I just felt doing something with that book page

I Can't Take It!

            “I can’t bloody take it anymore!” Were the words screamed in Draco’s face as he opened the door. He blinked rapidly at the fuming redhead in front of him. Weasley. That was someone he hadn’t seen in years, not since the final battle.

            “Excuse you?” Draco reprimanded with an arched brow. He honestly had no idea what was happening here. He must have mixed up his ingredients when making his potion this morning, causing a severe hallucination. Because that was the only explanation his mind could come up with at the moment.

            “At first, I thought I was just delusional, seeing things where there was nothing but I know I’m not.”

            Draco blinked rapidly as he too concluded the man was delusional. Something he had always known to be true.

            “You keep writing books about Harry!”

            Every rational thought left the blonde as dread filled his stomach. There was no way that Weasley had figured it out. His mother was blissfully unaware of who his muse was, his friends were just as clueless, all wondering who could possibly be the one he was desperately pining after. The whole world was blind but yet Weasley had discovered his secret?

            “Don’t give me that look!” Weasley spat hotly. “It’s just so obvious. I don’t understand why no one but me thinks so! I see your stupid books everywhere. Witches giggle in their offices at work, completely engrossed in your horribly sappy novels.” A pause as a freckled nose wrinkled in disgust.

            “I can’t go into Diagon Alley without seeing your ugly face plastered from every window, advertising this travesty.”

            Ugly? Draco huffed angrily as he listened somewhat impatiently to the hogwash spewing out of Weasley’s mouth.

            “My own wife reads them and badgers me incessantly about reading them too!”

            That had Draco wincing, he wasn’t sure how he felt about Granger reading his works. It was a little uncomfortable, if he was being honest.

            “I can’t even go to my parents without seeing your entire collection stacked against the wall. My mother reads them!” A pitiful moan escaped. “My own mum!”

            A trickle of amusement was making its way inside of Draco. Oh, he was still annoyed and ticked off but seeing Weasley in so much distress because of him, was lifting his spirits.

            “I have put up with this for years and I can’t take it anymore!” Weasley took a step forward, which Draco was loath to admit made him want to take a step back. The man was clearly mental.

            “You have to tell Harry how you feel.” Begged the disturbed wanker. “I can’t take another novel. I can’t take the pining! I can’t take the whining! I can’t take another fucking thing! If I have to listen to one more person tell me how ‘wonderfully heartbreaking’ your stories are, I will either murder you, Harry or myself.” A pause. “And I can’t honestly tell you which one of us is at the forefront of that. Perhaps I will kill us all and be done with it.”  

            Threats weren’t something new to Draco but this was the first time he had been on the receiving end of one done so vehemently.

            “I’m an Auror.” Weasley unnecessarily reminded him, as if he hadn’t been aware of this. “I know how to murder someone and make it appear as an accident. They’ll never find your body.” The sheer conviction in the promise was almost staggering.

            Draco rolled his eyes as he looked to the sky, debating about hexing the crazy redhead.

            “Are you finished?” He drawled with an exaggerated yawn, hoping to get rid of Weasley.

            Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “You know what is the worst part of all of this?”

            The question was obviously rhetorical but Draco shook his head anyways, hoping this would be the last thing said on the topic.

            “Harry loves your books.”

            Draco’s breath caught in his throat as he swallowed heavily and looked away from Weasley for the first time.

            “He talks about them constantly, mentions his favorite parts, grins goofily as he reads your novels in public. Every single book is handled with care and patience. He adores them and you by extension.”

            Words had long ago left Draco, he didn’t know what to say at all. Couldn’t think of anything. For someone who made a living off of words and formulating beautiful lines, this was almost embarrassing.

            “I don’t like you.” Weasley continued on. “Never have and might not ever will.”

            Again, Draco rolled his eyes. The feeling was entirely mutual.

            “But.” The man whispered softly. “It’s painfully obvious that you love Harry.” Blue eyes searched his and Draco felt as if his blackened soul was being judged.  

            “The things you write deserve to be said not just written. Harry deserves this, deserves this kind of attention and deserves the love you put into those stupid pages.” There was a slight reddening of Weasley’s cheeks. It was obvious he despised complimenting Draco on his books.

            “Just do something. Please. While I can’t take another one of your books, I really can’t take Harry’s self-deprecating responses as to why it just isn’t possible that he is the target of your obsession.”

            He would have liked to rudely point out that it wasn’t an obsession but he was distracted with the rest of the statement.

            Weasley took a deep sigh. “Just think about it.” As violently as the conversation began, it ended with a soft whisper and pleading eyes.

            Draco watched Weasley walk slowly away from his front door, so slowly that it was obvious he was hoping to be called back.

            This was life changing. He could slam the door and pretend that this whole disaster had been a hallucination and never think about it again… or he could take a Gryffindor plunge into bravery and do what the characters in his books do, which was get their man.

            “Weasley!” Draco called out, making his decision. “Get your horrid arse back here.”

            The way red brows arched, silently asking for more, had Draco huffing. Who knew the man was a sadist too?

           “Help me ensnare a Gryffindor.“

           A frighteningly wicked grin appeared on the redhead’s face, causing Draco to question if he had just sold away his soul to a starving Dementor. Merlin, help him. 


If you are interested in the rest of the story, part two and three are finished. Or if you would like to just skip ahead to the completed story, here you go

Part TwoPart Three   ,  A03 Author Page 

Too Much

MASTERLIST

Requested: no A/N: I’m in Norway so this is a planned post. p>

Word count: 2,239

My back was resting against the soft, white pillow. I pulled the covers higher, covering my entire body. I felt cold, but it had nothing to do with the temperature in the bedroom, it was all about the enormous fight Shawn and I had earlier. Fighting with him always made me feel so cold, so tired and completely drained from any sort of energy. I was reading a book or at least trying to, but I hardly managed to read a single page.

Honestly, I just needed something to distract me from the fact that Shawn had left the apartment in anger and I hadn’t heard from him since.

Keep reading

Yearbook Confession | Stanley Uris X Reader

English isn’t my first language, so please excuse any mistakes.

Characters: Stanley/fem!reader. Richie is mentioned.

(H/C) stand for “Hair color”/(B/N) stand for “Boy’s name”.

Word Count: 1393 words.

Last day of school, everyone was feeling anxious for the end of classes, already feeling relaxed for the summer. Everyone but Stanley Uris. Stan, unlike the others, has been in a mess of nerves since the day before. The reason? Because he was determined he would talk to (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

It wasn’t like talking to (Y/N) was something new to him, they actually talked to each other almost every day. They had a specific class where they sat next to each other, which made it possible for them to complain about the teacher, about the subject or just talk during class. It also made it possible for Stan to develop a crush on the (H/C) girl. And that was exactly what he wanted to talk to her at the end of class.

If it were up to him, he’d have waited to have that conversation sometime during the summer, but during one of their conversations, (Y/N) told him that her parents would send her to her uncle’s house  as soon as she got home on the last day of school. That didn’t upset him, maybe just a little that he wasn’t going to see her all summer, but at that moment he didn’t even think about telling her about his feelings.

That idea only popped into his head after his friends suggested he should do it before the summer started, because, according to Richie, if Stan didn’t clarify the intentions he had with her, she could end up “finding older, more interesting guys than him” during her trip. Stan tried to ignore that thought, but he couldn’t.

That’s exactly why he’d spent all day thinking of ways to make it clear he had feelings for her and at what moment he should do it, since he hadn’t had any classes with her that day. Then he remembered the good old yearbook. Everyone was signing each other’s today and would be a great excuse to go talk to her.

And that took him to that moment. Stan was walking nervously through the hallways, his yearbook in his hand as he searched for (Y/N) among the people walking around. The last bell had rung a few minutes ago, announcing the end of classes, so the hallway was crowded, making it difficult for the boy to look for her.

What would he do when he found her? Would he just ask her to sign his yearbook? Wouldn’t it be a little weird for him to have crossed the whole school just to ask her to sign an idiot yearbook? Well, she didn’t exactly need to know that.

Stan’s mind was so lost in his thoughts and his eyes so focused on the crowd that he jumped a little when he felt a hand touch his shoulder, causing him to turn and face the person he was looking for. (Y/N).

“Hey Stan.” she had a bright smile on her face, as usual. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, but with this crowd I even almost lose myself, right?” she chuckled.

That made him give a little smile back to her. “What were you looking for me for?”

“Oh yeah, since I’m going to spend the whole summer elsewhere, I figure it would be nice if my closest friends signed my yearbook so I could remember you guys there.” only at that moment he noticed that she held the book in her hands. “Do you want to sign it?” she held it out to him.

Stan quickly took it from her hand, looking a bit confused at how he would sign now, having a yearbook in each of his hands. (Y/N) laughed at that, taking his yearbook in her hands. “Can I sign?”

“Please do.” she smiled at him, opening the front page of the book.

He just remembered the big dick Richie had drawn there -claiming to be “the exactly representation” of his- when her eyes widened. Oh please let her not think it was Stan who had drawn it.

“Well…” she turned the page, a laugh coming from her mouth. “It was Tozier, wasn’t it?”

Stan felt slightly relieved that she hadn’t even thought he had written it. He laughed at her. “Yeah, it was him.”

“That boy.” (Y/N) shook her head, beginning to write something in his yearbook.

Stan opened her book, seeing that the first pages were full of nice messages from her many other friends. He picked up his pen when he found a blank space to write, but stopped. Oh, he hadn’t planned that, he had no idea what to write her. He’d just gone there to ask her out.

Oh yeah, he still had to do that too. A sudden nervousness passed through his body. He still hadn’t figured out how to make the moment of his confession not awkward. And then the idea hit him. The perfect non-awkward way to do that. Stan could just write down what he planned to say to her there. It would save him a lot of embarrassment.

He smiled to himself at the clever idea, ready to write when one of the messages there caught his attention.

“Hey (Y/N), you’re amazing! I hope you have a fun summer, love, even if it’s without me. I’ll miss you everyday! ~ (B/N)”

Oh, Stan knew very well who (B/N) was, all (Y/N)’s friends knew. In fact, if you had ever heard of (Y/N) you’d heard of (B/N). The two were attached at the hip, Stan always saw them walking down the hallways together, always so touchy.

He always tried to shake off the thoughts of jealousy, trying to convince himself they were just friends as (Y/N) always said, but it was useless, his mind always insisted on telling him that (B/N) liked her, and that “love” served as confirmation for him. He frowned a bit, if (Y//N) really liked her, Stan had no chance at all. He tapped the end of his pen in the blank space, deciding what to do. He took a deep breath before writing.

“It was nice to meet you this year, you’re good to talk about things and a good friend. Have a great summer. ~ Stan”

Stan read and reread his message, frowning a bit at how lame it was. He forgot to mention how gentle and funny (Y/N) was and how truly gorgeous he thought she was. A throat clearing made Stan looked up, seeing that the girl had his yearbook closed in her hands and waited to get hers.

He was about to close it, but she grabbed it open -wanting to see what he had written- as she returned his. (Y/N) quickly read it, a smile appearing on her face as she looked back to him. Stan missed the quick look of disappointment that passed through her eyes.

“Yeah, it was really nice to meet you this year, Stan.” she closed the book in her hands. “So… I’ll come back in the last week of the summer, just so you know.”

Oh, so she’d be back by the end of the summer. That was good, made the boy smile at her. (Y/N) smiled back before taking a glance at the yearbook in his hands. “See you around, Stan.”

“See you, (Y/N).”

Stan watched her go, smiling to himself as she turned to look at him one last time, giving him a small wave that was quickly returned. He watched her until she disappeared into the crowd.

He just stopped looking at all those people moving around when he remembered the yearbook in his hand, the curiosity to see what she wrote finally hitting him. Stan opened the book, searching for the girl’s delicate handwriting. And when he found it, he couldn’t help but be surprised. His eyes widened slightly as his heart began to beat faster, a silly smile appearing on his lips as he read the message without believing what was written.

“You’re a nice guy with a damn good hair. I’m really happy to have you sitting next to me this year and have had the chance to become your friend!! Though… It’s my wish for us to be something more. I hope that during the summer you can think about the possibility of going out on a date with me when I return, but no pressure :) Have a lot of fun! ~ (Y/N)”


Masterlist

The Kitchens

part v

It appeared to be all consuming, the act of kissing someone. Sirius was slightly surprised by this. He’d kissed loads of girls before, in fact he’d done quite a bit more than simply kiss them. But he questioned it now… had he kissed them? He didn’t think so, not really.

It had never been like this before.

It had never been that each and ever act or thought his body and mind performed somehow stemmed back to the kiss, to Remus. It hadn’t even been particularly long. It had been rushed, lost in the heat of the moment. Wonderful, but nothing monumental as far as kissing goes. Sirius had led him to bed afterwards and forced himself to walk away. He’d apologized afterwards and taken it back. As far as kissing goes, it honestly should be considered rather awful. But it wasn’t.

Sirius felt slightly sick with nerves, standing there surrounded by the whirling action of of the First Bloom Ball preparations. Stray petals scattered themselves on the floors of the long hallways, having fallen off of the millions of bouquets that were being transported into every part of the castle imaginable. Noble and servant girls alike stood around in groups, chattering and working excitedly, hoping desperately that they would receive a bloom from whichever boy it was they dreamt about. It was rumored that the one who gave you the bloom was the one who remained yours forever. Sirius allowed himself a small smile at this. The idea had never appealed to him until now. Then again, the idea had never applied to him either. It still didn’t but he allowed the smile all the same.

Sirius felt the eyes of many on him as he strode about the room. He knew it was because of the party, but he couldn’t help but notice the eyes lingering on his head more than his face, or, more specifically, his crown. He didn’t make a habit of wearing it about but it was one of those days that his mother had insisted. She did that occasionally. He liked it fine and all. It sat comfortably, if not a bit heavily, but he could definitely do without the attention—something he knew his mother valued above all else. He only made the mistake of making eye contact twice before the barely repressed squeals that followed taught him to keep his eyes pleasantly aloof from any one person, discreetly searching for the dark mass of hair that was James. He finally spotted it peaking out from behind a particularly large bouquet. He pulled on his jacket some, straightening it, before all but speed walking over to him, waiting by the double doorway then falling into step with his stride.

“James.”

James’ face appeared between two pink peonies, “S-“ His face straightened, eyes glancing around, “Your Royal Highne-“

“My mum isn’t here. Can you come?”

James heaved out a sigh as he let the vase carefully down on the table, dusting various shades of what looked like pollen from his shirt. Sirius distastefully glanced only briefly at the yellow stains it left behind.

James raised an eyebrow, “I’m thinking you’re forgetting that status of our relationship.”

Sirius blinked, “What?”

James raised both eyebrows now, offering a smile, “Sirius, it isn’t a matter of if I can come. If you want me somewhere, I go.”

Sirius knew this wasn’t meant as a blow. James was probably joking, relieved that he was getting out of work. But it was true. James couldn’t refuse. Sirius thought briefly back to the way Remus had kicked him out that night of the chocolate cake. The heat that was becoming familiar to him very quickly filled his chest at the memory and he motioned his head for James to follow him. He was doing this. He could do this. This was James.

Sirius walked until they were nearly half way across the castle, in the predictably quiet West parlor. He motioned for James to shut the door.

“What’s this about? I can’t be gone for too long. My mum would have my head.”

Sirius could have laughed at his particular choice of words if he hadn’t been so bloody nervous.

“Well, I’m certainly about to tell you something that could cost me mine.”

James froze half way between standing and sitting on the couch. He rose again, “Come again?”

Sirius sighed and pushed on his shoulders until he plopped down on the cushions, then sat on the lean wooden table across from him. He took a shaky breath, lacing his fingers together across his knees. He went to open his mouth, but suddenly found that his jaw wouldn’t cooperate.

James spluttered, “Mate, you can’t lead with a phrase like that then sit on it.” He waited a moment more then shoved Sirius’ shoulder, “Come on.”

“I kissed someone.”

James blinked, mouth falling open in surprise. Sirius suddenly wished there was a fire crackling, or a rainstorm outside, anything to fill the silence.

“Oh.” James shook his head a little then laughed, “Well, what’s so bad about that? Your mum doesn’t approve of her?”

Sirius looked at him.

The realization spread quickly over James face and he nodded again, “Oh… Oh. Does- Does she know?”

“No one knows.” Sirius said quickly, “You know, I know, and- and… she knows.” Sirius swallowed.

Sirius felt like he was swallowing over his heart. He surprised himself with just how desperate he was to shout that it wasn’t a she, and that it hadn’t felt like just a kiss.

James went to speak again, but Sirius held up his hand, suddenly glad he had some power of James. He didn’t know how many questions he could lie his way through.

“Just listen, alright?” He sat back, letting his hand rest nervously against his thigh once more, “I need you to do something.”

~

Remus had spent the better part of the minutes between three and four in the morning running his hands over the soft fur of Sirius’ slippers over and over. By the time he had to get ready, he almost felt guilty stashing them away in his tiny moldy trunk at the base of his bed, underneath a pile of old shirts. The flower too, that had somehow remained tucked into his hair, got flattened between the pages of an old book he found in there. Maybe it was more sadness than guilt. Things so wonderful shouldn’t even been associated with such items, much less wedged between them.

He missed the feeling of the soft leather against his heels. He swallowed. He missed the feeling of Sirius’ hands on his skin. His mouth…

There was a hiss from in front of him and he jolted backwards at the steam issuing from the nearly over boiling pot of tomato soup.

“Shit.” He crouched, using the long iron tongs to push the heavy pan to the side, away from the flames, causing the bubbling to subside.

“Since when are you such a day dreamer?”

Remus turned his head to Mrs. Potter who was giving him a sly smile over her steadily growing mound of peeled potatoes. He offered her a slightly sheepish, slightly tight one of his own, “No. I mean- yes. I mean, sorry. I don’t know where I was.”

Mrs. Potter laughed, “Don’t apologize for dreaming, Remus. If anything apologize for the swearing.” Her eyes were kind and reflected the firelight warmly, “But never for the dreaming.”

Remus had to turn his head away. He didn’t want her to see his face fall, his grin succumb to uneasiness. He let the soup swing back into place and eased the fire down to a bluish flicker, then stood and dusted his hands on his apron.

He hesitated a moment, hands pressed to his thighs, before turning around slowly on his heel, “Um. While we’re… I… Just, about dreaming…”

Mrs. Potter’s knife flew on the potatoes and she didn’t look up, but hummed in a way that let him know he had her complete attention. Remus was glad for the lack of eye contact.

“If you…” He paused, desperately trying to think of his words carefully and quickly at the same time, “If you… have something. A dream. Something good, but you know…” he walked forward, pressing his hands to the cool counter top, “you know it isn’t going to last, this dream. This something good…” Mrs. Potter finally looked up at him, fingers stilling, and Remus swallowed before finishing, “do you think it’s worth it? Dreaming it up at all?”

Mrs. Potter looked at him for a moment thoughtfully, then went right back to peeling, “Hm.” She took a breath, “There’s a tale of two brothers. They’re walking in the forest and they come across a stone.” Remus looked at her quizzically but she pressed on, “On the stone are instructions on how to live ten years of pure bliss and happiness, full of riches and power. One brother follows them. He climbs a mountain, he wrestles a bear, he crosses a stream until he comes to a house that holds an enchantress that gives him what he came for. The brother becomes king of a large village with all the money and happiness one could want.” She hands Remus a few potatoes of his own and a knife then continues, “It lasts for ten years, just as the stone said. After his ten years of bliss, his kingdom falls, the woman he loves leaves him, his people turn against him. He is left powerless, loveless, and friendless. He has nothing to do but turn to the only person who knew him before he became what he was.”

“His brother.” Remus supplied, peeling slowly, more intent on listening.

Mrs. Potter nodded slightly in his direction, the pile beside her growing as she spoke, words rich and purposeful, “Exactly. Now, his brother had refused to take the instructions. He claimed that he was happy right then, with the life he was living. He didn’t know what would happen after ten years, so why risk it? He had a modest home, a good wife, had enough money to put basic food on his table. Why take the risk?”

“Well, he’d be happy for a time, at least. Truly happy.” Remus twirled his knife thoughtfully against the wooden counter, the point creating a small indent in the wood, “Why would he settle for something that he was just… content with when he could have something fantastic like his brother did, for even a little while…”

Remus trailed off, suddenly realizing what he was saying. Mrs. Potter was looking somewhat knowingly at him, almost too knowingly for Remus’ comfort.

“Well, I do believe you’ve just answered your own question, love.”

Remus felt his cheeks flush and he smiled, flicking a potato skin in her direction and making her laugh, eyes crinkling. They worked in silence after that, the soft scraping being the only sound that filled the room.

Remus supposed he had answered his own question. He had something good right now. Something better than anything he’d ever had in his life. He had someone. Or at least he was beginning too. Would he really be able to give that up, to give Sirius up, out of, what, fear? Fear of the future? It was there. It was definitely a real fear. There was no hope for them. They had kissed, Sirius had smiled, Sirius had apologized, Sirius had taken it back, Sirius had left. That in itself said it, right there: They both knew, if this began, how it would end. Remus closed his eyes briefly. If it hadn’t been for the remembered feeling of Sirius’ hands on his skin, Sirius’ lips on his own, he would have been decided right there. End it. Sooner rather than later. But logic was consumed by emotion, planning consumed by memories.

Remus’ voice sounded louder when he spoke again, hands slowing, “He’d have the memories, at least.” Remus swallowed, “When it was all over, I mean.” He felt Mrs. Potter’s eyes on him and looked up too, “That’s worth something, isn’t it? He’d remember the happiness. That’s worth the risk?”

She thought for a moment, her own hands slowing as well, knife gliding smoothly, “Memories are tricky, I think. Remembering them is okay, good even. They can take us back to that time, that place. We can feel what we felt again, or almost what we felt. But living in them… it gets dangerous. I suppose it depends on the person, and how valuable they think the memories will be to them. If they would value the memories over their own present happiness.” She looked at him again, eyes slightly more serious but not alarmingly so, “That past can be a tempting thing, Remus.”

And Remus probably knew then. He could feel a ghost of what unbearable weight could eventually settle on his heart if he let this happen, if he let this happen until it…couldn’t anymore. Until it stopped. And it would stop. But he isn’t in the past yet. He’s in the present. And aren’t people always saying to ‘live in the now’?

What a dangerous expression that is, and perhaps the most tempting thing of all.

~

The already hot air rose about ten degrees when Sirius swung open the door to the kitchens. He probably should have noticed the pies cooling by the window first, or the sharp smell of spices and butter in the air, or the obscenely large pile of white potatoes on the island. But he zeroed in on Remus almost instantaneously, and for a moment all he could feel was him, was last night. His frostbitten skin that turned to warm cheeks and soft kisses and tangled hair-

“Oh my. Your Royal Highness.”

Sirius blinked away from the wide amber eyes and to Mrs. Potter standing next to him. And yes, he definitely should have noticed that.

He tried to shake off his surprise and gave his best yes-I-am-your-charming-prince smile, only to wince a little at remembering how that smile made Remus frown. His expression most likely turned out rather odd.

“I- hello.”

Mrs. Potter smiled kindly at him and bowed her head respectfully. Sirius glanced at Remus, whose eyes were still fixed on him, hoping desperately he wouldn’t do the same, but knowing he had too. It felt odd, wrong, to see Remus acting like a subject in front of him. Sirius straightened uncomfortably as Remus bowed too, a male’s bow, lower and one had behind his back. Sirius wanted to grip his shoulders and stop him, maybe with a kiss if he was lucky-

“My prince, what might we help you with this evening?” When Sirius just stood there after a moment, Mrs. Potter glanced at Remus, confused, “Or… Or have you come on behalf of the Queen, perhaps?”

“No.” Sirius said quickly, snapping back into himself, what he was brought up to be, “No, nothing of the sort. I’m hear on purely…” he glanced at Remus once more, “physical business.” He had to fight off the smirk at Remus’ flushed cheeks, and looked back to Mrs. Potter, “I require you to fetch Nurse Pomfrey, if you would. Quickly please. I fear my cheek is rather infected.”

Mrs. Potter squinted slightly, obviously worrying over the gash on Sirius’ upper cheek, before nodding, bowing again, and rushing out of the room.

Sirius wasted no time.

It had it perks, being tall, and he closed the distance between him and Remus in just four strides, pressing his hands to Remus’ cheeks at the same time as Remus’ went to his hair. And if Sirius had thought the last kiss had been good, he felt nearly knocked off balance by this one. Remus fingers wound tightly into his hair, pulling and knocking the crown slightly askew as he kissed him, breath hot and needing, filling Sirius to the brim with relief and he doesn’t regret this, he wants this as much as you do.

“Jesus, the one time you choose not to be alone.” Sirius sighs into his mouth, thumbs stroking over Remus’ cheeks, imagining he can feel each freckle there and keep them.

“The one time you choose to wear this bloody thing.”

Sirius laughs. He noses gently along Remus’ cheek, relishing in how fucking natural it feels, like he’d been doing it for months and years and eternity.

Remus laughs too, “Honestly, the first time I get to kiss you without being nervous and you restrict me with this.”

“Excuse you, you had James’ mum next to you. Who’s restricting whom?”

Remus smiles, leaning into the place where Sirius presses a kiss to his cheek, and straightens the crown atop Sirius’ head before letting his hands fall to his neck, “Hm. I suppose you’re right.”

Sirius just lets their foreheads rests together, already dreading having to pull away, “Did you just say you were nervous to kiss me?”

He practically feels Remus roll his eyes, “We were both nervous.”

“I wasn’t nervous.”

Sirius feels a little pinch on his shoulder, “Yes, you were.”

He smiles, “Yeah, I was.”

Remus laughs again then lets out a long breath, nudging their faces closer together. They’re silent for a few moments, just enjoying the other being there.

Sirius feels reluctant to break the quiet. It feels like they’re in their own little bubble, protected from whatever this world would throw at them. But he has to ask before Mrs. Potter comes back with Pomfrey.

“Will you meet me? Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Remus questions, “Tonight’s the ball.”

“Tonight.” Sirius slides his hands from Remus’ cheeks, to his waist, feeling the well worn linen beneath his fingertips, “West parlor. Where we met.”

Remus smiled at the memory, “What a pompous little prick you were.”

Sirius laughed, hands tightening around Remus’ shirt and pulling their chests together. He didn’t miss the small gasp Remus let out, “I’m still a pompous little prick. Just not around you.” He tilted his head to the side, lips hovering over Remus’, “And I’m not so sure about little.”

Remus hummed, seeming more intent on closing the distance between their mouths than actually answering.

The sound of footsteps made them both jump terribly, but Sirius pulled Remus back against him, just for a moment, savoring, needing, “Say you’ll come.” He whispered.

Remus pressed his palms once against Sirius’ cheeks, lips quick to steal one more kiss, “Of course I’ll come.”

They stepped apart, Sirius moving to the other side of the table. Mrs. Potter entered, alone.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, “And Pomfrey?”

Mrs. Potter looked absolutely bewildered to see him still standing in the kitchen. She glanced at Remus who had turned away, pretending to tend to the fire. Sirius longed to glance too, maybe get a quick view of-

“You- Your Highness, I didn’t expect you to be here. I would have thought you would return to your chambers, I’ve sent Pomfrey there. My greatest apologies-“

Sirius rolled his eyes a little and then, with the way her face fell and mouth snapped shut, he wished he hadn’t. He was suddenly desperately glad Remus wasn’t looking.

The truth was that Remus was correct. He was a pompous prick. It seemed to go along with his inheritance. But he didn’t want to be. He had to let Remus know he was trying, he was changing.

“No matter.” He supplied, “I will seek her there.” He almost turned, then stopped himself. He had to try, “The- The food smells wonderful, by the way.” He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably, then dipped his head, just slightly, “Thank you, Mrs. Potter.”

He turned on his heel and left, leaving a wide eyed Mrs. Potter in his wake.

She turned to Remus, who was still desperately stoking the fire.

“Well. That- That was rather kind of him, wasn’t it?”

Remus kept himself turned away, hiding the grin that felt like it was nearly splitting his cheeks in two.

“It was. Maybe he’s having a good day.”


Sorry it’s a bit shorter! I just felt like I got a lot across in this chapter that should be separate from what is coming in the next. I hope you enjoy! I’ll definitely try to be more regular at updating now that school is over! Thanks for sticking with me <3 <3 <3 <3

anonymous asked:

"Do you want the list of everything's that wrong with me?" (any Shadowhunters pairing)

Just a friendly reminded, I am still taking prompts! Might not answer all of them, but I will pick out those I like the most. Rules explained HERE. Need some light ones too, you guys seem to shower me with angsty prompts! xD



Magnus could feel Alec going through the wards, a gentle prod at his magic that told him his boyfriend was about to enter his apartment. He had keyed Alec into the wards weeks ago, so that his Shadowhunter could come and go as he pleased. Magnus hadn’t been expecting him, not really, with the younger man being extremely busy at the Institute, but he didn’t mind the visit at all. His evening suddenly looked a lot brighter, with the perspective of spending it with Alec.

Alec, however, did not call out to greet him, like he always did. Magnus frowned, listening for the signs of movement in his flat. Nothing. He marked the page in the spell book he had been translating and left his study in search of his wayward boyfriend.

He found him out on the fire escape and he immediately knew that something was wrong. It was Alec’s default spot to brood in when he was troubled, like he felt that he shouldn’t come into the apartment, not when his mood was this low. Which was ridiculous, Magnus thought, but that was just so… Alec.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t do that anymore,” Magnus sighed as he neared Alec, who was sitting on the stairs, curled up slightly, as if to make himself seem smaller. “What happened?”

Magnus took Alec’s hands gently, frowning at the torn skin and bruises and blood. His magic reacted in an instant, reaching out and healing him, soothing the pain and mending his body back together. It was almost an instinct by now, Magnus’ magic responding to Alec’s wounds, fixing them before Magnus could even think about it.

“Do you want the list of everything that’s wrong with me?” Alec’s gaze slid down at their joined hands. He looked beyond tired, like he hadn’t slept in days - which really wouldn’t surprise Magnus at this point.

Magnus knew how Alec got these wounds. Pushed himself hard in training, for some imagined failure. Dealt himself a punishment he thought he deserved.

“No need,” Magnus said, “I already know the worst of it. You snore. You leave wet towels on bathroom floor. And you drink the last of my coffee without telling me, which got really old after the first five times that happened.”

That got him the reaction he was aiming for, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of Alec’s mouth.

“Come to bed, darling,” Magnus whispered as his magic cut off, the wounds and blood all gone, like bad memory. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

Secrets: Peter Parker x reader

Originally posted by brennenbeckwith

first time writing, so sorry if this sucks. Also not my gif lol.

warnings: some swearing

 

I stepped into the bright sunlight and took in a deep breath. I always loved the way it smelled after it rained, it was always just calming to me. I was pulled out of my haze by the sound of my idiot best friend, Peter Parker. Peter and I have been friends for as long as I can remember and slowly over the years I’ve fallen for him. Cheesy I know, but how can you not fall in love with the sweetest boy in the world. When ever I had a problem he was there for me. When ever I was sick he always checked on me. When ever I needed help with homework or studying he was there to help.  “y/n, you ready to go?” he questioned as he tapped my shoulder. I turned my attention to him and smiled before nodding my head and we started walking to school.

Once we made it to school I walked with Peter to his locker, continuing our conversation about a project we had due in our chemistry class. We stood there talking and then Ned, mine and Peters other best friend, came over without us even noticing, when he put a little Lego man on peters shoulder and started talking about this awesome Death Star Lego set that he was trying to convince us to build with him tonight. As I listened to Ned go on and on about his death star I just stared at peters face in aw. I was once again snapped out of my haze by Ned and Peter both looking at me with questioning looks. “sorry what did you say, I was um thinking about…what my mom said about…um dinner tonight,” I lied and Ned looked at me with a knowing look before responding. “I said are you gonna build this thing with me and Peter tonight?"  "oh yeah yeah definitely!” I exclaimed before the warning bell rang signaling that we had 5 minutes to get to our first class.

After our first few classes it was time for lunch. I walked out into the hallway and down some stairs to the cafeteria where I saw Ned and Peter sitting staring at Liz. I walked over and sat across from Michelle and grabbed one of her many books and started reading. Michelle and I were sort of friends, mostly just when it came to reading or I needed advice about things I couldn’t talk to Peter about. Which was mostly about Peter. So this was not a strange habit and she just looked up, gave a small smile then went back to reading. As I was reading I felt someone tap my shoulder and I looked over to see peter smiling at me. “yes Peter?” I asked before closing the book but keeping my finger on the page I was on. “So about tonight, I cant actually come hang with you guys I have to do something for the Stark internship,” he said with a slight frown and I just nodded my head before going back to reading, but on the inside I was extremely angry. Peter has been blowing us off for this Stark internship ever since he got it. I mean yes Tony Stark seems hella cool and I’m sure its important but he should still try and make time for his friends. Peter sat there for a second tapping his finger on the table before getting up and walking back over to Ned.

At the end of lunch I set Michelle’s book back on her stack of books and smiled before thanking her for letting me read it. I started to walk to the doors of the cafeteria when Ned came up right beside me. “So I talked to Peter and I was wondering if you wanna come help me build the base of the death star and then he’s gonna come help with the rest after the stark internship. We’ll do it at his house,” Ned said not really giving me time to answer before saying cool see you tonight and walking away to his next class.

Ned and I were in Peters room building the base of the death star just as planned. “So, y/n, when are you gonna tell Peter you’re in love with him?” Ned asked out of nowhere causing me to look at him shocked. “I’m not in love with him okay I just sorta kinda might have a small crush on him, which he will NEVER know about because he likes Liz and would never like me and besides I wouldn’t wanna make our friendship awkward,” I replied. I’m not even sure why I was telling him this, Ned is HORRIBLE at keeping secrets. just then we heard the window open and we both looked over and on the ceiling was Spider-Man! Ned and I both sat there shocked as to what was happening. Spider-Man crawled along the ceiling over to the bedroom door, slowly and quietly closing it, then dropping down to the floor removing his mask. He wasn’t facing us yet but we knew it was peter. Ned and I sat there, mouths hanging open, shocked because it was PETER. he turned around smiling then he saw us and his smile went away faster than most people can jump to conclusions. Ned dropped the death star and stood up exclaiming,“ YOURE SPIDER MAN!” Peter quickly started shhh-ing Ned and started whisper yelling. “No I’m not, I’m not Spider-Man!” he yelped as he pressed the spider symbol on his chest which caused the suit to deflate and fall from his body. “Dude you were on the ceiling!” Ned blurted as Peter started getting dressed. This whole time I sat on the floor, shocked and angry. My whole life I’ve told Peter everything, EVERYTHING! And here he is with this secret and he doesn’t even bother to tell me. I mean yes some secrets are okay to keep but this was just hurtful. I stood up and grabbed my bag and jacket and walked out of his room, to the front door and left. I heard the front door open and Peter calling my name but I kept walking until I felt a hand grab my arm. I stopped and spun around to face a sorry looking Peter. “Y/n, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, its just I didn’t want to tell anyone really. I didn’t want you to worry and I knew you would but I’m fine just a few scratches and bruises but that’s it. Please don’t be angry, I’m still the same old Peter, its just now I can shoot webs and stop a bus with my bare hands.” he explained with a little chuckle at the end. “Peter I would have told you if something like this had happened to me. I  tell you literally everything. I’ve told you things I wont even write down because I don’t want someone to accidentally find it. and the worst part is I cant stay mad because I like you and no matter what you do I always somehow forgive you because I cant stay mad at you. You’ve wormed your way into my heart and I cant get you out, and I hate it because you’re my best friend and you don’t even like me the same way, you like Liz and I just have to accept that,” I started rambling not even realizing what I was saying anymore. “are you done now?” he questioned and I just nodded my head, blushing realizing what I had said. He placed his hands on my cheeks and leaned in to press his lips to mine. I was shocked at first but soon melted into the kiss not believing it was actually happening. We pulled away and he smiled at me and I just blushed more. I really like you too, I mean sure Liz is pretty, but you, you’re the most beautiful, smart, funny, just everything good in the world that anyone could ask for.“ he smiled at me and I crossed my arms over my chest. "yeah okay, well you’re not off the hook just yet, I’m still mad at you, what if you had gotten like killed or something!!” I exclaimed and he just put his hands on my waist pulling me into a hug. “Y/n, I promise you that I will be fine, I may get scratched up every now and then but I wont die, I promise!” he said and I wrapped my arms around him before saying, “if you die I’ll kill you.” We both laughed before he kissed my cheek. We were suddenly pulled apart by the all to familiar voice of Ned. “I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT WOULD HAPPEN THIS IS SO GREAT NOW YOU TOO CAN STOP BEING BABIES AND COMPLAINING TO ME ALL THE TIME!” Peter and I laughed before hugging again.

——————– 

well that was complete and utter shit I’m sorry, but hey if you made it all the way through thanks for reading. I suppose if you didn’t think it was shit send in a request cause I’m a bored person with no life so I mean I’ll write you some stuff. And even if you did hate it feel free to message me and tell me I’m a loser

that’s pretty much it

*No Monet* Newt x reader

anonymous asked:

Dear Kelly, could you write something fluffy about Newt x artist!reader? She doesn’t see any worth in her work and gives up. Thank you very much! ❤

Newt emerged from his case, his hand running through his curly locks as he yawned and stretched. The smell of tea wafted through the apartment and he smiled as he began making his way out in to the kitchen. He found you pouring a cup of tea in your nightgown and robe; your hair tucked around your shoulder. 

“Evening, love.” Placing a gentle kiss to your lips, Newt reached over and grabbed a cup and proceeded to pour himself some tea. “How are your drawings coming?”

Newt loved your art. He told you every day. When he asked you to help with his book you nearly jumped at the idea. That was until he clarified that he wanted you to draw the pictures.

You shrugged, turning away. It wasn’t like you to just dismiss a question but before Newt could ask anything more you were already making your way towards the bedroom and saying goodnight.

Keep reading

Mundanes are Weird (pt. 3)

A/N: sorry it’s been a while, I haven’t been well and all, and tbh I’m not better yet, but this is the latest I’ve stayed awake in at least 3+ weeks and I wanted to do something nice, and I really like this story, sooo I did it. I’m still working on the requests I’ve got at the moment, but (I dunno if it’s because of me) they seem to be becoming rather long, so don’t fret!!

Word Count: 2203




By the time lunch time rolled around, all the Shadowhunters were starving, and were pretty sure they’d figured out all there was to figure out about the attacks without actually talking to an attack or attacker. Alec was the first to make it into the cafeteria, accompanied by Y/N and Jason. They bought their food and then sat down at one of the table, chatting away happily.
Simon was the next to walk in, with Scott and his friends. They sat at a different table, and Simon was introduced to Stiles, Lydia, Malia, Isaac and Liam. He was eagerly asking them lots of questions, and the moment Star Wars came up, Stiles and Simon were lost in a world of their own even forgetting to keep eating the food in front of them.
Izzy, Clary and Jace came in separately, but sat together as they ate.
“I found out where the attacks happened.” Clary said quietly. “Or at least, where the victims were most likely followed from.”
“And they were checked for infection, because they were recognisably bitten by a human.” Izzy added, “I don’t think we’re looking for a vampire.”
“But if they’re not a vampire, then why are they biting people and draining their blood?” Jace frowned.
“That’s the thing, they weren’t drained of much blood.” Izzy shrugged. “And, they were all girls who were known for risky behaviours.”
“Alright. So one of us gets ourselves a name for being risky, and we go from there?” Clary suggested.
Just then, you and Alec walked over, Alec sitting beside Jace. “Jace, Izzy, Clary, this is Y/N. Y/N, Jace, Izzy, my sister, and Clary.” He gestured to them each as he said their names, and you gave them a wave and a shy smile. “Hey.”
Izzy smiled at you and patted the seat beside her, and you shyly sat down. Since they were all in mission mode with runes activated, they could see how nervous you were, and it was made slightly more obvious to them about how pale you were.
Eager to help you relax, wanting you to feel at ease with them (in case you accidentally revealed something), Izzy twirled a strand of your hair around her finger. “I love your hair, is this your natural colour?”
You nodded your head shyly, blushing. “Yeah, I’m not a big fan of it though. I’d kill to have hair like yours.” You nodded towards Izzy’s gorgeous black locks, which were hanging free.
“Do you have any sisters?” She asked, giving you a smile.
You relaxed a bit, and shook your head. “No, I’m an only child, I live with my dad, so I don’t really get to do girly things like dying my hair or anything.”
Izzy and Clary immediately exchanged looks, and Alec gave you a smile. “They’re gonna force you to have a girls night now.”
You smiled. “I don’t mind, I’d love a girls night.” Just then, the bell went, and you gave Alec a smile. “Ready for Maths?”

By the end of the day, the Shadowhunters were surprisingly tired, though Clary and Simon were fine, being well used to the trials of a school day. They all went back to the house near the school that they were renting for the duration of their mission, and then sat around the table, very official, with notebooks and stuff.
“It’s not a vampire.” Jace said, resting his elbows on the table.
“Alright, how do we know?” Alec asked, spinning his pen in his fingers.
“The bites were recognisably human.” Jace replied, which Alec quickly jotted down.
“What else do we know?” He asked, looking around everyone.
“All the attacks were during the day.” Izzy said.
“None were fatal, and only a little bit of blood was lost, probably not even taken deliberately.” Clary stood up and put the kettle on.
“Simon?” Alec asked, noticing he looked a little uncomfortable. “You find out anything?”
He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. “There’s a pack of werewolves in the school.”
“WHAT!”
“They’re not dangerous, they know what they’re doing. They’re even more in-control than Luke’s pack. I was talking to them, ditched a period because apparently saying ‘I know you’re a werewolf’ is cause for a secret discussion in the music room.” Simon shrugged, then smiled. “They’re nice though, don’t even care that I’m a vampire. One of them is a werecoyote, and another’s a banshee or something? I dunno, but I like them. They don’t discriminate.” His voice never showed any sign of malice, but his words had a hint of ‘stupid elitist shadowhunters’.
“Alright.” Alec nodded, jotting that down. “So we’re not looking for a vampire then?”
Simon bit his lip, deciding to stay quiet for the moment.
“I guess not.” Izzy sighed, before nudging Alec. “Y/N seems nice.”
He nodded. “She does, when are you guys having your girls’ night?” He grinned at Izzy. “Just a heads up, she’s a lot more confident once she warms up to you.”
Clary put cups of coffee in front of everyone, sitting back down. “I don’t know about you guys, but my runes were acting up all day, I felt on edge the whole time. There’s definitely something there, and we need to fix it.”
“I felt it too.” Alec nodded. “What do we know about beings that bite?”
Jace sighed and opened the big lore book on the table, looking through the pages. “It could be Forsaken, but they generally keep going until they kill.”
“And they don’t discriminate.” Izzy added. “Only girls have been attacked yet.”
Simon sipped his coffee, his teeth tapping annoyingly off the edge of the mug, and had a thought. A eureka moment, if you will. “What if a vampire filed down their fangs?” He asked.
They all stared at him for a second, before another discussion started, which led to an argument. That was the only thing Simon had said since getting back from school, and he was getting fed up of listening to the others arguing, and he really needed to talk to Raphael. After a few hours, he stood up and left, the others too deep in their discussion to notice.

“Raphael!” Simon called, walking into the Hotel DuMort.
“Simon, outside, now.” Raphael walked right out of the hotel, taking Simon by the collar and pulling him out with him. “I could barely sleep with all your incessant texting!”
“Did you bother to read any of them?” Simon frowned.
“No, I was too busy trying to sleep.” Raphael let Simon go, leaning against the wall of the alley they were standing in.
“Well there’s a vampire, they have no idea what they’re doing. I want to find them and help them, the way you helped me, but I can’t seem to figure out who they are.” Simon sighed. “I need help.”
Raphael thought for a moment, then wrinkled his nose. “You smell like wolves.”
“Yes I know.” Simon rolled his eyes. “There’s a pack in the school where the Shadowhunters are for their mission, at the moment they don’t think they’re looking for a vampire, so they don’t need me, but I know there is a vampire there, and they need me.”
Raphael rolled his eyes. “Well then ask the wolves, apparently vampires smell just as bad to them as they do to us, they’ll find your vampire.”
Simon nodded, then appeared in front of Raphael, who had started walking away. “One more thing.”
“What?” Raphael huffed.
“Once I find them, how do I help them?” Simon asked quietly.
Raphael couldn’t help but roll his eyes and let out a little laugh. “Simon, if the Shadowhunters aren’t on their tail already, then they probably know what they’re doing. They might not even need you.”
Simon nodded. “One more thing.”
“What? I’m getting bored, and hungry.” Raphael warned.
“Is it possible for a vampire to file off their fangs?” Simon asked. “So, like they’re not leaving recognisably vampire marks in their victims?”
Raphael shook his head. “No, they grow back, part of our healing ability.”
Simon nodded. “Thanks Raphael, sorry for keeping you up.” He made to leave, but Raphael caught his arm. “Simon, when you find this vampire, tell them about Shadowhunters and the Clave. Just because they’ve been lucky so far, doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way. And if they need a family, send them to me, alright?”
Simon nodded, and gave him a smile. “Thank you, Raphael.” And then he buzzed off.

You closed the blinds to your bedroom, then turned to Jason. “I’m so sorry.” You murmured, stepping closer to him.
He laughed, rolling his eyes. “You’re doing this so that you don’t hurt innocent people, I don’t think you need to apologise.” He sat down on your bed and held out his arm, offering you his wrist.
“I know, but I still feel bad.” You sighed, kneeling down and sinking your teeth into his wrist, slowly drinking his blood. Once you’d taken enough to tide you over for a little while, you traced your tongue over his wounds, healing them, and leaned back. “I’m still sorry about your leg.” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I didn’t mean to break it.”
Jason laughed, laying back on your bed. “Well, I hate P.E. anyway, so really you did me a favour. Could you pass me that orange juice?”
You passed him the carton of orange juice, having read off the internet that it was a good thing to have after giving blood, which was basically what Jason was doing.
He sat up and pushed the straw through the little hole at the top, and then started to sip at it. “So those new kids seem a little weird.”
“I know,” you agreed, “especially since they all seem to know each other and were asking about the attacks and stuff. And I heard the other ones talking about vampires at lunch when you were chatting with Alec.”
“Maybe they think you were the one attacking people?” Jason suggested. “I mean, because they were being bitten and all, it makes sense.”
You nodded, chewing your lip. “Yeah I guess, and my fangs aren’t that obvious, they just look like slightly pointy teeth, but the marks on the victims was definitely human, like one hundred and ten percent human.”
Jason nodded, thinking. “You know, we could try to find out what, or who, is behind the attacks?”
You nodded, then frowned. “But I don’t have any special powers, what am I supposed to do if they attack me? And don’t you dare say you’ll protect me, because I managed to break your leg.”
“We don’t even know if anything will happen, it’s worth a shot.” Jason reasoned.
“But it’s stupid and reckless and dangerous.” You argued, sitting down on the bed and crossing your legs.
Jason laughed, rolling his eyes. “When has that ever stopped you?”
You pouted. “Well last time I did something stupid and reckless and dangerous I ended up undead. But I suppose that means nothing worse could realistically happen… let’s do it.” You grinned.
Jason grinned and gave you a hug. “There’s my little adrenaline junkie.”
You laughed and shoved him off. “Eww cooties! And I used to be taller than you.”
“But not anymore, so… bite me.” Jason stuck his tongue out at you.

Simon knocked on Scott’s front door, a little nervous. They’d been nice enough in school, but maybe now that there weren’t as many witnesses around, their behaviours might have changed.
Stiles opened the door, and tilted his head. “Simon? Is everything okay?”
“I need your help. I mean the pack’s help. Please?” Simon did his best puppy dog look.
“Dude, almost all my friends are werewolves, the puppy thing does not work on me. Come on in, we’re not gonna murder you.” He stepped to the side and Simon carefully stepped into the house.
“You’ve got good timing, we’re actually in the middle of a pack meeting. Hungry?” Stiles asked, closing the door behind him.
“I’m kinda on a liquid diet, remember?” Simon said quietly, a little embarrassed.
“Oh shit, of course. I forgot. You just seem so normal. Which is actually abnormal. I’ve never met someone who likes Star Wars as much as me.” Stiles rambled, leading him into Scott’s living room, which contained every pack member.
Simon froze for a moment before moving a bit more into the room, everyone watching him expectantly. “I need your help.”
“Yeah, we heard.” Malia muttered.
“Sorry, I forgot. Normally werewolves aren’t this friendly to vampires. But there’s a vampire in the school, and I want to find them so I can help them.” Simon looked at Scott, who laughed.
“It’s either Y/N or Jason. They’re never apart but they smell like blood and vampire. Don’t know which is which though.”
Simon nodded. “Thanks. That’s all I need.”
Scott frowned. “You can stay if you want? I can sense that you need a pack. You’re welcome to join ours.”
Simon’s eyes widened. “Really?”
They all nodded, and Simon sat down, a little awkwardly.
“We’re trying to figure out what’s been attacking people.” Stiles explained. “Any theories?”

anonymous asked:

Any chance of continuing the mermaid au? Like Nico taking Will to show him the ocean and Will's obviously like 'I can't breath underwater' so Nico kisses him, and pulls him under water to drown because he's secretly been a siren this whole time 😇😂

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4


“No, no, no,” Nico scratched a dark black line through a sentence on the paper Will had printed out. “See? This is what I’m talking about,” Nico’s black pen bled ink through to the next page, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care too much. The whole article was just a jumbled mess of completely inaccurate facts that made Nico want to tug on his hair. “Sirens can be mermaids, but mermaids can’t be sirens. Not everything that swims in the ocean is there to drown men and eat them.”

This was Will’s new fascination: sirens. He had brought it up in a conversation with Nico a few weeks ago, and now all of a sudden he was producing books and articles about beautiful, half-naked women that sang men to their deaths. Of course, Nico had been absolutely appalled at what Will had brought to him. He had no idea that humans were still so whimsical. If they just stopped and actually talked to a siren, they could learn a lot more useful information.

As someone who had been friends with a handful of sirens, Nico felt that it was only his duty to help Will learn the correct information.

Will frowned at Nico’s angry black line, no doubt regretting using up the pages he was allowed to print for free for something that wasn’t going to be turned in. It didn’t matter, Nico had a printer in his room. “Sirens also aren’t all single-sexed women. They come in all different types of genders, just like normal people do. I don’t know why people think there can’t be anything other than women living in the ocean.”

Will shrugged, flipping the page in the open book next to him and pointing to a picture that portrayed a cartoon mermaid that was sitting on a rock with only two starfish covering her chest. Nico cringed inwardly. Starfish were not something you would want stuck to your body.

“You can probably blame animation for that.” Nico sighed through his nose, glancing at his phone. They had been discussing this for almost two hours, and Nico still felt Will was none the wiser. “You seem awfully passionate about this. I mean, do get me wrong, you have every right to be, it’s just… I don’t know. It seems like you’re… This is super personal, so I won’t be mad if you don’t feel comfortable answering, but like, have you ever been lured in by a siren? Are mermaids even affected by sirens? Can you be lured in?”

Absolutely not. Nico fought back the memories that surged forward, threatening to make him remember everything he had tried so hard to forget. He didn’t realize he had jerked his hand back, scratching the pen across the paper and ripping it cleanly down the middle. Will’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked between Nico and the paper, but before he could speak Nico was standing up.

“I have to go. I’m late for class.” Nico knew that Will knew he didn’t have another class today, but it was the best excuse he could come up with in his increasing panic. He heard Will sputter and stand up as Nico shoved hos books in his bag before slinging it over his shoulder.

“Nico, wait, I didn’t mean to-” but Nico was already pushing his way through the café, shoving the door open in a hurry to get air into his lungs. He wasn’t going to panic. Not here, with all these people that could see him. He needed to get back to his room.

Nico closed his eyes and he saw a flash of green eyes and black hair, a terribly beautiful memory of a voice singing of love in his ears.


Oh my god, I’m so sorry I haven’t posted a fic in so long

Cheer Up, Buttercup/Day6 (Jae)

Originally posted by bigbang-yellow-crowns

Summary: All you needed was a birthday cake, but you left with an obnoxiously cute nickname from some guy that you totally, definitely, did not like.
A/N: First Day6 fanfiction! Hope you guys enjoy!
Scenario: Bakery!AU, Fluff
Word Count: 2070

You woke to the sound of an alarm clock blaring in broken tones, high-pitched and filled with static. It was five am, and you were in hell.

Not literally, though you might as well have been. What else was a summer at home between semesters? What’s worse, you had your little brother’s twelfth birthday today; and by all accounts—at twenty-one—this should not have been an issue. Just get the kid a new bike and watch him crash it or something, right?

Nooooo. Your mom insisted that her baby boy be treated like a prince. Your older sister lucked out, having gone abroad for the summer, which left you with your family’s specific brand of crazy.

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What It’s About





Thoughts



The last book I remember reading that was as long as this was Harry Potter and the Goblet Of Fire (back when it released) and that took me four days. In contrast, Green Rider (at 500 and something pages) took me a day and it felt like just a few hours.



If I’m being completely honest, I’d never have picked up Green Rider if I’d seen it in a bookshop - at least not with the old cover(s). I guess it’s a good thing then that I didn’t see the cover when I chose this. Sometimes the best thing you can do as a reader is not see/ignore the cover and give a book a chance based just on the blurb. I’ve found some of my favourite books that way.

 

Green Rider was a pleasant surprise especially considering that high fantasy/fantasy has never high on my list of favourite genres. I was hooked from the first page, and what a rollercoaster of a book it was! Nothing goes right for Karigan in fact, everything that can go wrong does. It got to the point where I was left thinking ‘will anything ever go right for Karigan in this book?!  😂. On the other hand though, seeing how Karigan got out of the predicaments (she found herself in) was half the fun, she always did it in a unique way 😂.


Although storyline is what keeps most fantasy or high fantasy readers interested in the book, for me it was the characters – hands down. Had it not been for them I wouldn’t have been able to finish the book.


The only downside was that the descriptions were a little long but I was expecting that (it seems to be the case with most fantasy/high fantasy books) and I was able to skip the ones that got too long-winded.


I will be reading the others in the series but after a bit of a break because all of that adventure tired me out  😂

Sharknado is a Meme (Bokuto x Reader)

A/N: I’m terrible at titles. This is my fic for @serves-up and a late B-day present for Bokuto as well. It turned out longer than I thought but I got carried away with the fluff.

“Hey babe.” Bokuto called out, walking into the lounge to collapse on top of you where you had been reading.
“Long day, Bo?” You turned another page and adjusted to accommodate your boyfriend as he draped across you.
Bokuto sighed dramatically, staring up at you from beneath the book you held. He watched for a while, taking in your features that had become a comfort for him.
You glanced down at him and smiled briefly. “I was thinking we could go out tonight, see that new movie and grab some dinner afterwards. Nothing big, just the two of us.” Another page was turned and you felt Bokuto cuddle closer to your chest.
“Don’t wanna,” came the muffled reply.
You rolled your eyes and poke him in the side. “It’s your birthday, we need to do something to celebrate.”
Bokuto squirmed slightly before huffing. “Can’t we just stay here and cuddle?”
You thought of the present hiding in your room and relented. “Alright, pick a movie, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom then we can order something delivered.”
Bokuto jumped up and kissed your cheek, already moving over to the shelf where you kept a collection of different DVDs for the lazy days like today.
You stood up and stretched, a few joint cracking from lack of use. Bookmarking your place and putting the book back on it’s place in the shelf, you moved to your bedroom and grabbed the small package from where it was hidden in the adjoining bathroom. Thankfully it was small enough to fit in a pocket without being noticeable as you walked back to to the lounge where Bokuto sat, getting the movie ready to play.
“Food is on the way, I just got the usual,” he said, opening his arms so you could curl up in his side. Once comfortable, Bokuto pressed play and you laughed at the movie choice.
“I thought you said Sharknado was meme cancer?” you teased, grinning up at Bo’s flushed face.
“It’s a better meme than High School Musical.” he defended, pointedly watching the TV. You just chuckled and watched TV with him until there was a knock at the door and you paused the movie to eat.
As Bokuto was shovelling more rice into his mouth, you decided it was now or never to give him your gift. “Here,” you say, pulling the parcel from you pocket and placing it one the table. “I know you said no presents but I just thought it was about time.”
Bokuto was weary picking up the small present, easily fitting in the palm of his hand. He looked at you then opened the bits of paper to reveal a key.
“It’s just to the front door, I haven’t gotten round to copying the other keys, but I thought it was a start,” you managed to stammer out, blushing to your ears.
“It’s a key to here?” Bokuto asked, voice uncharacteristically quiet.
You nodded looking up at him with a nervous smile. “Well yeah, I was thinking that you could, you know, move in.” The end came out more as a question as you watched Bokuto realise what the key meant.
Suddenly you were tackled, back falling onto the floor you had been sitting on and a monochrome-hair man kissing you as if his life depended on it. When Bokuto finally pulled away from the kiss, he smiled, a wide grin lighting up his face. “Yes! Let’s live together!” he yelled, somehow almost tackling you further into the floor and nuzzling into your chest.
“Bo…” you coughed, “can’t breathe.” Your boyfriend jumped up at that, apologising, but still with the grin in place. “Come on, let’s finish this movie and go to bed.” You stood up with some help from Bokuto and headed back to couch, a smile playing at your lips as well.
“Happy Birthday Koutarou,” you whispered, the boy now snoring in what was now his bed as well as your own.

Could It Be?

This is Part Five in “Unforeseen”

Pairing: Crowley x Reader
Words:   1061
Based on this request:  Reader’s husband is dying. Reader makes crossroad deal with crowley 4husband2live1more yr, not the usual 10 yrs bc she can’t see her husband in pain. On the 364 day of the yr, husband summons Crowley&asks him2spare her life&take care of her. Husband can tell that Crowley feels something 4her. Crowley spares her life & continues to become friends then falls in love

A/N: If you want tagged in “Unforeseen,” send me an ask. :)

DO NOT POST MY WRITING ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION!


           You found yourself looking for him more and more often. You would go to the throne room and if he wasn’t there, you would wander the halls and corridors. You weren’t sure what was drawing you to him, but it happened quite a bit.

           As you wandered the halls looking for him yet again, you were thinking of your husband. What was Colton doing? Was he happy? Had he found someone to be happy with? Did he feel the void where you had been? You knew he didn’t remember you because of Crowley erasing all memory of you, but what did he think happened in that time?

           You thought about Colton a lot. You missed him. You missed being married and being with your love. The time you had spent away from him had been difficult, but you were finding it a little easier. You had already spent a month in hell and had found that you were enjoying being there with Crowley.

           “Looking for me?” Crowley’s voice made you jump. You hadn’t heard him coming up behind you.

           You turned around and smiled a little, “Maybe.”

Keep reading

My Father Bought a Painting

I’m sorry this is long, but I’ve a story to tell. It starts not too long ago, with something that honestly not out of the ordinary. My father took a trip. He was a traveler, not usually for pleasure, but because his work sent him to conferences all over the world. Because he was always traveling, we were never very close. I loved him, but knew very little about him, personally. By the time I was eleven, the same travels that had stolen a dad from me had taken him to six continents. It was on the trip that he made it to his sixth, his first time on the continent of Africa, he would make a decision that changed our lives: he bought a painting.

Now, there’s nothing particularly spectacular about the event itself, at least that he remembers. He was in a poorer part of Ghana, and bought it off of a street vendor. The only thing strange about it was that he wasn’t usually a fan of modern art, and this one was abstract to say the least. The background was done with some kind of thick paint, layered on to almost an inch in thickness in vivid shades of red, oranges, and yellows, looking like flames melted down to the consistency of plaster. Then, with surprising precision, it was divided into four boxes by lines of coal black paint, forming dents in the thick vermillion. Inside the boxes were very simple images, done in the same black paint. The first was simply a stick figure. The next held two of them, side by side. The third, what seemed to be some kind of insect, and in the fourth, three check-mark birds flying through the air.

Even he wasn’t exactly sure why he decided to buy it. The thing was massive, maybe six feet wide and four feet tall, and the images didn’t even have rudimentary detail. Whatever his reasoning was, when he came home from his trip to Africa, it was rolled up next to his suitcase, not seeming even slightly ominous in the rosy sunshine filtering through the trees and onto our porch.

He had my mom frame it as soon as possible, and wanted it hung in their bedroom. It, surprisingly, didn’t clash with their sage colored walls, and made the otherwise sparsely furnished room seem a little more complete. We had just moved into the big house, and finally having some decorations up was really comforting, at first.

Until it wasn’t.

I can’t say when it really began. At first, the feeling was so faint it was easy to dismiss, especially as a child with an overactive imagination. If you walked alone in the house, you’d start to get this feeling that started in the center of your back, between your shoulder blades. It reminded me of the feeling you’d get when an adult was watching you try and do something you honestly had no idea how to do, like any moment they’d speak up and yell at you for doing something wrong. The worst part of it wasn’t the feeling, however. It made me uncomfortable and jumpy, but not exactly threatened. No, the worst part was the staircase that led upstairs to my siblings and I’s bedroom. Around the same time that the feeling started, I noticed something had changed about them. The whole area just had this feeling of wrongness that I don’t really know how to describe. No matter how fast you went up or down them, you would just know that someone was watching you, someone who wanted very, very badly to watch you tumble down those stairs and hear your neck snap halfway down.

I tried speaking up about it to my mom, but she was always a skeptic despite being religious. Anytime I brought it up, she would go up and down the stairs a few times to show me that there was nothing wrong with them, and that I was just being childish. She blamed it on me watching one too many ghost movies with my friends, or on staying up too late the night before. In all honesty, I wanted to believe her: it was a much nicer explanation than that there was actually someone standing at the top of the stairs. I couldn’t make the feeling fade, though, no matter how hard I tried, nor could I avoid the staircase. For one, my bedroom was on the second story, and for another, our front door was at the bottom of the stairs, so even if I slept on the downstairs couch I’d still have to pass by them every day. I comforted myself by the fact that, even if there was something there, it wasn’t physical and couldn’t do anything to me even if it wanted to. I didn’t believe in ghosts, and thought that demons were just biblical creatures that couldn’t leave the confines of hell. I simply resigned myself to running up the stairs and locking my bedroom door, and pretending everything was fine.

One day, my mom let me have a few of my friends over. Elaine, Gwen, and Lizzy were my three closest, and the prospect of having them over all but made me forget about the staircase and the odd feeling in the house. After school we all went up to my bedroom, giggling about our favorite books and falling all over ourselves to talk about the latest gossip. Elaine was a diabetic, so having to get her a snack late at night wasn’t uncommon, and when she asked, I obediently trotted down the stairs to get her something to eat.

In the kitchen, the clock read 3:08, the fridge-light bathing our kitchen in a comforting glow as I poured milk and cereal to bring back upstairs for my friend. The feeling was back, but I had gotten good at ignoring it as I moved through the house. I had to walk back up the stairs slowly as I carried the bowl, the first time I had done so since the feeling started. That’s when I heard it. Voices.

I mean, I could hear my friends talking upstairs, but these voices were different. They were grown up, and were very quiet like they were whispering, except their tone was conversational. It sounded sort of like someone had turned down the volume on a TV show to the point I could only catch a few words: house, girl, run, and laugh. I thought for a moment that someone might have left the TV on, but you would have been able to see the glow from the staircase if someone had. It was pitch dark, aside from the light of my bedroom down the hall. I wasn’t an idiot, I only listened for a second before continuing to walk up the stairs, still slow due to the milk and cereal. It was easy enough to just ignore the voices, until someone laughed.

It was a bit louder than the voices, and it wasn’t exactly sinister at first. Just a laugh that continued for a long time. Again, it could have been my friends, except it was a grown man’s laugh. I kept climbing the stairs, but something was off; it was taking a lot longer to keep going than it usually did, even at a slow pace. The laugh just kept going and going, the whispering voices growing louder in volume, but I still couldn’t quite make out words. At this point, I was thoroughly frightened, trying to hold on to the cereal bowl and walk a little faster up the stairs, jaw trembling with fear, wondering how the voices and laughter weren’t waking up anyone else in the house. My friends hadn’t come to see what was going on, and they didn’t come, not even when the man’s laugh grew to be booming, hurting my ears, drowning out the voices. I was nauseated, giving up on trying to preserve the milk in the bowl and just sprinting up the stairs, nearly tripping as I went up them and running down the hall into my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

Lizzy and Gwen were still talking and laughing on the same subject, as though not much time had gone by, barely even noticing as I burst into the room. Elaine, however, sat on my bed, staring right at me as I entered the room. Her face was pale, knuckles white on my bedsheets as our eyes met. I opened my mouth and shut it, the question coming out of her mouth before I could ask it.

“You heard it, too?”

They left the next day, Lizzy and Gwen confused as Elaine and I both refused to talk about what we had just heard. It wasn’t that we didn’t trust them, but Lizzy was easily scared and Gwen was somewhat obsessed with psychology and would probably have tried to label us both with a mental illness that was somehow connected to each others thoughts. It was the validation that I wasn’t the only person to hear it is the only thing that kept me from trying to tell my mother: if it wasn’t just me hearing it, I wasn’t going crazy, which meant all she would do was dismiss it as both of us having odd imaginations. Maybe I should have tried, but at age eleven, the last thing I wanted was to get in trouble again.

Nothing happened to that degree again for quite a while. I let myself be lulled into a sense of false-security, dismissing what I had heard and felt as the TV and paranoia from the feeling that still lingered in the house. I comforted myself by saying that, even if it had been something, it couldn’t physically do anything to me. Life went on.

One summer morning, I was sitting on the bench on our front-porch, thoroughly immersed in a good book. There was a light breeze going, blowing my frizzy hair into a halo around my face, pages turning rapidly as I got caught up in the plot. When I heard footsteps on the stairs inside, just beyond the front door, I didn’t pay much attention, nor when the door opened halfway. I only looked up when no one stepped outside, eyebrows furrowing.

“Lark?” I said the name of my sister, assuming she had come to find me and tell me lunch was ready. Instead of getting a response, the door simply shut slowly. I stared a moment before returning to my book, the fact that she had changed her mind about coming inside not particularly concerning. A moment later, however, the door slowly opened again, just a crack, this time. I couldn’t see inside, the bench on the same side of the door as the hinges. As it shut again, I decided just to dismiss it as the breeze, pulling it all the way shut so it wouldn’t creak open again. When it did, this time a good deal faster, I looked up irritably. “Lark.” This time, the door slammed shut, hard enough to make me jump. I blinked in surprise, watching as it re-opened halfway once more. “Luke,” I tried again, guessing at my brother. If it was him, he didn’t answer, the door shutting and opening faster, now. “Cut it out.” No response. “Dude, it isn’t funny…” The door was opening and closing without pause, now, hitting its frame harder each time, like someone was just swinging it on it’s hinges to get a rise out of me. Tired of having my reading interrupted, I stood with all the fury of an older sister, grabbing the door and yanking it all the way open.

There was no one there.

It took a moment for the fact to register, my eyes going wide in surprise as I tried to understand what I was seeing, or, rather, the lack of it. No one stood inside the doorway, or in the TV room, and no one was running up the stairs. It was as though the door had simply been slamming itself open and shut on its own accord. I felt my stomach drop, calling out in a trembling voice in a vague hope it had been one of my siblings playing some stupid prank.

“Lark…? Luke? Maggie?” I called, stepping inside tensely. No one responded, so I swallowed, moving into the house and down the hall to stick my head in my dad’s office. He was seated at his desk, headphones on as he played a video game on his computer, oblivious to the outside world. I blinked, stepping out of the office and moving into the kitchen, where my mom was on the phone with our grandmother, chatting as she made dinner. She looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“Where are Luke and Maggie?” I asked, my mom’s reply being a nod towards the backdoor. I walked across the kitchen and dining room to stick my head outside. They were all up in the climbing tree, thoroughly immersed in their game, Lark on the highest branch. There was no one else in the house, and no way they could have made it from the door all the way through the house and up the tree at the back of our expansive yard in the micro-second it had taken for me to open the door. I did what any normal eleven year old would do: I burst into tears.

My mother came into the room, offering anxious consolation and confusion as I blubbered out my story, letting out a little laugh as it finished. She offered forehead kisses and a hug, telling me it was just the wind and that I shouldn’t let things like that scare me so badly. I was too frightened to be angry or to explain there was no physical way the wind could have slammed and opened the door so quickly and only opened it halfway, and just went limp in her arms. I wanted nothing more than to get out of the house. It wasn’t the fact that a door had opened and shut so quickly that scared me. It was the fact that, whatever was watching me in our house, it could affect the physical world.

I started avoiding being near the stairs at all from then on, and avoided sitting near the front door.

Things only got weirder from there. It began as just seeing something moving in the corner of your eye, typically in the doorway or out the window, a little blur of black as if someone had passed by. I didn’t say anything about it, knowing that, no matter what I said, no one would believe me. Despite everyone claiming they didn’t notice anything, there was something tense in the air around the house. My mom began looking a little paler, a little thinner. My dad started coming home a bit late from work and just staying in his office. My siblings didn’t like going upstairs alone at night. We stopped inviting people over. But we didn’t talk about it, didn’t acknowledge that there was something wrong in our house.

Whatever was moving in our doorways and windows was gaining presence. As weeks wore on it went from simply seeing it in the corner of my eye to looking directly at it as it walked by. It was a black man, and I don’t mean African American, I mean a pitch-black silhouette of a man walking through our hallways. One night, I looked up to see him standing in the doorway of my bedroom, just watching. Most often, he would be standing at the top of the stairs. As long as you didn’t look at him, he would just stand still, just observe things you were doing. If you did take the chance to glance up, he would turn, slowly, and just start walking. If he rounded a corner, by the time you rounded it yourself, he would be gone.

It sounds like something that would scare the crap out of an eleven year old, but as time wore on, it just became normal. I stopped looking when I saw movement in the corner of my eye. It never did anything but watch, and soon just became part of the scenery in the house. I thought I was the only person that could see him, but once, as I played with my brother in his bedroom, he tapped my shoulder to bring my attention to the doorway, where the man stood. As I looked, the silhouette man turned and walked away, my brother and I sharing a glance. His expression was relieved that he wasn’t the only person seeing it. Mine was simply exhausted. I had realized a long time ago that whatever was watching us was very real.

A few weeks later, I heard my parents arguing about it. It was the first time I had heard either one of them acknowledge that there was something going on, but from the sound of it, my dad had been trying to talk to my mom about it for some time. It went something like this.

“I’m telling you, it’s real.”

“That’s impossible, maybe you’re tired, maybe you imagined it!”

“I didn’t imagine it, you don’t just imagine things more than once!”

“You’re paranoid! There’s nothing in this house! Even if there was, what would you want me to do about it!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know! I just want you to stop acting like I’m crazy!”

“Do you realize how crazy this sounds?!”

“I’ve seen something!”

It was the first time I had considered trying to talk to my dad about it instead of my mom. She couldn’t let herself believe in something that wasn’t physical or strictly from our religion. It was just too hard to let go. My father, however, had always been more open minded. A man of science, yes, but also willing to trust what his gut was telling him.

I couldn’t quite make up my mind until, one day, I looked out the widow and the silhouette was standing just outside of the glass. Instead of walking away, it just stood there, staring at me. I stared back, heart pounding, holding my breath. Now that we were looking at each other, a feeling like ice shot through my body. It radiated the same exact feeling that had been lurking in our house for months, mixed with the same mocking hate that was concentrated on our staircase. What seemed like hours later, it turned, and simply passed through our fence. It didn’t open the gate or go over it, just walked through. I felt sick to my stomach at the contact, fleeing to sit in my dad’s office until he got home, making my brother come with me.

I honestly don’t remember exactly what I said. I think I let my little brother do most of the talking, though I doubt a nine year old was very convincing as he rambled about a shadow-man upstairs. My dad didn’t say he believed us, but, unlike my mother, he didn’t try and just explain it away. His face got very serious, and eventually he let us leave the office. I don’t think I ever regretted telling someone something as much as I regretted telling my dad about seeing whatever was in our house, because from that day on, things got much, much worse.

At least before there was some semblance of normalcy in our house. I was terrified to be alone, now. Sometimes you’d go upstairs only to have every door in the hallway slam shut, leaving you feeling trapped and claustrophobic. I didn’t dare walk room to room in the house- instead, I got places by running full speed, curling up on a chair and holding as still as possible when I entered a room, unsure the heavy  breathing was my own. Nightmares of rotting bodies and bloodstained rooms I didn’t recognize often woke me with anxious tears. My mom began finding broken glass in places where nothing had shattered, cabinet doors flung open, clothes dragged out of drawers and strewn across the house. You’d be surprised how many signs of something terribly wrong can be dismissed as misbehaving children.

One morning, I came down to find my dad enraged and yelling at my sisters. He whipped around when I came downstairs, getting in my face and grabbing me by my shoulders.

“What were you doing downstairs last night?” He demanded, breath hot on my face. I blinked, both started and puzzled. I hadn’t woken up last night, which was odd, considering the nightmares.

“I-I didn’t-…” I tried to explain, silenced by his furious look.

“I saw you!” He spat. “Dancing in the living room! What in god’s name were you doing up in the middle of the night? What the hell were you saying?”

I tried to get something out, too scared to form words, my mom taking her turn to snap at my dad. “You said whoever you saw was wearing green. Look, her pajamas are red, it was just a bad dream!”

He couldn’t explain it.

He swore, though, that either me or my sister had been standing in the living room, hands raised to the ceiling as we swayed and sang something he couldn’t understand under our breath. He had the look of a man who was convinced beyond doubt, and the fact that he was dead-set on it being the truth is what scared me the most. I didn’t remember waking up or going downstairs, but something told me he wasn’t just going crazy.

Two nights later I had a nightmare and decided to sleep in my parent’s bedroom, on the floor. There wasn’t room in the bed itself, so I just brought my blankets downstairs and huddled on their floor to go to sleep. By now, their bedroom was the least scary thing about the house, and I fell asleep pretty easily. It wasn’t until I woke up in the middle of the night that something would go wrong.

When I opened my eyes, it felt sluggish. My whole body felt like it was moving too slowly as I rolled over, like it didn’t quite want to obey my commands. I blinked in the darkness, noticing something strange: I wasn’t in the room I had fallen asleep in. I say it nonchalantly because, honestly, nothing seemed out of the ordinary to me as I woke up in the wrong place. There was this strange feeling of calm as I looked around the unfamiliar room, and up at the strange bed, before closing my eyes and falling back asleep. I would have just dismissed it as a dream, aside from the fact that, in the morning, the bed I had set up for myself was outside of my parent’s closed bedroom door. No one had an explanation for how my little set-up had been moved, looking just the way it had last night, outside of the room. No one tried to explain. I don’t think any of us really wanted to know.

That phrase they always use on paranormal TV shows, that people just try to explain away occurrences they don’t understand and if they can’t, just try to forget them, is true.

This sort of thing became normal. Whenever my dad would go to sleep in his bedroom, he would either wake up to the sound of someone in the living room, or worse wake up to feeling someone’s hand on his own. Sometimes, we’d be sitting at the dinner table and hear like someone was running full speed up and down the upstairs hall, except on four appendages instead of two, as though they were crawling. Our dog, Athena, stayed close to one of us at all time, tail between her legs, whining loudly whenever we went upstairs. One day, we woke up to find our cat shaken to death. We thought it might have been a neighborhood dog, aside from the fact that there were no teeth marks or blood drawn. It looked as though someone had grabbed him, shaken him around until he stopped moving, and set him neatly on our porch. I thought things couldn’t get any more traumatic after finding the cat like that, but I was wrong.

I was trying to fall asleep in my bedroom at the end of the hallway. I had gotten used to hearing voices, to ignoring footsteps or a passing shadow. Just after the nightmares had started, my dad had hung a cross by my door as a strange form of a night-light, and looking at it usually brought enough comfort to doze. Right as I was about to fall asleep, however, a shadow ran across my room. It wasn’t unusual, seeing as my window faced the street and driver’s headlights usually cast odd lights through the shade, but it moved the wrong direction. I blinked sleepily awake, bringing the blanket closer around my shoulders. I didn’t want to move, knowing something felt wrong. Then, it crossed the room again. My eyes watched it carefully as I half-sat up, heart beginning to pound. My bedroom was usually a safe haven from strange things happening, despite it being connected to the hallway and staircase where things were worst. The shadow darted across my room again, before slipping underneath my bed. I held very, very still before moving to lie down again. When you’re a kid, the safest thing always seems to be just to hide under your blankets and pray nothing happened.

Then, the bed moved.

Just a few inches to the left, it was enough to stop my breath for a moment, childishly shutting my eyes. I remember the thought ‘it’s only a dream’ running through my head again and again, knuckles white as I held onto the sheets. The bed jolted an inch or two to the right, this time, before back into its position.  

I felt like I was going to be sick. It was one of those times when you just know that, if you don’t do something, things are going to end very, very badly for you. I opened one eye as the bed began shifting again, a little bit faster. Something was pushing up underneath my mattress, like someone was lying under the bed and pushing it back and forth. On my nightstand was the little flip phone my parents had bought for when they left me alone with my siblings, hardly visible in the darkness of the bedroom. I thought briefly about screaming for help, but the bed’s movement, getting faster, made me too afraid that any noise would just send this thing, whatever the hell it was, into a rage. So, little by little, I stuck my hand out from underneath the blanket, trying to stifle a whimper as the bed slid back and forth, back and forth, shaking slightly as it drug scratches into the paint on my bedroom wall.

It felt like forever, but my hand closed around the phone.

I pulled it underneath the blanket with me, trying to shield the light from the rest of the room, whimpering and trying to hold back terrified tears as it drug back and forth faster. It took eons to type four letters into the box, ‘HELP’, and to hit send to both of my parents. I shut the phone, clinging onto the sheets as I let out a little sob of both relief and terror. As soon as I let it out, I felt something grab my leg through the sheets. Even through the fleece, it was cold, hand tight around my leg. I screamed, this time. There wasn’t any point in trying not to, anymore.

It brought my mother running, and as soon as I heard her footsteps on the stairs, the thing let go. Everything returned to the still of nighttime, except for an odd, metallic scent on the air as my mom pushed open my bedroom door, rushing over to me. I couldn’t stop crying, terrified out of my wits, the bed still pushed too far over to one side. She wrapped me up in a hug, tried to calm me down, but I refused to be consoled. I ended up curling up on the couch downstairs, still sobbing softly, numb after that kind of intense fear.

If I were writing this to be entertaining, I would say we flew into a rage the next day, calling priests and paranormal experts alike. We didn’t, though. I think that, even before this straw that broke the camel’s back, he knew what was causing all of this. It was the same thing that he slept underneath at night, the place where vivid dreams of violence were dreampt and young girls dancing were seen. His face was deadpan and strained the next day as he opened the door to his bedroom and moved to the wall, lifting the massive painting down from the place it had rested for the past year. The paint on the wall behind it looked faded, as though it had drawn even the color from what it touched. He didn’t even take it out of the frame, just carrying the hulking work of art out of our house and down to the road. I was terrified something would lash out at us when he did so, but nothing did: the most that changed was the feeling in the house. It felt like something had gone out of the house with them, something that had filled our home to the brim before until there was room for nothing else.

He set it by the road, looking like he had just carried a mountain with him, and went back inside.

I decided to watch from my bedroom window until the garbage men came, but they never got the chance. Someone pulled up, looked at the painting for a few moments, put it in their car and drove away. Maybe I should have stopped them, but I wasn’t even sure it was the source of the problem. Besides, I didn’t think they’d believe a kid rambling about ghosts and demons anyways.

Our problem stopped, for the most part. The feeling lingered in our house for a while before feeling, for the first time in months, normal. Things still are strange, sometimes. The stairs still make me nervous, and sometimes, at night, it feels like someone might be watching from the bedroom. The danger, though, was gone.

I can’t explain what happened those couple of years ago, I really wish I could. I used to theorize that whoever had painted the picture had also dabbled in witchcraft or demonology, or that it had been owned by a possessed man. Part of me wonders, though, if there’s another anwser. Perhaps part of who we are is caught in the things we create, bits and pieces of our souls caught on paintbrushes and plastered to a canvas. I honestly think that idea scares me more, because the thought of a man being so wholly evil as to want nothing more than to watch a child tumble down stairs and hear it’s neck snap is terrifying. The thought that he could on long after death, preserved brushstrokes is more-so.

I’d almost prefer to believe in demons.

- Jay

Turn the Page

Answering the call for Pines family moments, consider this…

The mystery twins have already departed for Piedmont, but the Stan twins are still working on getting their boat plans off the ground. They’re staying in the Mystery Shack during final preparations. This means they spend a good portion of time plotting together, gathering equipment, having memory sessions for Stan… but Ford still spends a decent amount of time down in the lab by himself.

There’s a lot of machinery that needs to be dismantled and taken out, and he’s still working out which things he wants to save and which things he should toss. He doesn’t tell the others to stay away anymore (outside of when he’s handling things that have vaguely face-melting properties when handled incorrectly), but Stan still sticks to the upper floor. Ford assumes the lab isn’t full of fun memories for Stan, so he leaves it alone and continues to work solo. Until a day when he takes a break and flips through his own pre-portal entries of the restored third journal,

Ford lands on the page where he’s writing about asking Stanley to come. “It’s ironic that the only person I can trust is the least trustworthy person I know…”

He winces. Yeah, that was… pretty harsh, in retrospect. He’s slightly embarrassed that it took him so many years to come around from that point of view. But that’s all in the past, and they’re moving on now. They don’t have to worry about that kind of–

His eyes skip to the doodle of the science fair project he left at the bottom of the page. Funny. He remembers drawing it, but he doesn’t remember scribbling it out.

Ford stiffens, realization dawning over his face.

Crap. Stan read this page.

He has no clue when it happened, but Ford isn’t sure that matters. He feels awful. After a few moments of hemming and hawing about whether or not to dredge this up, he stops pacing, sighs, and decides he owes his brother another apology.

Stan waves the effort off initially. “You’re the one askin’ me to live in close quarters with you, for extended periods of time, on arctic waters. It’s fine, Ford. Obviously, you trust me now.”

Ford acknowledges this, a little relieved it’s going so well.

Then Stan adds, more softly, that it wasn’t entirely wrong of younger Ford to think that way. He breaks eye contact for a moment. “…I did end up pushing you through,” he says quietly. Holds up a hand before Ford can interject. “It was an accident. We both messed up. I get that. It’s just… after I got burned, you stopped fighting. And I didn’t. I was angry and in pain, and for a second, I just wanted to hurt you back. Heh. Guess I overdid it.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “…Ford, I could’ve killed you. And even though all I wanted to do was to take that back, it took three decades to do it. Thirty freaking years of your life. I did everything I could think of, but…” He shrugs, straightening and rolling his shoulders. “Anyways. I guess I’m sayin’ that I never expected you to look up to me.  When I found your third book, felt kinda like I deserved that part. I’m just glad we’re past it now.”

He nudges Ford’s shoulder, trying to lighten the moot. “It’s good to have the brains of the operation back. Y'know?”  

Ford hesitates. “Stanley,” he says, frowning. “…I do look up to you.”

“Pfff.”

“No, really. I’ll admit, it took me a long time to come around. Even after you- well, especially after you opened the portal.” Ford rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, remembering a page he wrote after his return- one he hopes Stan hasn’t read. Something about the maintenance work Stan ran on the portal looking like a monkey had done it.

“I had college instructors, colleagues, research publications, and an interdimensional demon that went into the knowledge that let me figure out the portal,” Ford continues. “You didn’t have a high school diploma or even one third my personal notes. Yet, somehow, you taught yourself enough to keep everything functional.”

Ford remembers seeing the wear marks on Journal 1. Pages long since dog-eared from hundreds of re-reads.

“You never wore glasses before,” he comments. “Even though you needed them. I’m going to take a stab in the dark here and say you caved because of all the research you needed to do.”

Stan shrugs uncomfortably. “…You write real small, okay? So I got some glasses. So what?”

“You changed a lot about yourself so you could help me.” Ford waves at the shack. “You changed everything. You kept working at fixing a mistake- our mistake- for years after I’d given up entirely. You brought me home.”

Ford rests a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “You had to become ‘the brains of the operation.’ And you did that, all on your own.” A small smile. “I’m proud of you, Stan.“ 

Stan returns the smile hesitantly. “Heh, thanks. So is this gonna be one of those touchy-feely moments where we both hug and start- Oh boy, here we go.”

Ford hugged him on impulse and is making a concerted effort not to regret said decision. He feels incredibly uncomfortable- this isn’t a form of contact he’s had much of for a very long while- but he knows Stan is fond of it. After a moment, Stan confirms this by returning the hug, and Ford feels himself relax into it a little.

Okay, maybe it’s not that uncomfortable after all.

“I’m proud of you too, Poindexter,” Stan says quietly. “Mostly, though… I’m just glad you’re back.”

Ford chuckles. “Yeah. Me too.”

From that point on, Stan starts coming down to the lab to help Ford dismantle and move things. Ford doesn’t quite connect the dots… but Stan has always mentally attributed that space to Ford alone. He pushed that out of mind while working solo, but after his brother returned, he felt suddenly out of place and awkward surrounded by all the “smart-guy stuff.” He’s always kind of thought of himself as the dumb twin, after all.

That little encouragement from Ford goes a long way. Stan stops selling himself so short, and he’s able to forgive himself for something he didn’t even realize he was still holding against himself.

Stan moves the journals out of the way, one day, while they’re clearing out another corner. Journal 1 gleams up at him.

He doesn’t give it a passing thought.

((Also, this is the anon from the All Star family tattoos thing. ^_^;; I don’t have a tumblr yet, so pardon while I just submit these enormous things to you directly.))

-This is a real sweet ficlet!! Thank you so much for sharing! I honestly cannot get enough of these two old sea grunks talking it out and getting along with each other!
Secret Sketchbook

Saw this idea on @rilayaaus and sorta went for it. This is my first shot at fanfiction so don’t judge too harshly haha.

Maya’s POV

The golden rays of sunshine poured through the bay window as Riley and I lay on her bed. She was still sleeping but I had been awake for a few minutes and didn’t want to wake her up as she looked really cute when she slept. I slowly got out of the bed and went to my backpack to grab my sketchbook. I walked over to the bay window, sat down, and attempted to draw Riley and the way the light was hitting her. The pose she was in instantly reminded me of the “paint me like one of your French girls” scene in Titanic and made me let out a slight giggle. It probably wasn’t the best thing to think of when looking at my best friend but I couldn’t help it. Riley had been there for me when no one else was. She understood me and my pessimistic outlook on most things and pushed me to be a better person everyday. Not to mention, she was drop dead gorgeous. How could I not end up falling in love with her? I wasn’t stupid though, I knew we would never end up together. She fell for a new boy every year or so and it always became the main topic of conversation between us. I was pretty positive Riley would never fall for a girl, especially not me. Of course, she could never find out about these feelings, they could ruin our friendship and that was not something I was willing to put in jeopardy. I’d just stick to drawing her in my sketchbook and being her best friend.

Riley shifted around to the other side of her pillow. I noticed I was spending more time looking at her than actually drawing, I had basically just drawn her face with the gold lighting and that was it. She moved her hand around on my side of the bed and slowly sat up, apparently noticing my absence. I quickly shoved the sketchbook back into my backpack.

“Peaches, what are you doing over there?” She asked, still sleepy.

“Oh I just didn’t want to wake you up, figured I’d sit here and think for a bit.”

“Think? About what?” She was intrigued now.

“Ya know, just life. Sunshine, school, what great friends I have.” I looked at her smiling and she smiled back happily.

“Well if I know you like I do,” she said, “you were probably drawing, am I right?”

“Ah you got me.” We both giggled.

“How come you never let me see your sketchbooks?” She asked curiously. Well…how was I supposed to answer that? Was I supposed to be completely honest and say “because they’re all full of you” ?

“I don’t know, I guess I just never thought about it. You probably wouldn’t like most of the sketches anyway. My paintings are a lot better.”

“Of course I’d like them! You know I would! Come on let me see.”

“Riles, I don’t know if that’s the best id-” Riley reached into the backpack and grabbed the sketchbook before I could stop her. “Riley please, this is just going to make things awkward.”

“Why? Are you hiding something from me?” Before I had the chance to answer Riley was flipping through the pages of the book. Her face was pleasantly surprised at first when she saw the first few drawings of her but as she kept flipping it was obvious she became embarrassed.

“Maya this whole book is of me. Why?” I felt my face heat up. I looked down at my feet. Should I tell her? No, I can’t do that. It would be selfish, the friendship is more important than my stupid romantic feelings.

“Because you’re always available to draw and it’s good practice.” Riley raised an eyebrow. I knew she didn’t buy it.

“Maya, what’s going on?” She gave me the Riley look and I knew there was no more keeping it from her, she was onto me.

“Look Riles, I didn’t ever want you to know this because I know that probably nothing will come out of it and I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship, but I think I’ve kept this too long from you and it’s time to just say it.” I paused, taking a deep breath, and continued. “I’m in love with you. All those years you fell for all of those guys, I always thought I felt sad because it left me a little lonely but now I realize that it’s because I didn’t want anyone else to be with you. You’ve been there for me when not even my own family was. You’re the best person on the entire planet in my opinion and I’m completely and unconditionally in love with you. I understand if you don’t want to be around me any more because of this, I know it’s awk-”

Riley shut me up by grabbing my face and pulling it quickly towards hers. Our lips met and I could feel my head spinning out of control. Her lips were so soft and comforting, I had never felt anything this good. We started breathing in perfect rhythm with each other, alternating breaths. I grabbed Riley’s waist with my arms and pulled her closer. Just when I thought I was going to pass out from excitement, confusion, and lack of oxygen we slowly pulled apart. I looked into her eyes, confused.

“Wait…y-you like me?” I managed to stutter out.

“Of course I like you, Peaches. I’ve had feelings for a while too but I didn’t want to ruin us.”

I smiled harder than I ever had in my life. I reached and took her hand gently. “I don’t think anything could ruin us.” We both smiled and this time I pulled her in for a kiss that was even better than the last.

“Oh by the way, I really liked your sketchbook.” She said, smirking.

“You’re such a goof…” I grabbed her and we kissed until we heard Topanga yell at us from the kitchen saying we were going to be late for school. We both laughed and smiled at each other.

“Well…at least today will be fun.” I said to Riley. She blushed and we continued to get ready for school, but we both knew we wouldn’t be able to focus for one second that day.

My 2013 in Reading

I remembered to track 118 of the books I read in 2013 and I had thoughts about all of them. I love reading. 

My top ten books:

Tampa by Alissa Nutting
Ghana Must Go by Taiye Selasi
The Book of My Lives by Aleksandar Hemon
Unmastered: A Book on Desire by Katherine Angel
The Isle of Youth by Laura van den Berg
Alone With Other People by Gabby Bess
Meaty by Samantha Irby
The Men We Reaped by Jesmyn Ward
Long Division by Kiese Laymon
Milk & Filth by Carmen Gimenez Smith

Ranking is so arbitrary so I am not ranking these books. I am simply saying these are the books, published in 2013, that have stayed with me most vividly. They are the books that made me gasp and cringe and laugh and nod wildly with recognition and stay up way too late because I could not put the damn book down. 

As I read Tampa, I felt like I was beholding something brilliant. I do consider Alissa a dear friend so, full disclosure, but that does not bear on my response to the book. It was just so bold and well written. The book made me want to genuflect. In truth, I did genuflect, but on my bed, because the floor in my apartment is really hard.

When I began Ghana Must Go, I wasn’t sure where the book was going. This is certainly not a perfect book but Selasi gains confidence with each page and when she hits her stride, the book becomes magnificent. I found myself sobbing as I read this book and when I finished, I held it to my chest and rocked because I finally understood where the book was going. I was intensely moved by how Selasi got me there.

I first learned of Aleksandar Hemon when I read an essay about the death of his baby daughter in The New Yorker. When I got an ARC of The Book of My Lives,  I dove into it eagerly and found it to be one of the most intelligent books I’ve ever read. It’s also a book that offers a fresh perspective on the complexities of difference and immigration and grief and joy. And goddamn. The writing in this book is so fucking crisp. At times I wanted to punch Hemon for being so good. I did not, of course. I’m a book lover, not a fighter.

Unmastered by Katherine Angel is a beautiful, beautiful book both in word and as a physical object. An intense but controlled eroticism runs throughout the book and I particularly appreciated the fragmentary nature of the prose and the sense of a writer grappling with big questions rather eloquently.

Laura van den Berg is an exceptional short story writer. I loved her first collection with the super long title I am too lazy to type out here and I loved The Isle of Youth. Every story was satisfying and well written. My favorite story, which is one I teach, originally appeared in Ploughshares. In “I Looked For You, I Called Your Name,” a couple’s honeymoon begins with an emergency landing, “a hard, screeching wallop that knocked us around in our seats,” and doesn’t really get better from there.  The couple seems desperately ill suited and the narrator is infuriating in the most compelling way. Love love love.

The other five of my top ten, I’ve written about elsewhere and such but suffice it to say, they each offer something necessary to the art of letters and to the act of living.

Books Just Outside My Top Ten

The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer
Searching for Zion by Emily Raboteau
Where Did You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple
Don’t Kiss Me by Lindsay Hunter
The Name of the Nearest River by Alex Taylor
Brit Lit by D. Gilson
Whipped by Richey Laurentiis
Sea Creatures by Susanna Daniel 

If You Only Read Three Books of Poetry Read These

The Self Unstable by Elisa Gabbert
She Has a Name by Kamilah Aisha Moon
When My Brother was an Aztec by Natalie Diaz

A Book I Loved So Much I Get Teary and Turned On Just Thinking About It

Meeting the Master by Elissa Wald came out quite some time ago but I love this book to the ends of the earth and back. It is smart and sexy and captures the complexities of submission perfectly. I particularly appreciated the focus on the mental and emotional, more than the physical nuances of submission. I recall entire scenes from this book on nearly a daily basis. I can’t stop re-reading it. There is this story about a woman seeing a therapist and it’s all a mind game and then there is a revelation at the end that made me gasp and then feel such kinship with the narrator. Elissa Wald is a masterful (no pun intended) writer and if I were to create a literary canon, this book would be part of it. I LOVED THIS BOOK SO MUCH. Okay. Had to get that out.

Books Written Just for a Girl Like Me

Nine and Half Weeks by Elizabeth McNeil
Damage by Josephine Hart

A Book That Burned Slow But When It Got Hot In My Mind, Goddamn, Goddamn (get it? hahaha)

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozie Adiche

A Book I Read Because I Saw the Movie Preview and Had to Know What Was Going On and Then It Was Terrible.

Safe Haven by Nicholas Sparks

Books That Confounded Me but Still Left Me Struck

Mr. Fox by Helen Oyeyemi
An Extraordinary Theory of Objects by Stephanie LaCava 

A Book that Disturbed Me to the Depths of My Soul and Also Began Weirdly

Daddy Love by Joyce Carol Oates

A Book That Made Me Think And Want to Be a Better Writer/Thinker 

No Man’s Land by Eula Biss

Books I Truly Did Not Care For And Was Kind of Angry At

Tenth of December by George Saunders
The Love Song of Jonny Valentine by Teddy Wayne
Flimsy Little Plastic Miracles by Ron Currie Jr
Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell
American Dervish by Ayad Akhtar
Inferno by Dan Brown (honestly, symbology? SIR!)

A Book I Was Super Ambivalent (and a little HMMM) About Though I Do Respect the Craft & Research and Time the Writer Put Into the Work and Also I Profiled The Writer

The Son by Philipp Meyer

A Memoir That Made Me Cry and Also Feel A Bit Irritated and then Guilty for Being Irritated

A House in the Sky by Amanda Lindhout and Sara Corbett

Books I Reviewed or Otherwise Covered (and mostly enjoyed) and I Am Too Lazy to Link

Red Moon by Ben Percy
Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg
The Virgins by Pamela Erens
When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams
The Studbook by Monica Drake
Rivers by Michael Farris Smith
The Residue Years by Mitchell S. Jackson
Dirty : Dirty an anthology edited by Debra Di Blasi featuring art by Mugi Takei
Who Asked You? by Terry McMillan
High Rise Stories edited by Audrey Petty
At Night We Walk in Circles by Daniel Alarcon
Pain, Parties, Work: Sylvia Plath In New York, 1953 by Elizabeth Winder
Furious Cool: Richard Pryor and the World That Made Him by David Henry and Joe Henry (This one I did not like at all at all)
Love is  Canoe by Ben Schrank
Fairytales for Lost Children by Diriye Osman
Throne of the Crescent Moon by Saladin Ahmed
Salsa Nocturna by Daniel José Older
The Syria Dilemma
The Bridge of Beyond by Simone Schwarz-Bart
White Girls by Hilton Als

Books I Read For This Awesome Piece I’ve Been Working On For Like a Fucking Year

Inferno by Eileen Myles
Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner (I also hated this one, just have to get that off my chest)
Light While There is Light by Keith Waldrop
Deliverance by James Dickey
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Graceland by Chris Abani 

A Book I Appreciated on the Sentence and Conceptual Level That I Wanted More From

In The House Upon the Dirt Between the Lake and the Woods by Matt Bell

A Book I Read That I Am Still VERY VERY MAD ABOUT Because NO THE MAIN CHARACTER WOULD NOT DO THAT AT ALL NOT EVER

Revenge Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger

Other Books I Enjoyed

You Are One of Them by Elliott Holt
All That Is by James Salter
And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini
Sparta by Roxana Robinson
We Live in the Water by Jess Walter
Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes
Commercial Fiction by Dave Housley
Subtle Bodies by Norman Rush
Everything Begins and Ends at the Kentucky Club by Benjamin Alire SaenzSpeedboat by Renata Adler
The Revolution of Every Day by Cari Luna
The Kind of Girl by Kim Henderson
Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote
Mother. Wife. Sister. Human. Warrior. Falcon. Yardstick. Turban. Cabbage. by Rob Delaney
How to Make Love to a Negro by Dany Laferriere
Bough Down by Karen Green
Figures For an Apocalypse by Edward Mullany
Best American Essays 2011 edited by Edwidge Danticat
The Hypothetical Girl by Elizabeth Cohen

Books I’m Still Not Sure About That Made Me Think (In a Good Way)

We the Animals by Justin Torres
What Purpose Did I Serve in Your Life by Marie Calloway
Taipei by Tao Lin
The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud 

A Haunting, Excellent Book With a Breathtaking Ending

Fault Line by Christa Desir

The Fifty Shades of Grey Imitation I Truly Regret Reading That Makes FSOG Look Like a Literary Masterpiece

Anything He Wants by Sara Fawkes

A Book For Which My Response Is Not At All Surprising

The Dying Animal by Philip Roth

A Book That Is Whimsical and Strangely Affecting

Acorn by Yoko Ono

Meh

Brief Encounters with the Enemy: Fiction by Said Sayrafiezadeh
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
The Silent Wife by ASA Harrison
Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson
Very Recent History by Choire Sicha
Still Missing by Chevy Stevens
I’d Know You Anywhere by Laura Lippman
Joyland by Stephen King
Soy Sauce for Beginners by Kirstin Chen (worth checking out, just wanted more from this) 

Very Good Poetry

Amores Gitano by Roberto Carlos Garcia
Man vs Sky by Corey Zeller

BLURBED

Saint Monkey by Jacinda Townsend
Goodnight Nobody by Ethel Rohan

A Book With an Awesome Bad Ass Woman Protagonist Who Was Left Out of the Movie For Reasons I Will Never Understand/BURN IT ALL DOWN

Homefront by Chuck Logan

Future Books

Karate Chop by Dorthe Nors (Must read short fiction)
Blood, Marriage, Wine & Glitter by S. Bear Bergman (Smart, warm and generous memoir)
Haiti Glass by Lenelle Moise (Lovely poetry, from a great Haitian writer)
Astonish Me by Maggie Shipstead (Book with a great idea, strong writing, disappointing denouement)
The Empathy Exams by Leslie Jamison (Brilliant, humbling essays, punch punch)
The Book of Unknown Americans by Cristina Henriquez (Exceptional, exceptional novel)
The Department of Speculation by Jenny Offill (Data embargo)
The Meat Racket by Christopher Leonard (Made me glad I’m already a vegetarian but for real don’t eat that chicken unless it’s free range)
Why Are You So Sad? by Jason Porter (Not for me)

 

 

Present And Past Collide

Masterlist

Pairing: Theo x Reader

Summary: Hii! If your requests are open can you do a Theo’s imagine where he is insecure and had trust issues and he thinks the reader will leave him for someone nice, kind and basically better?


You had no idea what had gotten into Theo, he had become extremely clingy and more over-protective than usual. You gave him a few days thinking that it would past, and things would return as they were but in that time Theo had gone to a whole another level.

When you were leaving the apartment he’ll always ask where you were headed, when you received a text from any of the members of the pack he’ll ask who made you smile, when you said you were going to meet up with Lydia he’ll ask if anyone else was joining. Usually you loved Theo’s over-protective nature, to you it made him that much more attractive which lead to amazing nights in the bedroom. But this wasn’t like that, it had gotten to the point where you felt suffocated and you didn’t know what to do.

Coming home from being at Lydia’s house you carefully opened the door making sure to create as little noise as possible, just in case Theo was sound asleep. Taking off your shoes, coat and dropping your keys in the mini bowl on the table you tip-toed to the shared bedroom.

Excepting to see Theo sound asleep you saw the light on and Theo sitting on his side of the bed, arms folded, his bare chest showing and an expression on his face you only thought of as his inner alpha was going to show, and not in a good way.

“Where were you?” he asked quite forcefully.

Changing into pj shorts and a simple tank top you turned the light on in the bathroom, removing the light make-up you had before returning back into the room and answering his question, “I was with Lydia at her house. I told you that before I left” you explained.

“You didn’t say when you would be back, or if it was just Lydia you were going to be meeting up with” he said.

“Who else do you think would be there Theo? We were having a girls night, just catching up and doing something normal for once”. Taking off jewellery that was  on your fingers you climbed into bed and took out a book from the night stand draw.

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked you.” he responded.

You could feel his eyes on you, and the longer they stared at you the more it felt like Theo was burning a hole in your head. “Is something the matter Theo?” you asked, bookmarking the page and turning to him.

“I just wanted to know where my girlfriend was, that’s all”.

“And I told you. I was with Lydia, but something tells me you don’t believe that. So if you want to accuse me of something Theo Raeken then man up and say it”.

He got up and confused as you were it all made sense when he took your phone, and showed you a text from Isaac which was dated a week ago that read:

Rematch in bowling next time I’m in town? We both know you could use the practice, since I would kick your ass ;) - Isaac.

You just stared at the Theo who had jealously and anger fuming from him.“So let me see if I have all the pieces together. First you don’t believe me when I inform you that I will be spending the evening with Lydia, then you have the audacity to take my phone, invade my privacy and accuse me of what? Cheating on you with Issac?” you were done with the way Theo was acting tonight, it was beyond insulting and you weren’t going to just sit here and allow him to belittle you like this.

“Well texts don’t lie babygirl, and you sure do have a lot of flirty ones with Isaac freaking Lahey” he threw your phone on the bed.

“Theo I know you have trust issues, but are you kidding? Why in the world would I ever cheat on you?” You stood up grabbing your phone and placing it back on the nightstand.

“Because Y/N why wouldn’t you have a secret fling with Isaac. I mean I’m not stupid babygirl, you and Isaac have history. I heard the stories from Stilinski, I know everything. So forgive me if I don’t trust the guy around my girlfriend, even if he is miles away”.

The history that Theo was referring to happened a long time ago, when Isaac first joined Scott’s pack you and him begun working fairly close together on the supernatural missions. Naturally a bond had formed and one thing lead to another, and you had gave yourself to Isaac. You didn’t regret that night, and neither did Issac. But all good things must end, and you and him ended the day he flew off to France. It was only just recently you had come back into contact with him, and you guess that was what sent Theo over the edge.

“Yes Theo I admit that I have history with Isaac, and I’m sorry but I wouldn’t change that. Ever experience in my life has made me who I am, and being with Isaac, sharing moments with him is what I needed at that point in my life. He at one point was exactly what I needed”.

Walking closer to him you stared into his eyes, making sure he knew that every word you were about to say next was the absolute truth. “But Theo that ended, that chapter of my life is over. And I’m standing here with you writing a new one. Okay maybe I should of told you that Isaac and I were speaking again, but were just friends. Your the person I’m with, and I’m not going to leave you”.

“Isaac is everything I’m not, and everything I’m not going to be. Babygirl you gave yourself to him, he was your first and I can’t complete with that.”

Grabbing his hand you sat the both of you down on the bed, “He may have been my first. But Theo Raeken as cliche as it’s going to sound, you will be my last”.

You started to kiss his cheek, going down to his neck then back up finding his lips and pulling him in for a passionate make out session. He griped your waist and took control, hovering over you he made sure to mark what was his and this was a side of Theo that you loved.

“We both know that I’m better than him in making you scream” he whispered seductively in your ear, sending shivers down your body.

This was your chance to have Theo be dominate and rough, so you decided to tease him with your answer. “I don’t know Isaac could get me to scream fairly louder, I remember one time -”

Theo immediately cut you off with a low growl and ripped open your tank, while swiftly removing your shorts. “Is this how were going to play it tonight?” he asked.

“I just answered your question honestly, what’s a matter babe can’t handle the answer” you smirked and you had succeed in getting Theo right where you wanted, in fact needed him to be.

“Babygirl after tonight you won’t even remember his name, only mine will come out of the pretty little mouth of yours”.

Every single word he spoke got you more and more excited for the nights events. That entire night was all about you pushing Theo as far as you could, by instead of screaming Theo’s name you would occasionally slip up and start to say Isaac’s.

To say that was a dangerous move was an understatement, because Theo was not gentle anymore and every move he did, every touch he did sent you over the edge more than once. And it was safe to say that his name was the only one that had left your lips by the end of the night.

The morning after any slight movement, resulted in you regretting it because every part of your body ached. Theo had just come out of the shower a towel around his waist, and his body glistening with a few droplets of water.

“I’m sorry, was I too rough last night?” he came down and stroked your cheek.

Smiling at him you replied, “I had it coming. I kinda of taunted you a bit, but don’t think for one second that what we did in this bed last night, several times in fact, wasn’t the best night of my life”.

Theo smirked and he leaned forward planting soft kisses along the love bites he placed all down your neck, the night before. “So does that mean I won? Because babygirl I think we may have woken up the neighbours once or twice…maybe even the whole town”.

You chuckled and grabbed his face, kissing him lightly. “Well it looks like we won’t be leaving this apartment anytime soon” both of you laughed and you couldn’t help but stare at how content Theo was now. All his worries now gone, and your relationship back on track.

“I could live with that” he said.

Your stomach growled and you covered your face out of embarrassment, “I think breakfast is needed”.

“And we have nothing in the pantry I checked earlier before, I’ll go and get us some muffins” he pulled a clean shirt over his head, and grabbed the nearest pants he could find before zipping them up and grabbing his keys.

“Thank you, you’re like the best boyfriend ever” you said.

“I know, and don’t you forget it” he replied, kissing your forehead and leaving the apartment.

You didn’t know what it was, but you couldn’t stop smiling. It felt like last night you and Theo really connected on more levels than one, and nothing was going to ruin that…however that moment was very short livid when your phone went off. Checking the incoming message it was from Lydia, and what it read affected you more than you thought it would:

Isaac is coming back to town, just thought you’d like to know - Lydia.

Why was this news making you panic, and why was your heart beating faster than it should? Isaac was coming back, you were going to see him face to face again. This wasn’t happening…this couldn’t happen.

Phan: Those Who Trust- Part 8

Wordcount: 3k
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: past non-con and abuse
Summary: Dan used to be a submissive and now he’s just a broken shell of a man.
A/N:  Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

|| MASTERPOST ||

Being back at university gave Dan the perfect opportunity to hide in his room in the evenings when Phil was home from work under the false pretence to study, which was absolutely ridiculous considering the fact that it was only the second week of being back. He knew that and Phil probably knew that as well, taking into account that he had seen right through Dan and his act of being bad at any kind of game. Dan maybe possibly was avoiding Phil even more than before now after that night, because truth be told he was embarrassed that Phil had found out he was losing on purpose and he wasn’t keen on telling Phil why he had done what he had done.

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