed with my playing. "Some of the best piano playing I've seen from a student in years! I would love to have you in the orchestra Miss Y/L/N!" Jess and I walked out of the music hall and screamed and jumped and hugged. "I'm so excited for you! I'll go to all the practices and concerts I can!" Jess promised as she stuck her pinky out "And I will go to as many cheer practices and games as I can!" I replied and interlocked our pinkies as we made a pinky promise. And both of us kept our promises. As long as I didn't have to tutor someone or practice, I was in the stands supporting my best friend, even doing her hair for her. As long as she didn't have practice or homework, she was at orchestra rehearsal.

Mid-November rolled around and so did basketball and other winter sports, but that also meant mid terms were fast approaching. In biology, we were doing a partner project and our teacher chose our partner. The rest of the class groaned, but I had gotten 100's all year so I didn't see an issue with it. He read off the names in alphabetical order by last name. "Zach Dempsey and Y/N Y/L/N" My head turned to look at Zachs face to judge how he felt, and he had a smile so wide it stretched from ear to ear, which made me smile as well as blush. After partners were announced we all moved to sit next to our partners, I got up and sat next to him. "Well look who we have here, the smartest girl in this school paired up with me." He said with a slight chuckle. "I wouldn't say I'm that smart. More like, I'm just determined to do really well...all the time." I said with a chuckle. We started to plan our project and then suddenly the bell rang. I was about to get up when Zach gently grabbed my arm, "Can I have your number? So we can plan our project?" "Oh, of course. Why didn't I think of that?" I wrote my number down on the top of his project syllabus and waved goodbye as I headed to my locker. I had one more class before I met up with Jess to do her hair before her short practice so they can get ready for the game. I had a free period next so I headed down to the music hall so I could practice. I walked by the teachers office and he ushered me in to talk to me. "Y/N, how would you feel about doing 4 solos for the concert?" He asked, not looking up from the program he was trying to make. "I would love to!" "Great! I'll have you start off the very beginning of the concert with a short but fast piece, we'll have a few group pieces and other solos and then you end the first half with another short but fast piece. Does that sound good?" He asked, I nodded. "Then you can start the second half with a long and slow piece, sprinkle in a few group pieces and a few other solos, then you'll have you last piece which is pretty slow and long as well, and then finish off with our group closing piece? Sound good?" "That sounds great sir! Can I ask one thing though?" "Of course, what's on your mind?" "Could I dedicate the last piece I play to my dad and have a picture of him with me at the concert? It's okay if not, I just figured I should ask." "Of course you can. Don't be silly to ask for something like that. The counselor told me about what happened. I'm so sorry for your loss and I would be honoured to have you dedicate your last solo to your father." He reassured with a smile. I started to leave the room, "Thank you Mr.Blanc! I'll be in the auditorium in you need me." "Y/N, just make sure to get me your sheet music with the order you're performing them in as soon as possible." "You got it!" I nearly shouted as I opened the side door to the auditorium to turn on all the stage lights. I practically came down here every free period I had unless I was working on Zach and I's project. It was always so calm and quiet and made me feel like my dad was still there with me. I made my way over to stage left and pulled the piano out into the centre of the stage. I sat down and just started to play piano covers of popular songs before I started to try figure out what I was actually playing for the concert. I just wanted to calm down from my exams I had today. I decided to just wait and ask Jess which songs I should pick before the first game of the basketball season occurred tonight. I went from Fantasie Impromptu by Chopin to Flight of the Bumblebee before I noticed anyone else was in the auditorium with me. I heard a throat clear which made me jump, I looked up from the piano and it was Jess and Justin. "I didn't mean to scare ya." Jess said with a chuckle, "Justin and I were making out in the back and you couldn't see us but Justin really wanted to watch you play especially after that really fast one." Justin nodded his head in agreement. "Aww, I'm flattered!" I said with a smile. I went down my arsenal of some of the toughest songs to play on piano, Moonlight Sonata, Little Red Riding Hood, Etude Op. 10 No. 4, La Campanella, and ending with Hungarian Rhapsody. I looked at the two who tried to keep up with my hands, Jess had a smirk on her face when she saw Justin's jaw on the floor. "I told you she was good." Jess said, almost cockily. Her and I laughed and before Justin could even say a word, the dismissal bell rang. "I'll meet you in the locker room Jess, I have to put a few things away in my locker." I waved to Justin sense I wasn't going to see him until later in the afternoon. I put my stuff in the locker and shut the door and headed downstairs, I headed toward the locker rooms where Zach caught up to me. "Good luck at the game tonight!" I said with a wide smile. "Thank you! Are you going to be there?" He asked. "Of course! I promised Jess and Justin that I would always be at the games." His face lit up like a Christmas tree, "Awesome! I'll see you later then." He said as he rubbed my arm. I thought his action was strange but just chalked it up to him being friendly. California is different from Ohio after all. I entered the locker room and greeted all the other girls when I took my place next to Jess. We told each other about our days while she changed into her practice gear. I told her how I was given 4 solos for the concert and she was so excited, maybe more excited than I was. "Oh my God that's amazing! I'll invite everyone so that can see how amazing you are!" She jumped up and down as she hugged me. We chatted our way into the gym and I took my usual spot on the bleachers and watched the practice go on like usual. I finished up my homework for the night just as they had finished practicing for the game tonight. I headed out and stood by the lockers and waited for Jess. As soon as she came out she grabbed my arm and practically skipped the entire way to the auditorium. I took my seat on the piano and told her my ideas and played them in the order I would play them at the concert. She wasn't too keen on a few of my pieces so I switched them with similar pieces and those seemed to fit like a glove. "Those! All of them! They're perfect!" She said with a huge smile on her face. We headed to the library and I photocopied my pieces and labelled them and dropped them off at Mr.Blanc's office. We had some free time before she had to get ready for the game so we just walked around and chatted. "How's your bio project going?" Jess asked as we walked around the football field. "Great! Zach and I are pretty close to being done." I replied as we passed the bleachers. "Basketball Zach? Like, Zach Dempsey?" "Yeah...why?" "Oh, nothing. I just didn't expect you to pick him as a partner." "Mr. LaPierre paired us, but he looked fine with it so I didn't mind." Jess was silent for what felt like a few minutes. "Jess, is everything alright?" "Yeah, I was just thinking about the other day when Zach was talking to Justin about a girl in his biology class he was crushing on." "Awe that's cute! She's lucky, he's a smart kid." "She's probably jealous of you Y/N. I just don't want you to get hurt. Because if she hurts you, many people will hurt her." Jess winked as she nudged me. "I have a perfect grade in the class, it seemed like everyone wanted to be my partner." I winked back. "Okay smarty pants, let's get back so I can get ready and you can help me with my hair." We both giggled and walked back into the school. I grabbed a seat on the bleachers right behind where Jess normally sits. The cheerleaders started to file in along with the basketball players. I was too busy looking for her hair ties and brush in my bag to notice her and a few of the basketball players walk in. I found her brush just as she sat down in front of me. I brushed through her silky hair and parted it down the middle.I looked up to a pair of soft brown eyes staring at me, they belonged to Zach. I shot him a smile and a wave before I returned to Jess' hair. I braided her hair into two tight Dutch braids. I secured the last one and put her brush back in my bag. The bleachers were filling up pretty fast when I was done. The players were back in the locker room so they could make their entrance in front of the whole student body. The cheerleaders were just about to head onto the court when Jess turned to me and waved to my mum who appeared suddenly next to me. "Hi Mrs.Y/L/N! Glad you could come!" Jess said as she hugged my mum. "Of course sweetie! I couldn't miss out on cheering on Y/N's best friend!" My mum replied with a smile. "Knock 'em dead Tiger!" I said as I hugged her before she made her way onto the court to welcome our team onto the court. Each player erupted one by one, and suddenly Zach emerged and he searched the stands and then his eyes landed on me and he waved and smiled in my direction. I smiled and blushed back. My mum tapped my leg and I moved my ear closer to her where she whispered, "Is that him? The boy in your biology class?" I nodded to her question and blushed deeper. The game started and Zach and I would steal glances at each other every now and again, nothing to major...or so I thought.

It was now the week before the Winter Concert, but Zach and I needed to finish up the prep for our project. We were in the library alone after school working on the final prep we needed before we could call the project 'finished'. A few hours had passed and we finished up the last component, but we finished earlier than expected so we started to finalise the project. We were finally done, and we were early. That's not a bad thing though, nothing wrong with finishing early. I was putting my stuff away when Zach cleared his throat, I zipped my bag and looked at him. "What do you want to be when you graduate?" He asked. I smiled, "I want to be a biochemist." "Why?" "Do you want the real answer or the short one I use to not have serious questions?" "The real one." I took a deep breath and then exhaled, "Because of my dad." "Why don't you talk about him? You avoided it when we first met." "It's just a touchy subject, that's all." "Can we talk about it? I want to get to know you more." I was shocked at his response, but it's fair since we've worked a lot together this year. "He passed away almost a year ago. Right before Christmas, to be exact." "I-I'm so sorry Y/N." I took his hand in mine, "It's okay, we expected it. He had ALS. He was diagnosed when I just turned 10 and he's the reason I'm here. He wanted to move to California before he passed." "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I would understand." He said as he gently swiped his thumb back and forth against the back of my hand. "Honestly, it's okay. I'm not ashamed, he was and still is my hero. He was deteriorating slowly so we thought we had time. We bought the house and just had to wait on our other house to sell so we could move. But about Septemberish of last year he went downhill quite fast. So, plans got pushed back as he got treatment. He was always so strong, as supported me even when he didn't want to admit that he couldn't really support himself. Some of the last words he said were "If Stephen Hawking can do it, so can I." which is also why I lookup to Dr.Hawking so much. I want to be a biochemist because of him, for him. I want to find the cure to ALS." Zach was staring in awe. I stood up and he stood up and pulled me into a bear hug. A hug of solidarity, a hug of understanding. We both pulled away and looked into each others eyes and smiled. He looked away and grabbed his things. "I'll drive you home." He said as he motioned for me to follow him. "Oh, you don't have to." "I know, but I want to." We made it to his car and he pulled out of the parking lot and opened up to me. "I want to be a marine biologist." He said. We talked about his aspirations and life on the way to my house. He parked outside and I hugged him. "Thank you. It's great seeing others be themselves too." I said as I pulled away. His arm moved behind me and rubbed my back and he started to lean in and so I leaned in as well but we were interrupted by my mum yelling my name. We both laughed and I got out of the car and waved goodbye and headed into my house. I watched as he drove away.

The day of the concert arrived, and the whole school day was just a blur. The dismissal bell and I headed to my locker where I was greeted by Jess. "What's the plan for today?" She asked with a huge smile. "Well, the group pieces are going to get a run through, then the solos, and then we get to get ready." I replied grabbing my music bag out of my locker and we headed to the auditorium which was pretty much already set up for the concert tonight. Jess sat front row. The group numbers were rehearsed, then solos, and then I had to get ready. Jess and I headed to the locker room. I changed into a long sleeved black maxi dress with my mums pearl necklace. I put my hair half-up half-down and Jess straightened my hair and chatted me up. "There's going to be a big surprise for you at the concert. All because of moi" She said as she smiled. "Should I thank you now or later?" I asked. "Def later." She said as she scrunched her nose and raspberried me. We laughed and chatted until she finished my hair and I finished my light makeup. I put my stuff away in my bag and we both walked over to the auditorium. People we already shuffling into the auditorium. I took out the framed picture of my dad before I let Jess go off and I get ready backstage. "He would be so proud of you." "You think so?" "I KNOW so. Break a leg out there." Jess said as she hugged me and we went out separate ways.

*THIRD PERSON* Jess waited until she saw Mrs. Y/L/N. She rushed over and hugged her. "I have a plan." Jess began to tell Mrs. Y/L/N her whole plan. Jess bought a bunch of flowers so everyone could give her something in support. She explained how she got all of the cheerleaders and basketball to come and support her. Mrs. Y/L/N was almost brought to tears, not truly grasping how quickly and wholeheartedly her daughter was loved at this school. Jess and Y/N's mother sat in the front row by the piano on stage left. Jess looked back every now and again to check to see if her plan would be followed through. And just like that, the cheerleaders and basketball players shuffled in and sat in the first three rows by the piano. Zach sat next to Jess. "Mrs. Y/L/N, this is Zach." Y/N's mum reached out her hand, "Are you her biology partner? She always talks about you. She really likes you, ya know?" Jess chuckled and placed the palm of her hand over her mouth while Zach blushed, the whole team started to be all "Bro we told you she liked you back. You have nothing to worry about." In between laughs Jess responded, "I don't think she wanted you to tell him that Mrs. Y/L/N." "Oop, you're probably right sweetie. I'm sorry to embarrass you Zach. I got really excited when she told me she likes you." "No no, it's okay Mrs. Y/L/N. I'm flattered because I really like here too." A few more minutes passed and it was time for the concert to start. *END THIRD PERSON*

The concert was about to start and I just held the picture of my dad closer. My teacher and conductor was doing his introductory statement before we all came out of the wing of stage right and into our places. I walked across the stage and spotted...all of them. Mum, Jess, Zach, everyone I grew closer with this past semester. A smile drew across my face as I saw my mum first, almost in tears already, and then to Jess, and then to Zach who shot me a wink and my heart could've fluttered out of my chest. I placed the photo of my dad on the piano at an angle so both me and the audience could see it. I heard my mum gasp and then cry a little at the picture, which made me tear up a little. We did the classic orchestral warm up before I spoke into the microphone right in front of the piano. "My first solo piece is Op. 28: XII. Presto in G Sharp Major composed by Frederic Chopin." I took my place at the piano and played the one minute long piece. I took my hands off the piano and bowed in my seat. We had a few classical group pieces followed by a few solos and then a few pop songs arranged for the orchestra like Without You and Fight Song/Amazing Grace and Tour De France. I was the last solo for the first part of the concert, I once again stepped in front of the microphone to announce my solo, "My second solo piece is Op. 28: XVI. Presto con fuoco in B flat minor also composed by Frederic Chopin." I took my place at the piano for a second time and played the other one minute long piece. I took my hands off the piano and we all stood up and bowed and walked off as it was announced that there was a 15 minute break. I took the opportunity to use the bathroom and relax a little. My fellow peers were complimenting me left and right and I did the same back. The 15 minutes were almost up and we took our seats once again. Once I got my cue, I went up to the microphone and announced my third piece, "My third solo piece is Op. 28: IV. Largo in E minor also composed by Frederic Chopin." I once again took my place at the piano and played the two minute long sorrowful piece. I played with much more emotion than I did in the first half of the concert. I took my hands off the piano and bowed in my seat. More group pieces and solos and finally it was my last solo and my longest. I walked up and grabbed the picture of my dad, "Before I announce my final solo piece, I want to take the time and dedicate this to my dad. I lost my dad almost a year ago to ALS or Lou Gherig's as most of you may know it as. He was a wonderful pianist and he's the one who taught me how to play. Not a day goes without me thinking about him or playing a song to remember him. I came rushing into his hospital room one day just ecstatic and I told him, "I want to be a biochemist when I grow up. I want to help people like you." And the day he passed away, I held his hand and promised I would be the one to discover the cure for ALS. And I intend on keeping that promise. My final solo piece was his favourite to play for my mum and I, Op. 28: XV. Sostenuto in D flat major." I placed his picture back on the piano, but fully facing me this time. I wiped the few tears I had running down my cheeks already from before as I looked over and saw her sobbing into Jess who also tearing up along with Zach and everyone else. I looked up at my teacher and peers who were all wiping tears away. He motioned for them to stand and the audience soon followed. I played with more emotion and drive than I knew I even had. I played the piece with passion. I made it about 2 minutes in before the tears started to roll down my face as I played with pure love and passion. I hit the last chord lighter than I thought was even possible. I sat for a few seconds to just absorb the moment. I stood up to bow and noticed I had a standing ovation. I shed a few tears before we all sat down and played our final piece. The concert was over and we all bowed and hugged each other. I grabbed my dads picture and whispered, "I did it daddy, for you." before I went to get my bags and head to my mum, I left the music hall and found Jess who ran to me with flowers. "I knew you were going to be amazing!" She lead me to the people I have grown close to and they all had flowers for me. "Here's your surprise! I told you they all had to hear how amazing you are!" They all were giving me a flower or two and telling me how amazing I was, but then there was my mum who still had tears streaming down her face. We hugged in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Jess took my bags off me and grabbed the flowers so I could hug my mum even closer. We let go and all that was left was Zach who held a huge bouquet in his arms. He gave them to me and I thanked him. He was in awe. I let out a giggle as I gave Jess the bouquet and wrapped my arms around his neck and his hands went around my waist. "Wow, that was just- wow." He barely even got that out of his mouth, he started to lean down but I told him to hold on. I looked over at my mum, "Mum are you going to interrupt this kiss?" "No, not this time sweetheart." I looked toward Zach who had a huge smile on his face, I returned the smile, "Alright, it's go big or go home." Zach, almost like he had rehearsed this very moment, held me tighter and dipped me and kissed me. Our lips crashed and the world felt still, it was just us in that moment. Just us, in love.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Piper Sargasso

Piper Sargasso has 25 stories at Gossamer, but don’t miss her website where the fics each have cover collage art. If you are a fan of Mulder/Scully romance, there are a lot of MSR fics to read that are set in different seasons of the show. But like the show that never stuck to one type of story, Piper’s stories have variety, so you can also find AUs and /Other.  Big thanks to Piper for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It does, but I love that people are still into it! Writers back in the day put so much work and love into their writing, and it's nice to know that the stories are still being appreciated to this day. As for my own stories, it puts a huge smile on my face to know there are still people out there checking them out and hopefully enjoying them.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

It was such a positive period of my life. I made some amazing friends who became something like older sisters (and some brothers) to me, even though I was a little ridiculous when I was in my early to mid-twenties. It was also a much-needed confidence booster. I was a pretty shy person and loved writing, but never had the nerve to show anything to anyone. My first fanfic was completely horrible, but because of it I made my first XF friend and super beta, Mimic117. Between her guidance and the encouraging words from my Yahoo group I was able to do something I really loved and felt great about myself and my abilities for the first time. That will stay with me forever. That first story was truly atrocious, but it was a catalyst for great things in my life when I needed them the most.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I remember trying this cool new thing called an AOL chat room, but they were more interested in perving on each other than talking about the show. Once I knew about fanfiction I kept seeing that some of my favorite authors kept mentioning IWTBXF in their notes, a Yahoo group named I Want to Believe. I looked it up, joined, and with great trepidation made my introductory post. Everyone was so warm and welcoming, and talking to my favorite authors in the group was a little like meeting a celebrity and finding out that they're awesome in real life. After IWTBXF fell apart, an off-shoot called Beyond the Sea was created with almost all of the original group transferring over. I stuck to my little family there and didn't branch out into much else, other than the rare dip into Haven. Ephemeral and Gossamer, of course.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Mostly the overwhelming feeling of acceptance and confidence to write, something I was sorely lacking before in my life. I fell in with the best group, that's for sure! They made me feel like being a professional writer could be an achievable goal.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

The commercial advertising. The pilot spoke to my supernatural-loving, angsty 15 year-old soul. I watched it religiously every week. There was nothing like it. It was off-beat, but serious (most of the time) and fulfilled my insatiable craving for the paranormal and weird. You just couldn't get that from Melrose Place and Beavis and Butthead, you know? It definitely helped that David Duchovny was adorable and the character of Scully was the strong and intelligent icon we needed in the 90's and beyond.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

In high school I had a friend who was as obsessed with the show as I was. Maybe more, since she once had a slumber party that was exclusively to binge watch her taped episodes (the other girls who wanted to mess around with spells and the Ouija board weren't thrilled that she couldn't be swayed away from it) and she often drove me from play rehearsals in her convertible with the top down and the theme song blasting to the heavens, much to my delight and mortification. A couple years after we graduated she told me about the piece of fanfic she wrote. Insert a record screech here. What?! You mean there are thousands of stories dedicated to my favorite show? And hundreds more get added every month?! I was obsessed. If I could've stopped working and slept at my computer desk I would have.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Sadly it's nonexistent these days. I have great memories and it holds a big piece of my heart, but I haven't been active in a long time. I would love to see a huge revival, and would definitely want to be involved in that in some way, were it to happen.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I read a lot of Harry Potter fanfiction for a while, but I never could expend the kind of energy and time I did for the X-Files fandom. It came at a perfect time in my life, and so far nothing else has measured up to it.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Besides XF characters? Off the top of my head I really love Hermione Granger, Buffy Summers, Elizabeth Bennet, and Claire Fraser for their sass and strength of character, Severus Snape for his complexity, and Christina Ricci's version of Wednesday Addams for her pure awesomeness. She's pretty much my spirit animal.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I do occasionally. I watched the series from season 1-7 so many times that I started to burn out, but I get on my X-Files kicks sometimes and binge it again.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

Like with the show, I'll get nostalgic and need to consume all the fanfics my greedy little eyes can behold until I move on to something else. It can feel a little lonely though, if you'll excuse the drama. We're not in the heyday anymore, so it feels a little like walking through a ghost town. Many of the stories out there are suspended in time because the show ended, or people stopped writing.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I know I have dozens, but I'm drawing a blank. My ultimate favorite is any well-written MSR casefile with UST finally resulting in RST. Those are my unicorns!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I have a silly one called Baby, It's Cold Outside that I sometimes read around Christmastime. It was a fluffy song-fic, but I can see the scene so clearly in my mind when I read it and it's just pure fun. I also like my Donnie Pfaster series. I can see the potential in my writing with those, which makes me feel I could really write something special someday. Plus, he's such an interesting little slimeball to write and read about. Bless his heart.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I still think about the two WIPs I haven't finished. I wrote myself into a corner with This Mortal Coil, and honestly I think it needs a total overhaul. I think Dana Scully's Diary would be a fun one to finish. I hate that I never finished them.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I think about writing fanfic now and then and I've had a couple original novels sketched out, but there are so many other demands on my time that I haven't gotten very far. I still plan to see the novels through, even if no one but interested friends and family read them.  

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I used to watch an episode and really study the actors' expressions and actions, always trying to find new angles to the stories we all know. A lot of times things would just come to me and I'd get so excited I couldn't sleep until I wrote a good chunk of it down.

What's the story behind your pen name?

The friend who introduced me to fanfic told me the best way to choose a pen name was to make sure it derives from the show. For a couple days I looked at the titles and summaries of episodes and agonized over just the right name. Finally Piper Maru and the summary from Triangle, which mentions the Sargasso sea, stood out and just clicked.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My now husband always knew, and he thought it was cool that I had a hobby that made me so happy, but he was never a reader. My parents found out when I was about 24 and my step-dad would tell EVERYONE about it, much to my horror. Most reactions were of the bland, "Oh yeah? That's nice." variety but I definitely got some weird looks from others. The worst was when I found out how much of my racier MSR stories my parents read. My step-dad thought it was hilarious and teased me a little. My usually open-minded mom was uncomfortable, but tried to be supportive. It's all fun and games until your daughter starts writing psuedo-erotica for anyone to see!

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Circe Invidiosa very generously hosts a page for me at http://pipers.invidiosa.com.

(Posted by Lilydale on January 26, 2021)

[tthael]

I apologize if you’ve already written about this before, but one thing I’ve been wondering about your Indelicate version of Eddie is in regard to his occasional tendency toward more (for lack of a better/less serious-sounding term) “aggresive” actions (e.g., throwing the lotion bottle, throwing the water, etc.) directed toward Richie. I know it was hinted at that the urges to aggress may sometimes be/have been the result of repressed or misconstrued attraction, but I’m wondering if some of it is also a result of Eddie’s injury and the related feelings of a lack of control over his own body? Like hypothetically, if Eddie were never injured or if we fast-forward to him completely healed, do you think that moments like that would still happen? Or am I just really reading too much into the fic and making up this aspect of it? Hope that makes sense - I just love your characterization of Eddie and I want to make sure I’m understanding as much as I can!

I actually haven’t written about this before, and I think that it’s a good thing that I take the time to meditate on it now, because I don’t want the idea that throwing things at your romantic partner is, like, a good thing.

So a lot of my thoughts on Eddie’s aggression derive from two specific aspects of his portrayal. The first (chronologically in Eddie’s timeline) is the portrayal of Eddie as high-strung, snappy, and verbally combative in IT Chapter One (2017).  Within the last year and a half I saw a post that pointed out that some of Eddie’s aggression--especially in interacting with Richie--probably derives from the high-stress situations of a) being hunted by an alien clown demon and b) being abused at home. I had a college professor discussing a history and trauma class point out that, “Traumatized people don’t always behave well.” There are the usual caveats that explanations are not excuses; however, I think that the constant knowledge that he has to return to Sonia’s house and the persistent alarms telling him when he has to take medication, so that even when he’s apart from her he can’t get away from her interference, means that Eddie’s under high pressure. And then you get to the point where all of the children in Derry are being hunted by an actual monster, and it’s a wonder that Eddie behaves as well as he does, because I certainly wouldn’t.

I usually like to incorporate some of book!Eddie’s dreamy introspection into his internal narrative in Indelicate, and I think that some of his pressures are relaxing now that he’s a) no longer living in a house with Sonia, b) acting specifically in ways that maximize his own agency (going where he wants with whom he wants, eating what he wants, actively rejecting much of her influence). However, he’s still got a lot on his plate, and some habits die hard. This is why I have moments of Eddie waiting with the perfect snappy comeback on his tongue, and then stopping himself because he knows it’s something he doesn’t mean. He doesn’t actually want Richie to never talk again, he loves it when Richie talks, and he’s struggling towards sincerity. I personally have a lot of difficulty letting go of the put-down jokes in favor of being sincere with the people I love, so I thought I’d give Eddie several moments of consciously choosing to be honest and kind with Richie.

The second influence on Eddie’s relationship to physically “lashing out” is his introductory scene from IT (1986), where he’s leaving home and Myra is chasing after him demanding explanations and wailing about how terrified she is. I know that there are lots of analyses of this scene and thoughts on Myra versus Sonia, and I’m not interested in those right now; however, what caught my eye was that Eddie sees Myra’s distress and his first thought is something along the lines of “you might as well hit her”--not that he wants to hit her and he has nothing to lose, but that his causing her emotional distress is as bad as physically abusing his wife. (I can’t recall at the moment whether Eddie’s section comes before or after Bev’s introduction, but I want to say that it’s before, and I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Bev and Eddie’s very different home lives are contrasted.)

So I thought, that as a boy child without a father, raised and abused by his single mother--and considering his issues with (as I write it) suppressed gay feelings, and the sort of “glass closet” I write him with--Eddie’s concepts of masculinity are probably pretty toxic. I think that in order to maintain control over Eddie, Sonia probably got very emotionally manipulative when he resisted her at all, especially as he got older and taller and physically stronger than her, and that she probably cried out things like “Eddie, you’re hurting me, how can you hurt your mother like this?” and made Eddie feel like the abuser (which is, I’m given to understand, a frequent tactic of abusers: reversing the roles to make the victim feel apologetic and guilty). I’m specifically thinking of the way that Gillian Flynn writes manipulative white women who weaponize white women’s fragility--Adora in Sharp Objects, since that’s actually the only Gillian Flynn book I’ve read so far. I think that Eddie would be very conscious of what he perceives as his capacity to be an aggressor, and it would be one more way that Sonia could keep him docile.

Later, with Myra--and I’m writing Myra more sympathetically in Indelicate than I did in Things That Happen After Eddie Lives, so I’m not interested in getting into the “is Myra abusive?” conversation right now, because I’ve written her both ways--I think that Eddie likely had a sort of learned helplessness about his own agency with Sonia that he then transferred onto his relationship with Myra. In Indelicate, I write him with a lot of reluctance to volunteer any information towards her, or his emotional state, or to make any of his wishes known (frequently she shoots them down as too extravagant, the way that I talked about Eddie’s relationship to money and luxury and Myra refusing a larger bed).

I write Eddie as largely unaware of his attraction to men until his near-death-experience, but only because he did not allow himself to connect the dots between what he thought of as physical symptoms (tunnel vision on hot man in coffee shop = optic nerve impairment, see doctor); but I think that Eddie was profoundly aware of his unhappiness in his marriage and just tried to reason with himself that everyone felt like that, and everyone was miserable and suppressing their own wants and needs, because that’s just what marriage is, and any other approach to his marriage would make him abusive, so Eddie and Myra’s marriage was emotionally volatile and extremely stressful.

Which is to say that Indelicate Eddie is a powder keg when Richie gets to him.

Again, I don’t think that throwing things at your romantic partner is an acceptable mode of interaction and I don’t want any readers to get the idea that that’s the underlying message of Indelicate, because it’s not. The scene with the moisturizer is derived from something that happened to me years ago (I was Richie, the guy I had a crush on was Eddie) involving a wayward Frisbee; the scene where Eddie tries and fails to throw a drink at Richie is derived from an anecdote of the early days of my parents’ marriage (my mother was Eddie), one that my father’s coworkers and boss loved to talk about and his best friend still brings up when they hang out.

However, Eddie’s relationship to physicality is also deeply informed by a tumblr post I saw over a year ago that talked about how Eddie grew up being told that he was fragile and delicate and sickly, and how Richie did not give a shit about any of that and was more than willing to just grapple him. For this fic, I decided to lean into that idea: that Eddie longs to be treated as though he’s solid and healthy and strong, and he finds a lot of relief in Richie <i>not</i> treating him gently. But because Eddie is actually physically injured in Indelicate, Richie is being careful not to break him while also dealing with Eddie’s very real (and largely unvoiced) desire for physical contact. It’s not an accident that at the end of the chapter in which Richie and Eddie have a shouting match that Richie wrestles Eddie to the floor and pins him and blows a raspberry on his belly--which is incredibly juvenile at the same time that it’s a display of Richie’s physical capabilities and Eddie finds that bizarrely attractive.

So, on top of Eddie’s desire for physical contact, his extreme stressors, and his lifetime of maladaptive coping mechanisms--the other thing that I consider when I write his dynamic with Richie is that Richie is not physically intimidated by Eddie at all. This is not because Richie is stronger than Eddie (he is) or larger than Eddie (he is). This is because there was a time in which Richie and Eddie found it perfectly acceptable to grapple each other as a form of interactions, because Richie and Eddie have known each other since they were seven years old. I even like to think that at one point, Eddie was the taller of the two, because Richie hit a really ridiculous growth spurt somewhere around the start of puberty and Eddie was something of a “late-bloomer,” and Eddie silently seethed about it through their entire adolescence.

So when Richie and Eddie lash out at each other--largely Eddie, because I think Richie, with his fear of the werewolf and of losing control and hurting someone--they’re building on sort of a lifetime of informal physicality. Stitchy does something similar in their Richie/Eddie fic where elements of roleplay always appear in their romance, because they were kids who played pretend games together, and when you have a bond like that with someone, it does permanently shape what sort of interaction you do and do not find acceptable. I also included a flashback into childhood where Richie gets angry with Eddie and very deliberately and methodically pushes him down on the ground and Eddie cries, not because Richie physically hurt him (he didn’t), but because it wasn’t in good fun there, that was Richie deciding to throw him around because he knew it would upset him.

So there’s a lot going into Eddie’s physically aggressive responses in Indelicate--the toxic masculinity that dictates the way that men are allowed to express anger and the ways in which they are allowed to touch each other; the profound stress that Eddie has endured for his whole lifetime without getting many better coping mechanisms; the feeling of lack of control of his physical body; a regression to childhood habits; and a deep sense of relief that Richie (being big, strong, and a man) is not vulnerable to him in the way that Sonia convinced him she (and later Myra) were.

I hmm’d and haww’d over a scene in the most recent chapter in which Eddie strikes Richie with an open hand (it’s a little slap on the chest, and I wanted it to come across very like the sort of corrective smack to the back of the head that I can imagine any of the Losers issuing to Richie back in 1989 when he shoots off at the mouth), because that’s not something I’d be comfortable doing to a romantic partner myself. Richie thinks nothing of it and turns it into a dirty joke, but I do need to get more into Eddie’s decision to touch Richie in kind ways in direct refusal of that “you construct intricate rituals that allow you to touch other men” facet of toxic masculinity.

I know it’s a ridiculously long answer, but it’s a serious issue and I wanted to give it the greatest possible consideration instead of writing something flip. Because both the incidents you named (ones I didn’t even realize formed a pattern, to be honest) are drawn from real life, I can’t say that they’re moments that are influenced by Eddie’s physical disability, but I do think they’re more influenced by his emotional state. I also think that as some of his stressors come off his plate and he gets more comfortable having an adult relationship with Richie, he’s going to stop throwing things at him. I even had Eddie stop after throwing the water, not just because it was ridiculous but because he realized how out of line he was in that moment. Recognizing when you’re out of control in an argument is, I find, an important part of self-improvement; and learning to walk away or to reset is a valuable skill.

Thank you so much for reading!

[kaemulti]

(this is for the like five people who liked my post about me writing this 😤✊🏾and i have an AO3 account but i don’t want my kpop fan life and my non kpop fan life to clash right now so hopefully i can post the chapters for this fic here. i hope i’m doing this right, i literally got tumblr like a month or two ago so pls be nice 💀💀)

DEADLY DANCE:

—————————-

Story Summary: Korra Kuruk is an eighteen year old agent of The Air Temple Agency that has been tasked with bringing a rival company’s top teen agent to justice for her crimes. Korra, code name Water Tribe, must figure out what the true identity of the elusive Metal Bender is and what heinous acts her villainous agency is currently planning. How will Korra handle finding out her target is the one person she least expected and what will she do when that same person needs saving?

Deadly Dance : Chapter One : Little Miss Perfect

Kuvira shut her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath through her nose until it filled every inch of her lungs. She slowly let it out once she couldn’t take in any more oxygen and opened her eyes with new determination, deep breath centering her thoughts and calming any nerves that might be lingering. She could feel the whole room’s eyes on her, whole class practically on the edge of their seats as they watched her prepare for the final part of the combination. Kuvira smirked, an evil, sly smirk that would have easily given away her true personality if any of her peers were actually that observant. Fortunately, they were all far to enthralled with her movement, eyes widening as she extended her arms and raised her head. A beat, and she was off, turning and waltzing like she was floating through the air as the music rose in volume. She could feel the sweat running down the sides if her face, causing her skin to itch, but she couldn’t care less, she was electric right now, practically on fire as she completed all the steps without a hitch. Her face never broke from the innocent and vulnerable look of the character she was playing. Her limbs were long and free, passion practically seeping from every pore as the combination came to a close. She ended the fouetté sequence flawlessly, face refusing to show how increasingly uncomfortable her pointe shoes became pain an afterthought to the captivating performance she was seconds away from nailing. With one last turn, she took her ending position, chest slowly rising and falling as the music faded away to silence.

“Absolutely fantastic as always, Kuvira! Everyone please give her a round of applause.” The teacher said enthusiastically, smile wide as she praised her best student.

Kuvira smiled softly as she bowed for the applause from the class. The praise was cut short as the third period bell had rang, meaning they had spent their five minute time period for changing back into their normal clothes watching Kuvira complete the combination.

“Oh, spirits! That’s the bell, sorry I kept you everyone! Hurry and change, those of you headed to lunch should be fine but I’ll write slips for anyone who is going to a class period! Hurry, hurry! Great work today!” The teacher said as her students scrambled around the room.

Kuvira quickly dropped to the floor, hastily taking off her pointe shoes and shoving them into her dance bag. She jogged to the dressing room and begun to change, ripping off her constricting tights and deciding to exchange her bra for her leotard to save time. She finished pulling her skirt on and adjusted her turtle neck, haphazardly slipping on her sneakers as she rushed out of the door.

Luckily for her, the lunch room was only a couple doors down, unluckily for her however, she didn’t pack a lunch and waiting in the line is known to take half of their lunch period. She pushed passed some students in the hallway, raising the tone of her voice to give half hearted apologies as she did so, not that they knew that of course. When she finally made it to the lunch room she scanned the area for the table with her friends, smiling once she caught sight of them.

Being at this school was her least favorite thing ever so the fact she had actually found a couple people that cared enough to talk to her had been a blessing.

“Nice job today, Kuvira!”

“You totally owned that combo! I wish I could dance like that!”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

The praises weren’t new to her so Kuvira simply offered a smile and a couple thank you’s as she reached the table.

“Well if it isn’t the swan princess herself.” Wing teased as she sat down.

“Haha, very funny, Wing. I told you not to call me that when we’re not in practice, especially because we aren’t even doing that ballet this year.” Kuvira said light heartedly as she pulled out her makeup compact.

“My apologies, Great Uniter.” He said with a bow and smirk. The Avatar ballet had been widely requested by everyone in the dance department and Kuvira was beyond happy when she got picked to play the avatar’s ultimate rival, The Great Uniter.

“How was class?” Baatar asked shyly, barely making eye contact with her as he did so.

“It was fine, my feet are killing me but ballet is my second favorite dance class so I don’t mind.” She replied sweetly as she put on her eyeliner.

“I’ll never understand how you can do that so flawlessly, are you just perfect or something?” Wei asked as he practically inhaled one of his spring rolls.

“I wouldn’t say “perfect”, just skilled.” She lied, adding a sharp tail to the liner. She was playing a character right now and, sadly, acting cocky wasn’t in the script.

“I just don’t get how she got here so fast!” Korra panted, placing her backpack on the floor as she slumped on the table. She had gotten lost in the sea of people all trying to get to lunch on time from dance and had to race to avoid the hall monitor.

“Maybe you’re slower than you thought.” Mako joked, offering her part of his sandwich like he always does. He loved Korra to death but that girl was so frantic she basically forgot her lunch three times a week.

“Must you bully me after I almost got trampled in the hallway, again?! I’m hurting.” She pouted, taking her half of the sandwich from him and eating most of it in one go.

“Maybe if you actually started telling Mrs. Xiao when you have five minutes left of class you’d be here on time.” Asami smirked, not even looking up from her chemistry homework to tease the panting girl.

“I would have but she was too busy watching Kuvira prance around the room.” Korra said with her mouth full, rolling her eyes as she thought of the older dancer flawlessly completing that day’s combination.

“I’ll never understand why she gets under your skin so bad, Kor, she’s literally an angel. Honestly, I don’t even think she’d hurt a fly if she had the chance. Besides, you guys are rivals in the ballet, not real life.” Bolin said, blowing on his noodles to cool them down before sucking them up violently.

“And I don’t see why you don’t, just look at her! Being the center of attention every chance she gets.” Korra pouted, gesturing to the girl doing her makeup in her small hand held mirror a couple tables down.

“Are you gonna leave your hair like that the whole day?” Huan asked Kuvira, face contouring to a grimace.

“Shoot, (spirits, she wishes she could’ve cursed) I didnt even notice, thanks, Huan.” She said, placing the compact down so she could dig through her bag for a brush. She always forgot to take her hair out of her ballet bun and Huan, being the guy who was absolutely incapable of staying out of other people’s fashion choices, never let her forget. Kuvira still remembers how she had to force a smile and act like she didn’t want to bust his jaw that one time he said she looked like a snob when her hair was up.

He was right of course, but it still annoyed her.

Kuvira pulled out the brush she was looking for and set it on the table as she started removing the bobby pins from her hair. She smiled a bit to herself as she got the last one out, her favorite part was next, letting her hair down as she felt everyone watch.

She let the bun unravel as she gracefully shook her head, long, dark waves cascading down her back, almost reaching her butt. Honestly, she needed a trim, she’d have to remind Unalaq to make time in her schedule to get one.

Kuvira picked up the brush and ran it through her hair just enough to make it look neat but not enough to brush out the waves. She could feel several eyes on her, both male and female, as she did so. Kuvira wasn’t oblivious, despite how she acted as her character, she knew she was way above average in looks and she liked the eyes on her, craved them even. She opened her eyes and smiled as she caught Baatar looking at her.

Kuvira liked catching him watching her the most because she knew he’d never have a chance with her, no matter how much he wanted one.

“Looks like the line is shorter now, I’m gonna go grab lunch.” She said sweetly, quickly whipping her head around to eye how many people were still waiting in the line. She was fast enough to identify ten sets, five more than last time, of eyes on her before they frantically looked away as she searched for eye contact. She stood up and flipped her hair, strutting to the lunch line with an innocent smile.

“Ok, but it’s not her fault she’s gorgeous, Korra, that’s hardly a reason to hate her.” Bolin said, back at their table, pulling Korra out of her daze as she watched the older girl strut to the lunch line.

“I never said I hated her, she just...bugs me...” Korra replied, crossing her arms with a huff. Ever since the first day Kuvira had transferred to their school something about her seemed too good to be true, leaving a nasty taste in Korra’s mouth when interacting with the older girl.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a crush on her, Kor.” Asami said, finally looking up from her, now finished, homework to quirk her brow at the pouty girl.

“Wha-no. No! I do not have a crush on little miss perfect, sprits!” Korra said, annoyance clear in her voice as she furrowed her brow at her friend’s accusatory tone.

“Whatever you say, you should really just ask her to the formal in two months.” Mako said before he drank from his water bottle.

“I will not! I don’t even like her like that. Tui and La you guys are impossible!” Korra said, standing up from her seat and heading to the lunch line—because she was hungry! Not so she could stand next to Kuvira, she had more dignity than that thank you very much.

“Hey, Kuvira! How are you today?” Ms. Li, one of the lunch ladies said sweetly.

“I am great, Yuyan, thank you for asking. How about yourself?” Kuvira replied politely. That was one thing Unalaq could never shake from her, her manners for people less fortunate than she was. She had spent a lot of time talking to the school staff when she first got this assignment, she would tell her bosses it’s so she could find her target quicker but that was all a lie. To most, she might be considered to be on the wrong side of history, even if she thought that was nonsense, but that didn’t mean she was soulless. She only wanted the best for these people, why would she be cold if she didn’t have to be?

“Well, I could be better, these kids really don’t know how to say a simple please and thank you. It, um, it gets to you sometimes, you know? But, hey, I guess it could always be worse. Thank you so much for ask—Oh! That reminds me, me and a couple of the other lunch ladies made this for you, since you are such a big help around here.” Ms. Li said, reaching behind her to grab a small chocolate cupcake before handing it to Kuvira.

“Thank you so much, it looks delicious.” Kuvira said, accepting the sweet treat and placing it on her tray with the rest of her food.

“Of course! Anything for our favorite student. Congratulations on getting the part of The Great Uniter by the way, we look forward to seeing you shine!” Ms. Li smiled.

Kuvira smiled brightly as she punched in her lunch number, swiping her school card quickly. She appreciated the praise and she new she deserved it, but too much of it could make her uncomfortable. She said one more thank you to Ms. Li and headed back to her table.

As she was walking however, she almost ran right into someone who was clearly not watching where they were going. If she had been anyone else, her tray would’ve went flying, along with the items on it, and there’d be a huge mess, luckily she wasn’t anyone else. She was Kuvira, member of the Metal clan, the most highly trained spy organization in the world, and she���d be damned if she let her special cupcake get squashed. She easily spun around the person, gracefully hoping one of the railings to catch her airborne tray, every single item she had purchased returning to their places. Well, all except her juice box, which was still airborne, about to land on the ground behind her. She whipped her head back around and made a move to catch it but instead saw her onstage rival, The Avatar, played by Korra Kuruk, hopping the same railing to catch the juice box before it hit the ground, her own lunch items fully intact on her own tray despite the vigorous movement.

“I am so sorry about that! Here, wouldn’t want you to lose this.” Korra said apologetically as she held out the juice box to a wide eyed Kuvira.

As soon as they made eye contact Korra seemed to have picked up on what had actually happened, her own eyes going wide as Kuvira snatched the juice box from her hands.

Before either of them could say anything, the pieces finally falling into place and their initial shock quickly flipping to furry, the fire alarm went off, blaring loudly in everyone’s ears and causing several people, excluding Korra and Kuvira of course, to flinch in their seats. They had been trained better than to get startled by a sudden noise.

“Ok, ok, everyone please grab your phones, and I mean only your phones, and exit the building!” One of the lunch monitors said, ushering kids out of the back entrance so they could head to the field.

Both girls glared at each other, breath heavy in a rage as they did so, before going their separate ways to their respective tables. Kuvira grabbed her phone and followed Baatar out of the lunch room, not bothering to look back at Korra. Nobody at her table asked questions, not having been paying attention to Kuvira when she left the table.

Korra however, returned to a table full of wide eyes and slacked jaws, her friends having watched the whole ordeal after Korra bailed at the mention of a crush.

“That was some ninja shit, Korra! Wh- How- When! When did you even learn how to do that?!” Wu asked, most likely coming off of his hall monitor shift to eat lunch with them moments before the alarm sounded.

“Movies. Come on, we need to get outside.” She said, anger clouding her eyes and lowering her voice. Nobody asked any more questions and, even if they wanted to, Korra was already walking away, one foot out of the door

One thing’s for sure, Korra now had more reason than ever to hate Kuvira.

Kuvira was undoubtably the Metal Clan Protegé that Korra was tasked with arresting for crimes against the environment and the less fortunate.

[suchalovelydisaster]

Idol, Crush, Boyfriend, the Love of my Life/ A Cute Thomastair fic

A Thomastair fic inspired by a One Line Prompt by @katie-girl-2​ on Tumblr. Word Count: 1,739

I did also post this on ao3 

“You didn’t do the dishes,” Alastair laughed, smirking. “So I’m not doing you.” He smiled at the reaction the taller boy had to his comment. He had asked Thomas to do them before they left the flat for an enclave meeting. The two were just returning after a very uneventful meeting, save for Matthew Fairchild announcing to his friends that his older brother, Charles’s tie did not flatter the color of his eyes.

Thomas hated dishes and Alastair despised laundry so they often just did what the other hated and split the other chores. However, after Thomas went to Idris for a few days to spend time with his sister, Eugenia, Alastair was left to do not only laundry but everything else.

“That’s not fair, I was rushed,” Thomas complained.

“You had an hour!” Alastair exclaimed. He could not understand his boyfriend sometimes. 

“I was reading!” Thomas protested. James Herondale, one of his best friends, had given him a book recommendation and was completely captivated by it. “And you’re just being petty because I left you alone for a few days.” Thomas sighed as he hung up his coat and made his way over to the bookshelf where Alastair was standing. Thomas wrapped his hands around the shorter boy’s waist and leaned down to bury his head in Alastair’s neck. 

Alastair continued to look through the titles on their bookshelf, running his finger along the spines of the books. He pretended to pay no attention to the gorgeous boy leaning on his shoulder. “True,” he responded. “However, at least when I come back home I don’t make a mess of the kitchen. What do you want for dinner?” Thomas had gotten home from Idris before Alastair came back from patrol and had attempted to make a snack for himself. Alastair returned to the smell of smoke. There was a reason Thomas did not cook.

You, Thomas thought to himself. However, he restrained himself as he knew that both of them were hungry. He lifted his head, still resting it on Alastair’s shoulder, to look at the shelf of cookbooks and recipes that was just below eye level for his boyfriend. “I don’t really care, to be honest.” 

After a while, the two came to an agreement on what to have for dinner. The shorter boy cooked, telling Thomas to hand him things every once and a while. The hazel-eyed boy entertained himself by flirting with his Alastair as he cooked. 

“Help me with the dishes, Lightwood?” Alastair asked as they finished eating. He took his plate to the sink and began to run the water.  

“I suppose.” Thomas stood and walked over to his boyfriend and bent down to kiss him on the cheek. Thomas had rolled up his sleeves allowing for his tattoo to become visible. His tattoo of a compass rose with unfurling rose petals. The ink stood out beautifully against his skin and other runes that adorned his body. 

Alastair turned to Thomas and leaned up to kiss him. His hand now resting on the taller boy’s shoulder. Thomas smiled and lifted a hand to Alastair’s hair, intertwining his fingers with his dark locks. Just then, Thomas felt something fly past his ear and saw the Persian boy catch something bright. A fire message. Thomas turned off the tap as Alastair read the message. 

“It’s from Cordelia,” Alastair said, now clearly worried. “She says she wants us to meet her at the Institute. She didn’t mention why.” 

“We should go, then.” 

“Yes, do you have your weapons ready?”

“I do. And my stele is in my jacket.”

“Okay,” said Alastair, his brow still furrowed with worry. “Let us go then.”

It was a short walk to the London Institute. Alastair, however, was practically running. Thomas was able to keep at his side just by lengthening his strides. The pair arrived at the steps of the Institute shortly after departing their flat. 

Alastair rushed into the Institute meeting Cordelia and Anna Lightwood at the entrance. “Hello, Anna. Layla is everything all right?” Alastair asked, his voice filled with concern. 

“Yes, Alastair everything is fine,” Cordelia replied, taken aback by her brother’s obvious unease. “Are you alright, Alastair?” She asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Alastair saw Thomas move to speak to his cousin. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” he responded. “You just were not clear why you needed us here and I worried something had happened.” No matter the circumstance, Alastair was always ready to protect Cordelia. 

“Everything is fine Alastair,” Cordelia soothed. “I had just wanted a few extra people to be with tonight.” Normally, she and her husband, James Herondale, would have people over to play games and chat with. Since Thomas had just returned from Idris, however, both he and Alastair were meant to be exempted from tonight. Their friends had intended on allowing them to have a moment to themselves. Apparently, she had changed her mind. 

“Well then, Tom, Alastair, Daisy, I believe there are people waiting for us inside,” Anna said. Did Anna just hand something to Thomas? Alastair could have sworn he saw an exchange going from Anna’s pocket to his boyfriend’s. It was probably nothing, just a trick of the lights. The four made their way into the Institute.

“Thank you for holding onto this for me.” Thomas had whispered to Anna when he met her at the Institute steps. “I didn’t want him to see anything before we left the house.”

“It wasn’t a problem. Ari has been looking forward to this all day.” Anna replied. “Do you want to do it before we go in or-”

“Right before, that way you and Cordelia can go into the games room. Let’s pray to the Angel things go well.”

“Well then, Tom, Alastair, Daisy, I believe there are people waiting for us inside,” Anna said as she transferred the item she had been given at the enclave meeting today back to Thomas.

The Carstairs siblings and two of the Lightwoods made their way to the Institute’s games room, where, Alastair assumed, was where the Herondales and the rest of their friends were. 

“Alastair,” Thomas said, stopping in the corridor. Anna and Cordelia continued on their way to the room. “Can I talk to you for a second?” It was now clear to Alastair, that something was going on. Something he had not been made aware of. 

“Of course,” Alastair responded. He looked up at Thomas, who’s eyes were gleaming in the witchlight and wondered what he could possibly be up to. 

“I was wondering, do you know how much you mean to me, Alastair?”

Alastair smiled, at this. “I believe I do, love.” He saw Thomas smile at this response. 

Thomas spoke eloquently, “There was a time when I idolized you, I followed you around wherever you went. Years passed and I realized that the term ‘idol’ was not one that I could place for you anymore. I decided to myself that ‘crush’ was most likely the most appropriate term to use. There were some times that tested our relationship. Despite this, I knew I couldn’t live without you. I knew that I had fallen in love with you, Alastair.” 

Idol, crush, boyfriend, the love of my life. Alastair was at a loss for words as Thomas described the story of their romance. His heart swelled as he listened to the words in Thomas’s declaration of love. 

“Alastair Carstairs, my love,” Thomas said, as he lowered himself onto one knee and removed a box from his pocket. Alastair’s hand flew to his mouth, his eyes shining. “You are a man who I do not think I can live my life without.” Thomas opened the box as he asked Alastair his next question. “Will you marry me?”

Alastair was in a state of shock. They had discussed marriage in the past. His mother had asked him about it several times since he and Thomas decided to start living together. Now, here he stood, standing in front of Thomas Lightwood on one knee with the Lightwood family ring in his hand. He couldn’t hear words coming out of his mouth, but he was furiously nodding his head trying to make sure Thomas understood what his answer was. 

“Y-Yes, Thomas.” Alastair managed to choke out. “Yes, I will marry you.” 

The two shared an embrace and a kiss as Thomas slid the engagement ring onto Alastair’s finger. 

“By the Angel, I love you,” Alastair muttered as Thomas brought the smaller boy’s hand to his mouth and kissed where the Lightwood family ring now rested. 

“And I love you,” Thomas dropped Alastair’s hand and said, “Now I think there are a few people waiting for us.” 

They entered the games room to see who was waiting for them. Inside waited Thomas’s older sister, Eugenia, along with Christopher and Anna Lightwood. Lucie Herondale was standing with Cordelia, who seemed to have been waiting anxiously, James Herondale and his parabatai, Matthew Fairchild, were also lingering nearby. 

As they walked, the group looked to hazel-eyed boy anxiously. Thomas took Alastair’s left hand and raised it so the ring now gleamed in the witchlight. 

The band of shadowhunters rushed to the newly affianced couple, there were now several voices speaking at once. 

“Everyone is here,” Alastair said lovingly to Thomas. “Did you plan this?” 

“I had some help,” Thomas responded, gesturing to Anna and Cordelia, he was beaming. 

“When Thomas asked Mother and Father’s blessing, I told him that he had to let me help,” Cordelia stated as she moved away from her husband to hug Alastair. 

“And he came to me for advice because none of the other thieves would have been helpful for this,” Anna stated.

“Excuse me-,” Matthew protested.

“That’s fair,” Christopher and James agreed.

“I’m just glad you didn’t figure anything out when I came back from Idris,” Thomas said.

“Wait-that’s why you went to Idris?” Alastair inquired.

“He came to ask me to come to see the two of you after he proposed,” Eugenia Lightwood stated, breaking her silence. She too was smiling with the same grin Thomas had on his face.

As the group continued to say things to each other and the couple, Thomas leaned down and kissed Alastair on the cheek, “I love you,” he muttered 

“And I love you,” Alastair responded, this was truly the best night of his life. 

[svtskneecaps]

There was a list of things you had been expecting from today. Jun proposing did not even make the top 100.

And yet here you were, sitting on a bench outside a Walmart, fidgeting, very aware of Seokmin filming from behind a nearby bush.

“You know,” Jun said, “we’ve been dating for six years now.”

“Yes?” You looked at him, trying to mimic the face of someone who’d been in a healthy relationship for six years.

“I was thinking. . .” He took your hand. You tried to pretend the fluttering in your stomach was from your excellent acting skills. “Maybe we take it to the next step?”

You touched your free hand to your mouth. “Jun. . . what are you saying?”

He took his phone from his pocket and pressed play. Jihoon’s speaker began to blast that one ‘stuck like glue’ song that had played at your cousin’s wedding, drawing attention from around the parking lot.

“Our song,” you said loudly, trying not to look away from him, or to let on how afraid you were of the eyes.

“Y/N right from the moment we met in that Chuck ‘E Cheese, I knew you were the one,” he declared loudly. “I. . . I want to make it official!”

He slid off the bench and down on one knee, taking out the ring pop a bank teller had given Seokmin when he asked her when the local midsummer festival was and followed it up with, ‘How else do you please the gods?’.

“Y/N,” Jun said, looking up at you (and your heart pounded because wow he was a good actor, how did he fake the love in his eyes so well?), “will you marry me?”

If the tears in your eyes were more real than you were willing to admit, you were the only one to know. “Yes!” you choked out. He beamed and it was like the sun itself had settled onto his features. He slid the ring pop ceremoniously onto your finger and then pulled you into a hug. You closed your eyes so you didn’t have to see the other people in the parking lot.

A couple people clapped. One older couple came up and congratulated you on your ‘engagement’. You could feel the heat in your face like Jun’s smile had given you a sunburn as you thanked them and made up something about a spring wedding on the spot. Behind them, waiting by the car, you could see Jihoon laughing.

“If you’re not careful I’ll make you propose next,” you threatened as you all climbed into the car for the next item on the checklist.

“We only get points for doing it once, and Seokmin didn’t laugh so we don’t need another take.” He clipped his seatbelt on.

“I did ‘aww’ though, does that count?” Seokmin asked.

“No, the rules just say no laughing.” Jun checked the list. “Alright, Jihoon you’re walking through a Burger King drive thru and asking for a Happy Meal.”

He groaned. “Why me?”

“Cashiers like you.” Jun glanced into the backseat. “Also, you laughed at my fiancée.” (you pretended you weren’t flustered by that).

“We should find another ring pop just to make it official,” Seokmin said cheerfully.

“There is a Burger King next to a U-Stop on North 56th street,” your phone offered helpfully, speaking for your ears alone.

“I know a Burger King with a gas station by it; we can pick one out while Jihoon’s embarrassing himself,” you said, hoping nothing was showing on your face.

And Jun grinned at you, and you almost forgot which pedal was the brake. He would be the death of you. You were sure.

(you weren’t sure you minded that sort of death, though)

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

Walls Could Talk Part 22 ~ I COULD PROPOSE

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(Seventeen Fic, Superpower! Non-Idol! High school! AU)

You’re just a high school kid trying to survive your senior year. Seems simple enough. Problem is, you landed a major crush on a good looking transfer student, and unfortunately, the both of you are hiding some abilities that are a bit less than normal, and there’s a ghost you thought you buried in your past that’s rearing his ugly head. So… maybe this won’t be as easy as you were hoping.

hey. tumblr took away their line tool so i still haven’t picked a style for text separation. probably i should make a neat looking line photo like i’ve seen some people do. maybe someday.

anyway, thanks for your patience; i know i keep missing updates by a couple hours. i’d like to say it was for school but nah. after years of playing only lego harry potter years 1-4 we have years 5-7 so i was playing that yesterday and then time became fake so i missed the update. so thanks for being neat and facilitating my return to childhood. hope you enjoyed.

[artificialqueens]

Like a Million Dollar Bill (Jaida x Jan) - Joley

ao3 link

tumblr link

note: this is my submission for the black girl magic fic challenge so a note for that is the title is from the song ‘million dollar bill’ by whitney houston

“That finalizes everything, Mrs. Whitham, and again, I am so sorry for your loss.” The man from the probate court shook Jaida’s hand before she got up to leave.

Jaida did her best to maintain the miserable expression she had on through the funeral. She thought about the disdain she felt when the man used her married name, how desperate she was to regain her sense of individual identity. She was free, only if she played her cards right. But this was a long time coming, to say the least. “Thank you so much, sir.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief before leaving the room.

Sitting on a bench in the hallway was her younger sister, Heidi. She got up and took her hand. “You good?” she asked gently, coming off as nothing more than the concerned sibling of a grieving widow. But the look in her eyes reminded Jaida that she knew. She knew it all. Someone had to, lest the burden of keeping a secret became overwhelming and came out to the wrong person.

And Jaida continued to play her role, standing upright and swallowing thickly, because she was just struggling to stay strong. “I will be,” she said with a tremor in her voice.

“Who did he appoint as the…” Heidi furrowed her brows as she wracked her brain. “What’s the word again? For the person that’s gonna transfer his funds to you?”

“Executor,” she answered. “And it’s his sister, lord help me.” She sighed. Her deceased husband’s family had never been fond of her - due both to the twenty-year gap that existed in their relationship and outright racism. The only upside to that was no one outside the family took their complaints very seriously, but that didn’t mean she was at all happy to have to deal with her. “Anyway, I’m gonna go to Shea’s lounge tonight. She’s got a new singer, should be cute. You wanna come?”

Her sister shook her head. “Naw, I gotta get my ass up early to finish packing. Gonna take some time to move into that fancy-ass mansion.” She chuckled. It might not have been the best time to be visibly excited, but she was so thrilled to get herself and her dogs out of her one bedroom, seven hundred square-foot apartment.

“Suit yourself.” Jaida shrugged as she pulled her coat on. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

——

The lounge Shea owned was chic, calm, a place Jaida would probably still frequent if it wasn’t her best friend’s pride and joy. It was the type of place where she could dress up to go to, without feeling like she had to be on her best, most reserved behavior. And after all of the day’s events, she just wanted to relax, entering the club and making a beeline to her friend.

“Hey, I’m so glad you made it!” Shea beamed, hugging her tightly. “Just wait until you see our new act. She’s fresh out of university with a fancy musical theatre degree, and the bitch can sing. It’s fucking angelic, Jaida.” She didn’t mention Jaida’s husband’s death at that moment. While she didn’t know exactly what happened, she knew how miserable Jaida had been, how there hadn’t been any love between them in god knows how long. She knew how poorly he treated her and that his death probably wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Jaida chuckled, walking with her to the bar while Shea ordered them a couple of drinks. “Damn, you really hyped her up, I’m gonna just take your word on it,” she assured, taking a sip of her drink when the bartender placed it beside her.

“Just come on, her set’s about to start,” Shea threw some money down on the counter and pulled Jaida along to one of the velvet couches so they could sit and watch.

Jan walked onto the stage, the spotlight framing her perfectly. She wore a strapless wine-red dress that just hit the ground and was tailored perfectly to her body, accentuating her curves while giving her an air of elegance one would expect from an upscale lounge singer. And her voice was as enchanting as Shea had talked it up to be and then some. There was no doubt that every patron of that lounge had their attention fixed solely on the stage.

“So, what do you think?” Shea asked once the first song had ended.

Jaida grinned, her gaze never breaking away from the singer. “I think I’m in love,” she retorted.

Her friend looked at her and let out a soft laugh. “What, are you following in your husband’s–may he rest in peace–footsteps? She’s twenty-two.”

“Bitch, I’m forty, not eighty. This is a new chapter in my life, who’s to say I can’t include a hot twenty-something in it?” Jaida scoffed.

Shea finished off her drink. “You know what? I respect that. I’ll introduce you two once she’s done,” she decided.

And true to her word, Shea took Jaida backstage once Jan’s set was over. “Wonderful job, darling,” she said as she walked in. “Jan, I’d like you to meet my dear friend, Jaida. We met when we were both in college, so, back when we were about your age.”

Jan looked at Jaida, tilting her head. “Well, how’s that possible when you’re clearly not a day over twenty-five?”

Shea rolled her eyes. “Oh lord, I’ll leave you guys to it,” she said and left the two of them alone.

Jaida chuckled. “Don’t you worry about her,” she said to Jan. “But anyway, you really were fantastic out there. That fancy college degree I keep hearing about did you well.”

Jan smiled, absentmindedly twirling her hair around her finger. “Why thank you. With all the debt it plunged me into, it better.”

The older woman clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Shit, how far in the hole are you?”

“About thirty grand.”

Jaida glanced around, then sat down beside Jan. “Listen, don’t go telling nobody, but I got you. I’m a couple days away from coming into a lot of money, like, well into seven figures.” She didn’t give a specific number because she wasn’t entirely sure how it all worked, but she could hire someone to explain it to her.

Jan’s eyes went wide and her jaw hung open. “A-Are you sure? I mean, thank you, that’s so kind. But if you don’t mind me asking… How’d you come into that kind of money?”

“Inheritance,” she replied, biting back a smirk.

“That’s just… incredible. If there’s anything I can do to thank you…”

Jaida waved her hand, brushing the suggestion off. “You don’t have to do anything. But I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to let me buy you a drink when you’re done for the night.”

Jan fluttered her eyelashes and shifted closer to her. “Of course, I was hoping this might be a little more than a random philanthropic act.”

This brought a feeling of relief to Jaida, the last thing she wanted was for Jan to feel obligated to express romantic or sexual interest in her. “I’ll see you on the other side, then,” she hummed as she got up and returned to the lounge, ready to watch Jan on stage for the rest of her shift. The only time her gaze broke was to text her driver to be on his way.

And once it ended, the two of them reconvened at the bar, with Jaida ordering them both a drink. “So, have you always been a singer?” she asked casually.

“Oh yeah, since I was four.” Jan chuckled. “At the end of the day there was just no other choice for me.”

“I like a girl that knows what she wants out of life,” Jaida mused, taking the glass once it was set down in front of her and sipping from it.

Jan smiled, lips just barely pursed around the rim of the glass. She sipped slowly, then set it down as she looked at her. “Then tell me,” she prompted, “what do you want?” She leaned ever so slightly closer, a sultry air lacing around her words.

Jaida smirked, pointedly looking her over. “Something about five-foot-four, brown eyes, voice of an angel…” she listed, voice trailing off as she spoke. “You know, something along those lines.”

Jan set her glass down once it was empty. “You better be taking that something back to your place then,” she replied simply.

“I intend on it,” she hummed. “You ever been in a Rolls Royce?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”

Jaida grinned, leaving cash down for the bartender before getting up. “Come, Ralph is waiting out back for us.”

Jan tilted her head as she followed. “Ralph?”

“My driver. I inherited the staff as well, but they all liked me better anyway.” She chuckled as they went outside and stepped into the car, exchanging casual greetings with the driver.

While Jan did try to keep her attention on Jaida, she was distracted by how luxurious and pristine the car was, and when they pulled up to Jaida’s house, her eyes went wide. “This is where you live?” she gasped softly.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Jaida hummed as they got out of the car. “A lot of the staff lives here, no point in having a bunch of empty rooms. And my sister’s moving in tomorrow,” she explained, leading her inside.

Jan was trying her best to listen, but taking in everything around her meant her focus was being pulled in six different directions. It reminded her of her first time in Manhattan — everything was big and shiny, but she didn’t think she could touch anything yet. The first thing her hand felt was the railing of the spiral staircase she was following Jaida up.

“And this is my room. It could do with an update, I ain’t gonna lie. But she’s comfy and spacious, can’t really complain.” Jaida hummed. She had been the one that had pushed for such a big bed, and although she was quick to adjust to sleeping in it alone, she was more than happy to bring in new company. She turned to see that Jan had taken off her shoes and thrown herself onto the bed, sprawled out on her back and giggling softly to herself. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“Sorry, it just looked so inviting. I couldn’t help myself,” Jan replied, sitting back up.

Jaida smiled as she toed out of her heels. “I’m not mad, you look good in my bed.” She hummed, letting her eyes rake over Jan’s body.

“I’d look even better up close,” she cooed, beckoning Jaida closer with a curl of her finger.

“You know, I think you’re right.” Jaida chuckled as she crawled onto the bed, then on top of Jan, straddling her waist as she kissed along her jawline.

Jan tilted her head back, baring her neck as Jaida’s lips traveled down it. A breathy gasp slipped out when Jaida began littering her neck with hickies until she finally moved up to kiss her properly.

Jaida kissed her hard, deeply. It was the first kiss in years that made her feel so alive, that made her keep going back for more because the taste of her lips became instantly addictive. Her fingers tangled in Jan’s hair, pulling her head closer while her free hand unzipped the younger woman’s dress.

Jan wiggled out of her dress, not wanting to have to break away from Jaida to take it off properly. Her hand wandered across Jaida’s back until she felt the metal of the zipper under her thumb, then unzipped the dress in a swift movement.

When they did have to come up for air, Jaida took another look at the girl beneath her. “You always wear lingerie like this under your work clothes?” she teased, her finger tracing along the outline of Jan’s lacy, strapless bra.

“It helps me stay in the zone. You know, the soft, sultry lounge singer.” She hummed, walking her fingers up Jaida’s arm. “And it seems to have worked,” she added, her fingers stopping on Jaida’s bra strap and playfully tugging it down.

“Guess you got me there,” Jaida murmured, pressing another kiss to her lips as she unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. Her hands glided forward, cupping Jan’s breasts with her thumbs massaging her nipples at a teasingly slow pace, smirking when it elicited a soft moan. She trailed her lips back down Jan’s neck, to her collarbone, then between her breasts.

Jan’s back arched up, body already yearning for more touch, and whimpering softly when she felt Jaida’s tongue swirling around her nipple. Her thighs instinctively parted as soon as Jaida pulled her panties down, but she was past the point of feeling any sort of embarrassment - she knew what she wanted and was ready for it.

And who was Jaida to do anything but give right in? After finally undressing herself, she nudged Jan’s thighs apart with her hand, then gently traced her finger along her folds. She eased one finger in first, curling and pumping it slowly, her eyes trained on Jan’s face, watching her get more and more worked up. “That’s it, good girl,” she murmured as she worked in a second finger and built up her pace. She looked down with amusement when she saw how Jan was thrusting her hips forward, as if she was trying to fuck herself on her fingers. “And so eager,” she teased.

“Just love the way you make me feel, Mommy,” Jan purred in a way that sent chills up Jaida’s spine.

Jaida smirked and leaned over to kiss her. “Cute,” she murmured before moving down between Jan’s legs and, before Jan could offer any response, she replaced her fingers with her tongue, thrusting it and swirling it around.

“F-Fuck!” Jan gasped out sharply, hips pushing up again. Her hands gripped the comforter beneath her, knuckles turning white from the tightness of her hold.

And Jaida was only encouraged by that. Her tongue moved steadily and swiftly while her thumb rubbed at her clit. Her free hand kept her balanced by gripping onto Jan’s thigh, which helped keep Jan in place as well.

Jan was trembling and moaning, her body was red hot and she could feel her pulse racing. Her eyes squeezed shut and her hips bucked up despite Jaida’s grip. “A-Ah, fuck!” she nearly yelled as her orgasm hit.

It was only after Jaida was certain Jan was fully spent that she came up for air. “That good, baby?” she cooed, running her hands up and down Jan’s body.

Jan felt like her soul had left her body, feeling completely numb and utterly spent in the best possible way. “So good,” she breathed out. Once she regained the ability to remember how to move, she sat up. “Let me take care of you,” she whispered, and was already pushing Jaida onto the bed before she could get an answer.

Not that Jaida would’ve ever dreamed of objecting. She laid back with her legs propped apart to give her room, and tried her best to watch her, but the second she felt Jan’s tongue against her pussy and easing its way in, her eyes fluttered shut and her body shuddered in pleasure. She supposed it didn’t surprise her that Jan was talented any way she used her mouth, but god, that girl was an overachiever.

And Jan was nothing if not eager to please. She didn’t let up for a second, not until Jaida came as hard as she had, and even after that, she lingered for a moment, just in case. Then she moved back up Jaida’s body and kissed her sweetly.

Jaida hummed contently and wrapped her arms around Jan. “That was so good, baby,” she praised gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before shifting so they could be under the covers. “Think you’re about ready to call it a night?”

Jan nodded, letting out a soft yawn. “God, I’m gonna sleep so well tonight,” she murmured as she nestled herself against Jaida.

“I sure hope so,” she retorted lightly as her eyes closed.

——

The housekeeper let Heidi in that morning, and Heidi didn’t think much of it. She knew her sister had never been a morning person, and they never did set a time for her to come over. Considering she didn’t need to bring any furniture, the transition to moving in was easily handled by herself, with some help from the security guard - she could only go up and down that long staircase so many times with arms full of luggage.

Once she was more or less settled in, Heidi went back downstairs to go into the kitchen with the intent of raiding Jaida’s fridge for some breakfast. What she didn’t expect to see was a white girl in one of her sister’s silk robes leaning against the counter and drinking coffee. “Now who in the fresh hell are you?”

Jan was unphased by this. “I’m Jan,” she answered. “You must be Heidi, Jaida’s told me so much about you.”

“Well she ain’t tell me shit about you, so my question remains unanswered,” she said bluntly.

“Right, that makes sense, since we just met last night,” Jan mused. “Anyway, I know you’re just moving in and stuff, I’ll go let Jaida know you’re here.” She finished her coffee and put the empty mug in the sink before going back upstairs, happy to see that Jaida was a little more awake than when she’d left. “Your sister’s here, by the way,” she said as she sat cross-legged on the bed.

Jaida sat upright. “This early? Damn. Well, I better make myself decent and go talk to her,” she said, getting out of bed and throwing on a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I won’t be long, boo.” She kissed her cheek before she made her way downstairs.

“You got some ‘splaining to do,” Heidi said as soon as Jaida came into her line of vision. “Now, who was that pretty little thing wanderin’ around here in next to nothing?”

“Jan’s the new singer at Shea’s lounge. Listen, I know it was fast but… I don’t know how to explain it, there’s something special about her. We had this connection that I just know is more than intimate.”

Heidi stared at her blankly. “Do you hear yourself right now? It hasn’t even been a month since the funeral and you’ve got a co-ed up in your room.”

Jaida sighed. “Look, I’m not planning on flaunting her out and about yet, but I’m not gonna deny myself just because the dirt on his grave is still fresh.” She chewed her lip. “This is the first time I’ve been happy in years, Heidi. I need you to let me have this.”

Her sister was quiet for a moment. “You really think this girl’s gonna make you that happy?”

“I do.”

“Then I won’t stop you.” Heidi gave in without any more resistance. “Just don’t go mixing any of that white powder into her drink, she seems real nice.”

Jaida rolled her eyes, then quickly glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Don’t you worry, arsenic milkshakes are off the menu.”

[indipindy16]

Heyyyyy, so about that doc with the AU ideas.... (Please feed me I yearn for content)

im obsessed with the idea of monoma and aizawa being related to afo lol. you only see like 3 quirks in the whole series that are based on other quirks - what i would call ‘meta quirks,’ that would only have any function in a world of quirked people. so ofc these 3 quirks have to be related:

afo decided to have a bunch of kids, to see if he could make noumus out of them which retained their brains after being given a bunch of quirks. he impregnated a bunch of women lol, but he kept tabs on them. as soon as the kids turned 4 and presented their quirk, they would be kidnapped by the doctor and brought into the lab. most of the kids had quirks based on quirks (seeing quirks, stealing quirks, copying quirks, erasing quirks…) and are various ages. aizawa, monoma and midoriya were some of them, but aizawa got saved by his badass mother when he was still a kid, so he was already gone by the time midoriya and monoma came around. the two of them manage to escape while afo is still recovering from his fight with all might, and since monoma’s mother was killed by afo, he goes to live with midoriya and his mother. they go off the grid and run away from afo. in this au midoriya is quirkless, up until he meets all might and it goes as usual. umm could be from monoma’s pov, and include monoshin because that’s cute. basically after the sports festival, afo finds monoma again and in the summer camp they kidnap him instead of bakugou. (the reason why aizawa was never caught or taken back by afo is because he won the whole sports fest and became too famous/well protected to be easily stolen back - since monoma didn’t make the fight rounds, he’s a perfect target. afo only knew the kids by their quirks, he never actually met them, so he doesn’t realise that midoriya is one of his kids as well because mido has a quirk now.) anyway so after they kidnap monoma back, he and midoriya spill the beans to the ua faculty, aizawa has a midlife crisis over the fact that he now has younger siblings, and afo continues to be a dick who doesn’t pay child support.

just some sweets stuff as well:

Christmas cake: Japanese slang for an unmarried woman over 25 who is considered undesirable as a wife, in the same way that Christmas cakes are considered useless after Christmas Day.

Good thing for Jirou, she never cared much about being ‘desirable’ to the opposite sex anyway.

-> a momojirou story about jirou’s 26th birthday and momo reassuring her that she is the best gf ever, and that she loves her very much. pro hero gfs <3

*

like. the trope of aizawa adopting shinsou? well what about instead… hawks adopting tokoyami?? maybe he comes from a super religious family and they tried to exorcise the ‘demon’ from him, protective services put him in the foster system, and he ends up with really shitty foster families, and his quirk is considered ‘dangerous.’ but then our boy hawks swoops in and goes ‘u know what? i’m not letting my intern get disrespected like this’ and adopts him. obviously hawks is still young himself (22 i think), so he’s not very good at the whole parenting thing, but miruko helps him out. he becomes an older brother figure for tokoyami. gen found family fluff ensues

*

bEST JEANIST AS A TEENAGE FASHION ICON

thats it, thats the idea

*

HAIKYUU AU - no quirks. just volleyball

so the ua boys volleyball team is on the rocks. its been pretty much non-existent and turned to dust at this point. but, it once own the nationals.

izuku’s mum runs this second hand / antique / trinket store, and izuku helps out sometimes. one day, he finds some old sports tapes in the back and watches them - they’re of the year when ua was at nationals, and their striker, yagi toshinori, inspires izuku to play volleyball.

bakugo is on the school team and he threatens / bullies izuku not to join, so izuku has to train on his own. he learns shitty technique, but he ends up building some muscle by clearing out the beach.

izuku gets into ua, and when he goes to apply for the volleyball team, ofc bakugo picks a fight. the other first-years who join the team are todoroki, kaminari, shinsou, kirishima, and iida. there aren’t any second years - they all got expelled - but mirio and tamaki are on the team as third years, and nejirou is the team manager. their teacher sponsor is a new teacher this year, and it’s left ambiguous. there’s the whole ‘get over ur differences if u want to join’ thing, and then woohoo! team!

turns out their teacher sponsor is aizawa. he drags in the now-retired-due-to-injury yagi toshinori to be the coach. when aizawa went to ua, the volleyball team was too small to go to any tournaments - he’s determined to turn it around and let these kids live their dreams.

some ‘canon? what’s that?’ ideas:

just a really wholesome story about inko and mitsuki being besties. met in middle school or something, supported each other through everything… just gals being the best of pals...

or i mean u could make it gay, that’s always an option (and have izuku and katsuki grow up as actual bros, and actually be friendly to one another? what a shocker) - like, the two of them get sperm donors and are pregnant at the same time so the kids can be twins or something. and ofc you’d expect katsuki to be closest to mitsuki and for inko to be closest to izuku, but then to make it a TWIST add some great bonding between inko + katsuki and mitsuki + izuku!! i’ve never really seen any mitsuki + izuku bonding in stories before, so that’d be pretty cool

*

izuku gets hit by a villain’s quirk during a big villain attack when he’s 7, turning him part-cat. the villain dies during the attack, so they can’t erase his quirk’s effects - they’d have to surgically remove the ears and tail, or get an expensive quirk specialist in. izuku decides he likes being a nekomimi, so he keeps them and gets being part-cat officially registered as his quirk. he has better senses and agility, and he can talk to cats now i guess. also his eyes are cat eyes. he doesn’t pass the ua exam, so he goes into the general department instead, but he does really well in the sports festival and gets transferred into the hero course with shinsou. (this is all just because i need a valid excuse to make izuku have cat ears.)

some ‘future au’ ideas:

all of the pro heroes merch lines - deku’s ’t-shirt’ shirts, tokoyami’s edgy emo/goth hoodies, iida’s ingenium trainers, bakugou’s popping candy chocolate, todoroki’s own brand of scar cream, HAGAKURE’S CAMO COLLECTION OMG the possibilities are endless  

---i made hagakure’s camo for her bday drawing

(i use a strikethrough so i know which ideas i’ve used or posted anywhere. i think that once i put an idea on the internet, it’s probably free reign, so if you want to use any of these for fics or art go ahead. i’d just appreciate it is you could link back to me haha)

5 years after graduating from the General Studies department of UA, Hitoshi opened his own agency. As a private detective.

By the time he’s 25, he’s settled in and relatively comfortable with his career choice. So when his work phone rings one day and he’s still half-asleep he easily opens with, “Shinsou Detective Agency. Before you ask, I do not investigate cheating spouses or missing dogs and I do not screen potential employees for companies.” He paused. “I’ll investigate missing cats, though.”

The person on the other end took a harsh breath, like an almost-laugh, and responded gruffly, “Hm. Good to know if Jelly ever gets lost.”

-> aka shinsou is a PI and aizawa contacts him for help on a case. aizawa never sought out shinsou after the sports festival, being too busy with 1-a’s insane antics, and so shinsou went on to never become a hero. maybe he’s also a vigilante on the side? idk. anyway so yeah aizawa gives him temporary permission to use his quirk during the case. they investigate, blah blah, the point is that afterwards aizawa gets shinsou a licence and takes him on as a sidekick (the same way ingenium offered to koichi in vigilantes)

i have new ideas on the daily. this doc is just growing

keep in mind, i have given to you here only a few of the shortest ones. there are several huge paragraphs of full-au ideas (like where izuku has a quirk, and the entire story follows canon)

these are, ostensibly, ideas for fics that i never write because i’m lazy. but some of them i do end up using for art or comics, so... yeah. most of the comics i’ve posted were originally just little scripts in this doc. an example:

yamada and reformed!shirakumo are walking together, with coffees

shirakumo: so then i - oh, your phone’s wringing

(yamada’s ringtone is the nyancat song, and the contact name is ‘daddy’)

shirakumo: haha, you still call ur dad ‘daddy’? i thought you got over that in high school (taking a sip on the coffee)

yamada: (answering the phone, keeping eye contact with shirakumo) hey, shouta, what’s up?

shirakumo: (spits out coffee)

—- made this a comic on tumblr

damn this post is longer than i expected

whelp, i hope you liked it

[ravenbrenna09]

we've been through a lot of things, you and me - chapter one

AO3

...

Hello!

So, I've decided to finally post this. A majority of this chapter was originally posted on my Tumblr page, but I'm definitely planning on continuing this story in a similar format (posting some but not all snippets on my Tumblr page as I write them). There are only going to be two chapters (maybe three if the second gets too long) so it's not going to be like Unattainable with 8 chapters. I'm still working on my Harry Potter AU plot line which will be my current fic that I will be doing through the seasons of the show, but at Hogwarts (with Jana being first, then Zoë, then Robbe, and eventually Yasmina).

Please note that not all characters will appear in this first chapter. Some will be added next!

But, for now, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

(Note: I just reposted snippet #1 if you want to go ahead and click AO3 and read the rest of chapter one there!)

...

Robbe waited outside the gates of the school, tapping his foot impatiently, fiddling with the case of his cell phone, and just about anything he could do to pass the time. It was almost time for school to start and he had to run on the opposite side of the building for his Biology class. He had already warned Yasmina that he was going to be late and she had given him a look, telling him that she would cover him as long as he told her why after class.

So, why was Robbe going to be late?

Because Robbe was waiting for Sander Driesen.

Sander was Robbe’s childhood best friend.

For the first ten years of their lives, the two of them had lived across the street from one another. Nathan, Robbe’s older brother by four years, had teased Robbe endlessly at how quickly Sander and Robbe grew to know one another, about as easily as they knew themselves and their family. When Sander started school, he met Senne and, a few years later, Robbe met Jens, but the two of them stayed close, long after they established their own friends and the IJzermans moved to a new house around the corner. Despite their varying friend groups and interests, Sander would come over, play video games with him, and sleep in Robbe’s full-size bed after drunken nights out at the same parties.

Despite how much they changed, the two of them and their friendship remained constant.

Until now.

Or, well, technically, last Friday.

It was Senne’s party and Sander had moved into Senne’s bathroom, camping out in the bathtub with a few bags of weed and three bottles of tequila. It was the final last-hurrah celebration (or mourning, depending on how you saw it) party before the new school year started. Everything over the summer with Britt and Jens and Jana had come to a head, weeks ago, and Robbe was tired of being stuck in the middle of it all. So, he searched out Sander, found him in the bathtub, and smoked a joint or two with him and then…

Despite the heat from the sun, Robbe shivered.

As if those waiting in the courtyard could hear his heartbeat, hear the blood in Robbe’s body suddenly course down, Robbe tried to fight away all thoughts of what happened in that blasted bathroom, but he failed miserably because that had been all he had been thinking of, Sander’s fingers in his hair and their lips pressed together, whines and groans emitted from both of them, Sander’s lips against his neck, sucking bruises into skin, how Robbe had never felt more alive and shameful in one coordinated swoop of emotion and hands and…

“Sup, Robbe.”

It was Senne, moving past him and into the courtyard with Luka by his side and…

“Hey, Senne,” Robbe spoke up, his eyes falling on the empty spot at Senne’s right, the spot the Sander would normally encompass. The brunet turned towards him, half-bored, half-unconcerned. But, he paused all the same and Robbe stepped closer to him, watching as Senne waved Luka and the others off. “Have you… I mean, where’s Sander?”

The brunet and leader shrugged his shoulders, “Probably Paris, by now.”

Robbe blinked. “What?”

Senne seemed surprised. “Paris, France?” he offered.

“I know what Paris is,” Robbe replied, annoyed. “But, why is Sander there? He’s going to miss the first week of school.”

A look of realization, and confusion, passed over Senne’s features, glancing over his shoulder at the boys and the teacher who was trying to call them all inside to go to class. “He didn’t tell you?” Senne gauged, hoisting his bag further up onto his shoulder.

Robbe’s blood ran cold, freezing in his veins and down his body. “Tell me what?”

Senne let out a heavy sigh like he was unqualified to explain, but he did anyway, mumbling to himself, “He would leave me to tell you this, wouldn’t he? Umm… his mother got a job offer in Paris for the next year and his father transferred to a law firm in Paris to go with. He and Camille are going to transfer to a school in Paris for the next year.”

“What?” Robbe spoke, trying not to think about how his voice broke or how Senne immediately noticed it.

“Yeah, but it’s not all that bad,” Senne spoke, trying to sound comforting. “Sander has always been trying to go to France, as you know. It’s one of his top ten places to photograph and everything so once things get settled down, he’ll be having a great time with all of his photography and everything.”

“How long has he known?” Robbe questioned.

“Huh?”

“How long did he know that he was going to move to France?” Robbe replied, his voice quiet.

There’s a sympathetic look on Senne’s face. “About the beginning of the summer.” Robbe felt his heart crumble. Why didn’t Sander tell him? Senne reached out to pat his shoulder, pushing him towards the school building where a stern teacher was waiting to scold the two of them. “Come on, we’re going to be late for our classes.”

Robbe sent Sander a message before he fully stepped into his Biology classroom, avoiding Yasmina’s confused glance as he sat down beside her, leaving his phone out on the desk. He avoided her stares when he constantly started checking his phone and avoided the teacher’s eyesight as she went over the pieces of the syllabus and what they were going to be doing for the remainder of the school year. But, all Robbe could do was focus on his phone, opened up on the text that he had sent before he had stepped inside the classroom.

The texts that had been read, but unanswered.

Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?

...

READ THE REST ON AO3

[thesunnyshow]

Name: reya

Writing Blog URL(s): @chu-ni

Age: 19

Nationality: african-british

Languages: english, swahili, korean

Star Sign: libra

MBTI: enfp/entp (it always changes lol)

Favorite color: purple!

Favorite food: i really love chicken burgers

Favorite movie: princess and the frog

Favorite ice cream flavor: vanilla!!

Favorite animal: elephants

Go-to karaoke song: fancy - twice

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering? caramel frappe with whipped cream, in general i prefer tea though

Dream job (whether you have a job or not)? secretary general at the UN….or an author

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose? making anyone agree with me and do what i want them to do

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose? ancient egypt!!

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you?.....no.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken? neither if i could lmfao but i’d go for 100 chicken sized horses

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been? the nerd who’s actually really pretty after she gets a cool makeover 

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures? im not sure about aliens, but i definitely believe in ghosts and spirits.

What are some small things that make your day better? when i can have moments to myself to enjoy my own company. or when someone asks me what i want to eat and they bring it for me 🥺

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know? uhm…...probably the fact that i write fanfiction lol..but outside of that! i sing in the shower. and i talk to myself a lot.

What fandom(s) do you write for? nct dream currently, but in the future i want to expand to other groups!

When did you post your first piece? 17th of June 2018.

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why? i can never write just one genre. predominantly i write fluff with a dash of angst for spice simply because i love a story that has an issue and then having that issue be resolved for a happy ending. when i started my blog i was 17, and so i said i wouldn't write smut. now that i'm older im feeling more and more comfortable writing suggestive content at the very LEAST.. so maybe in the future i might write smut, who knows? i like writing fluff because i like making people feel good, but i like adding angst to it because i feel like the contrast between the two is very *chefs kiss* to me.

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc? i only write x readers!

Why did you decide to write for Tumblr? i first got tumblr when i was 13 years old and i was a fresh kpop fan lmfao. i wanted somewhere that shared my interests. of course i discovered x reader fics on here and i was in awe, i guess of how much power writers had in contributing to fandom content and keeping readers satiated. i’d always loved to write and so i’d always wanted to start my own writing blog, and for 2 years i did write for other blogs! it wasnt until 2018 that i finally took the leap and decided to start my own, because i wanted to impact people's emotions and take them on a journey through my writing.

What inspires you to write? what inspires me….teen movies, music!! music is a big one for me, and also the books that i read. i also grew up playing otome games so the plots and writing from those influence my writing a lot.

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most? i really enjoy writing royalty!aus as well as exes!aus. i love to do them cause they require me to build a world and with royalty aus specifically i love weaving together bits of political intrigue, or arranged marriages, etc. its so much fun!!

What do you hope your readers take away from your work? that if this world is too rough or too much, you can always escape from it. it might not be physical, but immersing yourself in a universe that's entirely different for a little while can help soothe you.

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively? usually i try and take breaks. the problem with that is that my breaks can go on for longer than i’d like and im trying to fix that. so my other solution is to read read read!! read as much as i can, or go back to books that i loved. ask myself what i liked about the writing, what are some parts that i thought were amazing examples of good writing - i note them down then see if i can apply that to my own work. another thing i do is take a break from writing my longer, fleshed out works and write blurbs! blurbs are a great way for me to write but not feel like its tedious because i don't have to spend as much time on them and it gets me into the groove of writing without feeling stressed out.

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful? my favourite piece of work is miscommunication. it took me months to write that, even after i lost all the work halfway through, and its the longest piece of work i have written so far, so its kinda like my baby. my most successful is candy jar. its also the work i owe my blog exposure to - it was the first piece i published, and it was also the first piece of writing i did in around 4 years.

Who is your favorite person to write about? i don't have much out for them, but i really enjoy exploring mark’s and jeno’s characters. they're people, but in my work i enjoy analysing them and judging how they’d act in different contexts.

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose? the only difference for me is that fanfiction (depending on the fandom) has some of the stuff fleshed out for you already, such as the world its in. if youre the type to write AUs then the only thing you already have is the characters - the planning, the writing, the drafting, and everything else is still the writer's responsibility. therefore there isn't much of a difference between the two for me.

What do you think makes a good story?  a good story, to me, is one that takes me on a journey. it could be any genre, but i like to feel immersed and connected to the characters and the world in it. also aside from the obvious, like good grammar, a good story feels natural to read. i don't feel like skim reading half of it.

What is your writing process like? my writing process consists of me getting inspiration - usually from a song, or a film or a book ive read or a game ive played - i note down my idea and who i want the story to be about, and then bullet point the whole story, with some snippets of particular dialogue i want the reader or the other person to say at certain scenes. i then open another document ( i have a writing app on my phone, called werdsmith, so i use that!) and set a word count goal i want to hit so i can track my progress and start writing the fic, with fleshed out language and exposition. when im done (usually after a couple weeks up to a few months, depends on the length of the plan) i read through it to fix any mistakes, then i transfer it to docs so i can read it again and italicise any areas i feel need it.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story? i...don't think so. mainly because the original fiction i read and would like to write for myself is predominantly fantasy, whereas the fanfic i write on my blog is usually non-idol, normal fics. 

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand? im a SUCKER for enemies to lovers, royalty ofc, “and they were roommates”, and i think superhero aus are really cool but there isnt enough of them :( idol/you as member aus....not feeling her… also abo/werewolf/vampire aus….not feelin em

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you? a LOT. a HUGE amount!! i said before how i like giving my readers somewhere where they can immerse themselves as an escape, even for a short while. hearing about how my work affected them, made them feel, makes me feel less insecure about what im writing and thus more confident to publish it.

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)? i’d say reblogs. and also putting out more content. when i first uploaded candy jar i went to my one of my favourite writers (jaeminlore) and asked her if she'd be okay with reading it and giving feedback. to my surprise she loved it and her reblogging it to all her followers is literally what gave me a bunch of followers all of a sudden who loved what i’d written. to keep that momentum i created more and more content, and while i haven't uploaded as often as i've wanted to or written as much as i’d wanted to, i can say i have a good amount of work on my masterlist for people who are looking for more to read.

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged? 100%. fanfic has an unfair reputation for just having bad writing and cringey fics (and i feel like this is because of the way society views the demographics who predominantly consume and create it), when in reality i feel like those who write fanfiction are extremely talented and selfless people. they're on the internet creating content for free for people to enjoy and like any other work of art they're putting time and effort into it. i think it should be respected. any form of art is going to have its good and bad sides.

Do you think art can be a medium for change? hmmm….yes. i feel it can be a way to reflect the thoughts of people and also be a way to inspire people to do more.

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself? sometimes. sometimes i feel like i'm forcing myself to write because i feel like if i don't then people will forget about me or they’ll forget about my blog. while what i choose to write about is for me, i feel like the speed of my writing and what im writing isn't to the quality i want it to be cause i feel like i gotta get it out for people to read.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times? i've never felt that way!

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr? only 2 of my friends know, and i only told them like. a week ago!

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers? i wish you guys would message me more! i'm quite a sociable person, and i’d love to have regular anons who talk to me 👉🏽👈🏽

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there? i think one common thing amongst all writers is that we write what we want to read. so don't feel like nobody's gonna read your work, cause somebody will. you gotta act like your work is top tier even if someone says it isn't - always write the best you can, and just do it! like don't even give yourself time to overthink it, write that fic, make it look pretty, upload it onto tumblr and do not be afraid to ask your favourite fic writers to read your work once its up!! i’d be happy to read and give feedback for any fic writers as well so don't feel afraid! 

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr? ive been on here for 7 years….i grew up on this site lmfao. but i don't think i regret joining tumblr once.

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey? shes not very active anymore and i miss her very much but user hyuck-s was so supportive and i love her!!

Pick a quote to end your interview with:

she believed she could, so she did.

BONUS ROUND: K-POP CONFIDENTIAL 

[destieltropecollection]

Your Improvements Answered!

Hey! I’ve seen some great ideas in the improvements section of the feedback form, so I’d just like to go through and respond to some of them!

Under a readmore because my answers are quite long haha

Some fanfics were WIP (which isn't a problem) but weren't updated for years! I don't really see the point of submitting these fics if it's abandonned...

Not alphabetical order. I know abo is popular, but it's always first. Also may 1st is my birthday. I personally can't stand that trope 😂 also the wip... Always get scared the author will not complete it.

This is a very good point, and not something I thought to check out. I don’t want to remove WIPs from the collection as I know a lot of people who love reading WIPs and the authors of those deserve the promotion too. However, I will likely change the rules surrounding updating somehow.  As for alphabetical order: It’s the most intuitive way to list them, and I have no control over A/B/O being the first trope alphabetically, or the fact that it gets voted for every year. :) 

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The banner/photo at the top of each post took up a little too much space, maybe if it was a little bit smaller it could load better on my device.

The banner size I use, 540x300 is pretty much the “standard” banner size which is found across tumblr and many of the other challenges I’ve hosted and co-hosted in the past. This is unlikely to change, and I’m sorry they don’t load correctly on your device :( 

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It was hard to go back and find posts. I’d love the posts to have a cut so there was less scrolling needed. Or maybe an easy-to-find masterpost?

Some posts were a bit long (maybe some tropes could be split into two posts?)

As you’ve probably seen, the masterpost has now been posted as it has every 1st June after the collection has finished posting! Find past masterlists here. In regards to finding it hard to go back and find posts, I tag everything so that it’s super easy to find from the blog. the #destiel trope collection 2020 tag will show you all the posts from this year, once (the other posts were tagged as signal boost). I also tag the trope as well so it can be searched for via that, and the trope names which are in more than one year are the same too :)  I’m wary about putting the posts under a readmore, as I don’t want just a few fics to show and not others, nor do I want no fics at all showing, so this is unlikely to change. Splitting the posts in two also wouldn’t work, or at least it would shorten the amount of tropes available for the month. It’s hard to guarantee which posts will have lots and which won’t have as many. 

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Was/can the master post be available at the beginning of the month? , pin the master post on the blog

I will be pinning the masterlist at some point, but for now, the feedback form is pinned for at least another week or so, it’s important to me to find out what I can do to make this better :D The masterlist cannot be available at the beginning of the month as I won’t have all the links available to fill it. It also takes the joy away from posting one trope a day for the month. 

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Some authors are repeated more than two times in some tropes

Firstly, this is allowed, authors were allowed up to 4 fics in one trope. However, next year this will be rectified properly. It is currently a “loose rule” where I suggest no more that 4 entries into one trope by one author. Next year I will make the rule a definite, and instead of chasing people up about which fics they’d like to keep, I will choose the first 3 or 4 (depending on what I decide) that they entered into the trope :) I apologise that it was a bit confusing this year, I’ll try to make any and all rules clear and concise. 

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I wish the lists were bigger!

Me too! Unfortunately I can only advertise it so much, and greatly rely on everyone else reblogging it, telling their destiel writing friends and getting them to submit their fics. The number of fics has gone up each year (this year was pretty similar to last year). The first collection in 2017 had 213 fics, so this year more than double it! 

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the way a fic had to be submitted

The submission form for submitting a fic. It took me a lot longer because I had to bounce arround to transfer things from AO3 onto the form, if everything on the form was in order of how it's listed on AO3 it would make submitting a lot faster.

The first year I did this, I asked people to submit their fics via the blog (well it was my fandom blog at the time before this official blog was born). That was honestly chaos, I set out a list of what I needed from people in the order I needed it in and it was largely ignored :/ and it meant I had to copy and paste everything by hand, one fic at a time. I then used an online form as this allowed me to collect the data and change it into what I needed on another document, however, I still had to copy and paste each one separately (that’s a lot of work when I have 450+ fics being submitted). This year I was able to get help with an even more time saving way which meant I could use the google sheets view that was produced by the form to change it into HTML and I could then filter by trope and highlight all the fics in one go. You can get all of the information you need just from your works page on AO3 (and not everyone posts from AO3 also), so there’s not that much jumping around being done. I will look into it more thoroughly and see if there’s an easier order.

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It would be awesome if you would reblog the older collections while the new one is being published, so we can see the differences, like 2017 friends to lovers and 2020 friends to lovers. Also, I would really like to see more of the trope collection during its hiatus. You could queue the masterlists to be rebloged once a month or something

It’s a great idea in theory, but the posts differ from year to year, and I feel some would be lost and forgotten. I do like the idea of reblogging the masterlist once a month until next year! That’s a great idea :D I think I will also reblog some of the of the older posts/masterlists in that time as well!