crumple page

She flung her soul from arms to hearts
to poems spilled on crumpled pages -
Who knew she could perform the parts 
in her journal as she did on stages?
—  Diary of Lies // Grazia Curcuru
not a crush

requested by: @tonight-couldbeforgettable

summaryYou and Peter are always in competition with one another to see who’s smart enough to come out on top. But once you get paired with your “enemy” for a large project, you find out that there’s way more to Peter Parker than meets the eye.

pairings: peter parker x reader 

word count: 1.7k 

a/n: this was the cutest shit to write y’all, i’m telling you. i missed writing fics with my precious peter in them. xx

You twirled your pen restlessly in between your fingers while listening intently for your chemistry teacher to announce who got the highest grade on the test last week. You had studied for hours, weeks on end, to come out on top of this one–you were not going to let Parker take it from you this time.

The two of you had all of your classes together, much to your dismay. You were always the best, always the smartest, until this semester started and this kid began giving you a run for your money. Every class became a contest to see who was better.

Your eyes flickered over to where he sat in the row next to you, and he was just as on edge as you were–his hands tightly gripped the edge of his desk. Before you could return your gaze to the front of the class, his eyes suddenly moved to meet yours.

Keep reading

February: The fall starts easy. I took baby aspirin, and a rusty spoon to my head, and smoked the stale weed my brother left in a broken vase before he left for college. Night comes fast, and tells the creation story. I ignore her this time. I don’t give a fuck about how I was made anymore tell me how I fall apart.

March: Nobody can ever find the raw spot on their leg until they start itching. I remember 6th grade when the mosquito bit my calf. Larvae and laps on the soccer field in early spring. He is oozing into my shoes with the mud.

April: My mother buried my rusty spoon, and took my brown hands. the clothesline was dripping carbonated orange soda sun, the wind was soft, the mice were sleeping warm beneath the floorboards; she spread my tarot on the floor with the forever broken and gnarled thumb she stuck in a blender when she was 5. That spring I walked home alone some nights, the heatwaves followed me like the labored breath of drunk men who don’t take no for an answer, I turned over The Devil and someone dropped a wine glass next door, she gasped, white eyes, the mice began to scrape and scream, the heatwave killed their children like it split my shoulders open and ate the youth inside.

May: The month of falling out of trees, junior high was gonna shipwreck any day now. There is a fast food place where the milkshakes taste like cough syrup and the skater kids cheat death on 3 feet of concrete stairs. There is a crack in the sidewalk in front of it, and he kick flips on it to break the back of the mother who left him at 13, he breeds violence between his fraying vans and then something in his ankle snaps, my oxygen goes tar black. He bleeds, he. Makes this sound. Like a dog when you step on its foot. I want to hold him, put a butterfly on his cheek, give him a band aid, something, God, something. He looks like he’s in pain. I want to. I don’t know. Help.

I walk away trembling and put my head between my knees behind a dumpster full of shitty milkshakes.

June: The neighbors fuck like rabbits while I’m trying to cry to joy division. I pray for a lightning strike. This type of poetry is for pretty girls, anyway.

July: my birthday flies into the glass of my bedroom window and breaks its neck. mom said the only things you can grow in summer that won’t die are grapefruit and hair, and I made a garden, I cut my chest open for Demeter each full moon. These locks were watered with gulf stream sea spray. I fed them bludgeoned daydreams. I threw my head against church doors trying to send Jesus some red flowers for his funeral, or maybe his birthday, doesn’t really matter, we celebrate both.

August: I got kicked out of high school knocking myself out on my desk. People carved hearts into the enamel, I carved my heart out of my chest and turned it in for my midterm. I slam dunked my skull into the bleachers on game day, and when the bleachers fell, into my history textbook, and when the book was mushy with blood, into the track field. I’m grinning ugly, dancing to the 80’s synth in an empty gym after homecoming, with a nosebleed dripping love songs down my yellow teeth, like words on old gravestones: here lies a moontoothed lover who will never rest in peace, every night she claws her grave and hears the call of western waves.

September: I’m high on concussion flavored car races in a stolen low rider, bluebirds fly in circles around my head after we crash, I wrote a song on a 5 dollar bill called blunt force trauma and it is about skater boys with broken noses, snarls of shaggy Jew fro his friends make fun of, and hands. that graze los angeles highways while he rides asphalt waves, slam his locker, and give the finger to the education system he keeps tripping over like untied shoelaces. he pricks those hands sewing together the lackluster parties private school kids throw. he puts his dewy rose bud lips to the jack daniels bottle, and kicks the drum kit over, gives it mouth to mouth, pump his fists into someone’s chest, gives it a pulse again. hands big enough to steal grapefruit with, the size of my swollen heart. I didn’t know it could get that big but he bumped into me, buzzing like a light saber, sky walking out of the grocery store with a grapefruit. with my heart.

October: do you have a girl do you? have a lover? Jupiter is orbiting around whatever this emotion is called, the rollercoaster one. when you look at me. We spend Halloween turning into werewolves at the library, you were moshing in the kids section, bleaching your hair in punk rock, I was banging my bruised and knuckleheaded love poems into a paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet, brushing my hair with broken glass. That was the first day the blood on our hands was not our own, she shushed us and we laughed. High on Shakespeare and Jupiter gas, we dug our fangs into the dewy decimal system. You ask me my name, I tell you, you smile. We had matching bruises and I floated home.

November: You make me. Feel. You make me feel like I can speak to snakes. You make me feel like my hips have a purpose besides balancing bins of laundry, and bowls of fruit. You make 17 stop feeling like a suicide note no one will read. you make me banshee scream and lick like fire against young pines, when you. dance. when you. kiss her, let her ride your double dutch hips, and your skateboard. She is a new coin, tangy on his numb tongue, and he tucks her in his pocket, his lucky penny. I’m the bubblegum he scrapes off his sneakers and throws into a storm drain.

December: I still cower into my pillow and smile a crooked smile, and go red at the cheeks, you. You put the red in my cheeks. I’m here, I’m exploding, why can’t you see me? Just put the bottle down, take your hand from your eyes, I won’t ask you what happened to your face, or how you got that scar, I will just like you and like you. we can buy angels wings in Hollywood, make an apartment out of crumpled homework pages at the bottoms of our dirty backpacks, we can drop out of high school, I will like you and dissect your sadness like frogs in freshman biology I am used to the rotting smell in your ribcage, I reek of it too. I will like you. until I know how to love you.

January: I switch schools, I cut my hair, bleach what little is left. It makes my mother unhappy, she thinks my spirit world is severing ties, she thinks my planets are discordant. I ask somebody back home about him, she says he dropped out and started working on cars.

I come down. Softly.

February (again, again, again): He was born to a rabbi and a beauty queen. I was born to a chemist, and a witch. Ammonia, bleach. Don’t mix them unless you want someone to die. Blood, adolescence, summer saltwater. Don’t mix them unless you want to make somebody wish they were dead.

—  2. a crush. and nothing more.
The Thing That Kept Him Safe

Pairings/Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers

Warnings: TWS Bucky, Violence, blood

Summary: No one knew how they used to control The Winter Soldier back in the day but Steve thinks he has finally found it.

Word Count: 2613

A/N: I missed writing so I finished this and I hope it’s alrightttt! Thank you for being patient as fuck while I’m on my hiatus and HOLY FUCK THANK YOU FOR 700+ READERS!!!!!! Thank you so much to @stevette60​ for requesting this awesome fic!

Originally posted by rohgers

Keep reading

An Ending and A Beginning

Jonerys week Day 6: Hogwarts AU as promised :) 

Edit here

Their friendship starts, as all great friendships do, on the Hogwarts Express the day before their first year.

They’re not supposed to be friends; they’re not even supposed to talk to each other, really. The Starks and Targaryens are known throughout the Ministry of Magic-but for very different reasons. The Starks are noble and honorable, the Targaryens are ambitious, manipulative, and often cruel. To be anything else breaks a secret familial code, one that’s been around far longer than they have.

Jon and his cousin, Robb, are trading chocolate frog cards when the compartment door opens and a girl with braided blonde hair and two trunks filled with school supplies pushes her way inside. She sits down on the seat as far away from Jon as she can get; her very being seems to radiate distaste. “Everywhere else is full.” She says it sadly, as if to make sure they both know that she would rather sit anywhere else.

Robb’s eyes narrow and Jon can already feel a fight brewing below the surface. “You could have asked first.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls out a dark leather bound book, eyes skimming the pages as she flips through them with her perfectly manicured fingernails. Everything about her is perfect and put together-from the way her dress collar is pulled straight to the shine on her black shoes to the neat green ribbon in her hair. It’s obvious she’s planning on ignoring them.

So they ignore her and don’t offer her any pumpkin pasties. He and Robb buy a bunch off the trolley witch when she comes by; he might have thought to offer her one, if she’d been nicer to him. She hasn’t brought along any food of her own; at least, she doesn’t eat anything the entire day. She just reads.

He doesn’t need to ask her name. There’s only one family that looks like that.

She’s Daenerys Targaryen, the sole living heir of arguably the most powerful family in the Wizarding World.

But when they reach Hogsmeade station and Robb leaves to change into his robes, he can’t help rescuing one of the last pumpkin pasties, half smashed in its wrapper but still good (he assumes). He hands it to her, tapping her knee gently to get her attention. “Are you hungry?”

She looks at him directly for a moment. She has startling violet eyes. And then she looks at the pastie and he waits for her to say no.

But instead, she smiles-just a little bit, but enough to surprise him. She has a very nice smile. “Thank you.” She takes the pasty and pops it in her mouth in one bite.

They take the same boat to the castle but are separated in the Great Hall. He doesn’t see her again until she’s Sorted into Slytherin and she walks to join her new tablemates, face expressionless. He can’t even tell if she’s excited to be the next in a long line of Targaryen Slytherins, like he’s excited to be the latest in a long line of Stark Gryffindors.

But there’s still a bit of pumpkin pasty caked on her fingers. Just a little, but enough to make him smile.

He hears her calling his name when they all disperse to go to their dormitories. For a minute he’s torn between following the Gryffindor prefect (he’s forgotten his name already, but he thinks it might be Gideon or something equally ridiculous) because he doesn’t want to get lost, but she’s already moving against the tide to get to him. She’s holding something close against her side and she stops in front of him and drums it with her fingers carefully. “I thought you might like this. It might come in handy. Besides, I’ve already read it.” She smiles at him a little bit and then she runs off again, running full tilt towards the Slytherin dormitories.

He looks down at the book she was reading earlier. It looks old, the pages crumpled and fading, the binding cracked in places. But the words on the first page are clear and bright: Egg’s Guide to Hogwarts: What the Teachers Don’t Want you to Know.

Later that night Robb asks him what he’s reading. He answers vaguely, glad that he wasn’t paying attention on the train because Jon doesn’t know what he would think about the fact that they’re on friendly terms with Daenerys Targaryen, after what her family did to his. And Robb seems to take those things a lot more seriously than he does.

But Daenerys Targaryen isn’t her older brother. And evil people look evil. They don’t smile like that. And they don’t eat pumpkin pasties.


It’s the day after Halloween and they’re making themselves sick on the leftover treats they snuck out of the kitchen. Well…they didn’t sneak it out, technically. The house elves were giving it away for free. They’d only meant to go get a few more cauldron cakes but they’d left weighed down with baskets and baskets. There will still be plenty left over to share with their housemates, once they go back. She discovered the Room of Requirement on her second day, following the directions of Egg’s book. Jon took a little longer-but that’s why she’s higher in their year, not him.

She wishes, not for the first time, that she and Jon were in the same House. She loves Slytherin of course, and all her friends there-she likes to lie on the couch in the common room and look at the light the lake makes as it moves over the windows. But it makes things with Jon so much more complicated than they should be. It’s like people can’t understand why a Gryffindor and a Slytherin-especially a Stark and a Targaryen-can possibly be friends.

No one knows that the Sorting Hat wanted to put her into Gryffindor but she asked it (no, begged it) not to. Her family would disown her if she didn’t get into Slytherin. That’s what they did to her older brother. They said it brought shame upon the family name.

But she forgets about that when they’re together. It doesn’t matter to Jon and it doesn’t matter to her. “Are you nervous about Quidditch tryouts?”

He shrugs. “A little bit.”

She jostles his shoulder playfully. “Well, you don’t have to be. You’re amazing.” Sometimes she watches him practice down at the pitch at night-he really, really wants to be the Seeker for the Gryffindor team. She likes flying but she doesn’t like sports-but during their first year he helped her learn how to ride her broom when hers was giving her trouble. Usually they swap broomsticks-her broom is a better make because her parents only have to spend money on one child, not six. She doesn’t mind; she loves watching Jon fly, because he moves through the air like he’s part of it.

“But Robb’s trying out too-”

“You’re better than him. I’m not trying to play favorites. You just are. You’re the best Quidditch player in our year.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

She licks chocolate off her fingertips. “Then you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Are you going to come to watch?”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Are you coming for the holidays this year?” He knows she doesn’t like being at home any more than she has to and she wishes she could say yes. Jon is always talking about his younger siblings and how they wouldn’t look at her the way everyone else does-or they would at first, but they’d get over it like he and Robb have. But she doesn’t think that’s a good idea, and it’s too big of a lie to hide from her father. He would find out, one way or another. He has eyes and ears everywhere, especially around her. But not at Hogwarts.

She sighs. “I wish I could…”

“But family is family.”

“Something like that.” She wants to tell him that it’s not about family at all. It’s about what she knows about her father that could destroy him. “You’ll have to owl me though.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s only two weeks, you know.”

“A lot can happen in two weeks. Maybe you’ll fall off your broom and break your arm and then you won’t be able to play.”

“That won’t matter if I’m not on the team.”

“But you will be. You’re the best at it. If someone doesn’t see that, they’re a fool.” He smiles at her-that cute boyish smile he always has that makes him look rumpled and adorable. Like a puppy, maybe.

And then he leans towards her, and his hand comes up to touch her face…and he brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. She jerks back when he touches her-not because it’s unpleasant, but because it’s surprising. She’s never been touched by him before. His fingertips smell like cinnamon.

He pulls back, looking almost hurt. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not that.” But she’s not sure how to finish the sentence and she trails off. There’s an awkward silence between them and she doesn’t like it. They don’t have silences. And they’re never awkward. “Have you done the essay for Potions yet?”

“…Yes.” But he won’t look at her.

“You haven’t. You do realize it’s due tomorrow, don’t you? And I shouldn’t let you borrow mine.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t.” But he’s already grinning at her because he already knows she’ll say yes. And she does-because of course, but also because it makes things easy between them again. It glosses over that moment because there are a lot of complicated things in her life but Jon should never be one of them.


Robb’s growing muscles.

He likes to show off, standing in front of the mirror and flexing his muscles when Jon’s not looking-or sometimes even when he is, just to show off. Girls can’t get enough of him-especially not when he’s fresh from the Quidditch pitch, broomstick in hand and a faint sheen of sweat beading on his perfect forehead. Some of their friends have girlfriends but Robb doesn’t-and neither does Jon, of course. He doesn’t really talk to girls. Except for Dany, but Dany doesn’t count.

Robb’s glad that he’s a Chaser now. He’s the team golden boy and everyone loves him-he’s lithe and agile and he can dart through any number of players to score the game winning goal. Meanwhile Jon stays on the outskirts-but when he sees the Snitch he doesn’t hesitate to go for it. They make a winning team. For Christmas he got Dany a tiny golden rosette that she can wear on her shirt collar so she can root for both sides when they play Slytherin.

The girl next to him, Margaery Tyrell, is distracted by Robb’s muscles. Jon rolls his eyes and tries to focus on the teacher. He doesn’t know how a teacher can make Defense Against the Dark Arts boring, but their teacher certainly tries. Apparently he was mauled by a mountain lion and was lost in the Mongolian mountains for two years without human contact and he’s a bit…strange.

“TARGARYEN!” he screeches, and Dany jumps half a mile. He’s standing over her desk and holds out his hand. “No reading in my class, please.”

A snicker runs through the class and a flush creeps up the back of Dany’s neck. A picture of a dragon flashes back at him from the front of the discarded book-of course. She wants to be a dragonologist and she reads about them every chance she gets. Sorry, he mouths.

She shrugs. What can you do?


Margaery giggles. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he mutters. I’ll need it. “Yes sir?”

“Come up here,” their teacher barks. Jon has to force himself not to vault over his desk. “Since you and Miss Targaryen seem to be especially distracted today, perhaps you wouldn’t mind demonstrating the exercise described on page one hundred and twenty seven of your book? Miss Targaryen, if you will be the attacker?” Dany’s always the attacker and he sees how her face falls. Right then he feels a swell of anger rise within him. Dany’s one of the best people he knows, Targaryen or otherwise.

They both stand and go to the front of the classroom. It’s a simple blocking spell; they’re technically not allowed to start dueling yet but their teacher says that won’t happen when they find themselves in a nest of werewolves some day (Jon’s pretty sure werewolves don’t live in nests but that’s beside the point. “Ready…set…go!”

Jon hasn’t even lifted his wand yet when Dany’s hex hits him. Leg lock-her favorite. He can beat her in Quidditch, of course, but when it comes to spells she can cast circles around him.

“Excellent technique, Miss Targaryen. Up you get, Mr. Stark. Finite incantatem.”

The class laughs good naturedly as they return to their seats but Dany doesn’t catch his eye when she sits back down. Then he looks at the back of her neck and sees that she’s still blushing. Why is that?

He wants to ask her later but Robb convinces him and some of his friends to sneak out to Hogsmeade for illicit butterbeer and they all get caught and get detention for two weeks, so he forgets.

On the last night of his detention Dany intercepts him in the entrance hall and hands him a bottle of butterbeer from the 3 Broomsticks, grinning. “If you wanted some, you could have just asked.”

He doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t tell.


“Does Daenerys have a boyfriend yet?”

“No.” Daenerys is too busy doing whatever it is she does to have a boyfriend.


“Why?” It’s late and he wants to get to sleep but Robb has left his homework until the last minute (again) and he’s struggling to finish.

Robb shrugs. “You know they’re having some ball or something on Christmas Eve and I wondered if she might want to go.”

That woke him up. “What?”

“Come on, Jon. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed what grew in this summer.”

“Dear God, Robb-”

“She’s pretty, she’s nice, she knows how to dance. What’s not to like?”

Jon can’t think of a good answer to that but he just wants to say that it’s not right. He’s Dany’s friend, not Robb. They’re the ones who have the study sessions in the library and go walking around the lake talking about everything and nothing because even now she doesn’t like talking about her family. If someone were to go the ball with her it shouldn’t be Robb.

Not that Jon wants to go himself. Or even wants to ask her.

(of course he noticed what came in this summer. It was all anyone could talk about on the first night in their dormitory).

But she turns Robb down. And she turns down the other three guys who ask her. It’s not until they’re in the Owlery one morning in November with a cold bite in the air that he gets  a chance to ask her why.

“Oh, Jon…” She won’t look at him. “I don’t know. It just…I’m not interested. You know?”

He knows. One of Dany’s close friends, Ygritte, asked him and he turned her down. He likes her, but not like everyone would think he likes her. “So…are you going at all?”

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t have a dress.”

“I’m sure Sansa could help you find something.”

She shrugs. “All of my friends already have dates. I wouldn’t want to-”

“Then you can come with me.” He blurts it out so fast that he surprises them both. So of course, he has to backtrack. “I mean, if you want to.”

For a minute her expression is unreadable-and then her smile lights up her eyes. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

So apparently they have a date.


Jon almost does a spit take when she comes down the Grand Staircase wearing a long, flowy white gown, a crown of white pearls, and an intricate hairstyle that makes it look like her entire head is made out of braids.

Robb whistles. “Lucky duck.”

Jon can’t take his eyes off her for the rest of the night. Not when they dance and he has to focus on not stepping on her feet (but he does anyway, of course, and it makes her laugh). Not when they sit out a round for pumpkin juice. Not even when she wants to go outside because her shoes hurt and they end up sitting on a bench in the gardens and talking until the gathering disbands.

And especially not when they get caught under the mistletoe and she kisses him-a light, hesitant kiss on the side of his cheekbone that feels like butterfly wings. He especially can’t take his eyes off of her then. He always knew that she was beautiful but…she’s radiant. She looks like an angel, or a star-not someone who’s friends with him.

“Merry Christmas, Jon.”

“Merry Christmas, Dany.”


She’s going to fail her O.W.L.s and it’s Jon’s fault because every single one of their study sessions has devolved into nothing but the two of them just kissing in quiet corners of the library.

“Stop it.” She makes herself pull away from him, even though his lips taste of the Quidditch field and she wants more of it. “We have to try and learn something.” She settles herself in his lap, resting her head on his collarbone. He shot up like a weed over the summer and she’s always reminded of just how short she is whenever she sees him towering over her.

But then again, he makes a nice pillow.

His hand covers hers and turns the book to their most recent review lesson. “I don’t see why you’re stressing. You can do this backwards, forwards, and in your sleep.”

“That’s not…it’s the principle of the thing, Jon. I need Outstandings.”

“Why?” He sounds curious now.

“Because…” Have they really been friends for five years and never once talked about her family? “I just have to. My parents want me to. They want me in the Ministry.”

“But you don’t want to be in the Ministry.”

“Think, Jon. Can you remember a time before a Targaryen was the Minister for Magic?” He’s quiet for a minute. “Me neither. And now it’s my turn.”

“What about being a dragonologist?”

“I don’t know-but I can’t do both.”

“Why can’t you tell your parents-”

“I can’t. It’s just….” She tries to stand, gathering up her books. “Family stuff, you wouldn’t understand.”

He pulls her back down gently and turns to face her again until they’re staring into each other’s eyes and he’s holding her so close, so close she almost can’t tell where she ends and he begins but for their clothing. Their breath mingles in the air between them and she feels safe and protected in a way she hasn’t in years. “Try me.”

“It’s a secret.”

He kisses her gently, deepening the kiss until she loses her resolve and kisses him back. His hand tangles in her hair, unknotting her braids and letting her hair cascade down around her shoulders. “You can trust me. You know that, don’t you?”

“My father…he has certain things he wants me to do-”

“Tell him you can’t.”

She shakes her head and bites her lip so hard she tastes blood. “No, you don’t understand. He…his job, his legacy…it’s everything to him. If I tarnish it, he’ll never forgive me. And I’m the only child he has left. There are certain things that I have to do, for his reputation-” Reputation. She suddenly thinks she’s going to cry and she can’t look at him. “And if he cuts me out then I’ll never see my mother and…”

He doesn’t tell her to go against her family. He doesn’t give her worthless promises or ask her stupid questions. He just holds her close until the tears stop coming and then he holds her longer, until she falls asleep in his arms.

They never do go over that Summoning spell, but she passes the OWL anyway.


The summer before their sixth year she finally meets his family-his aunt and uncle, his mother, and the rest of his cousins.

His family lives in the countryside, in a rambling old country house that’s always filled with his brother Rickon’s pets and his brother Bran’s birds. There are a few stares at first from the younger ones who aren’t at Hogwarts but eventually they get used to her-and pretty soon they’re enamored with her. Especially Arya. Arya is always talking about ‘Dany this’ and ‘Dany that’ and how Jon should marry Dany as soon as they graduate.

She mentions that at dinner. In front of their parents.

And both Jon and Dany almost choke on their bread pudding. They’re in love. Isn’t that enough?

Besides, he knows she’ll never marry him. Her father wouldn’t allow it. But he still wonders sometimes what it would be like to have that option open to him-to imagine a world where he could wake up in her arms, where they could have kids, buy a house in the countryside. He would let her be a dragonologist and he could be a Quidditch player and he’d make sure she never had to go near her father again if she didn’t want to.

She leans into his touch and he can’t help kissing her on the head. He can feel the rest of the family watching but he doesn’t mind.

For now they have each other, and that’s enough.


In Advanced Potions their first task of the year is to make amortentia-and then they have to take notes on what they smell in it.

He smells the scene of a Quidditch pitch on a rainy morning, hot chocolate on a cold winter night…and the scent of Dany’s shampoo, fresh out of the Prefect’s bathroom (sometimes they bathe together, when they’re certain they’re alone).


She tells her father later that year that she wants to be a dragonologist. She’s right; he disowns her. So he invites her back to spend the summer with his family and thankfully she doesn’t refuse. His mother already calls her the daughter she never had, and he’s pretty sure that it’s intentional.


Year Seven is a year of lasts.

It’s their last start of term feast, their last set of classes, their last time in the Astronomy Tower at midnight, their last Defense Against the Dark Arts practical, their last time in the Herbology greenhouses tending to the bubotubers and doxies for the third years. Their last Christmas at Hogwarts. Every day feels more and more real to her, the reality of life after Hogwarts setting in. She’ll go to Bulgaria this summer and work with dragons. Her dreams will become a reality.

But she’ll miss Jon.

They sleep together for the first time in the Room of Requirement on New Year’s Eve. They’re clumsy and inexperienced but she still loves it-she loves waking up the next morning with the scent of him still in her nose and his puppy eyes blinking down at her and his arms holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. “I’ll miss this place,” she says, lips brushing across his forehead. “I’ll miss Hogwarts. I’ll miss you.”

She wishes they never had to leave, in that moment.


Her father dies in the spring and she comes to the funeral. Her mother, in tears, welcomes her home.

And just like that, everything changes.

Jon proposes a few days later. He wants to come to Bulgaria with her, and wherever life takes them after that. He’s decided that he wants to be an Auror now and apparently eastern Europe is notorious for its vampires. On her seventeenth birthday, she accepts. They’re not the only ones; it seems like everyone gets engaged that spring. It’s a time for new beginnings. It’s time for the next generation of witches and wizards to start their…futures. It’s kind of a scary word, with all of the possibility contained in it.

But for the first time she feels only joy about it.


On their last day at Hogwarts she and Jon spend the morning walking around the castle, reminiscing about all the old memories-the time they got locked in a broom closet, their favorite portraits, the Divination tower, the secret passageway that leads directly to Honeydukes. Hogwarts isn’t just a school, she realizes. It’s a home-not just for wizards and witches but for all of them. It’s their home.

The other students come to see them off. She hugs all of the Starks of course (there are lots of them in school now and Hogwarts will be talking about them for years to come) and then she and Jon are off to Bulgaria. It seems abrupt, this ending.

But she realizes, as she watches the castle disappear into the mist with Jon by her side, hands intertwined, that it’s not really the end.

She’s lucky. It’s just the beginning.

There’s an absolutely lovely piece of fanart by @bloomsbury for a Jonerys Hogwarts AU-this story isn’t based off of it or anything (I’ve been wanting to do a Hogwarts AU for months) but it’s definitely worth taking a look at. 

This is making me want to reread all the Harry Potter books again…

One more day in Jonerys week! And it’s already written! So I did it. I wrote for all seven days. I’m honestly more proud of myself than I should be. 

anonymous asked:

Hi mom! ^^ Love your writing! It was just my birthday last week and I was wondering if I might request a namjoon author/editor au? (if he was your editor or you were his etc. whichever!) Apologies if you've done something similar before;; Thank you!♥

ahh happy late birthday!! ive written author taehyung before, but namjoon fits it too so !!! here you go, something cute for him~ 

  • is primarily a poet, and yes im talking love poems and all that jazz, but also really emotional poems about social injustices and human pain 
  • and he has a way with words that makes readers overcome with tears - like there’s a reason he’s on the best selling list and was featured in over twenty literary magazines
  • and people probably get quotes of his tattooed on them like damn
  • his pic on the back of the book sleeve is black and white and he’s got his hand under his chin,,,,,,,,,he looks like a uni professor LOL
  • people always get teary eyed at his book signings and readings, his tour managers have to request extra Kleenex for the sobbers,,,,,
  • honestly namjoon just gets confused and is like,,,,im,,,s,,,sorry??? but everyone is like n o no it’s just so bEautiful 
  • (tbh he gets super shy when complimented, much to his fans shock,,)
  • interviews with him actually get a ton of views because well 1) he’s handsome but 2) he does this cute smile and hides his face when people say he’s a great poet
  • like sensitive boy namjoon is real and thriving
  • you’re his editor and even under the whole beautiful, simple, amazing writing - the poems that seems so short and quick to write - you’ve seen his struggle
  • breaking his back over thousands of drafts, crumpling up pages and throwing out full notebooks of poems 
  • and writing about heavy stuff isn’t easy on namjoon either, sometimes you find him sitting on the floor beside his desk, staring blankly at a news title of some atrocity in the world
  • sometimes he doesn’t eat for three days. doesn’t sleep for a week. 
  • he publishes his book and people swoon over his talent and good looks, but you’re the only one whose seen this side of him
  • the side all writers and poets hide from the world - but not from their editor
  • so when you meet up with him, the usual dingy coffee place that namjoon has come to love, you see something is off
  • he’s worse than usual
  • “i have no inspiration, and they want a book of poems by the end of the month.” 
  • his deep voice has never faltered, but it sounds dejected and tired
  • “well,,,,,,,let’s find you some.” you try to sound optimistic, but you’re not sure
  • namjoon’s first book was based off of his first love. his second, off his views on the harsh world, his third was on a recent, secret breakup. now,,,,,he was stuck and you weren’t sure if there was anything left
  • you try to see his face, but his eyes are stuck to the blaring laptop screen. an empty word documents stares back
  • “i know you can do it namjoon, is there anything that you’ve maybe been saving? or maybe haven’t explored? a secret?”
  • namjoon’s eyes suddenly flick to meet your gaze
  • the tips of his ears turn pink, you’re on to something
  • inching forward in your seat you go, “you do! is it a person? write about them!”
  • you don’t notice it, but namjoon’s eyes are taking in the details of your face. the small things that he can’t believe he’s noticed all along
  • you said write about something he’s never explored - a secret,,
  • there’s one he’s kept ever since you became his editor
  • suddenly, namjoon begins to type and you grin. he found it.
  • “ill get some more coffee for us.”
  • you get up to go order, making sure to take some extra money to buy namjoon a snack since you know he won’t eat while he’s writing
  • as you leave, namjoon bites back his lip
  • he mouths to himself what he’s wrote so far, 

    “my secret sits across from me, voice like velvet,
    sun ray eyes spark tender flickers, why cant i tell them all i have hidden from the world is you. you, my secret sitting across from me.”

  • he doesn’t notice you come back, leaning over the table to see his laptop
  • “did you write something?” your excitement apparent and namjoon jumps a bit in his seat
  • quickly, he closes it and takes the cup of coffee you’ve set down in order to avoid answering
  • you smirk and tease, “you totally did. i can’t wait to read it!!!”
  • namjoon feels his heart race a little in his chest, because if anything, he had never imagined he would confess his feelings like this
  • in a poem, that you were sure to read and edit
  • he thinks to himself, i can’t wait for you to read it too. but will you still only want to be my editor after it?
  • you wave your hand in front of his face, laughing as namjoon snaps out of it
  • “you’re in a writing daze, but here i got you this so you don’t forget to eat.”
  • you put the bag of scones down on the table as well, smiling and namjoon takes them with a thank you
  • you’ve always taken care of him, he knew you were different when you picked up his first draft carefully - like it was priceless
  • when other people had clawed into it and thrown it around without care
  • “so, what’s your secret - i want to know now!!” you urge again, but namjoon shakes his head
  • you’re my secret, but you’ll find out soon 

anonymous asked:

Have you read any Harry Potter not to sound like a needy fangirl just curious~

i’ve read the first book but haven’t had time to move onto the second one!!!!!!!! thanks for reminding me to pick it up again omg

thunderstorm, p.5 | yoongi

read p1, p2p3, and p4.

summary: p5/? | yoongi has never been able to quiet his thoughts. especially when they’re flooded with the thought of someone else.

details/genre: badboy!yoongi, college au, angst/fluff, friend!jin, bff!jungkook, bff!taehyung

word count: 1.7k

Originally posted by jiminwhyyougotnojams

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Makkachin runs away and Yuuri just happens to be the person who finds him

The rain pounds.

Yuuri bows his head and pulls his hood farther up to try and protect himself, but it’s to no avail. The ink on the pages that he is holding streams down the paper and, realizing that he’d been too caught up in covering himself to cover his precious cargo, he shoves the pages inside his jacket and zips it up. They’re covered in images of a poodle with the words “FOUND POODLE” written in bold, black lettering, but as the water blurs the letters, they become less and less legible.

There goes all of the money he’d spent printing the posters.

He finds shelter underneath an awning outside of a cafe. He’s not far from home, but it feels like a failure to go home with a soaking wet jacket and posters and no progress having been made to find the lost poodle’s home.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

child au boys reaction when their new "mom" pats their head and praises them for the first time?

Admin Mawile: (。・ω・。)ノ♡ Awwww~


-For all the hours he’s spent endlessly working and studying, the amount of praise he’s received for those efforts is very low. He doesn’t understand why you want to praise him when he hasn’t done anything to deserve it, but the attention is so nice he’s not going to bring that up. 


-His eyes get very, very wide, and his hands clench so tightly on the book he’s holding that the pages crumple and tear. He brushes off the praise with a callous remark, but you can see how his hands are shaking, and how he can’t quite focus on the words in front of him. 


-He’s so shocked he actually freezes up for a moment. Some empty boast about what he’d accomplished dying in his throat from the surprise. Once he recovers, all you’ve done is encourage him, and now he’ll be convinced that whatever he did is the way to get your affection. 


-Any affection is likely to end in him glued to your waist, practically pleading for more, and praise is just as effective. He’s so starved for attention that even the most off-handed compliment feels like the greatest honor in the world, and you won’t be leaving without him in your arms. 


-He’s a little more used to attention, but the genuine praise still affects him more than he’d like to let on. It’s not smart to let adults know how he really feels, but he can’t help the tiny, natural smile forcing its way onto his lips, nor the look of real joy that escapes for a moment. 


-You can’t really mean it. You have to just be pretending to get something from him. He never does anything that good, not good enough to deserve this. He’s shaking a bit, and won’t look you in the eye, delighted, but sick with the worry that there’s going to be some cost. 


-The memory of his parents doing the same thing hits him sudden and hard, and he’s sinking to his knees and sobbing before he can think. The memories feel fresher than they have in ages, raw and aching with the reminder of what he’s lost, only helped by the kindness he has now. 


-When your hand first reaches out to him, he flinches, jerking back like he fully expects you to hit him. Some coaxing later, he lets you pat his head, still shivering a bit and acting like he wants to lean up into your hand but can’t quite find the courage to do it. 


-It sort of feels like someone has done this before, but the memory won’t quite match up… The attention is still nice, though, and he can’t help but squirm and flush under the praise. He’s noticeably happier for a while, still floating on the joy of his most important person being pleased. 


-He instantly leans up into the touch, eyes wide and almost sparkling. Any time you pay the slightest bit of attention to him is wonderful, and the praise makes him feel almost dizzy, light-headed with joy and slowly pressing up against your chest so you can’t let go. 


-Outwardly, you hardly see a reaction beyond a very slight widening of his eyes. Inside, he falling apart a little over what may very well be the first genuine praise he’s received. His father wasn’t one for giving compliments, and actual affection is a sadly new concept. 


-Of course you’re praising him. The arrogant line he gives sounds a little shakier than it should, though, and you catch him eyeing your hands like he hopes you’ll do it again. He’d never admit to being so needy and pathetic, but he can’t help but hope for more praise. 

Prank War.

Request from anon: Could you please write a tonyxteen daughter!reader where she usually pranks everyone and the team wants to get revenge. thank you so much and sorry if my english is not good enough, i´m from Spain hehehe

Tony Stark x Teen Daughter!Reader

Word: 1,756

Warnings: Nothing that I can really think of other than the mention of a small injury (knock to the head)….and a grumpy Bucky haha!

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine so all credit goes to their creators <3


The angry voice boomed through the corridors on the floor where The Avengers lived and it just fuelled the amusement that you were already experiencing. You hadn’t been there to see what had happened first hand but you didn’t need to be because you had set the whole thing up and by the angry shout of your name it was clear that the prank worked wonderfully!

“I swear to god [y/n] you better show your face now!”

It was Bucky who had fallen victim this time and out of the whole team he was the only one who didn’t really seem to have a sense of humour when it came to this kind of stuff…which made him all that more entertaining to target. You backed up into a room as you covered your mouth with your hand to muffle your laugh only to hear an all too familiar clearing of a throat.

Plastering an innocent smile onto your face you quickly turned on the balls of your feet to meet your dad….the one and only Tony Stark himself.

Keep reading

aknightofagoodking  asked:

"I stabbed my last twelve brothers. Why should you be different?" With Damian and Dick, because once in a while, Baby Brats gets a little too annoyed with his oldest brother's smothering. :)

Thank you for this! I was so excited to write this one,these two are my absolute favorite to write together.

I hope you don’t mind, but since I did this prompt with Damian and Steph already I took a little liberty with the quote, and toned it down to ‘brothers’ instead. It still holds the same feeling. 


Dick found Damian in his room, surrounded by a stack of open books. They boy’s laptop rested on the ground in front of him, Damian’s attention a frown at it. He was so focused on the screen that he didn’t seem to notice Dick’s approach, so like any proper big brother Dick decided to take advantage of the situation.

He went in for a side hug so Damian wouldn’t catch his reflection in the screen, scooping his brother up in a swoop. Damian’s surprise came out in the form of a startled yelp followed by furious pushing against his arms.

“Put me down, Grayson!”

Dick pulled him close. “But I just found you.”

“And you are ruining all my hard work. Stop stepping on my books.”

Damian managed to wiggle his way out of Dick’s grasp, landing roughly back in the same spot he’d been sitting, except one of his feet landed on the pages of an open book and slipped. He lost his balance and fell forward, his descent into his computer stopped by Dick hooking an arm around his waist and hoisting him back into place.

He stepped around Damian’s books, noting that he may have pushed some out of the way, but he had not stepped on them like someone, with a grin. Damian shot him a glare before plopping back down on the ground, his legs crossed and attention back on his computer. He fussed with it as Dick frowned down at him.

His little brother might protest his hugs, but when he hadn’t seen him for a while he usually indulged Dick. Today something seemed a little off.

“What’s so interesting that you don’t have time for me?” he asked as he leaned over to look at Damian’s screen.

Damian snapped the laptop closed. “Nothing.” He grumbled. “You’ve done your duty and said hello. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Dick straightened and blinked at his brother, what had gotten into him? Had Dick done something wrong? Had he forgotten a promised meeting or call with Damian? Maybe he’d missed a night of patrol they were supposed to work together on?

Whatever he’d done, it was nothing a little hugging couldn’t fix. At least that’s what he hoped. He squatted next to Damian and pushed his shoulder against his brother’s. “Nothing and you have work to do? What’s up, Dami? Did I do something?”

Damian didn’t answer him and Dick nudged his brother again before pulling him into a side hug. Damian ducked under his arm, and spun on him.

“I said I was busy, Grayson. I’ve stabbed my other brothers, what makes you think you should be any different?”

“You haven’t stabbed Cass.” Dick pointed out.

Damian blinked at him. “What does that have to do with it?”

Dick grinned at him. “She’s one of your favorites, so am I. You haven’t stabbed her, and you won’t stab me.”

“Right now, you are nearing Drake’s status.” Damian said before picking up the book he’d slipped on. He smoothed out the crumpled page he’d slipped on and closed it.

“Ouch, Little D. That hurts.” Dick said attempting to sound fake hurt, it was hard when Damian’s words had actually hurt. It wasn’t that he’d been compared to Tim, that had happened before, what hurt was how Damian was brushing him off instead of sharing what was bothering him.

He glanced at the cover of Damian’s book, it was a guide on caring for Great Danes. He cast a brief glance at the other books around them as Damian busied himself with setting aside the book. All the pages around him were filled with health information for dogs. Damian knew all there was to know about taking care of Titus. Dick knew this because the boy would talk his ear off about it when asked. Why then would he have all these books? Dick was sure the computer was pulled up with the same information.

“Damian.” He said, keeping his voice gentle. This probably set his brother’s worry alarms off, but he didn’t care. “Where’s Titus?”

Damian’s whole body went ramrod straight. His jaw clenched, and Dick noted his knuckles had gone white around the edges of the book.  

The boy sat like that for a full minute, unmoving before his bottom lip started to quiver. Dick felt a jolt of panic in his chest for both the dog and his brother. He squashed it as he reasoned that if Titus had died then Damian wouldn’t have dog care books around him.

“Alfred has taken him to the vet.” Damian’s voice was quieter than it had been, not a whisper, but it no longer held the confidence it had earlier.

Dick let himself drop from his crouch to a seat beside his brother. “What did Alfred think was wrong?”

“He believes it’s a cold.” Damian answered.

The worry in Dick’s chest eased further. “Then you don’t have much to be worried about.”

Damian shook his head. “He could be wrong.” Damian lifted the still open book so Dick could see it, and stabbed at a page with his finger. “Titus symptoms could be a host of other things.”

Dick took the book from Damian and set it aside. This was about more than Titus being sick. Damian could handle sick, he’d proved as much whenever Dick himself was sick. He took his brother’s shoulders and turned him to face him. “What’s this really about, kiddo?”

The quiver in Damian’s lip seemed to intensify. “This is my fault.” He said, and Dick felt his heart break a little bit. It was just like Damian to assume the blame for something out of his control. He could follow his brother’s logic like a straight puzzle, Damian was Titus’s owner and responsible for his health, if something were wrong it made sense Damian would blame himself.

“Dami—” Dick broke off as Damian shook his head violently.

“Don’t. I don’t deserve it.” His voice cracked and he pulled away from Dick’s hold, his eyes unable to hold Dick’s.

“It is my fault. I should have cared for him better. If only I had kept a better eye on what he was eating. Where he was going. What his status was.” Damian’s shoulders were shaking now, with what Dick wasn’t sure. It might have been anger, but he was tempted to think the cause was unshed tears.

Dick reached out and tilted his brother’s chin up so he was looking back at him. “This is not your fault.” He said. “Sometimes things happen, Dames. We can’t control everything.”

Damian bit his lip to stop the quivering. “I should have been able to.”

“No. You shouldn’t have. Do you blame yourself when I get sick? Or when Alfred does?”

Damian shook his head and Dick nodded. “Exactly. So why are you blaming yourself for this?”

“He’s mine to care for. Father trusted me with him.”

“And you’ve done an excellent job taking care of him.” Dick told him. “All this worry is proof of it. Bruce would be proud to see all the work you’ve done to make sure Titus is ok when he comes home.”

His brother nodded and took in a deep breath. “You think so?”

Dick smiled at him. “I know so. Now, let me give you a proper hug and we’ll call Alfred for an update.”

He didn’t give Damian time to reconsider or start blaming himself again. He reached forward and tugged his little brother into his arms. There was no hesitation on Damian’s part as he melted into Dick’s hug.

“Thank you, Grayson.” He said into his chest.

“Your welcome, Little D.” Dick smiled. Then after a moment he added. “Does this mean I’m back above Tim on your favorites list?”

Damian snuggled closer to him. “You never dipped below him.”

I tell myself everything is fine until
I see a lifeless bird on the road
Causing the bruised sky to split open and sob
Silver raindrops ooze out like blood from swollen clouds
Soaking the broken bundle of feathers
Cracked and shattered on ashen concrete
So this is what life is
A series of strikes on innocent hearts
A collection of dusty gusts to blacken eyes caked with tears
A whirlwind of rose thorns and glass

I’m looking in a mirror
I see myself
The small, flightless creature is me
Crumpled like the page of an old book tossed aside
The wind threatening to wisp away my mangled flesh
Twisted like ancient roots in an abandoned tree
Kicked and beaten
I am not what I am
My years remain carefully hidden
Tucked behind my eyes and inky clouds
A shy moon not daring to peek behind a damp horizon
Where do I go?
I long to run to the bird and breathe new life into it
To smooth out the wrinkles in its paper wings
I can hear the ghost of desperate chirping
A song echoing in my ears like parched leaves crunching beneath complacent feet on a crisp autumn day
I want to see it take flight
But I never will
This bird is gone
So used to being walked by
Looked over
Can’t anyone hear me?
I still hope though that maybe
Just maybe
A kiss from the sun
Will be enough to bring me back to life
A warm embrace from unfiltered rays of brightness
Will mend my splintered limbs
A loving touch
Will send me to the sky
So I can fly again
So I can be alive

—  I will mend, I will rise, I will see the sun once more
I’ll Find You

Request: Hello! I can say without a doubt that I love your writings!❤ I also was wondering if you could do a newt x reader where she goes missing and when it gets too long everybody loses their hope except for Newt. Later on he finds her being tortured, saves her and it’s a grand and really fluffy reunion?:) Sorry, I just crave for angst and fluff😂 

Warning: Allusion to torture

Word Count: 3,095

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

Pickett crawls from the pocket of Newt’s discarded vest, top leaves drooping from exhaustion. Stumbling forward, the tiny creature pulls itself up by the bed’s legs and hops onto the mattress. Gripping the headboard’s bars, Pickett inches past the pillows and avoids Newt’s hand when it jerks forward.

Once he’s in range, the bowtruckle reaches forward and tickles Newt’s nose. He jumps back, slipping off the mattress and swinging wildly when Newt smacks at his face.

Pickett’s still swaying off the bed when Newt jolts up, rubbing his forehead with one hand and reaching for you with the other. “I had the worst nightmare, love. Love?”

His terror peaks for the third night in a row this month when his hand only hits empty sheets and a cold half of the bed. He opens his mouth to shout for you before he remembers: you’re gone.

He takes in two shaky breaths before he hears Pickett’s squeals. “Pickett, what are you doing up here? You should be asleep.” He lifts the bowtruckle from the front of the mattress and slips out of bed, carrying him to a tree. “Yes, I know you don’t want to be here, but this is where you’re staying. Do you want to stay in that tree? I didn’t think so.”

He peels Pickett from his hand and places him on the tree before turning back into the bedroom and closing the door.

Careful to step over the clothes, crumpled up pages, and overturned pots of feed, Newt crosses the room and slides out the desk’s chair.

The two of you had decided to place a small bedroom in the case for any situations where you needed to be ready to respond to a creature at any moment. For the most part, it had been used when one was about to give birth, but more and more often, you and Newt had been spending nights down there after long hours of work studying a new creature.

Newt drops his head in his hands as he stares at the pages scattered in front of him. Notes that mean nothing at 3 in the morning fill the papers, but Newt still rifles through them, furious with the tears dripping down his cheeks. He has no time to cry. He has to find you.

Keep reading

“you’re destroying yourself,” he told her. she didn’t reply. “you can’t live for just your mind and nothing else. you’re human, for god’s sake. you need love, affection, you need all the things that all of us need. please. you’re destroying yourself.”

she didn’t look at him. her fingers turned the page. her eyes read. her lashes flickered shut, just a second, before she drank the words on the paper. more information. more data. all the connections and causes the world had to offer.

he reached for her, touched her shoulder. “please,” now he was begging, “you’re not a machine.”

“but I wish I was.”

“you can’t be.” he spoke gently now, hope rising up. maybe he could reach her. “you don’t have to be. it’s okay not to know things. sometimes there are no answers, or a problem that even you can’t solve. there are things bigger than any of us, and you can’t do anything to understand them.”

she froze under his touch. 

he let go. he took a breath. “it will be okay. you’ll get used to it. come on.”

“no,” she said.

he opened his mouth. she turned to him, and the shine of her eyes spoke not of life as it used to, not of curiosity nor the yearning for knowledge that had made her the most brilliant creature he’d ever seen.

“who are you?” he whispered it, stumbling, terror in his voice. she was brilliant still, and it had made her - 

“i am my mind.” she didn’t blink anymore. her fingers were curled around the book, a page crumpled up under her palm. “i was nothing before i could think like this. before i knew. before i could connect all the information, make nets and theories and new ways. don’t you see?” her smile spread over her lips, hesitating then, shying away from her wide black pupils. 

he pressed his back to the wall. his body trembled. “you are more than this.”

“no!” she hissed. her fist crashed into the book, tears springing to her eyes. “you don’t understand, stupid, stupid! my mind could be perfect! it could be brilliant, better than anyone, it could make me special. it could make me more than just another…”

“human?” her swallowed. moved. came closer, just a step. “you don’t want to be human?”

“no. yes. I want…” 

“it’s okay. you don’t have to be extraordinary, you know? it’s alright to be enough-”

“I want to be more.”

he took all the courage he had and went back to her. when he stood in front of her, silent, she touched her fingers to his chest.

“if you’re not brilliant, you’ll be forgotten.”

her fingers curled into a fist.

“I’d rather be remembered than human.”

Impress Me, Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Prompt: Reader has to interview Lin last minute and has no idea who he is.

Words: 1542

Author’s Note: I fell in love with the idea that Lin’s dad will only refer to him as ‘Lin-Manuel’? I have no idea why? Lots of dialogue cause…you know…it’s an interview thing. Also…this is the 13th fic I’ve written for Lin…whaaaaatttt.

Warnings: Cursing. A baby I decided to name ‘Elizabeth/Eliza’.

Askbox | Masterlist | Part 2

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Toothbrush in mouth, keys in hand, purse thrown over your shoulder, you descended the stairs of your New York apartment building.

Of course Chris was sick. Of course you were the only one who could fill in. Of course you had no idea who the guy you were interviewing was.

To top it all off, you were late picking up your niece from your sister’s place.

You found yourself pushing her stroller as she sat excited, glancing upward at any person who passed by and happily waving at them. Most waved back.

The cafe was closed. The lights were on, but it was quite early to be open. You knocked twice.

“Sorry, we’re not open until 9.” The barista said, taking in your disheveled appearance and the child you were pushing along.

“I’m here to do an interview. Lin-Manuel Miranda?” You self-consciously adjusted yourself.

“He’s here.” She held the door open as you struggled to fit the stroller through the entrance.

He stood as you approached him. He was nothing like the pictures you had quickly glanced at on google. He was clean shaven, short haired, and wasn’t dawning a period costume.

“You’re not Chris.” He stated, offering his hand to shake, “And neither are you.” He knelt down to your niece’s level. She waved at him, he happily and enthusiastically waved back.

“Chris had to cancel, but I have his notes.” You held up the giant packet you had to print this morning, “This is Elizabeth.” You slammed the packet on the table before moving her from the stroller to the highchair the barista had offered, “And I’m Y/N.”

You quickly ordered before you both took your seats, him sipping the coffee he had already been served and you frantically shuffling through the papers Chris had supplied.

“Do you know who I am?” There wasn’t cockiness, there was a genuine curiosity. You winced at the question.

“No?” He beamed at the answer, sitting up in his seat.

“May I?” He glanced at the notes in your hand. You hesitated. “Trade you?” He fished in the pockets of his coat before pulling out a gently used notebook. His personal notebook.

You considered it for a moment before agreeing, pushing the notes across to him. He took them, pushing his notebook across to you.

“Off the record?” He asked before you could get your hands on it.

“You know you don’t really have to say ‘off the record’? Your publicist approves everything before it goes to print.”

“I know.” He smiled, letting his notebook go, “It just seemed like a cool thing to say.”

You flipped through a few pages, his handwriting was large and scattered, as if he was trying to write faster than his mind out of fear the words would disappear. You glanced up at him for a moment to see him frantically scratching away at the packet with a pen. Sometimes his eyes would skim down a page and crumple it up, throwing it to the side.

Elizabeth begins to stir, preparing herself to cry. Before you could move, Lin offers her his hand, and she completely stops her fussing to tug at his fingers. He hums quietly, a song you couldn’t place, but comforted her enough for her to settle back into a calm state.

You didn’t comment, just ducked your head back into his book.

“Alright.” He finally said, pushing back what remained of the packet. “Ask me these questions.”

The questions he left you with only took a few minutes to get through, leaving you with nearly an hour left over. You set aside your notes, but continued recording.

“What do you do with your time now?”

At some point during the interview, Elizabeth had begun to stir again and Lin acted out of instinct, lifting her out of her high chair with your permission and began to walk in paces from wall to wall of the cafe with her tucked close to his chest.

You turned your chair and sat on it backwards to take in what he said in a hushed voice.

“Anything. I went on vacation, which is unheard of for me. I wrote a show on never wanting to leave my fucking neighborhood.” You also learned he cursed like a sailor, “If you could go on vacation right now, where would you go? Just hop on the first flight there with no consequences.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’d just hop on the first flight period. See where it takes me.”

“See, I couldn’t do that! The uncertainty…it’s insane. It’s consuming! I don’t know why it exists, probably that whole fear of death thing? Pretty crazy.”

And there it was. A completely different person than the person who had answered your pre-prepared questions. No longer scripted, and with a baby in his arms, he was completely open.

“Fear of death?” You pressed on.

“Everyone has it. Nobody likes to admit it. Every time you’re driving up a hill, too close to the edge don’t you think ‘Hey, what if I drove off?’. Everyone does it, I probably do it way too often.” He turned his attention back to Elizabeth, “Is she yours?”

“My sister’s.” You answered, “I’m not married, don’t have any kids.” You added before you could stop yourself.

“Good.” Was all he said as he settled Elizabeth, who he now fondly called ‘Eliza’, back into her stroller.

“Alright.” You mused, “You’re like, a pretty big deal, right?”

“Eh…” He answered, shrugging his shoulders and taking the spot across from you.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Impress me.”

“What? Like, rap? Something from Hamilton?”

“If you think that’ll impress me.” You challenged, nonchalantly brushing dirt off your pants.

“Alright.” He smirked back, making your confidence waver for a second. He pulled his phone out, quickly unlocking it and opening the contacts app, “Who do you want to call?”

He slid out of his chair and took the seat next to you, allowing you to hover over his shoulder as he scrolled through.

“You have Jennifer Lopez in your phone as ‘Jenny From the Block’?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Have I mentioned you’re kinda a nerd?” He beamed as he continued his scrolling. “I know who I want to talk to.” He hummed, and you almost changed your mind when he passed Robert Downey Jr, “I want to call your father.”

This certainly took him by surprise as you happily snatched his phone away in search of a contact labeled ‘Dad’. When it came up with nothing, you remembered who you were sitting with and instead found him under ‘Mi Padre’.

You hit ‘Call’ before he could stop you and put the call on speaker as the two of you huddled around the phone. He prayed his father wouldn’t say something too embarrassing. You prayed that he did.

“Lin-Manuel, why are you calling me in the middle of the day? Some of us regular people have jobs.”

“I already love him.” You whispered to Lin.

“Padre, I’m doing an interview. I said she could call anyone on my phone and she picked you.” There was a pregnant pause, making you think for a moment you had scared him off.

“I would have called JLo.” Was his answer, causing you to laugh nearly loud enough to wake up Elizabeth. “Is that her?”

“Yes! Hello Mr. Miranda! Sorry if we’re interrupting something.” You prayed you hadn’t, not wanting to make a horrible first impression with him

“Lin-Manuel she sounds beautiful! Have you done something stupid yet?”

“Not yet.” Lin giggled, proud of himself.

“Well, it’s only a matter of time.” Lin’s smile immediately fell. “I have a meeting, I’ll call you after I get out. Ask the beautiful woman out, Lin-Manuel!” Before Lin could chime in, the connection was gone.

You imagined Mr. Miranda happily strolling into his meeting with a shit-eating grin.

“You had to pick him.”

“Let’s call your Mom next!” You snatched the phone, sprinting out of your chair, scrolling for any sign of ‘Mom’ in his contacts. Before you could get very far, hands were at your waist, stopping you from getting away. You tried to keep the phone away, wiggling into the cafe wall, but his reach was too long for you.

You attempted to wrestle it back, but he held it high over your head, leaving you pinned against the cafe wall, glaring up at him.

He smirked down at you before locking his phone and pocketing it, not moving away from you.

“So, should I take my father’s well-meaning advice?” He fidgeted under your gaze, suddenly appearing nervous, “Should I ask out the beautiful woman?” You hesitated for a moment, allowing him to fidget more.

“Fine. But I get to call Jenny from the Block next time.” You placed one finger on his chest, pushing slightly so you could move past him, ready to collect your things and to get Elizabeth back home.

As you sauntered on, you heard a grunt and a crash. You whipped around to find Lin had attempted to follow you, only to trip over himself and fall straight onto his ass.

“My dad did warn you it was only a matter of time until I did something stupid.”